Thus it was that the Romping Betsy drove steadily on her way into the west, either battered by storm, or idly drifting in calm, while life on board became a tiresome routine.  The dullness and ill treatment led to trouble below, to dissatisfaction and angry outbreaks of temper.  The prisoners grew quarrelsome among themselves, and mutinous toward their guards.  I took no part in these affairs, which at one time became serious.  Two men were shot dead, and twice afterwards bodies were carried up the ladder at dawn, and silently consigned to the sea.  No doubt these tales, more or less exaggerated, traveled aft, and reached the eager ears of the passengers.  They began to fear us, and consequently I noticed when on deck the promenade once so popular during the earlier days of the voyage, was almost totally deserted during our hours of recreation.  So, with mutiny forward, and fear aft, the lumbering old brig, full of tragedy and hopeless hearts, ploughed steadily onward toward the sunset.

CHAPTER III

DOROTHY FAIRFAX

We were not far from two hundred miles east of the Capes, or at least so one of the mates told me, gruffly answering a question, and it was already growing twilight, the sun having disappeared a half hour before.  There was but little air stirring, barely enough to keep the sails taut, while the swell of the sea was sufficient to be uncomfortable, making walking on the deck a task.  We were wallowing along amid a waste of waters, the white-crested waves extending in every direction to the far horizons, which were already purpling with the approach of night.  I had been closely confined to my bunk for two days with illness, but now, somewhat stronger, had been ordered on deck by the surgeon.  The last batch of prisoners, after their short hour of recreation, had been returned to the quarters below, but I was permitted to remain alone undisturbed.  I sat there quietly, perched on a coil of rope, with head just high enough to permit an unobstructed view over the side.

The deck aft was almost deserted, the passengers being at supper in the cabin.  I could glimpse them through the unshaded windows, seated about a long table, while occasionally the sound of their voices reached me through the open companion-way.  The mate was alone on the poop, tramping steadily back and forth, his glance wandering from the sea alongside to the flapping canvas above, but remained silent, as the brig was on her course.  Once he clambered down the side ladder, and walked forward, shouting out some order to a group of sailors under the lee of the forecastle.  It was on his return that I ventured to question him, and was gruffly answered.  Something I said however, gave him knowledge that I was a seaman, and he paused a moment more civilly before resuming his watch, even pointing out what resembled the gleam of a distant sail far away on our starboard quarter.  This was such a dim speck against the darkening horizon that I stood up to see better, shadowing my eyes, and forgetful of all else in aroused interest.  Undoubtedly it was a sail, although appearing no larger than a gull’s wing, and my imagination took me in spirit across the leagues of water.  I was still standing there absorbed, unaware even that the mate had departed, when a voice, soft-spoken and feminine, broke the silence.