I was glad to be rid of him. I kept my eyes on the compa.s.s and sails, and kept us heading in the proper direction, more or less, until he showed up to relieve me.

Whittle and Trudy weren't to be seen. The door to their cabin was shut. I climbed into my bunk in the saloon. Tonight, no sounds came from the other side of that door. And I knew they didn't have Patrick in there with them any more, which was a mighty relief.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

High Seas and Low Hopes Michael kept a ship's log. I saw plenty of it, for he scribbled on it every day. It didn't say much, mostly just gave our location in degrees of lat.i.tude and longitude, which he figured out somehow by using a s.e.xtant along with various tables and charts. He tried to figure that stuff out each day at noon if the sun was showing. That wasn't often, let me tell you. But it came out now and again, and we stayed on course.

We were making for New York Harbor, which is where Michael and Trudy and her father had set out from when they left for England, and Whittle said it suited him fine.

The trip took us thirty-six days and nights and seemed to last about ten years.

It was pretty much the same routine the whole time except when we hit storms. Michael and I took turns at the helm, though it seemed like we spent hours each day fooling with the sails, raising and lowering them because we wanted to keep as much sail flying as we could, but had to reef the mainsail whenever the wind kicked up too hard.

Trudy fixed all our meals. When she wasn't busy with that, she came topside and stood lookout. Whittle shared the lookout duties with her. We all took our turns at it, for none of us was eager to fetch up on an iceberg. We ran into a pa.s.sel of those, and steered clear of them.

We all got along the best we could, pitching in to help each other, and such.

Trudy stayed cold toward Michael for a spell, holding it against him that he hadn't jumped in the ocean to save her instead of me doing it, I reckon. She never did warm up to me. When she wasn't bossing me around, she acted like I wasn't there at all. She was always civil and meek to Whittle, and didn't once give him any lip.

Michael acted like a whipped dog around Trudy and Whittle both. If he'd had a tail, it would've been drooping between his knees most of the time. He sure knew how to sail the yacht, though. He'd turn into a man again when n.o.body was around but me and all he had to do was navigate and steer and muck about with the sails or rigging, and give me orders. The dicier it got with the weather, the better he handled himself. Why, you never would've guessed he had a yellow streak at all if you could've seen him skippering us through a gale with waves higher than mountains. Then later on you'd see how a look from Trudy or Whittle made him wither, and you just couldn't believe it.

Whittle, he acted the whole voyage like he was having just the bulliest time ever. He paraded about like Long John Silver himself, a knife on each hip, and hardly a word ever pa.s.sed his lips that wasn't an "Aye, matey" or an "Avast, me hearties" or a "Shiver me timbers."

Whereas pirate sorts generally sported an eyepatch, Whittle took to wearing one where his nose used to be. After he'd healed enough to stop bandaging himself, he fashioned a whole variety of patches that he tied onto his face. One day, he'd be sporting a disk of red silk. The next, he might have one made of white lace or leather or velvet or tweed. I don't suppose Trudy had a dress or petticoat or blouse or hat or shoe that didn't wind up with a round hole in it the size of a gold piece. She wore some of those things after Whittle'd been at them, and you could see where he'd gotten the material for this or that nosepatch.

Every so often, when he was feeling ornery or full of mischief, he'd take and pluck his patch up to his forehead and make us sick.

Taken all round, though, he behaved a sight better than I might've expected from the likes of him. He'd come near losing Trudy and me, that first day out of Plymouth. If we'd gone and drowned on him, it would've put an awful wrinkle in his plans. I figure he realized that, and chose not to push his luck. He went ahead and gave us a fair share of thumps and kicks, but he never tormented any of us much-not as I knew about, leastwise.

Each night, he took Trudy into the forward cabin and locked the door, leaving the saloon as sleeping quarters for me and Michael when we weren't taking our turns topside. I never heard much out of her, though. When she'd come out the next day, she didn't look like she'd been strung up or otherwise abused.

Her neck got better slowly. By and by, the scabs fell off and her skin was pink and shiny across her throat.

As for me, I behaved. Plenty of chances came along for me to bash Whittle or shove him overboard, but I always resisted. Whenever a chance showed itself, all I had to do was remember how he'd dealt with Patrick, or how he'd punished Trudy after I'd failed at garroting him. It was never a sure thing that a bash or push would've put an end to him, so I never dared.

When things got slow and I had time for my mind to wander, I often longed for home. But I grew curiouser, all the time, about America. I'd read a heap of books about the place. It sounded grand, and I allowed what a shame it'd be to travel so far and only just turn around, first chance, and return to home. The plan I hit on was to send off a message to Mother, letting her know I wasn't dead, after all, and then explore around a bit.

I'd no sooner get excited about all that, however, than the glooms would set in. I judged I was bound to end up killed and never reach America. If the ocean didn't swamp us, Whittle'd carve us down to torsos once he stopped needing a crew.

My odds were on the ocean, though.

It never let up. At the best of times, it shoved us up and down and jolted us and pitched us from side to side. At the worst of times, it gave up toying around and did its best to demolish us. While that was going on, you'd never see hide nor hair of Whittle or Trudy. They'd be hiding down below with the door shut tight while Michael and I worked like mad, tied to safety lines so as not to get swept overboard. One of us would wear out our arm on the bilge pump while the other manned the wheel, and sometimes one or the other of us had to climb in the rigging or go up the mast, and wasn't that just the most fun?

There were times my heart near gave out from the fright of it all, when we'd be in that tiny boat at the bottom of a gorge, the waves like cliffs looming over us, and then one would avalanche down on top of us, or almost, but more often than not we'd go sliding up a slope and hang on the crest and go shooting straight down into the next chasm, diving down so steep it seemed we might flip end over end, or strike the bottom so hard the boat would fly all to flinders.

The wind, it'd be shrieking through rigging like a banshee. Water'd be smashing against us, trying to tear us loose and throw us into the seas. By the time it'd all ease off, we'd be dripping icicles off our noses and hair, and near dead.

We'd get maybe a day or two of normal roughness, and then we'd find ourselves in just such another fix and it's a mighty wonder the True D. Light True D. Light didn't give up and call it quits and fall apart underneath us. But she held together, and so did we somehow. didn't give up and call it quits and fall apart underneath us. But she held together, and so did we somehow.

It's a plain miracle, is all I can say, that we were all still alive to look out and spot land off in the far distance on the thirty-sixth day of our voyage.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Our Last Night on the True D. Light True D. Light As Whittle wanted no truck with customs people or any other brand of officials, he decided we ought to avoid the New York harbor and pick a section of sh.o.r.eline where we weren't likely to get noticed.

So we hung well off the coast till after sundown. Then Michael steered us into a place he said was Gravesend Bay. We went in behind a jut of land for shelter from the wind and rough seas. There, a couple of hundred yards from the mouth of Coney Island Creek, Whittle had us reef the sails and drop anchor.

Safely moored on the quiet waters, we went below and ate our last meal aboard the True D. Light. True D. Light. I didn't have much stomach for food. On the one hand, I was mighty glad to be shut of the ocean at last. It had done its most to kill us, but we'd gotten across alive. On the other hand, though, Whittle'd had uses for us when we were on the high seas. Now, he didn't need a crew or cook or captive. He didn't need us at all. That dampened my appet.i.te considerable. I didn't have much stomach for food. On the one hand, I was mighty glad to be shut of the ocean at last. It had done its most to kill us, but we'd gotten across alive. On the other hand, though, Whittle'd had uses for us when we were on the high seas. Now, he didn't need a crew or cook or captive. He didn't need us at all. That dampened my appet.i.te considerable.

I could see that Michael and Trudy were worried, too. They fidgeted and picked at their food and didn't say much. n.o.body asked what Whittle aimed to do. None of us had the grit, I reckon. Maybe they were like me, and figured talking about it might only serve to give him ideas. Maybe if we just let it lie, he'd forget it was about time to kill us all.

When Whittle finished eating, he patted his lips with a napkin and sighed. He wore a flimsy silk nosepatch that I reckoned had left a good pair of Trudy's bloomers with a hole in them. It kind of drooped in the middle and clung to his tiny nubs at both sides, but puffed out like a sail when he sighed.

"Taken all around, me hearties," he said, "it's been a marvelous voyage. You were fine shipmates and companions. I daresay I'll be quite sorry to take my leave of you. However, all good things must come to an end."

Trudy, she turned a shade of gray and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Whittle gave her a cheery smile. "You've nothing to fear, Trudy. Am I so ungrateful as to harm you now that we've reached safe harbor? I may indeed have some mischievous ways about me, but I am not a heartless fiend. I count you as my friend. I count you all all as my friends," he added, nodding and smiling at Michael and me. "We've sailed the vast reaches of the sea together-we band of brothers. And sister," he added, tipping Trudy a wink. "We honored few." as my friends," he added, nodding and smiling at Michael and me. "We've sailed the vast reaches of the sea together-we band of brothers. And sister," he added, tipping Trudy a wink. "We honored few."

He went on spouting such rubbish for a spell. He laid it on thick as mola.s.ses about how highly he thought of us and how grateful he was and how we were his comrades and mates and chums and how he wouldn't even think think about hurting us in any way. Well, he jabbered on about it till I lost any doubt but what he aimed to kill us all. about hurting us in any way. Well, he jabbered on about it till I lost any doubt but what he aimed to kill us all.

Finally, he yawned and said, "I'm all done in. I suggest we retire for the night. We'll rise early, for I'm quite keen to be on my way. Just before dawn would seem the best time to set out, I should think. I'll take the skiff ash.o.r.e, and you three may carry on as you fancy. Make for the city or the warm Carib or Timbuktu, it's all the same to me."

Trudy was set to clean the supper dishes, but Whittle told her there was no need. Then he led her off.

Michael watched her go. From the look on his face, he figured he was never going to see her again. Not alive, anyhow.

As soon as Whittle shut the door, I said, "We've got to save her. There's no time to lose."

In a snap, his face changed. He wiped off his sorrow and hopelessness, and came up looking all superior and scornful. "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"If we don't stop him, he'll butcher her. You know it as well as I do."

"He'll do no such thing."

I was plain astonished. Shouldn't have been, though. I'd seen enough of Michael to know he had no spine when it came to dealing with Whittle. "We can't sit here and allow her to be killed!"

"Don't raise your voice to me, boy."

"Do you wish wish him to murder Trudy? You saw how he carved up poor Patrick Doolan." him to murder Trudy? You saw how he carved up poor Patrick Doolan."

His face went a bit slack at the reminder of that.

"I saw the work he did on a London wh.o.r.e. Why, he just carved her up something awful. He even saw the work he did on a London wh.o.r.e. Why, he just carved her up something awful. He even ate ate parts of her. I heard him do it. He'll do the same to Trudy if we don't stop him." parts of her. I heard him do it. He'll do the same to Trudy if we don't stop him."

"Nonsense," he muttered.

But I could see he believed me.

"Trudy will be perfectly fine," he said, "so long as we do nothing to rock the boat."

"We might have a go at burning it," I said. "If we set a fire..."

"Are you mad?"

"I've given it quite a bit of thought." I told him. It was the truth. Thirty-six days on the Atlantic had given me plenty of time to hatch schemes, for I'd known it would come down to this if we lived through the voyage. "Once we get the fire going, we'll cry out an alarm. Whittle, he'll come leaping out through the door all in a heat to save himself. He won't care a bit about killing Trudy. One of us will be waiting topside to bring Trudy up through the hatch."

"The skiff's on top of the hatch," Michael pointed out. He sounded tired and annoyed.

"Why, don't you think I know that? We move it clear before we light the fire."

"Whittle would hear the commotion."

"We'd need to be quite stealthy about it."

"The hatch may be locked from below."

"Trudy can handle that."

"Suppose she can't? Just suppose we're unable to open the hatch, and she's trapped by the fire. And where is Whittle through all this? If he gets past the fire, he'll come topside and then we'll be in a fix."

I had already considered that. "We block the companionway door. He might not be able to break through it at all before the fire gets him. And if he does, it should still delay him and give the three of us time to escape in the skiff."

It was quite a bully scheme, actually. I'm sure Huck Finn would've been proud of me. And Tom wasn't here to ruin it with fancy tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Neither of them were here, except in my head. My only audience was Michael.

While I explained how we'd keep Whittle below with the fire and make our getaway, he simply scowled and shook his head.

"It's too risky," he finally said.

"It's time for risks," I told him. "Unless you're eager to have Trudy cut into pieces, we'd better have at it."

He only just sat there and kept on shaking his head.

"Do you you have a plan?" I blurted out. have a plan?" I blurted out.

"The only sensible thing is to leave Whittle be. He promised he wouldn't harm Trudy. In the morning, he'll row ash.o.r.e and that will be the end of it."

"It's certain to be the end of Trudy long before that."

"We've no choice but to trust Whittle and hope for the best."

"I'll do it myself, then."

With that, I hurried on over to the stove and grabbed some matches. Michael went after me into the saloon. There, I s.n.a.t.c.hed a book down from the cabinet. It was an Emerson. I'd never had much use for him, anyhow. I tore out pages by the handful, crumpled them and piled them up on the floor between the berths. While I worked at that, Michael pranced around me, fuming and railing at me in a hushed voice so Whittle wouldn't hear. He said, "Stop this nonsense," and, "Don't you dare," and, "You'll be the death of us all," and such. But I went on with what had to be done. I was yanking a cover off one of the bunks when he jumped me from behind.

He hooked an arm across my throat and commenced to choke me. I went wild, thrashing and kicking. I tried to tear his arm clear so I could breathe, but that was no use. I went at him with my elbows, punching them backward. Got in a few good licks. He never let up, though. He kept on squeezing till I thought my eyes might pop out. I saw some dandy fireworks. They went off with crashes like cannons, which weren't cannons at all but my heart thundering.

Well, I allowed I'd had it. Seemed mighty peculiar that I'd gone and gotten myself killed by Michael instead of by Whittle, and all I'd hoped to do was save the hide of his wife.

All of a sudden, I wasn't aboard the True D. Light True D. Light any more. I was standing in an East End alley with my back to a wall, looking at the fellow I'd stabbed. He was sitting in a puddle, hunched over. He said, "You gone and killed me is what you done." any more. I was standing in an East End alley with my back to a wall, looking at the fellow I'd stabbed. He was sitting in a puddle, hunched over. He said, "You gone and killed me is what you done."

I felt mighty sorry for him and wished I hadn't done it.

Then I was on my back, Michael crouched over me and pulling off my belt. All I could do was fight to suck in air. He propped me up and crossed my hands in front and wrapped the belt around me. He cinched it in tight and buckled it. Then he hoisted me onto the bunk.

I lay there, glad to be alive and figuring him for the biggest fool that ever drew a breath.

He should've helped me, not throttled me.

Well, he put what was left of Emerson back into the cabinet. Then he picked up all the paper b.a.l.l.s and took them topside, where I guess he pitched them overboard. He didn't want any evidence left around to upset Whittle, I reckon.

When he came back, he bent over me and made sure I hadn't slipped my arms out of the belt. "Now you lie still," he said. "If you give me any more trouble, I'll pound you silly."

He got under his own covers. But he left the gaslamps burning so he could keep an eye on me.

No sounds came from the other side of the door. If Whittle'd already killed Trudy, he'd been quiet about it and done it so quick she never got a chance to let out a yelp.

Maybe he'd told the truth, though, and aimed to row away in the morning and leave us alive.

But I knew the stripe of Whittle.

Trudy was either dead by now, or soon would be.

By and by, I figured it was too late for doing her any good. Or any harm, either. I felt awful about that.

Trudy'd been bossy and annoying, and hadn't lent a hand the time I had my chance to strangle Whittle. She'd never acted friendly toward me at all unless you count the time she helped me onto the skiff after she'd knocked me overboard. Even still, I never hated her. I only felt sorry for her, mostly, and blamed myself near as much as Whittle for her miseries. I'd saved her from hanging and from drowning, and I might've saved her from Whittle's knife tonight if Michael hadn't stopped me.

Resting there on the bed I still wanted to have a go at saving her. But I didn't see how I could manage it, not with Michael set to get in my way. Besides, I figured Whittle'd already had plenty of time to cut her up.

I decided I might as well write her off and do what I could to save myself.

It didn't take much work to squeeze my arms out from under the belt. Michael had his head turned toward me. What with the dim light and shadows, I couldn't see whether his eyes were open or shut. He didn't move or raise a fuss, though, so I figured he must've fallen asleep.

After I'd pulled my arms free, I sat up and slipped the belt around to get at its buckle. I unfastened that, then put the belt where it belonged so I wouldn't lose my trousers.

Then I swung my feet down and took off my shoes. My notion, you see, was simply to dive overboard and swim for land. Would've been too dicey, trying for the skiff. But I'd take the life-ring along with me. And my shoes. I was busy tying their laces together so I could hang them around my neck. That's when a key rattled in the door lock.