ay if it's
night or day."

He sat blinking into the darkness and then had an inspiration. So
staunch and well-kept was the brig that the deck seams were tight and no
light filtered through. Joe left his hiding-place and groped along to
where he thought the main hatch ought to be. Gazing upward he saw a
gleam like a silvered line between the coaming and the edge of the
canvas cover which was battened with iron bars. This persuaded him that
the day had not yet faded, and he concluded that he had heard the bell
strike either in the afternoon watch or the second dog watch of early
evening.

This he imparted to Jack, after prodding him awake. They mulled it over
and agreed that Captain Bonnet must have found the _Revenge_ unready to
weigh anchor or he would have engaged the brig ere this. Perhaps there
was not breeze enough for either vessel to move. Another hour of this
stressful tedium and they heard a sound of sharp significance. It was
the lap-lap of water against the vessel's side. No more than the
thickness of the planking was between them and this tinkling sea, and
Joe exclaimed, in an agitated whisper:

"A breeze o' wind! Gentle it draws, but steady, like it comes off the
land at sundown."

"The same as it did when we were blown offshore on the little raft,
after we quitted the _Plymouth Adventure_," replied Jack.

"Blackbeard will take advantage of it to make for the open sea. There be
three things offered us, Master Cockrell, to starve or go mad in this
blighted hold, to sally on deck and beg mercy, which means a short
shift, or to climb out softly in the night and try to swim for it."

"Swim to what, Joe?"

"Swim to the bottom, most likely. But we might fetch one o' them cays or
the coast itself if he steers close in to find smooth water. 'Tis the
worst odds yet but I'd sooner drown than tarry in this vessel. One
miracle was wrought when the cask came driftin' to the beach to save me,
and who knows but the Lord can spare another one for the salvation of us
poor lads that mean to do right and forsake piratin'."

As they expected, there came soon the familiar racket of making sail and
trimming yards and the clank of the capstan pawls. Then the anchor
flukes scraped and banged against the bow timbers. The vessel heeled a
little and the lapping water changed its tune to a swash-swash as the
hull pushed it aside. The brig was alive and in motion.

"She makes no more than two or three knots," observed Joe, af