Jack Harvey's Adventures; or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates

by Gabrielle E. Jackson

  CHAPTER XI HARVEY SENDS A MESSAGE TO SHORE

  Henry Burns and the Warren brothers, arriving at Millstone Landing on theevening when Jack Harvey had seen a strange vision through Haley'stelescope, found a young man on the wharf awaiting them. He hailed themwith a hearty shout of welcome the moment the steamer came to itslanding. He was a tall, somewhat spare man, but with broad, muscularshoulders, and a general build that told of unusual strength. He had amop of short, almost curly hair, under a soft felt hat, a dark, clearcomplexion, brown eyes that twinkled with fun, and an expression ofgeniality that won the heart of Henry Burns at first glance.

  The young man nodded smilingly to the river captain, and swung himselfaboard before the steamer had its gang-plank out; and he was up thestairs and in the cabin in a twinkling, where he grasped George Warrenand the brothers, one after another, and welcomed them heartily.

  "And this is our friend, Henry Burns," said George Warren, introducinghis comrade.

  "I'm right glad to meet him, too," responded Edward Warren. "He's just aswelcome as you are--and that's saying all anybody could. Well, I'd knowyou youngsters anywhere. You haven't changed much since I was up north,four years ago--except you've grown some. There's Joe--my, but he'sgrowing like a corn-stalk! Don't it almost make your bones ache, to growso fast, Joey?"

  Edward Warren was, all the while, assisting them with their bags andbundles of coats and luggage, and steering them across the gang-plank tothe wharf, like a drove of frisky young cattle.

  "Joe wants to know if you've brought any of those corn fritters down withyou, Cousin Ed?" said George Warren.

  "No," laughed Edward Warren, "but there's a stack of them up in the oven,keeping hot, as high as your head, almost. Here, sling your stuff intothis wagon, and Jim will take it up. Anybody that wants to ride, too, canjump aboard. But I'm going to walk. It's only about a mile, and I'drather walk a night like this, anyway."

  "Well, I'll ride up and be making the acquaintance of Mammy Stevens,"said Joe, grinning broadly, and springing up on the seat beside thecoloured driver. The others elected to walk, with Edward Warren.

  He set off at a brisk pace along the road that skirted the shore,bordered much of its way by ponds extending some distance inland. He hadspoken of a mile walk as though it were the merest trifle, and the pacehe set for his younger companions indicated that he so regarded it. Butthey were good for it, too, although he had them breathing hard by thetime they had gone half a mile; and the four made quick time of it upfrom the landing.

  "You chaps are pretty good walkers," he said, laughing quietly andslowing down a little. "Thought I'd see how city life agreed with yourwind and legs. You're sound in both wind and limb, as we farmers say of agood horse. We'll take the rest of it a little easier."

  There yet lingered in the mind of Henry Burns an indignation born of theact he had seen on the passing vessel.

  "Say, Mr. Warren," he began, as they walked along along--

  "Don't call him 'Mr. Warren.' Call him 'Ed,'" interrupted George Warren.

  "Yes, that's right," responded Edward Warren, good-naturedly.

  "I saw a man knocked down on a vessel as we sailed into the harbour,"continued Henry Burns. "Isn't it a shame to treat men like that?"

  Edward Warren paused, and clenched a big, strong fist. He raised it andgestured like a man striking someone a blow.

  "Shame!" he repeated. "It's downright wicked, the way those dredgingcaptains--or a good many of them--treat the men. Why, we get them onshore here, through the winter, half starved, and half clad, beggingtheir way back to Baltimore. If a man is taken sick out aboard, and isn'tfit to work any more, why, the captain takes him ashore, to gather wood,or something of that sort. Then he cuts and leaves him to starve orfreeze, or get back to town the best way he can. And sometimes, theydon't take even that trouble, if they're safe down the bay--just let aman slump overboard--accidentally, of course,--and that's the last seenof him."

  "Don't his friends ever get track of him?" asked Henry Burns.

  "Not often," replied Edward Warren. "They're almost always poor chaps,without any friends that can do them any good; fellows that are reducedto poverty in the cities, or men who have been dissipating and gone tothe bad. And those don't last long with the life they lead aboard thedredgers."

  "Well, that poor chap that I saw knocked down would have one friend if Icould help him," exclaimed Henry Burns.

  "He needs it, I've no doubt," said Edward Warren. "And they make the mendo their underhand work for them, too--the captains that go poaching.Why, I took a shot at a craft, just the other night, up above Forrests,myself. I was up to Wilkes's place, over night, and we caught a fellowpoaching in on the beds. Gave him a close call, too. We had him betweenus and the Folly for a few minutes; but he was smart and got away."

  The lights of the old farm house were gleaming by this time, and in amoment or two they were within its hospitable walls. It was a pleasant,old-style house, with some pillars at the front, and a broad verandah;the main house of two stories in height, and a series of ramblingextensions, of a story and a half, extending in the rear; stables and twobarns not far away--in all, an air of comfort and prosperity, if not ofgreat means. The land on which the house stood overlooked the river, nowgleaming with the harbour lights of many vessels, and some small pondsalong shore.

  They entered at the big front door, stepping into a wide hall that ranthe entire length of the first floor of the main part. The hall ended ina wall in which a huge open fireplace, built of the stones taken from theland, now gave forth a blazing welcome.

  But they did not linger long before this inviting blaze, for old MammyStevens had them all out in the dining-room before many minutes. Thisroom was equally cheery, with a hearth fire snapping and singing there,also; and there sat young Joe, gloating in anticipation over an array ofgood things, including the heaped up platter of corn fritters, with apitcher of syrup squatted agreeably close by.

  They fell to and ate till Mammy Stevens's face lighted up and shone likea piece of polished ebony; and she laughed and chuckled till she wasalmost white to see young Joe tuck away corn fritters and countrysausage. And all the while they were making merry and enjoying comfortand warmth, Jack Harvey, not far away, on the bug-eye, Brandt, wasclimbing into his bunk, wet from his drenching, and sore from the blowHaley had given him.

  A vessel, seen from the old farmhouse, anchored in near shore thefollowing afternoon, but it had no special interest in the eyes of thenewcomers, nor had it as it sailed away again when the fog had lifted.

  "Cap'n," queried Jim Adams, removing his pipe from his mouth and pointingthe stem of it forward in the direction of the stranger who stood by theforemast, "what's happened? What have we got him for?"

  Haley shrugged his shoulders and squinted one eye, significantly. "Bill'sin trouble again," he answered. "This fellow and a pardner tried to getaway. The pardner got it a bit hard--Bill had to put him ashore below inSt. Mary's. This one goes, too, when we get a good chance to land himwhere he'll be a long time walking up to Baltimore. Oh, it's all right,so long as the two don't get together. The pardner can't make any moretrouble by himself."

  Jim Adams, rightly construing Haley's remarks to mean that the "pardner"had been badly hurt, perhaps crippled--or worse--and had been landed insome convenient spot away from any town, resumed his pipe, and asked nomore questions. But he added, as he surveyed the muscular frame of theman forward, "He's a sure enough good man at the winders, I reckon. I'llmake him earn his board and lodgin,' if he stays."

  Jim Adams grinned, and showed his fine, white teeth.

  "You're the boy to do it," commented Haley.

  It was afternoon, and the bug-eye, Brandt, was coming up to the Patuxentfor a night's harbour. Jack Harvey and Tom Edwards, eyeing the stranger,who remained sullenly by himself, felt a depression of spirits as theynoted the appearance of the man. His bruises and the fresh scar, andindeed the very fact of his being there, were evi
dence to them of thecause that had brought him aboard. They had become familiar enough withthe ways of the dredging fleet to know what it meant.

  What the stranger thought of them, no one would ever know. But theirs wasperhaps not altogether a favourable appearance by this time. There wasless of incongruity in the dress of Tom Edwards now than when he hadbegun work. Daily toil at the dredges, drenching in icy spray, the wearand tear of the life aboard the Brandt, had wholly obliterated whateverof newness and stylishness there had been to his clothing. He had takenon the shabby, rough, wretched characteristics of the ordinary dredger.His one collar had long ago been discarded. He looked the part into whichhis ill fortune had cast him.

  Nor had Harvey fared better. His clothes were torn and worn anddiscoloured by the salt water. His face, like that of Tom Edwards, wasreddened and roughened and weather-beaten. His hands were roughened andscarred from hard work, with the broadening and flattening at the fingertips acquired through handling the heavy iron dredges and throughknotting ropes.

  The two friends were still depressed with the disappointment of theirfailure to make their escape, but they were not hopeless. They talked ofit whenever they dared, and planned for another attempt when opportunityshould offer.

  The bug-eye ran up into the mouth of the river, and came to anchor offthe northern shore, that being the lee with the wind from the northwest.It lay about half a mile out from the Drum Point shore and about the samedistance to the eastward of Solomon's Island. There was little sign oflife or habitation on the land about the light-house, save that Harveynoticed one large house which set up on the hill, overlooking thesurrounding country. But the many lights on Solomon's Island and the manysmall craft at their moorings close to its shore indicated that there wasquite a settlement there. Later in the evening, there came out to him,once or twice, with the wind, the sounds of jigging music, as from banjosand fiddles; and once he thought he heard, faintly, the sound of a piano,played noisily.

  These suggestions of freedom and of merriment, though borne to him allindistinctly, filled Harvey's mind with the old longing to escape. Hecould seem to see the interior of the town hall, perhaps, whence thesounds came; the lamps about the sides of the room; the fishermen'sdaughters waiting for partners for the dance; the fiddler at the end ofthe hall, calling off the numbers. He had seen the like away up inSamoset bay, and had taken part in the fun.

  He looked down at the side of the vessel, where the black water of thebay tossed gently, and away off to shore, indistinct save where a lightgleamed here and there. There was the icy sting and nip of winter in theair. The water looked forbidding. It was out of the question to think ofswimming--and, besides, there was Tom Edwards whom he could not desert.But, for all that, Harvey turned in for the night with greater reluctancethan ever before; and he lay for a long time, uneasy, not able to sleep.

  It could not have been very late in the night, though he knew not thetime, when he roused up from a light slumber. Something had awakened him.The picture he had fancied of the dance hall ashore leaped into his mind,and something seemed to impel him to turn out and take another look.

  Then he thought he heard some slight sound over his head on deck.Grumbling at himself at his seeming folly, he stepped out on to theforecastle floor and went softly up the companion ladder to the deck.

  He was dressed, for he had turned in with his clothes on, as usual. Butthe night air chilled him, and he shivered as he crept out and looked offtoward the land. He turned his collar up about his throat, and steppedover to the side of the vessel.

  An instant, and he was conscious of someone near. He turned just as afigure leaped out at him from the shadow of the forecastle. Harvey wasquick and strong. Realizing a sudden peril--he knew not what--he dartedto one side as the figure sprang toward him, and struck out at the samemoment with his left arm.

  He was not a second too soon. There was disclosed to him the tall,swarthy stranger they had taken aboard that afternoon. The man, his armuplifted and holding an open knife in that hand, made a lunge at him.

  The blow missed Harvey, and his own blow, aimed at random, caught theman's shoulder and stopped his rush. At the same moment, the manrecognized the boy and stood still and silent, peering at him, wonderingand surprised.

  Harvey, alert to the situation, thought quickly and spoke--in a halfwhisper.

  "Don't strike me," he said. "If you want to escape, I'll help you. I'mnot to blame for your being here."

  The man did not reply, but he seemed to understand. Yet he was not takingall for granted. He stepped to Harvey's side, holding the knifethreateningly. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and peered into hisface. Then he put a finger to Harvey's lips and raised the knife again.

  Harvey nodded. "I'll keep quiet," he whispered. "What are you going todo, swim?"

  The man clearly did not understand what Harvey had said, but he caught atthe one word.

  "Swim," he repeated, and nodded. "Swim. I swim." And he made a sweepinggesture with one arm.

  Harvey nodded his head vigorously, as if to indicate his sympathy withthe attempt, and further emphasized it with a shake of his fist in thedirection of the captain's cabin. The man seemed assured. His lips partedin a half smile, which changed to an expression of anger and fiercenessas he in turn shook the hand that clutched the knife in the direction ofHaley's quarters. Then he thrust the knife back into his belt.

  Another thought came swiftly to Harvey then. If he could only get amessage ashore by the man--that is, if the stranger should succeed inwhat seemed an almost hopeless attempt. But how could he make theforeigner understand? He stepped close to him, stretched out his lefthand and made the motions of writing upon the palm of it. Then he pointedto himself, to the man and to the shore.

  "Take a letter for me," said Harvey. "A letter," and he again made themotions of writing.

  To his surprise and delight, the man repeated the word "letter" plainly,and himself made the motions of writing with his right fore-finger uponthe palm of his left hand.

  "Yes, that's it," said Harvey. "Take a letter ashore for me?" And hepointed again toward shore.

  The man nodded. Harvey pointed to the forecastle, repeated the gesture ofwriting and looked at the man inquiringly. The man nodded once more. Butagain he drew forth the knife, put a finger to his lips and made asignificant gesture. Harvey understood. He stepped forward, put out hisright hand to the man, and the stranger grasped it. It was a compact heunderstood. Harvey stole softly down into the forecastle.

  He roused Tom Edwards, who asked drowsily what was wanted.

  "Tom," said Harvey softly, "be quick. Find that little order-book withthe pencil in it that you had when you came aboard. You stuck it up inthe bunk somewhere, weeks ago. The man we took aboard this afternoon isgoing to swim for shore. Hurry, Tom, he may be gone while I'm belowhere."

  Tom Edwards fumbled about and produced the book--one of the few thingsthat had been left to him in the rifling of his pockets--left to him as athing of no value to the men who had trapped him. Harvey seized iteagerly and ran up on deck again. The man was still there.

  There was no light to write by, but there was no time to be lost. Harveytore a page from the book, took the little pencil from its leathersocket, laid the paper down on top of the forecastle house and held hisface close down to it. The white patch was sufficiently discernibleagainst the wood to enable him to scrawl a few words. He wrote:

  "I am trapped out aboard the bug-eye Z. B. Brandt by Capt. Haley. Send word to Benton, Maine.

  "Jack Harvey."

  He folded the scrap of paper and handed it to the swarthy stranger. Theman took it, held it for a moment as though deliberating, then removedthe cap he wore, tucked the paper within the lining and replaced the capon his head. He had taken off his heavy shoes, which he proceeded to tieacross his back, with a line passed across one shoulder and under theother arm-pit. He had stripped off his coat and held it now in one hand,doubtfully.


  He looked across to shore, shook his head as if to say that the distancewas too great to encumber himself with the weight of the garment, eventhough tied across his shoulders. He threw it on the deck with a gestureof disappointment, and stepped to the side of the vessel.

  Harvey followed, and again put out his hand. The man grasped it, and theyshook hands warmly. Harvey would have given half his store of hiddenmoney at that moment to have been able to wish him good luck in a tonguethat the man could understand. But he slapped him on the shoulder, andthe man understood that. He made a sweeping gesture of farewell, swunghimself off noiselessly into the icy water and began swimming away, withlong, powerful strokes.

  Instinctively, Harvey reached down and put his hand into the water. Itscoldness fairly stung him, hardened as he had become, with work at thedredges. He stood, shivering, with the cold of the night intensified byhis excitement. It seemed as though no human being could live to get toshore in that water. But the man kept on.

  "He must be a fish," muttered Harvey. "I hope he sticks it out, but howcan he?"

  The stars twinkling coldly overhead gave little light upon the water. Butthe figure moving slowly away was discernible some distance. Harveywatched it until the tiny black speck where the man's cap showed fadedaway and was lost to view. Harvey's teeth was chattering. His eyessmarted and watered with the strain of peering through the darkness. Helonged to call out, to know if the swimmer still lived. But he turned andcrept back to his bunk, giving the news to Tom Edwards, who shivered atthe very thought of it.

  "Poor chap, he'll never get to shore," he murmured. "But he'll die game."

  Up in the big house that overlooked the Drum Point lighthouse, in achamber room, a young man of about thirty sat reading before a fire. Aclock ticking in one corner indicated the time of night as half-pasteleven. The man paused in his reading, yawned and stretched comfortably,arose and stepped to a window facing the harbour.

  "What a glorious night!" he said.

  He stepped back and sat down again.

  A strange thing, unseen by him, had happened down at the shore towardwhich he had looked. Something moved, like a great fish, in the water, arod out from the land. It sank once almost out of sight, then thrashedthe water and struggled in desperately. A man, feeling the solid earthunder his feet, stepped out upon the shore and staggered as though aboutto fall; caught himself; then fell; but arose and walked unsteadily inthe direction of the light from the window.

  The young man who was reading suddenly sprang up from his chair andlistened. There was a muffled rapping at the door below. The man threw upthe window and put his head out.

  "Who's that? What do you want?" he called.

  A reply, unintelligible, came up to him. He closed the window and turnedtoward the door of the chamber.

  "It's the same old story," he said, with a touch of indignation in hisvoice. "Some poor chap from the dredging fleet, I suppose--beaten up,half starved, and trying to get back to Baltimore."

  He descended the stairs, lighted a lamp and went to the door. When thelamp-light fell upon the figure that stood before him, he started back,thunderstruck. A man, drenched to the skin, ghastly pale, shivering,almost speechless, his tangled, dripping hair falling about his eyes,stood there. He stretched forth an arm, appealingly, and almost fell.

  The man with the lamp caught him with one arm and assisted him within;half dragged him out into an old-fashioned kitchen, where the man slumpedall in a heap before the fire. The man of the house, setting down thelamp on a table, went to the closet and brought out a cup; filled it withcoffee from a pot that set back on the stove, knelt by the stranger'sside and, rousing him up, held the cup to his lips and made him drink.

  The man shivered, sat up a little and uttered the one word, "Swim."

  The other uttered an exclamation of anger.

  "It's a shame! A cruel shame to treat men so they'd rather die than leadthe life they do aboard the dredgers," he cried. "How far did you swim?"

  The man shook his head, indicating he did not understand.

  "Well, no matter," said the other, compassionately. "I'll fix you up. Butyou've just come through, and that's all. You're pretty near being a deadman."

  An hour later, the stranger, wrapped in warm blankets, his raggedgarments drying by the fire, dozed, while the man of the house stood,watching him.

  "Well, he's all right now," he said. "I'll turn in and let him sleepthere for the night."

  But the man suddenly moved, sat up on one elbow and then struggled into asitting position. He fumbled at his head and said something in a foreigntongue. He gesticulated, and pointed down toward the shore.

  The young man laughed.

  "Well, I declare if you aren't worrying about a cap," he cried. "I knowwhat you mean--lost your cap, eh? Well, you ought to thank your stars youdidn't lose your life. We'll get the cap to-morrow, if it's down by theshore. To-morrow, see?"

  The man repeated the word "to-morrow," and shook his head as vigorouslyas he could. "No to-morrow," he repeated. And he struggled to his feet.Wrapping the blanket about him, he started doggedly toward the door.

  "Well, confound you for an obstinate mule!" exclaimed the young man. "Idon't wonder you got ashore, with all that stubbornness. Go lie downagain. Hang it, if you're so worried as all that about your old cap, I'llgo look for it."

  Half angry, half amused, he took down a lantern from a hook, lighted it,and went out into the darkness. In a few minutes, he reappeared. In hishand he held a bedraggled, shabby fur cap, that bore more resemblance toa drowned cat than any article of wear.

  "There's your cap, you mule!" he exclaimed, and threw the wet object downupon the floor.

  To his surprise, the man caught it up eagerly and, turning it inside out,felt within the lining. He uttered a little cry of disappointment as hedrew forth a piece of wet, torn paper. He dropped it on the floor anddrew out two other pieces. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked upat his rescuer, helplessly.

  The young man stooped and picked up the pieces of paper.

  "Aha! I see," he said. "There was a method in your stubbornness afterall. Let's look."

  He held up the pieces of paper and turned them in his hand. He took themto the table and placed them on an earthen platter, with the torn edgesjoining. Then he whistled with surprise. The paper, wet and torn, stillbore, blurred and barely readable, written words. He made out themessage:

  "I am trapped aboard the bug-eye Z. B. Brandt by Capt. Haley. Send word to Benton.

  "Jack Har--"

  The remainder of the last name had been torn away. They searched for it,but it was not to be found.

  "Whew!" exclaimed the young man. "Another case of shanghaiing. Well,there's enough to work on. I'll have to look into it, though I supposeit's not much use. When a man gets out there, it's hard finding him. I'llsave the paper, though, and dry it out."

  And then he added, eying the stranger with a different expression,"You're a good sort, after all. You're a true blue comrade to somebody.Hang it! I wish you could talk the United States language."