Jack Harvey's Adventures Part 17

They looked at each other in astonishment, for one moment. Then Harvey rea.s.sured his friend.

"It's all right," he said. "We can't be going out. Haley wants a snugger berth. We're getting too much of the sweep here."

Harvey's conjecture proved correct. They were lying at a bad anchorage for a south-easter, and Haley, to his chagrin, had observed the signs of wind and sky and knew the weather was growing heavier instead of clearing.

The anchor was hove short and brought up to the bow, while a jib and the main-sail, both reefed, were set. The Brandt, with Haley at the wheel, stood in nearer to the southern sh.o.r.e of the river, within a quarter of a mile of the bank. The anchor went down again, and sails were once more made snug.

They lay more comfortably here, in the bight of the southern river bank.

But it was a tantalizing sight to the prisoners on the Brandt-the near and friendly looking sh.o.r.e, with an occasional house in the distance, the smoke of hearths blown from the chimney tops, and now and then a traveller going on up a country road.

And to what mad act Jack Harvey might have been wrought, could he have seen, in his mind's eye, the interior of one of these same houses, and a certain one of these hearths, encircled by a certain group of boys, is beyond all conjecture. But he only gazed longingly in ash.o.r.e, and wished he were there.

There was more definiteness to his thoughts when, an hour or two later, following the wretched breakfast served-all the meaner and more wretched because there was no work to be gotten out of the crew for the day-he saw Haley and the mate launch the small skiff, bring it alongside and get in and row away.

Not that there was any immediate purpose of escape in his mind. For, just before his departure, Haley had designated where he was going-a small shed just back from sh.o.r.e was his object, where a man kept some trifling supplies that he wanted.

"And I'll be in sight of this vessel from start to finish," Haley had added, and winked significantly at Jim Adams.

But the small boat and its possibilities was imprinted on Harvey's brain as he watched it toss flimsily about, while the captain and mate sculled ash.o.r.e. He had thought of it before, but no good opportunity had offered.

There had been chances, to be sure, down along the marshy intricacies of the eastern sh.o.r.e. Once, when they had lain in Honga river over night, inside Middle Hooper island, he had thought strongly of rousing Tom Edwards and attempting flight to sh.o.r.e. But the country around had been too forbidding. Wild salt marshes bordered the eastern coast of Hooper's, and across on the land to the east it was so shelterless, with salt marshes on sh.o.r.e and a great fresh water marsh inland, that he had given over the project for the time.

Occasionally, on a Sat.u.r.day night, when the bug-eye lay in the Patuxent, it was the habit of Haley and Jim Adams to take the skiff and go ash.o.r.e.

Sometimes they spent the night, and were back again Sunday morning.

Sometimes they pa.s.sed the greater part of Sunday back inland. There lay Harvey's hope. Yet he hardly knew how to work out a plan of escape. To attempt to make sail on the bug-eye and run her either to sh.o.r.e or up the bay, would, he discovered, be useless. It would involve making a prisoner of the cook and the man, Jeff, and, possibly, Sam Black, also; though Harvey looked for no great interference from him.

The cook and the sailor, Jeff, he found, had a certain dogged loyalty to Haley. The former surely would stand by the vessel under all circ.u.mstances; the latter, it was certain, would not compromise himself with the authorities of the state by any attempt to take possession of the craft in Haley's absence.

But, with the mate and Haley away, there must be some means, surely, of gaining one of the sh.o.r.es of the river. In milder weather, Harvey would have thought nothing of swimming the distance, even of a mile, from the middle of the wide part of the river; but the weather and the icy cold water precluded that way of flight now. At least, Harvey did not care to venture it, especially as, once on land, he would know not where to seek shelter; for he knew that, bound by many mutual ties of interest, the dredgers and the settlers along sh.o.r.e-unless the latter had oyster beds to be robbed-worked for each other's interests.

"Tom," said Harvey, quietly, indicating the skiff with a glance, "that's the way you and I are going ash.o.r.e one of these nights, and take our chances when we get there. And," he added, eagerly, "isn't it lucky you warned me to hide that money? That will help us out, when we do escape."

Tom Edwards glanced at the bobbing skiff, that looked to his eyes about as substantial as a child's toy boat, and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll try it, if we get the chance," he said, somewhat dubiously; "but I don't like the looks of it."

Harvey laughed. "You're a landsmen, sure enough," he said. "Why, that's an able little boat as a man might want, in a river like this. Look how nicely it rides the waves."

"Oh, I'd go on a bunch of s.h.i.+ngles, if it would only take me out of this," exclaimed Tom Edwards-"that is, I think I would now. But you'll have to run the thing. I'll confess, I don't know one end of a boat from another, except what that brute, Jim Adams, has ground into me."

Harvey's hopes, which had been raised by the s.h.i.+fting of the anchorage of the vessel nearer land, were dashed late that afternoon, with the return of Haley and the mate. Rain mixed with sleet poured down in torrents, and drove laterally across the vessel. It was as much as one could do to keep his footing on the slippery deck, even with one hand clutching a rope.

The sleet stung as it struck Harvey's face, and made it smart as though from a volley of small pebbles. He was only glad to seek shelter below, even in the dreary forecastle. He learned, that night, how all circ.u.mstances are relatively good or harsh. From the boisterous night outside, the forecastle of the Brandt was a refuge that seemed almost cheery.

The next morning, it was apparent that the strength of the storm was wearing away. Moreover, there was a sudden peculiar change in the weather. The wind had swung around more to the southward; and, with that, there had come a decided moderation of the temperature. But the change was of no immediate advantage to Haley, for there rolled in a heavy fog, and a dense mist also rose up from the surface of the river.

Again Haley gave the order to make sail and raise the anchor. Once more the bug-eye got under weigh, stood out toward the middle of the river and cast anchor again, just beyond the path of any pa.s.sing steamer. Captain Haley, ever watchful, ever suspicious, was taking no chances. His rule was invariable, in any kind of smooth water-to lie for the night beyond swimming distance from sh.o.r.e. At least, to offer little chance for that.

He had known desperate, venturesome men to attempt it, even then.

He was in a bad humour, was Haley, that day. There was nothing to eat, for the crew, but the bread, or dough, fried, and a few sc.r.a.ps of pork mixed with it. It was Sat.u.r.day, and, about the middle of the afternoon, he and Jim Adams took the skiff again and went ash.o.r.e. They were out of sight in the fog before they had gone two rods, but the wind sufficed to give them their direction for the distance they had to go.

"Tom," said Jack Harvey that night, as they turned in, "keep your shoes on, and don't go to sleep."

Tom Edwards looked at his young companion, in surprise.

"We've got a chance," explained Harvey, "as good as we'll ever get, perhaps. We've got to break away from here some time. The sooner the better."

"In this beastly fog?" interrupted Tom Edwards.

"Of course," replied Harvey. "It's just what we want. The wind's southerly and will take us across to the Drum Point sh.o.r.e. We can't help hitting that, or Solomon's Island. We'll have the chance, too. I heard Jim Adams say we'd put out of here early to-morrow morning, if the fog lifts. Haley's lost so much time, he won't stay ash.o.r.e Sunday. They'll be back with the skiff late to-night, or toward morning. We'll give them just time to go off to sleep and then make a try for it."

The crisis thus suddenly facing Tom Edwards, he pulled himself together.

"Good for you!" he said. "I'll go, if we have to row across the Chesapeake. Anybody with us?"

"Not a soul," said Harvey. "The skiff will hold only us two. And we can do it better alone. Now you sit up first, will you, and let me get two hours sleep, and then you wake me and I'll keep watch, because-because-"

Tom Edwards laughed good-naturedly.

"I know," he said. "You're afraid that I'd fall asleep later on, and we'd miss the chance."

"Well,-well," stammered Harvey, "you are an awful sound sleeper when you get a-going, you know. I didn't mean anything-"

"You're all right," exclaimed Tom Edwards, softly, but with heartiness.

"You turn in. Let me have your watch. I'll wake you, say, at eleven."

Jack Harvey's nerves were good, and he was not one to worry over coming events. He turned in, and, in ten minutes, was sound asleep. Tom Edwards, sitting uncomfortably in his bunk, counted the minutes as they dragged away, drearily. It was a lonesome vigil, with only the sleeping crew for company. He started up now and again, as some sound in the night outside seemed to his active fancy a warning of the returning skiff.

Ten o'clock came, and then eleven; he arose and awakened Harvey.

"Too bad, old chap," he said, "but it's your turn."

Harvey roused and turned out, sleepily.

"Tom," he said, "I had the queerest dream. I dreamed we were chasing that fellow, Jenkins, through miles of swamps, and every time we'd get near him, he'd turn into Henry Burns and laugh at us. Then we'd see him again a little way ahead."

"You're thinking of that chap you thought you saw through the telescope, eh," suggested Tom Edwards.

"He's on my mind sure enough," replied Harvey. "I can't quite make it out, though, whether I saw him or not."

Tom Edwards rolled into his bunk, and Harvey, stretching and yawning, began his watch. He didn't dare tell Tom Edwards till long afterward; but he went off soundly to sleep once, some time later, and woke with a fearful start. What if he had been the one, after all, to upset their plans by his carelessness!

He stole cautiously out on deck, and tip-toed aft. He breathed a sigh of relief when there was no sign of the skiff. He hurried back to the forecastle and struck a match, to read the face of his watch. It was half-past twelve o'clock. He dared not trust himself, then, to return to his bunk, but crouched down at the foot of the companion ladder, with the sting of the night air in his face.

Suddenly a steady, creaking sound came to his ears. He started up and crawled to the top of the ladder. It was the sound of an oar. Then his heart gave a bound, as he heard voices through the fog.

"There she lies," came the words in the voice of the mate. "I tells you, Mister Haley, I's pretty extra good on findin' my way 'bout this river.

We're goin' to get a good day, all right, too. This wind be s.h.i.+ftin'

right; swingin' round with the sun to the west by mornin', sure's you born."