Peter and the Sword of Mercy (28 page)

“Cap’n,” said Smee.

“What is it?”

The two stood on the foredeck of the
Jolly Roger,
watching—along with every other pirate on the ship—as the steamship, ablaze with lights, churned toward them, looking taller and more massive every second.

“Well,” said Smee, “I was just thinking that the ship…that is, it’s…it’s …”

“It’s
what,
Smee?”

“It’s big, Cap’n. It’s quite big.”

Hook had been thinking the same thing. He had never seen a ship quite so large as the one bearing down on him, nor one that moved so fast. The smudge of smoke had turned into a towering, billowing plume.

“I was wondering,” said Smee, “if perhaps we should plunder a different ship. One that’s not so…big.”

Hook turned around and saw that his men were listening with great interest, awaiting his response to Smee’s suggestion. In his heart, he wanted to agree with Smee. If he could have thought of a good piratical reason for not attacking the steamship, he would have done so. But to simply
quit
—to turn tail and run like a scared dog—Hook could not bring himself to do that. He was
Captain Hook.
Captain Hook did not run.

“Smee,” he said, speaking loudly so all the crew could hear.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“What are we?”

“Nervous, Cap’n?”

“WE ARE NOT NERVOUS,” bellowed Hook, nearly bowling Smee over. “WE ARE PIRATES!”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“AND WE ARE GOING TO PLUNDER THAT SHIP!”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Hook turned to face the crew. “Any man who feels otherwise,” he said, “is welcome to jump overboard now.”

He glared at them. Nobody moved.

“Good,” said Hook. “Prepare to board.”

He turned to face the oncoming
Lucy,
which looked like a mountain moving through the sea.

“Do you hear that?” said Cheeky O’Neal.

“Hear what?” said Rufus Kelly.

The two were sitting slumped against the walls of their cramped and stinky cell. Frederick DeWulf and Angus McPherson were sprawled on the filthy floor, snoring.

“Ship’s engine,” said O’Neal. “Close by.”

Kelly listened. “I hear it,” he said, after a moment. “Sounds like a big ’un.”

O’Neal rose and went to the cell door. He grabbed it with his massive hands and shook it. It didn’t give; it never did. He cursed, then turned and kicked at the two sleeping men. They woke up, grumbling.

“What is it?” said DeWulf.

“Ship,” said O’Neal. “Nearby.”

“What good does that do us, locked in here?” said DeWulf.

“I don’t know,” said O’Neal. “Maybe they’ll board us. Maybe the fool Hook will try to board them. Maybe nothing. But I want us to be ready. If we get out of here, we make for the lifeboat, starboard side. Don’t waste a second. Kill any man tries to stop you.”

The men nodded. Now they could all clearly hear the
thrum
of the other ship’s engine.

“Very close,” said O’Neal.

On the deck of the
Lucy,
Samuel Deasy watched with increasing fascination as the liner bore down on the sailing ship. Neither ship had altered course. They were now close enough to each other that in bright moonlight Deasy could clearly see men standing on the deck of the sailing ship. He could also see that the ship’s sails were an odd color—pink, it looked like.

It was evident now that the ships were going to collide. Deasy wondered if he should shout a warning. But to whom? He looked around: There was no one else on deck. There was nothing he could do.

Deasy turned back to the rail, unable to look away from the disaster about to take place below.

Peter and Tink dropped to the deck at the stern of the
Jolly Roger,
unseen by Hook and the crew, all of whom were staring with various degrees of fear at the monstrous looming steamship hull.

“Where is she?” Peter whispered.

This way.

Tink, a streak of light, shot down a ladderway. Peter was right behind. Tink zoomed along a passageway and stopped in front of a door. Peter yanked it open. Inside it was dark. Somehow, Wendy had slept through the excitement.

“Wendy, wake up!” Peter said.

“Peter?” she said, her voice sleepy. “What is it?”

“We’ve got to get out now!” said Peter, tugging at her arm.

“Get out?” she said. “Why?”

Fine,
chimed Tink.
Let’s leave her here.

“We’re about to be hit by a ship!” said Peter. “A very large ship.”

“WHAT?” said Wendy.

Not
very bright, is she?
observed Tink.

“A ship!” said Peter, dragging Wendy into the passage-way. “Hurry! We have to get on deck before—”

But it was too late.

What saved the
Jolly Roger
from being instantly crushed by the massive hull of the
Lucy
was that at the last possible instant, Hook lost his nerve. With the steamship’s sharp prow only yards away, he suddenly turned and—in a surprisingly high, almost girlish, voice—screamed at the helmsman, “HARD TO STARBOARD! HARD TO STARBOARD!”

With all his strength, the helmsman spun the wheel right. It was not nearly enough movement to get the
Jolly Roger
out of the steamship’s path, but it was just enough to turn the smaller ship so that the larger one, instead of hitting head-on, scraped it at an angle.

But it was a tremendous collision for those aboard the
Jolly Roger
—a thundering crash, then a horrendous grinding sound, as the
Lucy,
herself barely affected, pushed the smaller ship violently sideways as if she were a scrap of driftwood, hurling Hook and his men to the deck. The
Lucy
surged past, raking the length of the
Jolly
Roger’s port side, ripping away pieces of her deck and hull. The pirates hung on to whatever they could grab to keep from sliding overboard as the
Jolly Roger
leaned sideways at a sickening angle.

Belowdecks, Peter and Wendy were hurled sideways, slamming into the passageway wall. Peter’s head hit something, and he fell to the floor, dazed.

Tink was at his ear instantly.

Up! Up!
she chimed.
Out! Out!

Peter groaned, his head throbbing. He felt blood trickling down his face. He struggled to get to his feet. It was difficult because he felt woozy, and something seemed to be wrong with the floor. He felt Wendy pulling him up.

“Peter,” she said, “are you all right?”

“I think so,” he said, staggering sideways. “The floor …”

“The ship is listing,” said Wendy. “We have to get out of here.”

As I
already told you,
noted Tink.

Holding on to each other, with Tink lighting their way, a wounded Peter and a determined Wendy headed toward the aft ladderway.

“What’s happened?” said McPherson, struggling to his feet, his voice on the edge of panic.

“We collided,” said DeWulf. “And we’re taking on water. Hear it?”

From somewhere near their cell came the sound of rushing water.

“We’ll drown!” shouted McPherson.

“Be quiet!” snapped O’Neal. He grabbed the door and shook it, but it still held firm. His eyes scanned the cell, stopping at a corner to his right. Where the walls had once met flush, there was now a gap of about an inch.