Jack Harvey's Adventures Part 25

"Why, certainly," said Edward Warren. "She's all ready; nothing to do but get sail on, and go. I keep her moored in the cove, to run over to Drum Point occasionally in, and to Solomon's Island. It's a fine afternoon for a sail, if you get some oil-skins on. They keep the cold wind out."

Edward Warren had made the proposal half in fun; but the opportunity for a sail on a Christmas day such as this was not to be lost by the Warren brothers and Henry Burns, who were, indeed, enthusiastic yachtsmen. The novelty of a sail in winter, too, appealed to them. They lost no time in equipping themselves with oil-skins and heavy jackets, provided by Edward Warren, and soon the entire party was down by the sh.o.r.e.

"She's no fancy yacht," said Edward Warren, pointing to the canoe drawn in to the bank and moored with a line carried up and hitched to a tree, "but she can go some. She's won many a touch-and-go race up and down this river with different fleets of tong-men, if she hasn't got any silver cups to show for it."

The canoe, a craft of about twenty feet in length and narrow, after the type of canoe common to Chesapeake Bay and its rivers, and carrying two leg-o'-mutton sails and a jib, was not exactly a handsome boat, to be sure. It was built of planking and finished up rather roughly, for use in oystering; but it had, for all that, lines that denoted speed, and the boys were eager to be off in it. They scrambled aboard, got up sails on the slender, raking masts, and, with Edward Warren at the tiller, darted across the river.

It was remarkable, in the eyes of the youths accustomed to a type of craft altogether different, how the narrow, crank looking canoe stood up so stiffly, withstood the wind flaws and sailed so well. Some tongmen came down the river presently, and Edward Warren joined their little fleet, stood along with them, and drew ahead of them all. It was evident, as he had said, that he had a fast canoe.

"How would she behave out in the bay?" asked Henry Burns.

"Fine as a s.h.i.+p," answered Edward Warren. "The men around here cross the bay in them in pretty rough weather. We'll go out and take a few seas, and let you see how cleverly she rides."

They headed out toward the mouth of the river, pa.s.sed beyond the lighthouse, into the open waters of the bay. It was not rough, but there was some sea running. The canoe weathered it all surprisingly. They followed up the sh.o.r.e of the bay for a mile or two.

Time pa.s.sed quickly, and it was late in the afternoon when they left the light on their starboard hand in running back again. Edward Warren looked at his crew and laughed.

"You stood it well," he said. "But you're a frozen looking lot, for all that. Winter's a chilly time for yachting, at its best. I tell you what we'll do. Do you see that house up on the hill? My old friend, Will Adams, lives there all alone. He'll be pleased enough to see us. We'll just stand in and land and make him a call, get some coffee and thaw out by his fire before we run home."

He turned the canoe in and ran up to a little landing not far from the Drum Point lighthouse; they disembarked and walked briskly up the hill. A young man of about thirty, standing in the doorway of the big house they were approaching, hailed them as they drew near.

"h.e.l.lo, Ed," he called cheerily, "I saw you out on the river. Got a crew with you, eh? Pretty cold yachting for a raw crew, isn't it? Come in, I'm glad to see you. There's a good fire going. Cousins, you say, and Henry Burns-all from Maine. I'm glad to meet you all. Take off your duds.

You'll stay to supper with me, you know. It's a dull life I lead here, and I'm glad to have company."

There was no doubt of the heartiness and sincerity of his welcome. There was cordiality in his voice, and a genial smile on his face. He was a large, powerfully built man, hearty and free in all his actions and words. The boys threw off their outer garments, and gathered about the open fire in the sitting-room.

Edward Warren was for getting home before dark, but Will Adams wouldn't hear of it. He started the two servants on an early supper, and his guests sat down to table with him, an hour later, enjoying the best that his house afforded.

"I don't have much company, nowadays," he explained, as he sat offering them his hospitality in the cheery dining-room. "I lead rather a lonely life, in fact. About the only strangers that come to my door are a few poor fellows from off the dredgers-got clear by hook or crook, and coming begging, rousing me up at all hours of the night, asking a night's shelter or a dollar to get up the bay with."

Henry Burns listened eagerly.

"Are there many that get away when they're beaten?" he asked.

Will Adams paused a moment, while his face darkened.

"There's some that get away," he answered, "who never come farther ash.o.r.e than just beyond the reach of the tide. Down on that sh.o.r.e yonder there's eight of the poor chaps buried. They were washed ash.o.r.e, and we found them. Some of them had the marks that showed they had been knocked overboard-beaten-abused shamefully. That's the way some of them escape.

"Others do get away, with never a cent in their pockets, half starved and half clad. I help a few of them along.

"Sometimes in the still summer nights, I hear a man crying for mercy out aboard a dredger. I know what's happening to him-tied up to the mast and getting a las.h.i.+ng. Sometimes an entire vessel's crew is beaten up, by the captains and mates of four or five vessels that work together. Hard life?

Well, it's about the hardest I know of.

"You wouldn't think a man would swim ash.o.r.e on a winter night, half a mile or more, in water you could hardly bear your hand in? Well, I've known them to do that. Had one come the other night. He was nearly dead when he got here-say, that was the queerest of all. He brought a note ash.o.r.e, in his cap, and lost the cap down by the sh.o.r.e; and I had to go out with a lantern and find the cap for him, to keep him from going back, half dead as he was. I'm going to give that note to the authorities. I'll show it to you, if you've any curiosity."

Will Adams arose and went to a desk, took therefrom a sheet of paper on which he had pasted three other torn pieces, and handed it to Edward Warren. The latter took it, ran his eye over it hastily, then sat up and read it again slowly.

"Well, that's queer," he exclaimed. "What does that say? 'Send word to Benton,'-Benton! Why, that's where these youngsters come from. What is this-a joke? Look at that, Henry. Come around here, George. It's a joke, or it's the oddest thing that ever happened."

Henry Burns took the sheet and deciphered the message. He held it for a moment, as though he could not believe what he read. Then he handed it to George Warren and said, calmly and deliberately, "It's from Jack Harvey, George. He hasn't gone to Europe. He's out on that man Haley's dredger."

One unacquainted with Henry Burns might have thought, by his voice and his deliberation, that he was strangely unmoved at his astounding discovery. George Warren, who had known him for years, knew by that same unusual deliberation, by the set look of his face, and by his eyes, that something extraordinary had aroused him.

George Warren gave one glance at the paper, and uttered a cry that rang through the rooms:-

"Jack Harvey! Carried off on a dredger, Arthur. What do you think of that? Why, he's our friend, Mr. Adams. He's from Benton, where we live.

We've got to hunt for him? What'll we do?"

"Haley, Haley," repeated Edward Warren, "where have I seen him? Why, of course, that fellow that came for the potatoes. You fellows remember him.

His vessel was off sh.o.r.e. Will, I think we can get that fellow to-night.

What do you say?"

"No, you can't-not to-night," said Henry Burns, in a tone of deep disappointment; "I saw him get under weigh from Solomon's Island just as we came back into the river, not more than two hours ago. He's gone down the bay somewhere. I know the craft. I took notice of it this morning, on account of that trouble at the house the night before, when Joe ran into him."

"George," he added, "don't things happen queer, though? Jack out aboard a dredger-and we close by, all the time he's been off there. And we thought he was in Europe! And to think that he's been trapped by the very man we fell in with-that brute, Haley."

Henry Burns turned to Edward Warren and Will Adams. "What can you do?" he asked. "We've got to get Jack off quick. How are we going to do it?"

"Well, sit down here," answered Will Adams. "We'll talk it over."

CHAPTER XIV HARVEY MEETS WITH A LOSS

Jack Harvey and Tom Edwards had made good their escape-escape from their own friends. Alas, they knew not how near they had been to the end of all their troubles. As it was, now that they were out of sight and sound of the farmhouse, the whole adventure seemed amusing. Harvey leaned against a tree and roared with laughter.

"You're a sight!" he exclaimed to his companion. "I'd like to see you walk into a store now and try to sell a man some goods. Oh, but I'm winded. How we did scoot."

Tom Edwards was, indeed, nearly used up, from the dash across the fields.

His shabby garments were covered with wisps of hay and straw; his very hair was filled with it. His face was stained with the dust of the hay-mow and the exertion of running. Altogether, he looked not unlike some huge fowl, half plucked, with short feathers sticking out here and there. His shoes, much worn and breaking through, were miry with the soil of the corn field. He looked himself over, as Harvey spoke, and a grim smile overspread his face.

"I nearly died under all that hay," he said. "And when that chap came into the mow and walked toward me, I had to hold in with might and main to keep from letting out the biggest yell I ever gave in my life. I expected that pitchfork to go into my leg every minute. If it had, there'd have been one scared farmer in Maryland, I tell you."

Harvey roared again. Then his face grew serious.

"Poor old Tom!" he exclaimed. "You've had the hardest time of it right along. I thought, one time, you wouldn't stand the winter at the dredges.

Well, we're through now, though. Lucky I saved that money. We'll get down to the sh.o.r.e, and find out about the boat. Then, hooray for Baltimore!"

"And after Haley!" added Tom Edwards, emphatically. "I'm going to put him where he belongs."

"And I'm going to put this where it belongs," remarked Harvey, drawing forth a biscuit, from his pocket. "I'm hungry enough to eat some of that hay, back in the barn. Here's a piece of corn bread, too. It's good, if George Haley did cook it. It wasn't meant for the crew, that's why."

Tom Edwards producing other of the food taken from the Brandt, they made a breakfast in the open, without stopping to build a fire; and they quenched their thirst from the water of a little stream that trickled down through the wood.

"This will do well enough for now," said Tom Edwards, as he bolted a piece of biscuit, hungrily; "but just you wait till we get into civilization once more, Jack, old fellow. I'm going to take you to Boston with me, and we'll go to the best hotel there, and I'll order a big sirloin steak as thick as your two hands, and we'll sit and eat till we choke."

"Hooray!" mumbled Harvey, biting into a piece of corn bread; "isn't it good to be free?"