I resolv’d to throw myself on the mercy of this silent figure; and put out a hand to test the rope. One end of it was fix’d to a bale of wool that lay, as it had been lower’d, on the deck. Flinging myself on the other, I found it sink gently from the pulley, as the weight below moved slowly upward: and sinking with it, I held on till my feet touch’d the deck.
Still the figure in the bows was motionless.
I paid out my end of the rope softly, lowering back the bale of wool: and, as soon as it rested again on deck, signalled to Delia to let herself down.
She did so. As she alighted, and stood beside me, our hands bungled. The rope slipp’d up quickly, letting down the bale with a run.
We caught at the rope, and stopp’d it just in time: but the pulley above creak’d vociferously. I turn’d my head.
The man in the bows had not mov’d.
X
Captain Pottery and Captain Settle
“Now either I am mad or dreaming,” thought I: for that the fellow had not heard our noise was to me starkly incredible. I stepp’d along the deck toward him: not an inch did he budge. I touch’d him on the shoulder.
He fac’d round with a quick start.
“Sir,” said I, quick and low, before he could get a word out—“Sir, we are in your hands. I will be plain. Tonight I have broke out of Bristol Keep, and the Colonel’s men are after me. Give me up to them, and they hang me tomorrow: give my comrade up, and they persecute her vilely. Now, sir, I know not which side you be, but there’s our case in a nutshell.”
The man bent forward, displaying a huge, rounded face, very kindly about the eyes, and set atop of the oddest body in the world: for under a trunk extraordinary broad and strong, straddled a pair of legs that a baby would have disown’d—so thin and stunted were they, and (to make it the queerer) ended in feet the most prodigious you ever saw.
As I said, this man lean’d forward, and shouted into my ear so that I fairly leap’d in the air—
“My name’s Pottery—Bill Pottery, cap’n o’ the Godsend—an’ you can’t make me hear, not if you bust yoursel’!”
You may think this put me in a fine quandary.
“I be deaf as nails!” bawl’d he.
’Twas horrible: for the troopers (I thought) if anywhere near, could not miss hearing him. His voice shook the very rigging.
“… An’ o’ my crew the half ashore gettin’ drunk, an’ the half below in a very accomplished state o’ liquor: so there’s no chance for ’ee to speak!”
He paus’d a moment, then roared again—
“What a pity! ’Cos you make me very curious—that you do!”
Luckily, at this moment, Delia had the sense to put a finger to her lip. The man wheel’d round without another word, led us aft over the blocks, cordage, and all manner of loose gear that encumber’d the deck, to a ladder that, toward the stern, led down into darkness. Here he sign’d to us to follow; and, descending first, threw open a door, letting out a faint stream of light in our faces. ’Twas the captain’s cabin, lin’d with cupboards and lockers: and the light came from an oil lamp hanging over a narrow deal table. By this light Captain Billy scrutiniz’d us for an instant: then, from one of his lockers, brought out pen, paper, and ink, and set them on the table before me.
I caught up the pen, dipp’d it, and began to write—
“I am John Marvel, a servant of King Charles; and this night am escap’d out of Bristol Castle. If you be—”
Thus far I had written without glancing up, in fear to read the disappointment of my hopes. But now the pen was caught suddenly from my fingers, the paper torn in shreds, and there was Master Pottery shaking us both by the hand, nodding and becking, and smiling the while all over his big red face.
But he ceas’d at last: and opening another of his lockers, drew forth a horn lantern, a mallet, and a chisel. Not a word was spoken as he lit the lantern and pass’d out of the cabin, Delia and I following at his heels.
Just outside, at the foot of the steps, he stoop’d, pull’d up a trap in the flooring, and disclos’d another ladder stretching, as it seem’d, down into the bowels of the ship. This we descended carefully; and found ourselves in the hold, pinching our noses ’twixt finger and thumb.
For indeed the smell here was searching to a very painful degree: for the room was narrow, and every inch of it contested by two puissant essences, the one of raw wood, the other of bilge water. With wool the place was pil’d: but also I notic’d, not far from the ladder, several casks set on their ends; and to these the captain led us.
They were about a dozen in all, stacked close together: and Master Pottery, rolling two apart from the rest, dragg’d them to another trap and tugg’d out the bungs. A stream of fresh water gush’d from each and splash’d down the trap into the bilge below. Then, having drained them, he stay’d in their heads with a few blows of his mallet.
His plan for us was clear. And in a very few minutes Delia and I were crouching on the timbers, each with a cask inverted over us, our noses at the bungholes and our ears listening to Master Pottery’s footsteps as they climb’d heavily back to deck. The
