CHAPTER IX FACES THROUGH THE TELESCOPE
It was after school hours in the little city of Benton, on a day near themiddle of December, and a party of youths, with skates under their arms,were walking toward the bank of Mill stream. A huge fire, of pieces oflogs and brush-wood, blazed cheerily by the shore, and welcomed theirapproach. The frozen surface of the stream, swept clean by high winds ofprevious days, shone like polished ebony, and stretched away to thenorthward for a mile before it became lost to view amid high banks, onits winding course.
The sun, a great red ball, nearing the western horizon, sent arose-tinged pathway across the black ice from shore to shore. A score ormore of skaters, some engaged in cutting fancy figures, others swingingalong on the outward roll, others having an impromptu race, made the airring with their shouts of hearty enjoyment.
Seated on a log, by the fire, one of the party of boys addressed hisnearest comrade.
"Say, Henry Burns," he asked, "have you heard anything from Harvey, yet?"
Henry Burns, a rather slight but trimly built and active youth,apparently a year or two younger than the boy who had spoken, paused inthe adjustment of the clamp of his skate, and looked puzzled.
"No," he answered, "and, what's more, I don't expect to, now. Jack Harveyrather take a licking than write a letter, anyway. And, another thing,he's having too much fun, I suppose, to stop to write."
"Still, it's queer," he continued. "I didn't think he'd go off the way hedid. He told me he wouldn't go, no matter how much his folks urged him.Said he knew he'd have more fun here with us this winter than poking'round Europe with his father and mother; said his mother wouldn't lethim wear his sweater in art galleries and in stores--rather skate, andfish through the ice, than dress up and go around looking at things inshop windows and museums."
"Well, they must have got him to go, after all," said the first boy.
"Too bad," commented Henry Burns, standing up on his skates. "He'smissing lots of fun. It scared my aunt, too, for a few days. She thoughthe might have got lost. Just as though Jack couldn't take care ofhimself. But she remembered they said if he didn't come back she couldknow he'd gone on the steamer to Europe. So she's feeling all right now.I'd like to know what they offered Jack, to get him to go, though."
Henry Burns's companion, George Warren, having adjusted his skates, aroseand glided down the bank to the ice.
"Come on, Arthur," he said, calling to a brother, a year or two younger,who was still lingering by the fire; "we'll give Henry a race up to thebend. He thinks he knows how to skate."
The brothers started off, with Henry Burns soon in swift pursuit; thethree went rapidly up the stream, the keen edges of their skates cuttingthe glare ice with a crisp, grinding hum. Henry Burns caught the two bythe time they had gone half a mile, for he was a youth whose wiry musclesseemed never to tire; and the three linked arms and went on together.
Presently a still younger boy came hurrying down to the shore, in a stateof activity that had left him short of breath. He was smaller, butheavier of build than the others who had gone before, with a plumpness ofcheeks that told of evident enjoyment of good dinners; also, his was atemperament, one would have guessed, that was more inclined to ease thanto any great exertion. But now he fastened on his skates hastily andjoined the party of skaters in mid-stream.
"Seen George and Arthur?" he inquired of a group of boys.
"Gone up-stream with Henry Burns," was the reply.
The boy started off, bending forward and making his best time. Somefifteen minutes later, the three, returning, saw him coming.
"There's Joe," said George Warren. "Looks as though he was skating for adinner. He'll get thin if he doesn't take care. Let's give him asurprise."
The three quickly hid themselves behind some alder bushes and cedars thatfringed the bank. Young Joe Warren came on, unconscious of theirpresence. He realized it presently as he came abreast. A snow-ball,thrown with accuracy by Henry Burns, neatly lifted his cap from his head;one from George Warren attached itself in fragments to his plump neck;the third smashed against his shoulder. The combined effect of which,with the surprise, so disturbed the equilibrium of the skater that hisfeet suddenly flew out from under him, and he came down with a thump,seated on the ice, and slid along in a sitting posture for nearly a rod.
"Too bad, poor old Joey," said George Warren, sympathetically, glidingout to his brother's assistance; "somebody threw a snow-ball and hit you,I guess. Get up on your feet and we'll all go after him."
Young Joe, angry at first, was not wholly unmindful of the humour of thesituation, as viewed from the position of the group that now tenderlyoffered their assistance. Moreover, he had had a taste of this sort ofthing before.
"That's all right," he said, "never you mind about helping me up. I don'tneed any help. I'll pay that fellow off some other time." He reached ahand in his coat pocket and drew forth an envelope, eagerly.
"You don't deserve this, George," he said, "and like as not you wouldn'tget it until you got home, if I didn't want to see what's in it. Gee!fellows, what do you think? It's a letter from Jack Harvey. Oh, I haven'tread it, George. It's for you. But I know it's from Jack, because it'sfrom Baltimore. That's the post-mark."
"Baltimore!" exclaimed Henry Burns. "Then there's something the matter.Why, he ought to have left Baltimore weeks ago. Whew! You don't supposehe's got hurt, after all?"
"And say," he added, wonderingly, "what's he writing to you for? Whydidn't he write to me or my aunt? Perhaps someone is writing for him."
The boys, in a high state of excitement, gathered close to George Warrenwhile he tore open the envelope, which was, sure enough, stamped with theBaltimore post-mark, and was addressed in a bold, plain hand to GeorgeWarren.
George Warren gave a whistle of surprise the next moment; Henry Burns, anexclamation of mingled relief and disappointment.
"It isn't from Jack, nor about him," they cried almost in the samebreath. And George Warren added, buoyantly, "Say, it's all right.Fellows, Cousin Ed wants us to come down for the holidays and visit him.My! But I'm glad there's nothing the matter with Jack. Here's what Edsays:
"Dear Cousin George:--Isn't it about time you youngsters made me that visit you've been promising? You've never been here, and you ought to see the place, though it isn't what it used to be in the old days. This isn't just the time to see the country at its best, of course, but it's a dull time with me, and I won't have anything to do but give you youngsters a good time.
"I'm all alone for the next two months, except Old Mammy Stevens to keep house for me. She can cook a turkey so it will just jump right down your throat; and corn fritters, the way she fries 'em, just melt in your mouth--"
Young Joe interrupted with a squeal of approval. "Let's go, George," heexclaimed.
"Shut up! Joe, and let George go on," admonished his brother, Arthur.George Warren continued:
"We've got plenty of room for you and Arthur, and if Joe should come, why he could sleep out in the stable with the cattle--"
A howl of indignation from Young Joe.
"Let's see," he cried, reaching for the letter. "He doesn't say any suchthing, I'll bet."
"Well, perhaps not," admitted George Warren. "Here's what it is." Hebegan again:
"There's plenty of room in the old house for you three, and anybody else you've a mind to bring. I'll be glad to see any friend of yours. We'll shoot some rabbits and have a high old Christmas. Make Uncle George let you chaps all come for the winter vacation. I'll look out for you. I'm going back home from the city to-morrow.
"Affectionately your cousin,
"Edward Warren,
"Address, Millstone Landing,
"St. Mary County, Maryland."
"Whee!" yelled Young Joe. "I'm go
ing to put for home, and ask father.Say, I wonder what kind of syrup they have on those corn fritters."
"Tobacco syrup," replied George Warren, solemnly. "That's what they raiseon all the farms down there. It's awful bitter, too, at first, but youget used to it, so they say."
"You think you're funny, don't you?" said Joe. "It's corn syrup; that'swhat it is. I want to go, don't you?"
"Well, perhaps so," replied George Warren. And, turning to his companion,asked, "What do you say, Henry?"
"Why, I'm not invited," replied Henry Burns.
"Oh, yes, you are, isn't he, fellows? Ed said bring anybody we wanted.Well, we want you."
The brothers chimed in, heartily.
"Why, I'd like to go, first rate, if I can," said Henry Burns.
"Then we'll do it," said George Warren--"that is, if the folks will letus. You'll like Ed. He's older than we are--about twenty; but he likesfun as much as we do. It's a big old farm house, with open fire-placesand things. We'll make the place hum. Come on, let's go home."
There was little peace in the Warren household that night until thematter had been duly discussed in all its phases, and the covetedpermission granted; whereupon, there was a departure in force for thehome of Miss Matilda Burns. There, however, the resistance was stronger.
Henry Burns's aunt did not yield consent without reluctance nor without astruggle. There was Jack Harvey, she said, who went to Baltimore andnever came back. Goodness knew where he might be. She didn't believe inboys going off without someone to look after them.
There was, in reply, positive assurance from all hands that Jack Harveywas all right and having the finest time of his life, travelling aboutEurope.
It was an unequal contest, and the opposition was finally overcome.
"See that you don't run off to Europe--or anywhere else, though, exceptto Mr. Warren's," Miss Matilda added, smiling. "And, Henry, you've got towrite me twice a week."
Henry Burns groaned, but promised.
"She didn't say how much to write," he commented, inwardly, with a visionof a sheet of paper bearing the words, "Dear Aunt, I'm all right," in hismind.
With which successful turn of affairs, the four let out such a series ofshrieks of triumph that poor Miss Matilda Burns nearly fell out of herchair.
Four days later, there arrived in Baltimore four smiling youths, vastlyelated at their freedom; vastly puffed up with the importance of beingtravellers at large, without a guardian.
It was a sharp, crisp winter morning, of the 15th of December, to beprecise; the old river boat of the Patuxent line lay in its berth atLight street, making its own hearty breakfast off soft coal, and pouringout clouds of black smoke from its funnel, with vigour and apparentsatisfaction. The cabins were warming up, and the last of a huge pile offreight was being stowed away below. The four boys, shortly before halfpast six--the early hour of departure--made their way aboard.
There was a jingling of bells, the lines were cast off, the gang-planksdrawn in, and the steamer was on its way down Chesapeake Bay.
The day passed pleasantly, for it was all new to them, and the bay, withits peculiar craft, presented many attractions. They were hungry astigers, too, as they seated themselves at the cabin table for dinner.
"You've got the wrong side of the cabin, young gentlemen," said thecoloured waiter, politely. "That other side's the one for white folks."
They changed places, accordingly.
"Wonder what would happen to us, if we sat over there?" remarked ArthurWarren.
"Perhaps we'd turn black," said Henry Burns.
"Well, Joe always eats till he's black in the face when he gets a gooddinner," said George Warren.
Young Joe sniffed, contemptuously.
After dinner they strolled about the boat. There were not a great numberof passengers aboard, and the four kept their own company. The onlyexception for the afternoon was in the case of a young man, who accostedthe party as they happened to pause for a moment in front of the opendoor of his state-room. He was a youth of about nineteen years, but withthe manner of a man of the world. He sat, with his feet up on the foot ofthe bed, smoking a cigar and filling the room with clouds of smoke. Aderby hat was perched rakishly on the back of his head. His dress wassmart in appearance, though not new, and his coat thrown back revealed awaist-coat of brilliant hue and flaring design.
"How'd do," he said, removing his cigar, and waving a hand ratherpatronizingly to them. "Step in. Strangers down this way, I see. Have asmoke?"
He motioned to a table on which there was a box of the cigars.
"No, thanks," replied George Warren. "Don't smoke."
They would have passed on, but the young man was not to be wholly denied.He had a free and easy flow of conversation, which would not be stoppedfor the moment, and which culminated in the offer--indicating his designfrom the first--of a game of cards with them, which, he assured them,should not cost them but little, if anything, with the alluringalternative that they might be fortunate enough to win his money.
"Say," interrupted Henry Burns at this point, "why don't you fix yourneck-tie?"
The youth, surprised at the interruption, paused and laid down his cigaron the edge of the table. He put both hands to the tie, a gaudy one tiedsailor fashion, and turned to Henry Burns.
"Why, what's the matter with it?" he asked, in a tone of wonderment."Isn't it all right?"
"Why, yes, it looks so," replied Henry Burns, coolly and without changingcountenance; "but I thought perhaps you might like to untie it and tie itover again. Come on, fellows."
The consciousness that he had been made game of by the youth flashed uponthe stranger, as the boys moved on. He half arose from his seat, while aflush of anger spread over his sallow face. A person on the thresholdaccosted him at this moment. He looked into the face of a tall man, whowas smiling in at him.
"Why, hello, Jenkins," said the man. "What's up? You look as though yourdinner didn't set right. What are you doing down this way?"
Mr. Jenkins returned the man's smile with a scowl.
"Nothing's the matter," he said, surlily. "Come in and have a smoke. I'mgoing up the river for a week. I used to live up that way, you know.Business is dull, and I'm going up to the old place for Christmas. Shutthat door, and we'll have a talk."
The four boys from Benton had had their first meeting, brief andfleeting, with Arthur Jenkins.
It was still daylight when the steamer turned the Drum Point light-houseand headed into the Patuxent river. It was a picturesque sight that thefour boys looked upon. Scattered here and there over the water, andcoming into harbour for the night, was a fleet of dredging vessels. Someof them, rivals in speed, were racing, with all sail set, heeling farover and throwing up little spurts of water at their bows. The sightcaptivated Henry Burns, and he gazed with interest.
"My! but I'd like to be aboard that fellow," he cried, as a fleet bug-eyecrept up on a rival craft and swept proudly and gracefully past.
"Not much you wouldn't," exclaimed a voice beside him.
Henry Burns turned. The genial, kindly face of the steamboat captain methis gaze.
"It looks very pretty and all that, young man," said the captain; "butit's a hard life they lead aboard the dredgers. It's knock-down and dragout all winter long, with bad food and little to show for it in wageswhen the winter's done--that is, for the most of them. It's not much likewhat you think it is, I reckon. But they do look pretty coming in; that'sa fact."
The dredger, Z. B. Brandt, coming in from down along shore, may have,with others of its kind, presented a pretty sight as viewed from the deckof the river steamer. Most assuredly, the steamer, viewed from the deckof the dredger, looked good and inviting to the weary crew of the sailingvessel. To them, watching its approach, it represented all that theylonged for--comfort, good food, freedom from abuse; and was a thing thatwould transport them home--if they could only, some day, reach it.
Hamilton Haley, eying the steamer from a distance, suddenly uttered anexclamation of amaz
ement. A figure that, in dim outline, suggestedsomeone whom he had seen before, stood out against the sky, as the personleaned against the steamer's rail.
"I'm blest if I wouldn't swear that ere was young Artie Jenkins!"exclaimed Haley. "It's him or his ghost. I'll have a look at the chap.Here you, Harvey, skip down into the locker, starboard, forward, andfetch me up that glass. Lively now. I want it quick."
Jack Harvey, who had long ere this learned the necessity of quickobedience aboard the dredger, hastened to obey. He brought the telescopeand handed it to Captain Haley.
The latter, adjusting it to suit his eye, gave one long, careful lookthrough the glass, then took it from his eye with another mutteredexclamation.
"Well, I swear!" he said. "I knew it was him the minute I clapped my eyeon him. I'd know his rakish rig anywhere. I wonder what mischief he's upto down here."
And he added, as he looked angrily at the steamer, "Wouldn't I like tohave you aboard here, young feller! Wouldn't I have it out of you, forsome of the counter-jumpers you've made me pay high for."
Jack Harvey, watching Haley with curiosity as the captain surveyed thesteamer and as his face wrinkled with anger, wondered what he had seenaboard to excite his wrath. It could not be anybody that Harvey had everknown, but still he had a curiosity, an over-mastering desire, to take alook for himself. As the glass was returned to him by Haley, he paused amoment and asked, "May I have a look, sir?"
Haley nodded.
"Handle that glass easily, though," he snarled. "Break that, and you'llwish you'd never been born."
Harvey raised the glass to his eye, and levelled it at the deck of thesteamer. He had never looked through a large telescope before, and it waswonderful how clear it brought out the figures aboard. He seemed to belooking into the very faces of men and women--all strangers to him.
Strangers? Strangers? The telescope, as it was slowly moved in Harvey'shand, so that his glance took in the row of faces from one end of theboat to the other, rested once on a group of four boys standing close bythe rail. For a moment Jack Harvey stood, spell-bound. The next moment heforgot where he was; forgot the presence of the wrathful Haley; forgotall caution. Taking the glass from his eye, he brandished it in the air,and yelled at the top of his voice:
"Henry Burns! George Warren! Hello, it's--"
The sentence was unfinished. Hamilton Haley, springing from thewheel-box, was upon him in an instant. He snatched the telescope fromHarvey's hand and, stooping, laid it on the deck. The next instant he haddealt Harvey a blow in the face that knocked him off his feet. Harveyfell, rolled over, half slid off the deck into the water; but he clutchedat the inch of plank that was raised at the edge, held on, and Haleydragged him aboard again.
Holding him at the edge of the vessel, Haley shook him like a halfdrowned dog.
"Another cry out of you, and down you go!" he said. "I'd put you undernow, if you hadn't made good, up the river the other night. You getbelow, and don't you let me hear a yip out of you. What's the matter withyou--crazy?"
Jack Harvey, half out of his wits with amazement, dazed from the blow,and chilled with the sting of the icy water that had wet him to theshoulders, stumbled below, without reply.
And aboard the steamer, Henry Burns turned to the captain, in dismay.Neither he nor his companions had distinguished the cry sent forth tothem from the deck of the bug-eye, but they had seen a strange thinghappen aboard the vessel they were watching.
"Captain," said Henry Burns, his face flushing with indignation, "I guesswhat you said about rough treatment aboard those vessels is true. Why, Ijust saw the man at the wheel strike some one and knock him down."
"The brute!" exclaimed the steamer's captain. "I told you so. But it'snothing new. It happens every day."
"I'm sorry for the chap that got it," remarked Henry Burns. "I hope hegets square with the captain, some day."
And for half that night, Jack Harvey, tossing in his bunk, unable tosleep, wondered if what he had seen could have been true; wondered if hiseyes had deceived him; wondered, even, if his brain was going wrong underhis hard treatment.
Once he got up and roused Tom Edwards.
"Tom," he said, "have you noticed anything queer about me lately?"
Tom Edwards sat up and looked at his friend in astonishment.
"Queer!" repeated Tom Edwards. "Of course I haven't. You've been just thesame as ever. Why, what's the matter, Jack? Are you sick?"
"I guess perhaps I am," replied Harvey, dully. "I've heard about sailorsseeing mirages and things that didn't exist. I saw something on asteamer, as we came in, that couldn't have been true. I thought I sawsome friends of mine that live way up in Benton in the state of Maine.They can't be down here in winter--hold on, though. They might be, afterall. Yes, sir, perhaps they've come to look for me. I'll bet that's it!"
"But," he added, ruefully, "I don't see how that can be, either. They'dhave come long before this, if they were looking for me. But I saw them.I saw them, Tom Edwards, just as clear as I see you now."
"Well, you don't see me very clear in this dark forecastle, Jack, oldchap," replied Tom Edwards. "Turn in and go to sleep, and see what youcan make out of it to-morrow."
Jack Harvey's Adventures; or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates Page 10