Strange Yesterday by Howard Fast Page B

satisfaction from the thought. She had turned away, and her back was to him. Puzzled, he stared at her, for he knew, now, why he had killed Lennox.
    Coming to himself, he saw that the wind was dropping. From the main-deck, Mr. Cortlandt was beckoning him. As he went forward, Mr. Mitchell, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, joined them. “I don’t like it,” Mr. Mitchell spluttered. “If it calms, we are through.”
    The captain shrugged, and Mr. Mitchell threw a finger toward the girl, who could be seen at one side of the poop. “What about her?” he demanded.
    â€œMy hands are clean of women’s blood.”
    â€œDo you fancy hanging from a yardarm?”
    â€œThere is still time,” John Preswick put in.

10
    L EAVING them, John Preswick went to his cabin. While John Preswick was not a man given to a great deal of thought or reflection, his execution of those ideas he conceived was quick and decisive. In one way or another, he disposed of what lay between himself and his end.
    Now he went to his cabin and opened the chest that he kept his arms in. There were the two double-barreled pistols, one of which he had used the preceding night. They were both loaded, but he saw again to the charges. Carefully he examined them; then he opened his coat and thrust them into his belt, one on either side of him. He also took out of the chest a powder horn, emptying a handful of the gray stuff into a little oilskin tobacco-pouch, which he laced tight and thrust into a side pocket. Then he lifted out a box of lead pellets, chose a dozen, and dropped them into the pocket that held the powder. Before he left the cabin he looked about him, thinking that perhaps he had overlooked something.
    Outside, he walked quietly along the passageway to the door of Mr. Cortlandt’s cabin. But it was locked, and he could not chance the noise that would ensue in ripping off the bolt. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned up the companionway. On deck, what he had anticipated had occurred. The breeze was quite gone.
    All four officers were now on deck; arms were being distributed to the crew; men were buckling cutlasses to them and hefting pikes, others were dumping overboard cargo, water, shot, kindling, everything that could be spared, in a mad effort to raise the vessel in the water.
    John Preswick approached Mr. Cortlandt, who was eying the carronades with a speculative eye.
    â€œI would not,” said John Preswick, “throw over the guns. I would tow while there is still a chance, and, perhaps, kedge. They are not yet in range, even of long eighteens. They have no twenty-fours in their bow or they would have used them.”
    â€œI was going to tow—in just a moment. They have not yet lowered their boats.”
    â€œDo it now.”
    â€œYes. But first the girl. We cannot chance her any longer.”
    â€œNow listen to me,” said John Preswick. “Beside the gold, that girl is the only thing of any value left on this ship. It is still entirely possible that we will slip them when the night falls. But you are right. We should take no chances. Put me in one of the towing boats with the girl. I will hold her until all hope is gone; then I will cut her throat.”
    There was a lurking suspicion in Mr. Cortlandt’s eyes as he replied: “We need you here—if it should come to a fight.”
    John Preswick laughed scornfully, speaking with the knowledge that here was no time for mincing words: “Are you mad that you speak of fight with a frigate of half-a-hundred guns! It is enough that we have given them a pretty chase—would you have them blow us from the water in splinters! I tell you this, that if there is no war between England and America, they can do no more than impress a dozen of our men—unless they find the girl. Then there will be a noose about all our necks!”
    â€œAnd if there is war—even now?”
    â€œWe are none the worse in either case.