"And Captain Wellsby will be caught off his guard?" said Jack, shivering at the aspect of this new terror.
"Can he do aught to prevent, unless he is bold enough to forestall it?" answered the shrewd young sea waif. "Better die fighting than be slain like squealin' rats."
"Recapture the ship ere Ned Rackham casts the dice," said Jack. "But it means playing the hazard in the midst of this storm. How can it be done? A forlorn venture. It can but fail."
"You are as good as dead if you don't," was Joe's sensible verdict.
Jack Cockrell forgot his wretched qualms of mind and body. The trumpet call of duty invigorated him. He was no longer a useless lump. The color returned to his cheek as he crawled from under the boat and shakily hauled himself to his feet. Joe Hawkridge nodded approval and exhorted:
"A stiff upper lip, my gallant young gentleman. Steady she goes, an' not too hasty. Ned Rackham is as sharp as a whetted sword. Ware ye, boy, lest he pick up the scent. Fetch me word, here, beneath this jolly-boat."
Jack stole away, staggering along the high poop deck until he could cling to the life-line stretched along the roof of the great cabin. There he slumped down and feigned helplessness, banged against the bulwark as a dripping heap of misery or kicked aside by the pirates of the watch as they were relieved at the steering tackles. From half-closed eyes he watched Ned Rackham, a vigilant, dominant figure in a tarred jacket and quilted breeches and long sea-boots. Now and again he cupped his hands and yelled in the ear of Captain Wellsby whose beard was gray with brine.
Jack saw that it was hopeless to get a private word with the skipper on deck. The clamor of the storm was too deafening. The one chance was to intercept him in the cabin when he went below for food and drink. Jack dragged himself to the after hatchway which was shoved open a trifle to admit air, and squeezed himself through. Before he tumbled down the steep staircase he turned to glance at Captain Wellsby. Unseen by Ned Rackham, the boy raised his hand in a furtive, beckoning gesture.
The pirates had taken the main room of the after-house for their own use, driving the passengers and ship's officers into the small cabins or staterooms. The air was foul below, reeking of the bilges, and the main room was incredibly filthy. The pirates ate from dirty dishes, they had scattered food about, and they kicked off their boots to sleep on the floor like pigs in a sty.