Mr. Wicker's Window Part 17

Zachary measured with his fuse from the crate cave, where he evidently intended hiding the gunpowder, to the farthest point away from it and nearest the ladder, for the treacherous young man wanted all the time he could get to escape from the doomed _Mirabelle_. Time to climb the ladder, reach the s.h.i.+p's side, and perhaps row away to a safe distance.

The fuse proved to be rather shorter than Zachary Heigh wished. His candle stub, set on a crate, was burning very low and he had only a few more moments in which--that night at any rate--to decide where he would hide the lighting end of the fuse. Just before the candle went out, Zachary's fuse coil reached a group of mola.s.ses barrels, and here the young man decided that the fuse, when the time came, would be hidden and lit. He made a mark in white chalk behind one of the barrels and then hurriedly began coiling up the fuse as he turned toward the ladder.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

At that moment the candle end, drowned in a pool of its own melted tallow, guttered, blinked, and went out. The utter blackness of the hold rushed over Zachary and the fly who clutched at the threads of the sailor's coa.r.s.e s.h.i.+rt. Zachary was only a young boy, scarcely older than Chris himself, and the fly could almost feel the quickening of Zachary's heartbeat at the sudden flood of dark, the sense of the late hour, and the rat-infested hold. Zachary moved quickly in the pitch-black, his hands outstretched to feel the ladder, his breath coming and going rapidly through his parted lips. The heat of the airless place, the heavy smells of the cargo itself, oppressed and weighed on both Zachary and his unsuspected companion. The _Mirabelle_ was moving slowly forward in calm tropic seas, scarcely making headway on an almost breathless night. Down in the hold the ladder eluded Zachary's reaching fingers, and the creaking of the s.h.i.+p was all that was to be heard except for the faint sound of Zachary's breathing.

Then all at once, as sometimes happens in a roomful of talking people, there came a moment of total silence. For a second there was a s.p.a.ce in the creaking of the s.h.i.+p, the pad of rats, or the slight s.h.i.+ft and res.h.i.+ft of boxes. And in that second, just as Zachary's fingers touched the ladder, to Zachary and to Chris on his shoulder, came the distinct sound of another man's breathing.

CHAPTER 21

Exhausted as he was by his long vigil and the effort needed to change his shape, it was another hour or more before Chris could sleep that night. The sound of that heavy but held-back breathing, so close to Zachary and himself in the black hold, frightened Chris almost more, once he was safe in his cabin and hammock, than it had at the time.

Zachary had bolted up the ladder like a frightened squirrel, with Chris, as a fly, holding on for dear life. Even so, Zachary moved none too fast to suit Chris, who flew off toward his own cabin in a chattering fright. The lumpy form of Amos, asleep in his hammock, was rea.s.suring, but Chris lay s.h.i.+vering and puzzling for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

The next day, lying on his stomach in the hot sun, he dozed with his cheek on his folded hands, his mind going over and over the details of the night before. Try as he would, Chris could not remember having seen any member of the crew even near the hatch leading to the hold.

Let's see, he began in his mind, a bunch of the men were singing--Bowie was one of 'em. They went down to their quarters first.

They were really closest to the hatch. Mr. Finney called Abner up to the bridge, and Abner came back and went down a while later. Guess Mr.

Finney went to his quarters--I don't remember seeing him cross the deck or come over that way at all.

Then--let's see--Captain Blizzard took a turn around the deck. It was getting dark. He joked with the cook at the galley door, and probably went on, for I didn't see him come by again. Next, Ned Cilley was relieved at the helm by Elbert Jones, who took over. Ned went on down.

Or did he? Chris wrinkled his brow with concentration. I _guess_ so, he thought, but I don't _know_ so. It looks to me as if it could have been one of several people, and I'll be switched if I know who. I'll keep my eyes open. Maybe whoever it was will give himself away somehow and give me a clue.

The _Mirabelle_ was nearing Tahiti. The air was balmy, and already a different fragrance pervaded it, together with a softer quality which Chris now knew meant land.

At noon one day Captain Blizzard announced to Chris and Amos: "Should the wind keep up as it is now, by nightfall or by dawn at the latest, we should sight Tahiti. We've water and fresh stores to take on there." He beamed over his many chins at the two boys. "'Tis a fair place, is Tahiti, and one you lads will have an interest and a pleasure in seeing."

Chris lost no time, as soon as he could do it without being noticed, in hurrying down to his cabin. Locking the door, he took the conch sh.e.l.l from his sea chest and held it to his ear. The voice of his friend--so far distant now!--came to his ear and Chris smiled with the pleasure this brief link with home gave him.

"Nearly to Tahiti, eh, my lad?" came Mr. Wicker's voice. "Then listen carefully. Ask for a private interview with the Captain, and when you are alone with him, tell him that these are my orders: He is to sail on past his usual anchorage, making all speed. You will know the reason for it at sundown today. Tell Captain Blizzard to go around the point--he will know--and continue for twelve leagues farther on. This must be done by night, for he must not slacken. Then he will see by moonlight a reef. The water is phosph.o.r.escent, and when it breaks over the reef it will s.h.i.+ne in the night. Then must he heave to, and you will go over the side, and as a fish, find out the channel, for the coral is dangerous and the way into the cove almost impossible to find even by day.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"The land there is like a cup with a chip in its rim; the chip is the entrance to the cove. This entrance, overhung by slanting trees and jungle, is just large enough to allow for the pa.s.sage of the _Mirabelle_.

"Nevertheless," went on Mr. Wicker's voice in the sh.e.l.l, "the masts and the sides of the s.h.i.+p could be seen from the sea. So with all haste, once anch.o.r.ed in the cove, the men must go ash.o.r.e, bring back palm fronds and leafy branches and camouflage--as you say in your time--the _Mirabelle_ from her topmost mast to the water's edge.

"Let the men rest, but by midafternoon have them hide along the sh.o.r.e facing the sea, for they shall all be witnesses to what is to transpire. Then you must do your part, for you must board Claggett Chew's s.h.i.+p and see to it that his vessel does not gain many days'

advantage over the _Mirabelle_. By daylight the _Mirabelle_ will find her way safely to sea again, and you will rejoin her with the aid of the rope." The voice paused and then enquired, "Is all this clear?"

Chris tapped three times, his heart thumping with excitement at the prospect of the imminent action.

Going up to the Captain's cabin, he took advantage of a moment when Mr. Finney and Amos were outside to ask Captain Blizzard if he might speak with him alone.

"Certainly my boy," boomed out the Captain, his blue eyes abruptly keen and penetrating. "Mr. Finney will be some time on deck. We cannot be overheard in here."

He motioned to a stool as he let himself fall heavily into a teakwood armchair made especially for his bulk. But Chris was too excited to sit down, and delivered his message standing.

When he described how in the night--that very night, he realized with a jumping pulse--he was to go over the side of the _Mirabelle_ and find out the channel, the Captain looked at him piercingly.

"How now, lad," he said in his deep voice, "how are you to find the channel in the dark?"

This was a question Chris was unprepared for, but he took a long breath which gave him a moment of extra time, and then replied.

"I--I see uncommonly well by night, Captain sir," he said, "and I'm a very strong swimmer."

His face froze with nervousness that this might not do as an answer, and he stood stiff and still before Captain Blizzard. The Captain sat forward in his chair looking at him for a long moment, considering.

Then he said: "Well, I do not care for it, I cannot say I do. This s.h.i.+p is more to me than wife or mother or family. She's all I have, young man, and you can understand that to trust her to so young a lad, clever though you may be, to go safely past jagged coral reefs into a cove I never even guessed at, well"--he threw out a hand and then rubbed his chin with it--"You can understand I do not fancy it.

However," and he leaned back in his chair again, "I take orders from Mr. Wicker, the owner of the _Mirabelle_, and since he says so, this is how it must be."

He paused, fingering his lower lip and looking sideways in a reflective fas.h.i.+on at Chris standing before him.

"He told me you would have information from him for me, from time to time. We shall say no more, but I trust you understand the responsibility you have? This s.h.i.+p, its cargo, and its men will be in your hands."

Chris felt cold for a moment, chilled as he had never been before, but he spoke up firmly. "Yes sir. I think I can do it safely, or I should not try, sir."

Captain Blizzard's round pink face creased in his winning smile. "Aye, aye. No doubt. Just bear it in mind at the time, eh lad?"

"I shall sir," Chris replied.

He then went on to describe what else was to follow--the covering of the s.h.i.+p with leaves to make it blend with its surroundings.

Camouflage was not a word the Captain, or anyone else of his time, yet understood.

"After we see--whatever we are to see," Chris ended, "I'll be absent for a while. What can be said during that time, sir?" Chris thought to ask. Captain Blizzard pondered for some minutes, and Chris was grateful that he asked no questions. At last he answered.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I shall say you have a tropical fever, Christopher," he said. "I am somewhat skilled in medicaments--I have to be, as captain of a s.h.i.+p, and the crew know it. I shall say that you are in my own cabin so that I can care for you. I shall allow no one to enter it but myself. It will be a most contagious fever for a time," he added with his eyes twinkling. "I shall bring you food with my own hands. Nothing much--broth and gruel, and I daresay I can eat it myself if I cannot throw it out the porthole!" He winked at Chris. "Have no fear on that score, Christopher." He looked steadily at the boy in front of him.

"You have your part to carry out, I have mine."

Not since he had left Mr. Wicker had Chris felt such confidence as he did in the words and actions of Captain Blizzard. He knew now that his absence, for as long as he had to be away, would be covered up and satisfactorily accounted for.

Their conversation had taken some little while. As they went over for the last time all the details of what lay ahead of them in the next few hours, Chris, glancing out the windows of the Captain's cabin, saw the splendors of a tropical sunset streaking the sky.

"Oh sir!" he cried, "Mr. Wicker said we'd know the reason why we must take shelter tomorrow at sundown today. And now it _is_ sundown!"

With quite surprising silence and agility for so large a man, Captain Blizzard was out of his chair and half-way to the door of his cabin before Chris had much more than finished speaking. Over his shoulder, continuing with rapid quiet steps to the bridge of the _Mirabelle_, he said: "Run down to your cabin and fetch up that good spygla.s.s of yours, my boy. We shall have a good look, for as you know, night falls in a few moments after sundown in these waters."

Racing to his cabin and back, even in those few seconds Chris could see a change in the sky. The brilliance of the colors, their extravagant and awe-inspiring cloud effects, had taken on an intensity of light which meant they were at their peak.

Standing beside Captain Blizzard on the bridge, Mr. Finney and Amos just beyond, Chris and the Captain looked through Chris's powerful spygla.s.s at the wide stretch of the horizon.

All around lay only the sea and the dazzling sky. Not even a porpoise or flying fish broke the surface of the water which was placid save for the long swells over which the _Mirabelle_ dipped her white sails.