And with that, leaving them to their own reflections, agape, absolutely dumfounded by his audacity, he made his way up on to the bridge, the skirts of his night-dress fluttering from under the shorter length of his heavy coat.
They fell to whispering among themselves, excited and distrustful. They had only a few loose rounds for their rifles, and Captain Dove alone knew how the ship's magazine might safely be entered. It would undoubtedly have cost some of them their lives to force that secret. No one of them would be willing to sacrifice himself for the common cause, and Captain Dove's unlooked-for concession of their chief need had no doubt mystified them altogether.
Hobson, the second mate, came aft a few minutes later, a beetle-browed, foxy-looking fellow, with a furtive smile of encouragement for his accomplices. At a sign from him they unshipped the hatches. He disappeared into the hold, a bunch of keys dangling from one wrist, and presently shouted up some order, in terms much more polite than he had lately been in the habit of using, to them at least. A chain of living links was promptly formed from the magazine, and packed bandoliers, passed rapidly from hand to hand, soon reached its farther end. The men grinned meaningly at each other as they slung the web belts crosswise over their shoulders. For with these they were still more absolutely masters of the situation.
Reuben Yoxall, back at his dangerous post by the stairway, was watching them no less narrowly than before. It seemed the sheerest madness on Captain Dove's part to have disclosed to their ringleader the secret of the magazine, and no one could tell at what moment they might now assume the offensive. The sun was already dipping behind the sea-rim.
"We've changed our course," Sallie said to him in a puzzled whisper, and he nodded silently. The _Olive Branch_ was heading inshore. The outline of the coast had grown clearer under the last of the evening light. Here and there against its smudgy-brown background showed dark green blots that were mangroves or clumps of palm. A thin, white ribbon of surf was distinctly visible on the distant beach.
Captain Dove was at the starboard extremity of the bridge, his binoculars at his eyes. He laid them down, and pointed out to the third mate, at his elbow, some landmark directly ahead. Then he climbed carefully down to the quarter-deck and began to make his way aft again. Behind him, rifles in hand, came creeping another strong contingent of his strangely numerous crew. Half a dozen of those nearest him had drawn and fixed the long sword-bayonet each wore at his hip.