Then
all at once he fell sober again.
"But what's the good," he said. "We can clear the deck, 'tis true;
but be never a whit the nearer to capturing the vessel."
"I don't know that," said I. "If we clear the deck they go down
below; if they go down below they will not be able to keep so good
a lookout upon us; and while the niggers are stoning the deck we
may get a chance to creep up and be among 'em before they know it."
"But they would see us from the portholes," he persisted.
"True, if we are fools enough to approach 'em broadside," I said.
"The bow is pointing shorewards; if we make for a point exactly
opposite and go in single file in a line with the vessel's keel,
they will not see us unless they put their heads clean out of the
portholes and look down and aslant, and they will not do that with
the chance of getting a broken skull."
"Smite my timbers," cries Joe, "'tis a pretty ploy, and would
tickle my captain mightily. We'll do it, sir, and all I wish is
that the niggers can aim straight."
We lost no time in putting things in trim for the venture, and
indeed 'twould not be long before the tide washed the brig and
rendered the attack I proposed impossible. Gathering the negroes,
we set them to collect stones of a fair size (but not too big, for
I did not wish to break holes in the deck with jeopardy to Mistress
Lucy), and pile them up so as to be handy. And since I have ever
believed that folk, whether black or white, work more willingly if
they see the aim and purpose of their toil, I told them as they set
about the task what our intent was.
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