Chapter 6 - Page 2

I
immediately tore the cloth off my head and gazed about me.

I am on board a schooner which is ripping through the water at a great
rate and leaving a long white trail behind her.

I had to clutch at one of the stays for support, dazzled as I was
by the light after my forty-eight hours' imprisonment in complete
obscurity.

On the deck a dozen men with rough, weather-beaten faces come and
go--very dissimilar types of men, to whom it would be impossible to
attribute any particular nationality. They scarcely take any notice of
me.

As to the schooner, I estimate that she registers from two hundred and
fifty to three hundred tons. She has a fairly wide beam, her masts are
strong and lofty, and her large spread of canvas must carry her along
at a spanking rate in a good breeze.

Aft, a grizzly-faced man is at the wheel, and he is keeping her head
to the sea that is running pretty high.

I try to find out the name of the vessel, but it is not to be seen
anywhere, even on the life-buoys.

I walk up to one of the sailors and inquire:

"What is the name of this ship?"

No answer, and I fancy the man does not understand me.

"Where is the captain?" I continue.

But the sailor pays no more heed to this than he did to the previous
question.

I turn on my heel and go forward.

Above the forward hatchway a bell is suspended. Maybe the name of the
schooner is engraved upon it. I examine it, but can find no name upon
it.

I then return to the stern and address the man at the wheel. He gazes
at me sourly, shrugs his shoulders, and bending, grasps the spokes of
the wheel solidly, and brings the schooner, which had been headed off
by a large wave from port, stem on to sea again.

Seeing that nothing is to be got from that quarter, I turn away and
look about to see if I can find Thomas Roch, but I do not perceive
him anywhere. Is he not on board? He must be. They could have had no
reason for carrying me off alone. No one could have had any idea
that I was Simon Hart, the engineer, and even had they known it what
interest could they have had in me, and what could they expect of me?

Therefore, as Roch is not on deck, I conclude that he is locked in one
of the cabins, and trust he has met with better treatment than his
ex-guardian.

But what is this--and how on earth could I have failed to notice it
before? How is this schooner moving? Her sails are furled--there is
not an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs that
occasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the fact
that we are going in that very direction. And yet the schooner speeds
through the sea, her bows down,