Meanwhile, the crew had no more doubt than Otto had of Jonsen’s intention: and the sound of the whetstone floated merrily aft, till each man’s knife had an edge that did its master’s heart good. I have said that the murder of the Dutch captain had affected the whole character of their piracy. The yeast was working.
Presently the smoke of a large steamer cropped up over the horizon as well. Otto sniffed the breeze. It might hold, or it might not. They were still far from home, and these seas crowded. The whole enterprise looked to him pretty desperate.
Jonsen was at his usual shuffle-shuffle, nervously biting his nails. Suddenly he turned on Otto and called him below. He was plainly very agitated; his cheeks red, his eye wild. He began by plotting himself meticulously on the chart. Then he growled over his shoulder:
“Those children, they must go.”
“Aye,” said Otto. Then, as Jonsen said no more, he added: “You’ll land them at Santa, I take it?”
“No! They must go now. We may never get to Santa.”
Otto took a deep breath.
Jonsen turned on him, blustering:
“If we get taken with them, where’ll we be, eh?”
Otto went white, then red, before he answered.
“You’ll have to risk that,” he said slowly. “You can’t land them no other place.”
“Who said I was going to land them?”
“There’s nothing else you can do,” said Otto stubbornly.
A light of comprehension dawned suddenly in Jonsen’s worried face.
“We could sew them up in little bags,” he said with a genial smile, “and put them over the side.”
Otto gave him one quick glance; what he saw was enough to relieve him.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Sew them up in little bags! Sew them up in little bags!” Jonsen affirmed, rubbing his hands together and chuckling, all the latent sentimentality of the man getting the better of him. Then he pushed past Otto and went on deck.
The big brigantine, which he had aimed for at first, was proving a bit too far up the wind for him: so now he took the helm and let the schooner’s head down a couple of points, to intercept the steamer instead.
Otto whistled. At last an inkling of what the captain was at had dawned on him.
III
As they drew nearer, the children were all immensely interested: they had never before seen anything like this big, miraculous tub. The Dutch steamer, an oldfashioned craft, had not differed very materially from a sailing-vesseclass="underline" but this, in form, was already more like the steamers of our own day. Its funnel was still tall and narrow, with a kind of artichoke on top, it is true: but otherwise it was much the same as you and I are used to.
Jonsen spoke her urgently: and presently her engines stopped. The Lizzie Green slipped round under her lee. Jonsen had a boat lowered: then embarked in it himself. The children and the schooner’s crew stood at the rail in tense excitement: watched a little ladder lowered from her towering iron side: watched Jonsen, alone, in his dark Sunday suit and the peaked cap of his rank, climb on board. He had timed it nicely: in another hour it would be dark.
He had no easy task. First he had his premeditated fiction to establish, his explanation of how he came by his passengers. Secondly, he had to persuade the captain of the steamship, a stranger, to relieve him, where he had so signally failed to persuade his friend the señora at Santa Lucia.
Otto was not a man to show agitation: but he felt it, none the less. This scheme of Jon’s was the foolhardiest thing he had ever heard of: the slightest suspicion, and they were as good as done for.
Jonsen had ordered him, if he guessed anything was wrong, to run.
Meanwhile, the breeze was dropping, and it was still light.
Jonsen had vanished into the steamer as into a forest.
Emily was as excited as any of them, pointing out the novel features of this extraordinary vessel. The children still thought it was professional quarry. Edward was openly bragging of what he would do when he had captured it.
“I shall cut the captain’s head off and throw it in the water!” he declared aloud.
“S-s-sh!” exclaimed Harry in a stage whisper.
“Coo! I don’t care!” cried Edward, intoxicated with bravado. “Then I shall take out all the gold and keep it for myself.”
“I shall sink it!” said Harry, in imitation: then added as an afterthought, “Right to the very bottom!”
Emily fell silent, her peculiarly vivid imagination having the mastery of her. She saw the hold of the steamer, piled with gold and jewels. She saw herself, fighting her way through hordes of hairy sailors, with her bare fists, till only the steamer’s captain stood between her and the treasure.
Then it happened! It was as if a small cold voice inside her said suddenly, “ How can you? You’re only a little girl! ” She felt herself falling giddily from the heights, shrinking. She was Emily .
The awful, blood-covered face of the Dutch captain seemed to threaten her out of the air. She cowered back at the shock. But it was over in a moment.
She looked around her in terror. Did any one know how defenseless she was? Surely some one must have noticed her. The other children were gibbering in their animal innocence. The sailors, their knives half concealed, grinned at each other or cursed. Otto, his brows knotted, stood with his eyes fixed on the steamer.
She feared everybody, she hated everybody.
Margaret was whispering something to Edward, and he nodded. Again panic seized her. What was Margaret telling him? Had she told every one? Did they all know? Were they all playing with her, deceiving her by pretending not to know, waiting their own time to burst their revelation on her and punish her in some quite unimaginably awful way?
Had Margaret told? If she crept up behind Margaret now, and pushed her in the sea, might she yet be in time? — But even as she thought it, she seemed to see Margaret rising waist-high out of the waves, telling the whole story to everybody in a calm, dispassionate voice, and climbing back on board.
In another flash she saw the fat, comfortable person of her mother, standing at the door of Ferndale, abusing the cook.
Again her eyes roamed round the sinister reality of the schooner. She suddenly felt sick to death of it alclass="underline" tired, beyond words tired. Why must she be chained for ever to this awful life? Could she never escape, never get back to the ordinary life little girls lead, with their papas and mamas and…birthday cakes?
Otto called her. She went to him obediently: though with a presentiment that it was to her execution. He turned, and called Margaret too.
She was in a more attentive mood than she had been the other night with the captain, Heaven knows! But Otto was too preoccupied to notice how frightened her eyes were.
Jonsen had no easy task on the steamer: but Otto did not greatly relish his own. He did not know how to begin — and everything depended on his success.
“See here,” he burst out. “You’re going to England.”
Emily shot him a quick glance. “Yes?” she said at last: her voice showing merely a polite interest.
“The captain has gone onto that steamboat to arrange about it.”
“Aren’t we staying with you any longer, then?”
“No,” said Otto: “you’re going home on that steamboat.”
“Shan’t we see you any more, then?” Emily pursued.
“No,” said Otto: “—Well, some day, perhaps.”
“Are they all going, or only us two?”
“Why, all of you, of course!”