Ledyard did so, plainly with great effort--changed; certainly without wrath, perhaps even without curiosity. It seemed to Ben that what he must say was only something that Ledyard would surely have been saying to himself, and for a long time. "You will believe it, Matthew Ledyard, so now listen to me. She is not the old bitch. She is the ketch _Artemis_ out of Boston, and the man who's a second father to me, whom you served well for nearly the length of my life--he had a hand in designing her. My brother and I climbed about on her ribs when she was a-building up the Mystic River--you were there. Since those days I have loved her, as Kenny's vessel and mine, sir, _mine_--and you were her carpenter, and Peter Jenks is her captain." Ledyard groaned at the sound of that name and jerked his hand away and pounded it on the rail. Ben reached out quickly and tapped his purple cheek. "Look back at me, I say! Chips--what's the name of this ketch?" "The ketch is the _Artemis_," he said, harshly and choking on it. "Step away from me, Cory, or they'll notice us from the quarterdeck." Ben did so, instinct urging him to wait, to look away, to lounge at the bow in the semblance of idleness till Ledyard's whisper came: "What will you do?" "Who would be with us?" Dubiously the whisper said: "Joey Mills. But he's old and puny." "Are you sure of him?" "Sure enough. We--have spoke of it. But----" "I've seen him wear a pistol sometimes. I suppose he could use it?" Ledyard grunted. "I suppose he might even bear a message from me to Captain Jenks?" "Oh, my God!... You mean it, don't you?" "I will ask you to cease doubting it. Now, how many men would it require, to get _Artemis_ home to Boston?" "God!... Three or four hands could do it somehow." He sounded calmer. Glancing at him again, Ben found his face no less a battlefield, even more perhaps, but it had grown sharp with intelligence. "On such a thing as that, Mr. Cory, you'd be obliged to play it timid, understand me? Reef in at the first hint of dirty weather, if you'll take an old seaman's word for it. Comes fast, do you see? You remember we rode out a bad one off Grenada last year, and it was all hands hop to it, and even then it near-about caught us. Now imagine two or three men trying to get her snug in the time we did it then! Remember you got to keep one at the helm. All the same--all the same, sir, three or four hands could do it. That--is your intention?" "It's my intention to try. What about Dummy?" "Shawn's dog. Jack's another dog, a mad one." "That's mostly show, I think. It makes others let him alone." "Maybe, but don't trust him, Mr. Cory. He's not--with us." "Manuel?" "Can neither fight nor hold his tongue.... If you--if we can take care of Shawn and the others, you would release the Captain?" "Certainly." "Then I ... Mr. Cory, I'll beg you for your word on a--on two things, if I may." "What?"