Prisoners of Chance

I acknowledge it was several minutes before I mustered sufficient courage to slip down into that intense blackness. It was not so much fear of men which deterred me, but the oppressive silence, the mystery of what awaited me below, rested heavily upon the nerves, binding me to the spar, intently gazing and listening for either sight or sound. It was recollection of that last, trustful look within the dark eyes of Eloise which finally aroused me to action. Muttering an imprecation upon my faint-heartedness, I instantly swung off on to the dangling rope, slipping silently downward through the shadows to meet whatsoever fate might lurk below.

It was a confused tangle of ropes I was compelled to traverse, yet none greatly interfered with my progress, except to render it slower, and the consequent strain harder upon the arms. The huge foremast, close against which I swung, grew bulkier as I descended. Suddenly my feet touched the solid deck. I discovered myself between the foremast and the rail, so dropping upon hands and knees I crept silently around, hoping thus to gain clearer view forward. As I circled the vast butt of the mast I came suddenly face to face with the friar, sitting upon the deck and blinking at me with drunken gravity.