Kate Bonnet | Page 9

boat. You must
drop into the water."
She shuddered, and felt like screaming.
"But it will be easy to drop into the water; you can't hurt yourself, and I shall be there.
My boat will be anchored close by, and we can easily reach it."
"Drop into the water!" said poor Kate.
"But I will be there, you know," said Dickory.
She looked down upon the ledge, and then she looked below it to the water, which was
idly flapping against the side of the vessel.
"Is it the only way?" said she.
"It is the only way," he answered, speaking very earnestly. "You must not wait for your
father; from what I hear, I fear he has been detained against his will. By nine o'clock it
will be dark enough."
"And what must I do?" she said, feeling cold as she spoke.
"Listen to every word," he answered. "This is what you must do. You know the sound of
the bell in the tower of the new church?"
"Oh, yes," said she, "I hear it often."
"And you will not confound it with the bell in the old church?"
"Oh, no!" said she; "it is very different, and generally they strike far apart."
"Yes," said he, "the old one strikes first; and when you hear it, it will be quite dark, and

you can slip over the rail and stand on this ledge, as I am doing; then keep fast hold of
this rope and you can slip farther down and sit on the ledge and wait until the clock of the
new church begins to strike nine. Then you must get off the ledge and hang by your two
hands. When you hear the last stroke of nine, you must let go and drop. I shall be there."
"But if you shouldn't be there, Dickory? Couldn't you whistle, couldn't you call gently?"
"No," said Dickory; "if I did that, their sharp ears would hear and lanterns would be
flashed on us, and perhaps things would be cast down upon us. That would be the
quickest way of getting rid of you."
"But, Dickory," she said, after a moment's silence, "it is terrible about my father and Ben
Greenway. Why don't they come back? What's the matter with them?"
He hesitated a little before answering.
"From what I heard, I think there is some trouble on shore, and that's the reason why your
father has not come for you as soon as he expected. But he thinks you safe with Ben
Greenway. Now what we have to do is to get away from this vessel; and then if she sails
and leaves your father and Ben Greenway, it will be a good thing. These fellows are
rascals, and no honest person should have to do with them. But now I must get out of
sight, or somebody will come and spoil everything."
Big Sam did come aft and told Kate he thought she would come to injury sitting out in
the night air. But she would not listen to him, and only asked him what time of night it
was. He told her that it was not far from nine, and that she would see her father very soon,
and then he left her.
"It would have been a terrible thing if he had come at nine," she said to herself. Then she
sat very still waiting for the sound of the old clock.
Dickory Charter had not told Miss Kate Bonnet all that he had heard when he was
stealthily wandering about the ship. He had slipped down into the chains near a port-hole,
on the other side of which Big Sam and the black-haired man were taking supper, and he
heard a great deal of talk. Among other things he heard a bit of conversation which, when
expurgated of its oaths and unpleasant expressions, was like this:
"You are sure you can trust the men?" said Black-hair.
"Oh, yes!" replied the other, "they're all right."
"Then why don't you go now? At any time officers may be rowing out here to search the
vessel."
"And well they might. For what needs an old farmer with an empty vessel, a crew of
seventy men, and ten guns? He is in trouble, you may wager your life on that, or he
would be coming to see about his girl."

"And what will you do about her?"
"Oh, she'll not be in the way," answered Big Sam with a laugh. "If he doesn't take her off
before I sail, that's his business. If I am obliged to leave port without his cash-box, I will
marry his daughter and become his son-in-law--I don't doubt we can find a parson among
all the rascals on board--then, perhaps, he will think it his duty to