Humphrey Bold: A Story of the Times of BenbowStrang, Herbert
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Humphrey Bold: A Story of the Times of Benbow
Strang, Herbert
Benbow, John, 1653?-1702 -- Fiction
This set me thinking. If the rope snapped when it was taut, those
on board would feel the spring of it, and I should be without doubt
discovered before I could sever the other: whereas, if the
severance was made when the rope was slack, there would be no
shock, and the men would be aware of nothing until the vessel swung
round on the tide. I so timed my knife work, therefore, that the
last strand was cut through when the bow was dipping. The moment it
was done I sank down to the water level, and after waiting a moment
to see in what direction the vessel would swing, I went wholly
under, and swam along in the opposite direction towards the stern,
keeping as close to the hull as was safe.
When I came up for breath, I heard a great uproar on board. The
crew were flocking to the bows to see what had happened to the
anchor. Meanwhile with a few more strokes I reached the other rope,
and was hacking away at it steadily when I heard one cry out that
the cable was cut, and immediately afterwards the voice of Vetch as
he rushed out of the roundhouse. I felt pretty secure in the
darkness under the stern sheets, but the strain upon the cable here
was much greater now that the other was gone, and when I cut it
through the vessel gave a jump, I heard oaths and a great scurry of
feet on deck and some one let down a flare to discover the
perpetrator of the mischief.
You may be sure I dived under water as quickly as might be, but not
before I was descried, and my head had barely disappeared when a
heavy object fell with a great splash within a few inches of it. I
swam along like a fish beneath the surface, making towards the
shore; but when for the sake of my lungs I had perforce to come up,
a perfect fusillade spattered all around me, and it seemed a
miracle I was not hit. I swam on; the tide was bearing the vessel
away from me; the flare lit but a narrow space of water, and I
doubt whether my head could now be seen and made a target. Though I
heard the muskets roaring and slugs plopping into the water, not
one of them touched me, and in a minute or two I gained the beach,
pretty breathless, but marvelously content.
As I shook the water from me I heard lusty swearing from the deck
of the drifting vessel, and from the tone of some of the voices
guessed that the lookout was in very hot water. And amid the deeper
voices of the buccaneers Vetch's shriller tone was quite audible to
me, as he shouted for someone to drop a kedge anchor over the side
and stop the cursed drifting. This was done, but I was in no fears
for the result, for under the force of wind and tide combined there
was a considerable way on the brig, which no light anchor would
avail to check. And in a few minutes I knew for certain that I was
right.
There came a great shout: "She's aground!" and the dark shape,
which I could now barely distinguish from where I stood, ceased to
move.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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