"Yuck," says Rebecca, who has been listening in. Some others, too, express disgust.

"But why 'millers'?" asks Annie.

"Because the rats generally live on the ship's supply of flour. 'Millers,' 'flour,' get it? And since they live on good, wholesome stuff, it's all right to eat 'em in return."

"I won't eat one," says Sylvie, firmly.

"What's the difference between a rat and a squirrel? A bushy tail, is all," I say. "But who cares? We can't catch 'em, anyway."

Katy turns and looks down at me. "Come up here," she says.

Wondering, I go up next to her.

"See that sail right there?" She points at a low, scudding sail. I nod. "See that it's got pieces of wood stuck in it?"

"Right. Those are called 'battens.' They keep the edges of the fore- and aft-sails stiff, so they don't flap in the wind" The battens are about four or five feet long and slip into sleeves sewn in the sails. They are thin and whippy so that they bend with the curve of the sail.

"Well," says Katy, "you git me some o' them battens and some cord and I'll git you all them critters you want, whatever you wanna call 'em."

I take the matter under serious advisement, as Katy Deere is of a very serious nature and does not spend her time in idle chatter.

But now it's off to French class, and then it's my turn at the Rat Hole, for no one is excused from that duty.

That night, after the hymn, and when everybody is settled in and I hear regular breathing all about me, I again creep down to sit with Hughie for a while. I reach out to him and ruffle his hair because I know he likes it, and then I run my hand down the side of his face and feel the deep scar that furrows his cheek.

"Who give you that, Hughie?"

"Mister."

"Why?"

"'Cause I was bad."

"How were you bad, Hughie?"

"There was this girl ... last time ... one of them dark ones ... she had this little baby an' she made signs to show me that the little baby needed more food ... good food. So I snuck and got it for her. Mister catched me at it. Said I was bein' bad ... hit me with his stick and blood come out."

I sense that he is rocking slowly back and forth at the memory of this.

"Didn't matter none, though ... Little baby died couple days later ... so did the girl. Mister made me put 'em over the side ... said they was dead 'cause I was bad."

I take several shuddering breaths to calm myself, then say, "Don't you ever think that you were bad, Hughie, 'cause you never, ever was. You was always just the best boy and that's the truth of it. Now you think about the pretty horses and ponies and fillies back at the Lawson Peabody stables when you and me and the rest of the gang get back there, Hughie," I say, resting my head against the bars, my hand now in his, my voice going on in a singsong way. "First, there's my little mare Lily; she's such a sweet thing, you won't have any trouble with her at all. But Brinker-now there's one you'll have to have a firm hand with as he is a bit wild." I sense Hughie's head bobbing up and down in solemn agreement. "And then there's Molly, the hot-running bay-you'll have to make special sure that she's cooled down after a run-and Jupiter, Clarissa's horse; now, there's a handful, I can tell you..."

He falls asleep after a while, dreaming, I'm sure, of horses and saddles and meadows and hay, and I put his hand gently down and go back to my kip.

Good night, Hughie. You just sleep now and dream of the pretty little horses.

Chapter 30.

"Oh, please, God, in your mercy, please let him catch us!" prays Constance Howell.

We are all standing on the rear Balcony watching the ship that was spotted early this morning and which has been getting closer by the hour. The men on deck have been frantically making as much sail as they can to draw away, but the ship just gets nearer. We watch from the Balcony, our hearts pounding. There is a shout, "It's an American!" and sure enough, we can now see the colors of the flag at the top of the mast.

Elspeth is suddenly by my side, the dirty blue ribbon dangling in front of her now hopeful face. She clutches my arm, saying, "Oh, I just know my papa has sent that ship to rescue me! I just know it."

There are cheers from other girls, too, and cries of despair from the men outside. I know that the rest of the girls hope for rescue by this ship, but I do not. I am sick with dread.

"It's the good old Constitution!" joyously shouts some girl, and another cheer goes up. Sure enough, it is that ship-I know, because I had seen her when we were pa- trolling the Barbary Coast back in '04. But what's she doing here? I wonder in spite of my fear.

The Constitution looks like it's now about three miles away, on our port quarter. At this rate they'll be alongside of us in two or three hours. There are flags raised on the American frigate, no doubt signalling Captain Blodgett to heave to and back his sails so that the Bloodhound can be boarded and inspected, but the Captain, himself at the wheel, just shakes his fist at the approaching ship and shouts curses.

Several of the girls have joined hands and are dancing in a circle, singing. Hepzibah is lining up other girls, saying, "Oh, we just must have Mr. Handel's 'Hallelujah Chorus' from the Messiah, as we are truly delivered." And then Clarissa is at my left hand, smirking. "See," she says, "we didn't need you after all." Now Constance is at my right hand, saying smugly, "That's right, you know. God delivered us, not Jacky Faber. You ought to be ashamed for the way you've behaved."

There is a low booommm, and a puff of smoke drifts away from the bow of the Constitution. They have fired a warning shot across our bow.

"Shut the flaps," shouts Captain Blodgett, and down they come, plunging us into darkness in the middle of the day. The girls' former joy has been considerably dampened. We sit there in the dark and wait. A hand goes into mine, and I know that it's Rebecca's. I give it a hopeful squeeze.

There is another boom. Then the flaps on the starboard side suddenly go back up and light pours into the Hold. Oh, no! I realize in despair, the side that can't be seen from the Constitution! And these men can't be caught with the evidence that is us!

There is a rattling of keys in locks, and Sin-Kay and Chubbuck and the Mate Dunphy hurry in and onto the Stage. They are followed by Mick and Keefe and two other sailors, all of whom rush down into the Pit.

"Get in the line!" orders Sin-Kay. "Now!"

The girls, shocked, start to do it.

"No, no!" I shout. "Don't do it! They're going to kill us! Fight! Fight!"

Dunphy rushes up to me and sticks his pistol into my mouth and grinds the barrel hard against the back of my throat and snarls, "One more word and I'll blow your brains out!" I gag and choke and can say nothing. The line forms up raggedly with much moaning and crying. I hear Clarissa putting up resistance: "God damn you to hell! Get your filthy hands-" then a thud and then no more from her.

As I knew they were going to, the sailors bring up that horror: the marching chain. Rebecca is the first in line and she shrinks back in terror as a man reaches for her. But he takes her roughly by the arm and puts the first neck manacle in the chain around her thin little neck and snaps it shut. Then he takes the next in line, Ruth Alden, and does the same to her, and so on down the line. Piteous pleas for mercy fall on uncaring ears as the grim work proceeds. Sally, then Hermione, then Helen, Dorothea, and my poor Annie, then Priscilla and on and on till Katy Deere, and then it's Mick himself who clamps the cold hard thing around my own neck and says, "Sorry, kid," and then does the same to Dolley, and then Elspeth, who is already dead in the eyes, and then Martha, and Clarissa, groggy from Chub-buck's blow, then Connie, her hands up in prayer, then Wilhelmina, and Chrissy and Judy and Lissette, and on down the line to Sylvie, then Hyacinth, Barbara, Caroline, Hepzibah, Frances, and finally, Julia Winslow.

When they are done, there is still a length of chain with neck manacles hanging from it leading out from the one on poor Julia's neck. Chubbuck picks up that length of chain and pulls Julia toward the hatchway. She has no choice but to follow, as do all the others in her wake-those who resist are hit and kicked till they move along.

The light blinds us as we are led on deck. Chubbuck takes his end of the chain over to an opening in the rail where a gangway might ordinarily be put, but as my eyes become used to the light, I see that an anchor, a big one, weighing maybe a hundred pounds, sits there, instead. It is poised right on the edge.

"Hurry up!" yells the Captain from the quarterdeck. "They're almost upon us!"

Chubbuck hastily secures the anchor to the end of the chain-the last neck manacle snapped shut around the shaft of the anchor does the job. He then wastes no time in kicking the anchor over the side.

The chain plays out and suddenly Julia-dear delicate little Julia Winslow-is jerked over the side to follow the anchor down, Julia, who hardly makes a splash when she hits the water. Then it's Frances who follows her in, then Hepzibah, then Caroline, then Barbara, Hyacinth, and good-bye Sylvie! and then Abby, Cloris, and splash by dismal splash, they each go over, dragged down by the relentless weight of the anchor. We are pulled forward, step by step. I try to hold on to the rail to slow down that awful pull, but Dunphy hits my hand with his club and I can't do nothin' but let go and be dragged-oh God-dragged along with the rest. Splash by splash, now Cathy, then Lissette, who holds her head high all the way to the edge, but her neck, too, is jerked violently sideways and she goes over and down with the rest. Now Judy, now Chrissy, now Wilhelmina, then Connie, her hands staying together in prayer as she goes headfirst into the sea. Clarissa is next and the last thing she does on this earth is spit in Chubbuck's eye, and then she's over, too, in spite of all the life that was in her. I'm getting closer now, closer to my own end, close enough to see those ahead of me disappear into the depths ... Good-bye, Martha, and then Elspeth's pathetic splash. I hold Dolley's hand in mine till it's wrenched from my grip and then it's my turn to feel the awful weight and I am pulled over and into the water and Katy and the rest are dragged in after me.

I futilely hold my breath as long as I can as I go down and down. I can see those who have gone before me, their dresses looking like black orchids floating in the dark blueness, their white legs and feet twinkling like the middle parts of the flowers before they wink out of sight, down into the depths, one by one.

I can't hold my breath any longer and I close my eyes and I open my mouth and my lungs fill and I choke-oh God- I choke, and then I start screaming and a part of my dying self wonders how I could be screaming underwater, but still I scream and scream and...

...and I open my eyes again and I find myself not hurtling down to the blackness at the bottom of the sea but instead in the darkness of the belly of the Bloodhound, being comforted by Annie and Sylvie and Rebecca, who are holding my screaming, choking, and shaking self and pleading with me to wake up, Jacky! Oh, please wake up!

Chapter 31.

The work continues. On this afternoon, after Chorus and burgoo, I gather Clarissa and Dolley to talk about long-range plans. We sit on the Stage, cross-legged, knees touching, in a circle of three.

"We've turned east," I say, "and that means we're heading over to Africa. From what I can see of the sun, and judging from the heat, I suspect we were well off the coast of Florida when they put the helm over."

"Which means?" asks Dolley, eyebrows up.

"Which means they intend to stay below the sea-lanes and out of sight as much as possible. It also means that our time is growing shorter."

Dolley and Clarissa are considering this when Constance Howell walks up next to us and says, "I am planning on forming a prayer group. Do I need your permission for that?" she asks, looking down her nose. Of all the girls, she has resisted the three-division, three-officer setup the most.

"That will be all right, as long as it doesn't interfere with your other duties," I say. Clarissa and Dolley nod in agreement.

"Good," replies Constance. "We shall pray for our deliverance," she says smugly. "And for your salvation," she adds, looking pointedly at me. "You are all invited to join us"

Clarissa snorts and waves her off contemptuously, but I don't let it go. "Pray for deliverance? Don't you think God would like us to get out of this ourselves? He must get awful annoyed with those prayers coming up at Him all the time."

"Do not blaspheme, Miss," says Connie, sternly.

I sigh and think, Did anyone ever have less use for me? "I am not being disrespectful, I am just thinking."

"If we are to be saved, it is God who will deliver us, not you, Miss Faber, and don't let your pride make you think otherwise." She's really getting hot now. Christina King, Catherine Lowell, and Minerva Corbett are lurking in the shadows behind her. That must be the prayer group.

"Well, He might help," I say, in a musing way. "But then again, He might not. Maybe He is testing you, Constance Howell, to see how much you can take and still remain devoted to Him. Think of poor Job, in the Bible-sores all over his body, his crops fail, his wife and sons and daughters die, and still he remains faithful to his God. Hey, Connie, maybe God hasn't even started on you yet. Maybe He'd like to see how you hold up spiritually when you're on the auction block? Ever think of that?"

She spins on her heels and goes off in a huff.

"All right. Back to business," says Dolley.

"Right," says I. "Anyway, we've got to get moving on things."

"But what else can we do, besides the carving?"

"Well, I've been thinking. The lookouts report that this is not a happy ship: There's the Captain, Mate, and Chubbuck ... they've got no use for Sin-Kay, who doesn't like them any more than they like him. And then there's the crew ... they ain't exactly a gang of good friends, either-there's little groups of 'em who hang together and don't mix much with the others."

"So?" asks Clarissa, idly chewing on a fingernail.

"So I say we turn 'em against each other even more-get 'em distrustful, nervouslike ... make 'em think they're on an unlucky ship. There's nothing more superstitious than a sailor, I can tell you that. Katy tells me some of the crew have been listening to our singing and storytelling at night-we might be able to use that. And if we get 'em turned against each other, they won't fight as a group when we make our break. See?"

Both Dolley and Clarissa nod, so I continue. "I'll work on the crew, first through Mick and Keefe. Then, well, we'll see what develops. Clarissa, keep needling Sin-Kay, but be careful, you don't want to push him too far."

Clarissa grins. "It'll be an absolute pleasure," she purrs.

"How are your divisions?" I ask. We report on the divisions every day.

"Mine's all right," answers Dolley. "Wilhelmina had the sniffles, but she's better now. A few of them are down in the dumps, but you know how that goes."

"Well I know," I say. "I still can't get Elspeth to come back around."

"Let her die," says Clarissa. "The dirty little snitch"

"Now, Clarissa," I begin, but I'm interrupted by the sight of Judy Leavitt's head appearing at the edge of the Stage. She wipes sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. It's plain she's been working down below at the Rat Hole.

"Jacky, come look. We got past that big knot and are into some really soft wood now. A big chunk just came out."

We leap down into the Pit to go under the Stage to the Hole. Caroline, who has continued to work the edge with the knife, stops when I lay my hand on her shoulder and whisper, "Caroline, get up and let me look."

I gasp in delight. They have made amazing progress. There's easily enough room now for me to poke my head through. "Beautiful work!" I whisper. As the Hole has gotten bigger, we have made a rule that only whispers can be spoken down at the work site, so that anyone who chances to be outside of that room beyond the Rat Hole doesn't pick up our voices. Everyone knows that if the Hole is discovered, we are lost.

I go down on my belly and stick my head through and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I give it a good five minutes, but all that swims out of the gloom is a faint strip of light at floor level off to the right. My suspicion that it's the crack under a door is confirmed when the light flutters, as if someone had just walked past. Please don't come in, not yet! But they walk on, and all is well. I let out my breath and slide back out.

"I can't see anything," I say to the waiting girls as I get to my feet. "I'll have to get light. Keep carving in that direction there. At this rate I'll be able to get all of me through soon."

Caroline drops down and I look at her for a moment. I've noticed that some of these girls are getting right fit, what with the short rations and the dance exercise and all, which is good. When we make the final break, we'll need all the strength we can muster, because even if everything goes right, it still ain't gonna be easy.

I go over to the hidey-hole that holds my seabag and I thrust my arm down into the bag and pull out one of my two candles and my flint striker. I usually kept the striker on board the Star for lighting my spirit stove, but on the day of the picnic I had brought it with me, thinking we might have a jolly campfire on the island. Well, we didn't have that, but I am damned glad to have this here with me now.

The girls have been told to keep the chips from the Rat Hole work in a pile off to the side, and from that pile I separate the tiniest shavings and form them into their own little pile. Squeezing the striker, I send a spark down into the tinder. It glows, but then winks out. I try again, and this time the spark stays and smoulders. I blow on it and it flutters into flame and I quickly stick the wick of my candle into it, and when it catches, just as quickly do I snuff out the tinder blaze with my cupped hand. Can't have anybody smelling smoke-fire on board is the one thing that sailors fear above all other things...'cept maybe ghosts.

Taking the lit candle back to the work site, I again crouch down in front of the Rat Hole, and after a quick check to make sure no one has come into that dark outer room, I stick the candle as far into the Hole as I can. It is a squat candle and I put it down without fear of it tipping. I do have other fears, though.

"I am quite sure that the room next to us is not the powder magazine, but I cannot be sure. If it is, and the candle ignites it, then I hope to see you all in Heaven." There are some nods, and not a few hands go into the prayer position, as I duck down again and stick my head in the Hole.

It is not the powder magazine. It seems to be the carpenter's storeroom, and we could not have hoped for a better find. It is full of lumber and spars for repairing the ship, but if nothing befalls this voyage, then the place would be seldom used. I turn my head and see a wall of tools, like saws and augers and such ... There's a hammer, and there's plenty of nails of all sorts about ... Ah, and Katy, there is a pile of brand-new battens, just like you asked for.

I pull back out, then reach in and retrieve the candle. I blow it out and tell them what I saw. Then I go meet with Clarissa and Dolley, and when I do, we decide to go to round-the-clock work on the Rat Hole. We each present it to our divisions, and the girls, even though they know they will be working by feel in the pitch dark among the rats and their own private fears, agree. I could not be prouder of them. As if on cue, the bells are rung and the flaps come down.

I stay on the Stage as the girls feel their way by me on the way to their kips. Everyone's getting real good at blind-man's bluff.

I glance up in the direction of the starboard-side flaps, and even though I can't see them up there listening, I know they are there. And have I got a dandy for them tonight. When all are settled, I clear my throat and begin...

"'Be gentle with me, Robin. Treat me like a lady,' said I, as I reached for him. He ripped off his jacket and was fumbling with the laces on his shirt when there came a furious pounding on the door.

"'Lieutenant Faber! The Captain wants you in his cabin right now!' I recognized the voice as ... yes, well, I recognized the voice as belonging to Private Rodgers, one of the ship's two Marines.