CHAPTER XII ESCAPE AT LAST
The old Warren homestead, alight with many lamps from parlour to kitchen,presented a cheery and genial aspect to whoever might be passing by alongthe road, on the night of December 24. The shades, half drawn in thefront room, revealed the glow of a big hearth fire, reddening the lightof the lamps, and adding its cheer and welcome to the general atmosphereof comfort within. From the kitchen there came the sound of banjostinkling, and the laughter from a merry company of coloured servants, theChristmas eve guests of Jim and Mammy Stevens. The whole house, in fact,was keeping holiday.
But if the appearance, viewed from the exterior, was one of brightnessand Christmas warmth, it was doubly so within. The large room, thatfronted on the bay and commanded a view from its windows of Drum Pointlighthouse and a sweep of the river, was a comfortably furnished,old-fashioned affair; with quaint, polished furniture; mirrors thatreflected the dancing fire-light; a polished oak floor that shone almostas bright as the mirrors; and, in one corner, a tall clock, that tickedaway in dignified and respectable fashion, as befitting a servant thathad belonged to the Warren family for a hundred years, and had descended,as a precious heirloom, from father to son.
From the upper panelling of the walls there hung, in festoons, sometrailing vines, ornamented with bright berries, gathered from the woodsback on the farm; and sprigs of holly also decorated the mirrors and afew portraits of one-time members of the household.
Edward Warren, stretched comfortably before the fire in a big chair,gazed about the room approvingly, and then at his younger companions.
"Well," he exclaimed, heartily, "you've saved me from spending a dullChristmas, sure enough. What with the folks away, I don't know what I'dhave done without you. Say, can't you young fellows give us a song? Wedon't want to let them make all the noise out in the kitchen."
"Go ahead on Old Black Joe, Henry," said George Warren. "We'll all joinin."
So Henry Burns led off on the plantation melody, and the brothers joinedin with a will. Edward Warren came in with a fine bass effect, andaltogether they did Old Black Joe in a way that almost made the faces inthe oil paintings on the wall smile.
Then, on the second verse, the banjos in the kitchen, and a guitar thathad been added to the group, took up the refrain, and all the darkeymelody in that part of the house concentrated itself on the same tune. Sothat the old house fairly rang from one end to the other with theplantation music, and the sounds floated off on the crisp night air farand around.
In the midst of which, it was suddenly discovered by the others thatyoung Joe had disappeared from the front room, and a hurried search wasbegun for the missing youth. It resulted in his discovery, in a pantryoff the dining-room, gloating over the contents of the Christmas box thathad been sent from home to the brothers. From this young Joe hadabstracted a generous slice of nut cake, which was rapidly disappearingdown his throat.
Howls of wrath from George and Arthur Warren were united with yells ofdismay from Young Joe, as he was dragged from his hiding place, stillholding a piece of the cake in his hand, loth even then to part with theevidence of his guilt.
"Ow, wow!" yelled George Warren. "Pilfering from to-morrow's feast, areyou, Joey? Say, what'll we do with him, Arthur?"
"Invite him out into the kitchen and make him eat some of those rawoysters that Mammy Stevens has to stuff to-morrow's turkey," repliedArthur Warren, who always had some original idea in a matter of thiskind.
Young Joe gave another howl of dismay, and made a bolt for a side doorthat led out into the yard. The mere thought of raw oysters caused him todrop the slice of cake and consider nothing but flight. The brothers andHenry Warren darted after him, but he slipped the catch of the door,opened it--and, with head down, butted all unexpectedly into a thick,short, burly man, who had been about to knock for admittance at the verymoment.
The result was, that the stranger lost his balance and fell off thestoop, rolling over and over on the ground. He was unhurt, for he sprangup quickly, shook his fist at the surprised youth, and roared out in ahoarse sea voice.
"Confound you, for a clumsy, butting young lubber!" he cried, rubbing thepit of his stomach, and glaring at Young Joe. "What kind of a way is thatto treat folks as comes to your door? Ain't you got eyes? If you has 'em,why doesn't you use 'em, and not be a ramming heads into other folks'sstomachs?"
The man, in his wrath and excitement, spoke as though there had beenseveral Young Joes and at least a half dozen of himself, engaged in amost extraordinary encounter--all of which did not tend to abate themirth of Young Joe and his companions, who also had caught a glimpse ofthe man rolling over on the lawn.
"He has a habit of doing that," spoke up Henry Burns, in a quiet, serioustone. "We haven't been able to break him of it ever since he was a kid.We keep him chained up most of the time, but he just got loose."
The man, flushing redder, turned an angry eye on Henry Burns.
"Who asked you what was the matter?" he demanded. "You'd get chained up,if I had you out aboard. You wouldn't be talking so smart to folks as hastheir stomachs run into by a crazy, June-bug booby of a boy. I reckon theend of a jib halliard would teach you some manners."
The man's reply surprised Henry Burns, and interested him. He looked atthe squat, chunky figure, the big, round head with its shock of reddishhair, and the dull gray eyes that glinted angrily at him. His retort was,on its part, a surprise to the man.
"Do you knock your crew down?" he asked, in a matter-of-fact way, asthough he had been merely inquiring the time of day.
The stranger was too taken aback for a moment to reply. It was a new typeof boy to him--one who could put a query of that kind as calmly anddispassionately as though he were a lawyer, trained to keep his temper.Then the man advanced, with hand raised threateningly.
"Get out of my way, you young rascals!" he said. "Where's the man aslives in this ere house? His name's Warren, isn't it--where is he?"
Edward Warren, who had remained in the background, amused at the unusualsituation, now stepped to the door and inquired what the man wanted.
"I want to do some trade," replied the man. "At least, that's what I camefor, when that boy, he comes out at me like a crazy steer. I hear youhave some potatoes to sell. My name is Haley, and I'm lying off shorethere."
He pointed with a jerk of his thumb out toward the river, evidentlyintending to convey the idea--somewhat different from his words--that itwas his vessel, and not himself, that was "lying off shore."
"Well," answered Edward Warren, "it's a time I don't usually do business,on Christmas eve, but since you've come up, I guess you can have them.I've got two or three barrels in the cellar. Come on out."
Captain Hamilton Haley, muttering a retort that Christmas eve was as gooda time for buying potatoes as any other, so far as he knew, so long as hehad a chance to come and get them, followed Edward Warren away. A thirdman, who had remained in the background, went along with them. It was JimAdams, the mate.
The bargain was made, Haley saying that he would be back the day afterChristmas for the potatoes; whereupon he and the mate went on again upthe country road. Edward Warren returned to the house.
"That's a rough customer, that man Haley," he remarked, as he resumed hisseat by the fire. "He's a specimen of the dredging captain that gives thefleet a hard name."
"The kind that knocks his men down," remarked Henry Burns.
"That seems to have made a great impression on your mind," said EdwardWarren, turning to the boy. Henry Burns's face was serious, and he spokewith unusual demonstrativeness for him, for he doubled up his fist andstruck the arm of his chair with it.
"Ever since I saw that fellow knocked down," he replied, "I've wanted totell one of those captains what I think of it. I'd have done it to-night,if he hadn't said he came to trade with you."
Edward Warren laughed. "You could have told him anything you liked, forall of me," he said. "But you chaps better turn in pret
ty soon. We'regoing after rabbits, to-morrow forenoon, you know. Mammy Stevens makes arabbit saddle roast that beats turkey."
"Great!" murmured Young Joe.
The darkness that enveloped the old Warren homestead, when, one by one,its lights went out and the household sank into stillness, was illuminedby brilliant starlight in the heavens. It was a glorious Christmas eve,clear, frosty, cold--just the night a traveller on the road, warmlydressed and well fed, might enjoy to the utmost. The wind had died downand the night was very still. The vessels in the Patuxent swung lazilywith the tide. Now and then the sound of an untiring banjo, or guitar oraccordion, or a snatch of song, came across the black water to those thatlay nearer the Solomon's island shore. Across on the western shore, allwas still, save for the occasional barking of a dog in some farmyard.
The bug-eye Brandt, for the convenience of its owner in going up countryafter some supplies, lay nearer the latter bank of the river, though withthe usual discretion in the matter of distance--greater even thancustomary, following the escape of the mulatto seaman. There was no othercraft near by. All aboard were apparently asleep, and not even a lightshowed in the fore-rigging, to warn others where she lay.
Down in the dingy forecastle, however, two persons were astir. They movedabout quietly, not to disturb the other sleepers, though the latterslumbered heavily and would not be easily aroused.
"Well, Jack," said the taller of the two, buttoning his coat andproceeding to thrust his legs into a pair of oil-skin trousers, "this isthe night we celebrate, eh?"
Jack Harvey turned a face, set with determination, toward his companion,and answered, huskily, "Tom, old man, I'm going ashore to-night, if Ihave to swim for it. Celebrate! You bet I'm going to celebrate--and soare you. We can do it, too. I've watched and watched, and it's ourchance. Haley and Jim Adams both gone, and no one here to stop us."
"Except the cook," interrupted Tom Edwards.
"Let him try it!" exclaimed Jack Harvey, his face flushing angrily at themere suggestion. "Just let him try it! I tell you I'm going ashoreto-night, Tom Edwards, and there isn't any George Haley in Maryland thatcan stop me."
Tom Edwards slapped the boy on the shoulder.
"That's the way to look at it, when we once start," he said. "My musclesaren't so soft, either, as when I came aboard. I guess I could dosomething on a pinch. But he's got a revolver, probably."
Harvey shrugged his shoulders.
"He can't stop us this time," he said. "I tell you it's Christmas eve,and we're in luck. Haley's left us a Christmas present of that old floatand junks of fire-wood and odds and ends of stuff, in the hold; and we'llsail ashore on it like sliding down hill. Come on."
They went cautiously out on deck.
"My! but it's chilly," muttered Tom Edwards, turning the collar of hisslicker up about his neck. "If we didn't have these oil-skins we'd prettynearly freeze to death."
"We'll warm up when we get to work," replied Harvey.
The two proceeded to the main hatch, through which the most of theoysters were put into the hold, and lifted it a little. It was a hugeaffair, and so heavy it took their united strength to stir it and drag itaway, so they could have access to the hold.
"We've got to have that lantern," said Harvey, and he went and got theone from the forecastle. Then he sprang down into the hold.
"I'll pass the stuff up to you," he said, "and you set it down on thedeck. But look out and don't drop any."
Hanging the lantern so he could see to work, Harvey presently passed apiece of timber out to Tom Edwards. This was followed by several piecesof planking, exceedingly heavy, bits of board and even some long sticksof firewood--branches of oak that had been picked up by the crew downalong shore. It was all more or less soggy with the dampness of the hold;some of it seemed to be completely soaked through. It nearly proved theirundoing.
Tom Edwards, disregarding Harvey's admonition to wait till he couldassist in carrying the wood to the side of the vessel, started with astick of the timber. Of a sudden, a rotted edge of it crumbled and brokeaway in his hands. The heavy stick slipped from his grasp and slammeddown upon the deck. The next moment Harvey leaped out on deck, in alarm.
"Tom, that made an awful racket!" he said, anxiously. "Listen. By Jove!we're in for it now. There's somebody stirring--it's in the cabin. Tom,you get down into that hold quicker'n scat; and if Haley comes, you talkto him, but don't let him see you. I'll take care of him."
It was an odd situation, that the positions of man and boy should bereversed at the crisis. But Tom Edwards was not the equal of Jack Harveyin strength, and he knew it. Years of activity, at baseball, swimming,yachting and the like, had developed Harvey into an athlete of no meanproportions, as the muscles that played beneath his sweater denoted; TomEdwards had been flabby and easily winded when he came aboard thedredger, and he had had little chance to gain strength with the bad foodthat Haley provided. Now he obeyed Harvey, without a question. He spranginto the hold, and Harvey darted back and hid behind the shadow of theforecastle.
They were not much too soon, nor had Harvey been deceived in the soundshe had heard. The cook, awakened by the noise, and mindful of the partinginjunction of Hamilton Haley that the vessel and crew were in hiskeeping, stepped out of the companion and looked forward. In his righthand he held Haley's revolver.
He started, as his eye fell upon the mass of wood heaped at the edge ofthe hatchway. He advanced quickly, holding his weapon ready. At the edgeof the hatchway, he stopped and listened. Then he aimed the revolver intothe lantern light and called out, "Here you, who's down there? You'recaught. I'll shoot the first man that tries to escape."
The answering voice of Tom Edwards came from the hold.
"I'm down here--Tom Edwards. I'll come out, all right. Don't shoot. I'mwedged in here, though. I can't be quick."
"Well, the lubber!" exclaimed Haley, in surprise. "You're the last oneI'd have expected--" He broke off and stooped, to peer into the hold.
The next moment, the cook felt himself thrown violently backwards on thedeck. The revolver was wrenched from his hand, and Jack Harvey stood overhim.
"Don't you make any cry," muttered Harvey, "or you'll get hurt. Come onout, Tom, I've got Mr. Haley."
The cook, lifting himself to a sitting posture and gazing at the two inastonishment, still sought to intimidate them.
"Don't you go trying to escape," he said. "You'll get the worst of it.Haley'll make trouble, and you'll be back here again inside of a week,and you'll get it worse than ever. Besides, you can't get ashore on thatstuff."
He changed his tone to a wheedling, mollifying one.
"Just you go back now, like good fellows," he said, "and I'll promiseHaley I won't say a word about it. And I'll promise you the best grub youever tasted, all the rest of the season. There won't be anything too goodfor you two."
Harvey laughed softly.
"It's no use," he replied. "You'll have to settle with Haley when hefinds us gone. I hope he takes it out of you, too, for the stuff you'vemade us eat. Get up, now, and march aft."
Haley, whimpering, threatening and begging by turns, obeyed orders. Theyescorted him back to the cabin. In five minutes, Harvey had him tied upas ship-shape and as securely as ever a captive was bound. They laid himdown on a bunk and left him.
With the revolver in their possession, there was no longer need ofcaution or quietness. Boldly they worked away, with the stuff from thehold, hitching it with bits of rope and making a raft of it alongside thevessel. They laid a flooring of the stuff and Harvey stepped on to it. Tohis chagrin, the raft sank under his weight.
"It's water-soaked!" he exclaimed to Tom Edwards, as he scrambled aboardagain. "Well, we'll lay a cross-flooring and see what that will do."
They threw over the rest of the planks and wood, cross-wise, on the raftthey had made. Harvey again stepped on to it.
It was, alas, little better than before. The wood, rotten and watersoaked, had scarce sufficient buoyancy to float itself, let alone supporttwo
of them. Of its own weight, it sank so that the upper tier of woodfloated clear of the lower.
Jack Harvey and Tom Edwards looked at each other, silently. Harvey's facewas drawn with disappointment.
"Tom," he cried, desperately, "I'll take an axe and chop the old cabin ofthe Brandt apart before I'll give up. Come on, we mustn't lost time."
Tom Edwards, whose wits had been trained in years of successful business,proved more resourceful.
"What's the matter with using that hatch cover?" he said, pointing to it.
Harvey stopped short and gave a roar of delight. "Tom Edwards," he cried,"you're a daisy. I'm a simple-minded, brainless, wooden-headed,thick-skulled land-lubber. I never thought of that hatch, and there itwas all ready to use. Here we've been working like dogs, and that oldhatch will float us ashore like a ship. Come on. In with it."
It cost them some effort, for the hatch was a big one. But it floatedbuoyantly when they had dragged it overboard; and it scarcely sank at allunder Harvey's weight; and it held him and Tom Edwards when the latterhad stepped cautiously off on to it. They made it fast alongside, with apiece of rope cut from dredging gear. Then they ran joyously for thecabin.
The cook met them with a flood of protestations, but they shut him up inshort order. With the lantern light, they helped themselves to the meagrestores of the Brandt, and stuffed their pockets with biscuit and cornbread, baked for Haley and the mate. They also took matches, and theyexchanged their ragged oil-skins for better ones. They had earned themten times over, and they were leaving without a penny of wages for allthe hard labour they had done.
"Say good-bye to Haley for me," said Tom Edwards, pausing a moment beforethe helpless captive. "And tell him I hope to meet him again some day.And if I do, he'll be sorry."
They carried the cook into his galley, and shut him in. Then they foundan extra pair of oars, stepped aboard the inverted hatch, the finestcraft in all the world to them, and pushed for shore.
It was not easy, sculling the clumsy hatch, but Harvey made fair work ofit, after he had cut a scull-hole in the combing, with his knife; and TomEdwards aided by paddling on either side, making up with energy what helacked in skill. The work warmed them, and they threw off their oil-skincoats.
The tide was running up the river and carried them some distance out ofthe course they had tried to make; but they came in to land finally andsprang out on shore. Harvey stooped and picked up a handful of the coarsedirt and gravel, and handed it gravely to Tom Edwards.
"Merry Christmas, Tom Edwards," he said. "It's the real thing--theshore--the dry land once more. Isn't it bully?"
Tom Edwards threw his arms about his stalwart companion and fairly huggedhim.
"Harvey," he said, "you're a comrade worth having. You've stood bythrough thick and thin, and you've lost chances to escape in order tostand by me. I won't forget it."
Harvey, freeing himself from his friend's grasp, offered his hand andthey shook heartily. They started off, but Harvey turned back once and,seizing one of the oars, shoved the hatch out into the stream. Then hethrew the oars after it.
"We owe Haley that much," he said--"and more. He'll have to follow thetide up river some time before he finds that stuff. Now, Tom, what shallwe do? We're ashore--by Jove! there was one time I began to think we'dnever get here. And now we're here, I'm blest if I know what to do next."
"Well, we'll stop and hold a council of war," said Tom Edwards. So theypaused at the top of the little bank they had ascended, adjusted theiroil-skins once more, and looked off on to the river and the vessel thatthey had left behind.
Harvey whistled a tune and looked at his comrade, jubilant in spite oftheir perplexity.
"It's a regular jim-dandy Christmas eve!" he exclaimed.
"I'll remember it as long as ever I live," replied Tom Edwards.
Jack Harvey's Adventures; or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates Page 13