For that long moment we stood looking at one another I saw no emotion on his face, but what he did next left me with little doubt as to his real intentions. He lifted a hand, extended a stilettolike forefinger, and drew it across his own neck as if cutting it.
A spasm of horror shot through me. He was—in the crudest way—warning me about what might happen to me if I took my discovery to the captain.
For a moment more I remained rooted to the spot. Then I turned to lean upon the portside topgallant rail and stared out over the ocean, trying to recover my breath.
When I had sufficiently steadied my nerves I turned back cautiously. Morgan was gone. But he had achieved his purpose. I was twice as frightened as I’d been when first I stepped upon the Seahawk.
Anxiously, I glanced about to see if I was being watched by anyone else. Sure enough, now it was Foley whom I spied atop the forecastle. He was busily splicing a rope. At least that’s what he seemed to be doing. The instant I saw him, he looked up and pinioned me with a gaze of blatant scrutiny. Then, quickly, he shifted his eyes away. He too was spying on me.
Completely unnerved, I retreated to my cabin and bolted the door. The warnings had an effect quite opposite to what was doubtless intended. More terrified than ever, I now felt that the only person who could help me was Captain Jaggery. But so fearful was I of going on deck in search of him, I decided to wait in his cabin till he returned, certain that the crew would not dare to pursue me there.
Cautiously I pulled the door open again, poked my head out, and when I saw—to my relief—no one was nearby, I rushed to the captain’s door and out of a habit of politeness, knocked.
To my indescribable relief I heard, “Come in.”
I flung the door open. Captain Jaggery was looking over some charts. Mr. Hollybrass was at his side.
The captain turned about. “Miss Doyle,” he said politely. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Please, sir”—I was finding it difficult to breathe—«I should like a private word.”
He looked at me quizzically. I had not come to him in agitation before. “Is it important?”
“I think so, sir . . .”
“Perhaps it can wait until . . .” No doubt it was the distraught expression on my face; he changed his mind. “Come in and shut the door,” he said, his manner be coming alert.
Mr. Hollybrass made a move to go. The captain reached out to restrain him. “Do you have any objections to Mr. Hollybrass being here?” he asked.
“I don’t know sir.”
“Very well. He shall stay. There’s no one I trust more. Now then, Miss Doyle, step forward and say what’s troubling you.”
I nodded, but could only gulp like a fish out of water.
“Miss Doyle, if you have something of importance to tell me, speak it.”
I lifted my eyes. The captain was studying me with great intensity. In a flash I recollected a time when my much-loved brother broke a rare vase, and I, out of a high sense of duty told on him despite what I knew would be my father’s certain fury.
“I was fetching a needle for Mr. Ewing,” I got out. .
“A needle,” he returned, somewhat deflated. Then he asked, “Where did you find it?”
“In the forecastle.”
“The forecastle,” he echoed, trying to prime my tongue. “Is it your habit to frequent that place, Miss Doyle?”
“Never before, sir.”
“What happened when you went there?”
“I saw . . . I saw a pistol.”
“Did you!”
I nodded.
“Where exactly?”
I glanced around. Mr. Hollybrass’s normally red face had gone to the pallor of wet salt, whereas the captain was suddenly flushed with excitement.
“Must I say, sir?”
“Of course you must, Miss Doyle. Where did you see the pistol?”
“In . . . Mr. Ewing’s . . . chest, sir.”
“Mr. Ewing’s chest,” the captain repeated, exchanging a glance with the first mate as if to affirm something. Then the captain turned back to me. “Anything else?”
I bit my lip.
“There is more, isn’t there?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Out with it!”
“I saw a . . .” I could not speak.
“A what Miss Doyle?”
“A . . . round robin.”
Now it was the captain who gasped. “A round robin!” he exclaimed. “Are you quite sure?”
“Just as you showed me, sir. I’m certain of it.”
“Describe it.”
I did.
“And there were names written in, were there?”
“And marks. Yes, sir.”
“How many?”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps five. Six.”
“Six!” the captain shouted with a darting glance at Mr. Hollybrass. “A wonder it’s not nine! Could you see whose names they were?”
“No, sir.”
“I’m not certain I believe you,” he snapped.
“It’s true!” I cried and to prove my honesty I hurriedly gave him an account of my experiences in the top cargo as well as my conclusion that the ship carried a stowaway. By the time I was done he was seething.
“Why the devil did you not tell me before?” he demanded.
“I didn’t trust my own senses, sir.”
“After all I have done for . . . !” He failed to finish the sentence. Instead, he growled, “So be it,” and said no more before turning from me and pacing away, leaving both Mr. Hollybrass and me to watch.
“Mr. Hollybrass,” he said finally.
“Sir . . .”
“Call all hands.”
“Sir, what do you intend to do?”
“I intend to crush this mutiny before it starts.”
Chapter Ten
Captain Jaggery strode across the room and from the wall removed the portrait of his daughter. Affixed to its back was a key. With this he unlocked the gun safe, and in a moment he and Mr. Hollybrass were by the door, ready. The captain held two muskets and had two pistols tucked into his belt. Mr. Hollybrass was similarly armed.
Terrified by the response my words had caused, I simply stood where I’d been. The captain would have none of that.
“Miss Doyle, you are to come with us.”
“But . . . !”
“Do as I tell you!” he shouted. “There’s no time for delay!” He flung one of his muskets to Mr. Hollybrass who miraculously caught it, then grabbed me by an arm and pulled me after him.
We ran out along the steerage into the waist of the ship, then quickly mounted to the quarterdeck. Only then did the captain let me go. He now grasped the bell clapper and began to pull wildly, as though announcing a fire, while shouting, “All hands! All hands!”
That done, he held his hand out to Mr. Hollybrass, who returned the extra musket to him.
I looked about not knowing what to expect, save that I truly feared for my life.
Then I realized that the ship appeared to be completely unmanned. Not a sailor was to be seen anywhere, aloft or on deck. The sails hung like dead cloth, the wheel was abandoned, the rigging rattled with eerie irrelevance. The Seahawk was adrift.
The first person to appear below us was Mr. Keetch. Within seconds of the bell sounding he came bolting from below, took one look at the captain and Mr. Hollybrass armed above him and stopped short, then turned as if expecting to see others. He was alone.
“Mr. Keetch!” the captain cried out to him. “Where do you stand?”
The second mate turned back to the captain, a look of panicky confusion upon his face. But before he could respond or act on the captain’s question the rest of the crew burst from beneath the forecastle deck with wild, blood-curdling yells.