It was dark and quiet when Leah awoke. Her stomach hurt less, and the dizziness had subsided somewhat. She heard voices whispering nearby in the dark. Radbert and another sailor, Wade, were engaged in an animated, albeit hushed, conversation.
“I say tomorrow,” Radbert whispered.
“No, that’s too soon,” Wade responded. “We need to get closer to land. The captain’s the only one who can navigate to Casko,”
“Not so. I can steer these ships by the stars as good as any sea captain,” Radbert asserted.
“No! That’s not what we planned. We got to make sure no one suspects. When the Charity goes down, I don’t want any of the crew rescued. We got to let the ship get too far ahead to save her, except for the shallop and Osmont.” The two went below into the cargo hold and Leah couldn’t hear any more.
A plan to sink her father’s ship! Leah’s heart pounded. What was she going to do? A mutiny was being planned. She lay awake hearing their hateful words over and over. My father wouldn’t have come back, just as I feared, she thought as tears streamed down her face in the darkness. Irwyn was right—the water funnel was a bad omen.
Leah wondered who else might be part of the conspiracy. The next morning she was up before sunrise, forgetting all about her seasickness. She viewed each sailor suspiciously. Gervase had been kind to her, and she sensed he was a good, loyal mate, but she didn’t dare tell him what she had overheard. If he was part of the conspiracy, then he would most likely kill her, too. If she did nothing, her father would die. The other two ships were too far away for her to call to them. And the shallop was too large for her to handle by herself, especially in the open ocean.
There was one possibility. Leah thought that a red flag meant help was needed. Her plan was to add the piece of red fabric she'd torn from one of her shirts to the flag on the Unity without anyone noticing, hoping that perhaps her father would see it. If the two ships were close enough she would somehow warn him. That part of the plan wasn’t clear yet, but she was determined to find a way.
Leah crept up onto the deck in the predawn darkness. Silently she made her way to the mast where the flag was secured. It squeaked loudly when drawn, so she couldn’t bring the flag down. She decided to climb to the top of the mast and cut the top loop of the flag so it would hang down. She’d seen the sailors climb the masts many times and they made it look easy. With the knife Peter had given her in her pocket, she grabbed the mast and began to climb, glancing around to see if anyone was aware of her. The night watchman was resting in the bow as the gentle breezes filled the sails. No one else was looking up.
When the sun came up it would be too late. It was now or never, so she took a deep breath, steadied herself and began to climb. There were small rungs attached to the wooden mast that provided traction.
As quickly as possible, Leah climbed, secure until she neared the top. The higher she climbed, the more magnified the motion of the ocean below. By the time she neared the top, she was swaying back and forth so hard that she could barely hang on. The rungs ended at the top of the wooden mast. The remainder of her climb would be up a thin iron rod that held the flag, and her feet slipped as she clung to the rod trying to shimmy to where she could reach the flag. The last five feet she had to let go of the lines and continue to the top. Her heart pounded and her palms were moist from fear. She exerted all her strength and made it halfway but then lost her grip and slipped back, barely managing to grab the sail line. For a moment she hung out over the ocean, swaying back and forth from the swells. It was all she could do to hang on. It looked like the deck was so far below. Forcing herself to the right, she grabbed the mast again and hung on. She wiped one hand at a time on her clothing to dry them for a better grip and tried shimmying the pole again, the knife still in her pocket. This time she reached the top and clung for a moment to get oriented to the swaying. She glanced down and saw only shadows in the dark outline of the ship against the silvery moonlit waves so far below.
Leah held on with her left hand, her legs wrapped tightly around the pole, and took the knife out of her pocket. She reached for the top of the flag and worked to cut it so that she could attach the red cloth. At last it was severed, and she reached up, her heart racing, and tied one end to her cloth, and then after holding on to steady her nerves for a moment, she reached up again and tied the other end. Now the red cloth was visible should anyone look at it. She slid back down to the ratlines, climbed using the rungs back down to the deck, and quietly returned below to her hammock, hoping no one noticed. She did not sleep. Her heart was still racing as she kept replaying in her mind the danger of her climb, and the potential danger for her father. At first light she hurried topside.
The Charity was a good distance away, and Leah feared her plan would be ineffective. She glanced up at the flag to see her work, pleased that it hadn’t been noticed yet by any of the crew on board. She hurried below.
“Feeling better, I see,” Gervase quipped.
Leah nodded, looking away.
“Good. Nothing like getting busy to forget your seasickness. We need to oil the wood today. Keep the worms away.”
“Worms?” Leah looked surprised.
“Aye, boy. Worst enemy of a ship. I’ve seen a good many go down on a count of ’em. But not this one. We oils her at least once a month. Peter didn’t tell you, huh? Well, get your chores done and I’ll show you what to do.”