Wolves of the Sea | Page 8

much of the ship gossip managed in some way to reach our
ears. How it drifted in was often a mystery, yet there was little going on

aboard we failed to hear. Much of it came to us through those detailed
to serve food, while guards and sailors were not always averse to being
talked with. We always knew the ship's course, and I managed to keep
in my mind a very dear idea of how the voyage progressed. Not a great
deal of this gossip, however, related to the passengers aft, who kept
rather exclusively to themselves, nor did I feel inclined to question
those who might have the information. I had no wish to reveal my
interest to others, and so continued entirely ignorant of the identity of
the young woman. She remained in my memory, in my thoughts
nameless, a dream rather than a reality. I did learn quite by accident
that the gay gallant was a wealthy Spaniard, supposedly of high birth,
by name Sanchez, and at one time in the naval service, and likewise
ascertained that the rotund planter, so evidently in the party, was a
certain Roger Fairfax, of Saint Mary's in Maryland, homeward bound
after a successful sale of his tobacco crop in London. It was during his
visit to the great city that he had met Sanchez, and his praise of the
Colonies had induced the latter to essay a voyage in his company to
America. But strange enough no one so much as mentioned the girl in
connection with either man.
Thus it was that the Romping Betsy drove steadily on her way into the
west, either battered by storm, or idly drifting in calm, while life on
board became a tiresome routine. The dullness and ill treatment led to
trouble below, to dissatisfaction and angry outbreaks of temper. The
prisoners grew quarrelsome among themselves, and mutinous toward
their guards. I took no part in these affairs, which at one time became
serious. Two men were shot dead, and twice afterwards bodies were
carried up the ladder at dawn, and silently consigned to the sea. No
doubt these tales, more or less exaggerated, traveled aft, and reached
the eager ears of the passengers. They began to fear us, and
consequently I noticed when on deck the promenade once so popular
during the earlier days of the voyage, was almost totally deserted
during our hours of recreation. So, with mutiny forward, and fear aft,
the lumbering old brig, full of tragedy and hopeless hearts, ploughed
steadily onward toward the sunset.

CHAPTER III
DOROTHY FAIRFAX
We were not far from two hundred miles east of the Capes, or at least
so one of the mates told me, gruffly answering a question, and it was
already growing twilight, the sun having disappeared a half hour before.
There was but little air stirring, barely enough to keep the sails taut,
while the swell of the sea was sufficient to be uncomfortable, making
walking on the deck a task. We were wallowing along amid a waste of
waters, the white-crested waves extending in every direction to the far
horizons, which were already purpling with the approach of night. I had
been closely confined to my bunk for two days with illness, but now,
somewhat stronger, had been ordered on deck by the surgeon. The last
batch of prisoners, after their short hour of recreation, had been
returned to the quarters below, but I was permitted to remain alone
undisturbed. I sat there quietly, perched on a coil of rope, with head just
high enough to permit an unobstructed view over the side.
The deck aft was almost deserted, the passengers being at supper in the
cabin. I could glimpse them through the unshaded windows, seated
about a long table, while occasionally the sound of their voices reached
me through the open companion-way. The mate was alone on the poop,
tramping steadily back and forth, his glance wandering from the sea
alongside to the flapping canvas above, but remained silent, as the brig
was on her course. Once he clambered down the side ladder, and
walked forward, shouting out some order to a group of sailors under the
lee of the forecastle. It was on his return that I ventured to question him,
and was gruffly answered. Something I said however, gave him
knowledge that I was a seaman, and he paused a moment more civilly
before resuming his watch, even pointing out what resembled the
gleam of a distant sail far away on our starboard quarter. This was such
a dim speck against the darkening horizon that I stood up to see better,
shadowing my eyes, and forgetful of all else in aroused interest.
Undoubtedly it was a sail, although appearing no larger than a gull's
wing, and