He started to give the orders, but the crew were already moving.
"What of them?" I asked.
He glanced toward the sinking Vestal, if that was indeed who she was. "They've the same chance we have, and they came looking for it. Let them bide."
Leaving Diana on the quarterdeck, I went along forward, picking things up and making her shipshape. The two bodies left on the deck were only that, the life gone from them, so I dumped both overside. I found a pistol upon the deck and thrust it behind my waistband. We were moving, and the man at the wheel had put the helm over.
We were taking on water, and it was a wild chance we took to make for the shore. What if we hung up on a sandbar off the coast? Yet there was a chance to save both crew and ship as well as the cargo, and the ship was the Abigail, almost a part of our family.
Yet she had a sullen feel to her, and I liked it not. "Stand by," I told Diana. "I must know where you are if the worst comes. We'll make the shore together."
"Or drown," she said.
"We'll make the shore," I said, "for I am wishful of taking you to my cabin in the mountains yonder, the far blue mountains, as my father called them. And we'll make it, too. I will need sons to seed the plains with men and build a country there, a place with homes."
She could carry but little sail, but we moved, and somewhere off to the westward was land, a lee shore but a shore. Once the canvas was set, there was little we could do except to wait. Slowly the remaining sailors came on deck, each with a small parcel of his belongings.
"Make the boat ready," Tilly suggested. "Store her with food and water, what bedding we will need, and arms as well as powder."
"You expect more trouble?" one of the men asked.
Tilly glanced at him. "To be prepared, that is the price of existence, lad. Help them pack the boat now."
He took the wheel himself as we neared shore. The sky was faintly gray behind us, but the dark, low line of the shore offered nothing, promised nothing.
Of the sinking Vestal, we saw nothing. It was likely she might sink where she was, but she might float as well, might float for some time.
Suddenly I bethought myself of Pittingel. The man was below in the cabin, whether dead or dying, I did not know. Yet when I went below, sword in hand, he was gone.
There was much blood upon the deck, and there was blood on the sill of the stern light. He had dropped into the sea, when or where I did not know, or even whether he had done so of choice or been dropped by somebody.
Gone. It made me uneasy to think he might still live. Yet he had been badly cut, if not fatally. That he had lost much blood was obvious, yet his disappearance left us with one less thing to worry about at the moment, and the moment was all important.
For me the shore loomed near and vastly to be desired, for as fine a seaman as my father may have been, I knew that I was not. In time I might have become one, but there was to be no such time if I could help it. My destiny lay in the mountains of my own homeland, and the shore yonder was the first step. Once ashore, I could go anywhere. At sea I was at best uncomfortable.
Fortune seemed to be with us now that our vessel was sinking beneath us, for the wind had lessened, and the waves were nothing to speak of. Slowly but steadily we moved toward the coast. Now we could hear the beat of it upon the long, sandy shore. It was a familiar sound, for it was upon such a barrier of sand that I had played as a child, on the Carolina sounds.
"There's enough sea to carry us in. She'll hit hard enough to wedge herself in the sand."
"It is my fault, John," I said. "Had I not come to you, none of this would have happened."
He brushed my comment away with a gesture. "Your father gave me this ship. Owned a piece of it, actually, although I never had a chance to give him his share. She's a good vessel, and I'd like to save her."
"We can try," I offered.
He considered that. He was a thoughtful, careful man, and to lose his ship hurt him hard. He eased her speed by taking in some canvas, not that she was making any speed to speak of, but he kept on just enough to give her a little help with the steering.
There were no toppling combers, no welcoming crowds, no fanfare of trumpets when we came in to the shore. The sea had quieted still more, and the dawn had turned the sand from dull gray to pale flesh color, and we came in easy like bobbing flotsam on the tide, and we bumped our bow into the sand and stayed there.
We had the boat over and got some men ashore, and with a sigh of relief, I was first to put a foot on land. On land I was my own man again, subject to no vagaries of wind or sea. Yonder was the forest, here was the shore, and both were matters I understood. Somewhere far off, beyond the sand and the trees, there would be mountains, the blue mountains of home.
We unloaded what we could on the shore and at my advice moved back into the forest's edge where we not only would have fuel but would be less easily seen and our numbers estimated. Then we got a line ashore tied about a buried log or "deadman."
The cook made a meal over a fire of my building. I loaded a musket and my two pistols, and leaving all close by the fire, I scouted a bit. We had landed on a narrow barrier island, but the mainland was but a short distance away. I found tracks of deer and glimpsed some wild turkeys but did not shoot. We had food enough for the time; and it was of no use to warn anyone who might be within hearing of our presence. I went back and sat on the sand with my back against a great driftwood log and watched the fire.
John Tilly and some of his men were going over the vessel.
"Hulled twice," Tilly said, "and she took on a bit of water, but if the weather holds, we can pump her out and float her again."
"I am a fair hand with working wood," I said, "and a better hand at what needs a strong back, so I'll stand a trick at the pumps."
We talked it over, weighing this and that in conversation as we ate. Nor would we wait until dawn, for who knew what might develop with the weather. "And the Vestal?" I said. "Do you think she sank?"
"I do, but Hans--he's a fo'c'sle hand--said he saw them get a boat or two free of her. So we'd best keep a sharp lookout."
"Aye." We could see the beach for a good stretch in either direction, but there were woods behind us. Yet I fancied myself in the woods and feared naught but an Indian.
"If they get her afloat again," Diana said, "what will you do?"
"Turn inland," I said. "It is a far piece to where my home lies and almost as far to Shooting Creek, but we'll be for it.
"John?" I spoke suddenly, remembering. "There's an island in a bay not far from here where a man named Claiborne has a station. He does a bit of trade, has a pinnace or two. You might sell him some of your cargo if all is not spoiled or trade for furs. He's a good man. Cantankerous but good."
"Aye. I know the name."
Several of the crew were already at work on the hull; others were already manning the pumps. Leaving Diana to get together what clothes she could, for Tilly had told her to take whatever she found that was useful, I went to the pumps. Any kind of physical work was always a pleasure. I was strong and enjoyed using my strength, and the pumps were a simple matter that left one time to think.
For hours we pumped, and the water flowed from the hull in a steady stream. By nightfall we had lowered the level considerably, and one of the holes in the hull had been repaired. Other men, while not busy at the pumps, went about repairing damage to lines and rigging that had been incurred during the brief fight.
We had lost four men: two had fallen over the side, and two had been struck down on deck. How many the Vestal lost we had no idea. Our sudden broadside as they came up to use their grappling irons had been totally unexpected.