I think if I had been Vetch, with so much at stake (for if we got
the better of him, be sure there would soon be a halter about his
neck)--I think if I had been in his place, with nigh a score of
stalwart daredevils at my beck, all armed and trained to desperate
deeds, I should have waded ashore wi' 'em and made some effort to
run us down. He must have known that there could be but two or
three of us, and with a little manoeuvering and stealth there was a
chance that he might have got upon us and done us mischief.
But Vetch, as has more than once appeared, was never a fellow to
run into jeopardy; and our very weakness, I doubt not, persuaded
him that he had nothing to fear in way of assault, and need only
bide for the next flood to carry him out beyond our reach.
Many times during that night I thought of Mistress Lucy, and
wondered whether she, below decks, had guessed from the movement of
the vessel, and the commotion and uproar, that we were still
working for her behoof. She told me afterwards that, having locked
herself in the cabin, she was in a stupor of grief, and felt, when
the vessel moved (believing that it was putting out to sea) that
nothing could save her now. But when she heard the shouts and the
firing, a wild hope sprang up within her; she was possessed with a
strong assurance that something was being attempted for her sake,
and she clasped her hands and prayed that it might have a happy
issue.
Chapter 29: We Bombard The Brig.
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