CHAPTER XVI.LOST IN THE MARSHES.
We left Don and his party grumbling over the ill luck that had attended their efforts to entice the big flock of ducks they found off Powell’s Island within range of their double-barrels; and Bogus, ole Eph’s stump-tailed yellow dog, which had so faithfully performed his allotted task, trying to make them understand that it was through no fault of his that the wild fowl had gone off without giving them a chance for a shot. Egan accused his friends of showing the tops of their hats above the grass, but recalled the words when he discovered the Firefly coming around the head of the island. Egan was not aware that her crew had come down there on purpose to keep an eye on him and his party, but such we know to be the fact.
There being no more ducks in sight for Bogusto try his arts upon, Egan proposed that they should take a short sail, and then go back to Eph’s cabin and dine upon the terrapins which the old negro had been instructed to have ready for them; but just then a flock of shore birds flew over, and at the suggestion of Hopkins, who thought a few willets would make an acceptable addition to their dinner, they shouldered their guns and set out in pursuit of them. It was while they were walking along the beach that they found Barr’s big gun, which lay at the foot of a tree, covered with bushes and calamus grass. In the effort he made to step over it, Curtis kicked away some of the grass, thus exposing the stock of the gun to his astonished gaze.
“What in the name of all that’s wonderful is this?” he exclaimed, backing away from the weapon as if he were afraid of it. “Why, Egan, I believe it is one of those big guns you told us about last night.”
It did not take Egan long to kick away the rest of the grass, and then he and Curtis got under the gun and raised it to a perpendicular, so that everybody in the party could have a good look at it. They examined it with the liveliest curiosity,walking around it and viewing it from all sides; and there was the crew of the Firefly, watching their movements through a spy-glass, and eager to report them to the owner of the gun, who was in his sink-box a few miles above.
“What are you going to do with it?” asked Bert, after he and the rest had looked the ponderous weapon over so closely that they were sure they would know a big gun the next time they saw one.
“I’d like to sink it so deep in the bay that nobody would ever find it again,” replied Egan. “But not being an officer, I have no right to touch it.”
“Is that steamer signaling to us?” asked Don.
Egan looked up and saw the Magpie approaching. Near the pilot-house stood a boy, who would flourish his handkerchief in the air for a minute or two, and then raise a pair of binoculars to his eyes to see if his motions had attracted the attention of the boys on shore.
“Hop, that’s Bob Hart,” said he, after he had taken a good look at the boy; and then he and Hopkins took off their hats and waved them over their heads. “He’s a Baltimore lad,” added Egan,by way of explanation, “and his father is captain of that boat.”
It would seem, from this, that Egan did not wave his hat to draw the Magpie’s attention to Barr’s big gun, but simply to return the salute that had been given him by his friend, Bob Hart; but still the police-boat came in and took charge of the gun, because Bob, or somebody else, told the officer in command what it was that Egan and Curtis were holding in their hands. We may add, too, that Egan did not say one word to arouse suspicion against Enoch. The latter had done that long ago, by allowing himself to be so often seen in Barr’s company.
After the big gun had been taken on board the Magpie, and Enoch had gone back to report the matter to the man in the sink-boat, Egan and his guests resumed their search for the shore birds. They found them at last, and they proved so tame that Don wouldn’t fire at them at all, declaring that he would just as soon go into Mr. Egan’s barn-yard and shoot chickens. He would find quite as much sport in it; but Hopkins, who wasn’t thinking of sport, but of a good dinner, banged away as often as the opportunity was presented,and at the end of half an hour had filled his game-bag.
When Enoch made his unsuccessful attempt to give the Sallie up to the mercy of the elements, Egan and his friends, having passed an hour or two very pleasantly in the parlor with music and social converse, were assembled in their room, listening to the roaring of the wind and the beating of the sleet against the windows, while they discussed various plans for the following day. The report of Sam’s musket brought them to their feet and sent them down stairs at headlong speed. In the yard they found Mr. Egan, who was looking anxiously around, half expecting to see some of his buildings in flames.
“Barr is at work already,” said he, as the boys came out. “He is going to pay you off for meddling with that big gun of his.”
“Well, if he will only settle with me and let your property alone, I don’t care,” replied Gus. “Sam was the fellow who gave the alarm. Let’s go down and see what he shot at.”
The boys were much relieved to find that Sam’s vigilance had saved the cutter from harm, but they did not sleep very soundly that night. TheSallie was the first thing that came into their minds when they awoke in the morning. They went aboard of her as soon as they were dressed, but could find nothing to indicate that any one had been near her during the night.
“I say, Sam,” shouted Egan to the sentinel, who was getting ready to go ashore after his breakfast, “you must have been dreaming last night.”
“Look a yer, Marse Gus,” replied the negro, “if I dream dat I see a yarl go pas’ yer las’ night with three men in yer, de dogs done dream de same, kase dey growl, an’ dat’s what make me look ober de rail—yes, sah. Somebody was da’ suah, kase I done seed ’em.”
This was the day that Enoch and his party spent at the duck-shooter’s cabin, but Egan and his party devoted it to glass-ball shooting in the forenoon, and to quail-shooting in the afternoon. This was done at the request of Walter Curtis, who had developed a remarkable fondness for quail on toast. The next day was to be given up to Hopkins, who was eager to secure a white swan, like the one which had led Egan that long race in his cutter, and that was why the latter suggesteda week’s encampment on Spesutia Island. It would be little or no trouble for such a rifle-shot as Curtis to bring down a specimen now, Egan said, but if they waited until the upper end of the bay and its estuaries were frozen over, and the birds driven into the open water, it would be next to an impossibility to get a shot at one. Like all the wild fowl in Chesapeake Bay, they had learned how to calculate the range of a duck-gun, and knew enough to keep just beyond reach of it. When Enoch, Jones, and Lester sailed by on their way home from the duck-shooter’s cabin, Egan’s party was getting ready to start for the island. If Barr had stayed at home, or if the Sallie had kept away from Conesus Creek, Don Gordon would not have been shanghaied; but Barr was so anxious to put in another good night’s work among the ducks before he received a second visit from the police, and so very much afraid that the Magpie might intercept him while he was on his way to the creek, that he thought it best to get as close to his shooting-ground as he could before dark. The boys reached the creek before he did, and frightened away the ducks. Although he was at least three miles distant when it happened,Barr saw the flock as it arose from the water, and the way he stamped about the deck of his sloop, and threatened vengeance upon those who had spoiled his night’s work for him, was fearful. Half an hour later he picked up Pete, who, now that there was nothing to keep him longer in the creek, had started for home.
“Who done it?” demanded Barr, as he assisted his partner to haul his canoe aboard the sloop.
“Who do you ’spose?” growled Pete, in reply. “It was nobody but that oneasy Gus Egan and the fellers what’s stopping at his house. They tried to make me believe that they didn’t go for to skeer the ducks, but that they was after some swans they had seen a little furder up the bay.”
Barr was furious when he learned that Egan had been prowling around again just at the wrong time, and without knowing what he was going to do when he got there, he filled away for the creek, declaring, with much flourishing of his fists, that he would square yards with Egan before he saw the sun rise again.
About the time Barr left his cabin, Egan and his party were running into trouble without knowing it. They were going to spend a week incamp, as we have said, their first object, of course, being to see all the sport they could; and the second, to shoot swans enough so that each one of Egan’s guests could take a specimen or two home with him. The cutter had not been under way more than half an hour, when Egan, whose eyes were everywhere, suddenly called out:
“There’s a whiteness!”
“What’s a whiteness?” inquired Curtis, after he had looked all around without seeing anything.
“I should think you ought to know,” replied Hopkins, as he reached for the binoculars, which lay on the cushions near him. “Have you forgotten that once upon a time you told me that I was not much of a sportsman, because I spoke of a ‘flock’ of quails, when I should have said ‘covey’? I have since learned that you were wrong, as well as I. The word ‘covey’ is applied only to partridges; and as there are no partridges in this country, it cannot properly be used.”
“What is the word, then?” asked Curtis.
“Bevy,” answered Hopkins.
“Now, what’s the use of splitting hairs?” exclaimedEgan. “You seldom hear those terms used, even by our best educated sportsmen.”
“I am not ignorant of that fact; but I insist that Curtis shall be right himself, before he sets himself up for a teacher. A ‘whiteness,’ my dear fellow,” said Hopkins, blandly, “is a flock of swans. Just cast your eye about two points off the starboard bow, and you will see them.”
The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw a large flock of birds about two or three miles away; and, what was very singular, they appeared to be floating in the air, a few feet above the surface of the water, and not in the water itself. The clear, pure atmosphere must have served as a magnifying glass, for they looked larger than the huge retriever which Egan had brought with him.
“How big would an ostrich look at that distance, and under the same conditions?” asked Bert, after they had all taken a survey of the flock through the binoculars.
“As big as an elephant,” answered Hopkins. “Now, the next thing is something else. How are we going to get a shot at them?”
“That’s the hardest part of it,” replied Egan.“They are the shyest birds in the world, and they can tell the difference between a rifle and a gun-shot as well as you can; at least that is what you will say after you have hunted them a few times. We can’t get within range of them with a boat—they are much too smart to allow that—so we will hide the cutter in a creek I know of, a little distance above here, and take to the marshes on foot. The one who is the best at creeping through cold water that is anywhere from six inches to two feet deep, is the one who will stand the best chance of getting a shot at them.”
It was while he was trying to find a hiding-place for his cutter that Egan, to his no small amazement, ran into and frightened away Barr’s ducks. We say he ran into them, and that is what any one living in that country would have said; but the words must not be taken literally. The mouth of the creek was in reality a bay, about two miles wide and half as deep, and the middle of this bay was black with ducks. With a great splashing of water and fluttering of wings they took flight the instant the Sallie showed her nose around the point, so that the boys did not really come within rifle-shot of them. Egan andhis companions watched them as they winged their way toward the open water, and finally Don said:
“What a chance that would have been for Barr to-night, if he had known they were here!”
“Don’t you suppose he knew it?” inquired Egan. “Of course he did. He makes it his business to keep posted on such matters, and unless I am very much mistaken, we shall hear from him or his partner before we get a pop at those swans. What did I tell you?” he added, an hour later, as the cutter was running down the shore of the bay toward the creek. “There’s Pete, now.”
The others looked in the direction toward which Egan inclined his head, and saw a man pushing a canoe out of the marsh. He shook his paddle at them as they passed, and called out, in angry tones:
“Are you ever going to learn to mind your own business, Gus Egan? You are always around when you are not wanted.”
“That’s what Barr told me the other day,” replied Egan, pleasantly. “But if the ducks will persist in bunching where I want to go, I don’t see how I can keep from scaring them away.”
“I was just getting ready to set out my decoys, and you have cheated me out of a day’s wages,” continued Pete.
“I am sorry for that, but I didn’t know they were here,” said Egan. “I ran in to get a shot at some swans we saw up the bay. That story about the decoys is too thin, altogether,” he added, in a lower tone. “Ducks don’t decoy when they are bunched, but only when they are flying. If we hadn’t run in here Barr would have come up to-night with his big gun, and there would have been another slaughter of the innocents.”
The presence of the duck-shooter was a warning to Egan that he had better make sure work in hiding his cutter, or else leave a strong force to guard her; and as he did not want to forego the pleasure of a shot at the swans himself, or ask any of his friends to do it, he ran as far into the creek as the wind would carry him, and made the Sallie fast to a couple of trees that grew close to the water’s edge. This being done, the canoe was brought into requisition. It was pushed through the heavy grass until solid ground was reached, and then the young wild fowlers began their weary work of stalking the swans. After Eganhad warned them that they would surely get lost if they were not careful to keep their bearings, they separated, and in less than two minutes after leaving the canoe they were out of sight and hearing of one another. Each one decided for himself which way he ought to go to find the game, and made the best speed he could in that direction, regardless of any obstacles that lay in his path. Don made exceedingly bad work of it. His knowledge of wood-craft was by no means insignificant, but he had never before traveled through a wilderness of reeds and grass; and as there was literally nothing by which he could direct his course, he became bewildered, and, like every one else in a similar predicament, he began grumbling at the sun for being in the wrong quarter of the heavens.
“The sun was just about at meridian when we tied up in the creek,” he soliloquized, “and he ought, by rights, to be setting towards the west; but instead of that, he is going north. I’ll not trust him, for I am sure that Chesapeake Bay lies off in this direction.”
So saying, he turned and went as straight away from it as he could go. He plunged headlongthrough the thick grass and reeds, paying no heed to the severe scratches his hands and face received, floundered through water that was waist deep, and at the end of half an hour drew up before a little negro cabin, his advent being welcomed by two fierce dogs, which would certainly have laid hold of him had it not been for his double-barrel. They knew there was death in the black muzzles he turned toward them, and so kept at a respectful distance. Their angry barks and growls brought the owner of the cabin to the door. He was a thick-set, ruffianly-looking man, and when Don’s gaze rested on him he told himself that it was a lucky thing for him that he had not come in there without a gun.
“Hallo, uncle,” said he, cheerfully. “Where am I?”
“Whar is you?” repeated the negro, in sullen tones.
“Yes. I want to find my way to the bay; in which direction shall I go? There’s a dollar for you. Perhaps that will loosen your tongue,” said Don, who saw that the negro didn’t care to talk to him. He did not even thank him for the coinwhich fell at his feet; but he picked it up and said, as he pointed to a well-beaten path that led into the reeds:
“Go dat a way, an’ hit’ll take you plumb to de bay. Don’t turn to de right han’ nor to de lef’, kase if you do, you’ll get los’ suah. Au’ don’t come hyar no mo’, nudder.”
“I won’t,” replied Don. “That man has been up to something,” he said to himself, as he shouldered his gun and hurried along the path. “If he is hiding there to escape arrest, I am glad that I am in no danger of being called upon to serve a warrant on him, for he looks to me like a bad darkey.”
While Don was trying hard to convince himself that the path he was following led toward the bay, and not directly away from it, he was hurrying forward at his best pace. The path was very crooked, for it kept to the high ground all the way, and the turns in it were many and abrupt. As he ran around one of these turns, he came face to face with a couple of men who were making equally good time in the opposite direction; that is, they were going toward the cabin Don had just left. He was so close upon them that if they hadnot stopped on the instant, as he did, he and the foremost man would have run against each other. The surprise on both sides was great. One of the men turned part way around, as if he had a good mind to take to his heels, while the other, quickly recovering himself, laid hold of Don’s gun with both hands. Then the boy began to believe that he was going to see trouble. He took a second look at the repulsive face that was scarcely more than a foot away from his own, and recognized in it the features of Barr, the professional big-gunner.
Did the latter recognize him also, and did he mean to punish him for being on board the cutter when she frightened away the ducks?
“Look here,” said Don, without the least tremor in his voice, “I’ll trouble you to let go my gun. What do you intend to do? I know who you are, and——”
“And I know who you are, too,” interrupted Barr; and there was something in the way he uttered the words which made Don see very plainly that he might as well prepare for the worst. “You are one of the chaps who runs around with Gus Egan, taking the bread out ofpoor men’s mouths—dog-gone you; that’s who you be. Your name’s Gordon, ain’t it?”
“What’s that to you?” replied Don. “Let go my gun!”
“Yes, I reckon you’re the feller I’ve been looking for,” continued Barr, “and I’m going to put you where you won’t never bother hard-working men who are trying to make an honest living.”
Don in the Hands of the Duck-shooters.
Don in the Hands of the Duck-shooters.
Don in the Hands of the Duck-shooters.
The duck-shooter had been a little uncertain as to the boy’s identity, but the way Don answered his question, set all his fears at rest. When he seized the gun he did not know who it was that was confronting him. Like all guilty men, he was easily startled, and Don’s sudden and wholly unexpected appearance frightened him almost out of his wits; but when he found that his path had been blocked by a boy and not by a police-officer, his courage came back to him, and he was about to let go his hold upon the double-barrel, when Lester Brigham’s hasty words came into his mind. When he told Don that he was about to put him where he would never again trouble hard-working men who were trying to make an honest living, he made a sudden effort to twist the gun out of his grasp; but, to his intense amazement, he found himself jerked clear off the ground and thrown headlong into the reeds and out of the path, where the water was two feet deep. Turning the butt of his weapon to the front, Don rushed upon Pete, intending to knock him out of his way and take to his heels; but that move was fatal to him. Pete was quicker than Barr, and besides, he was on the alert. Like a flash he dodged the vicious blow which Don aimed at his face, and springing up again under his guard, struck him, with stunning force, on the head, felling him to the ground. His gun dropped from his hands, and he lay so still where he had fallen that Barr, who was in a towering rage when he crawled out of the water, grew frightened while he looked at him.
“I’ll jest tell you what’s a fact, Pete,” said he. “You whacked him too hard.”
“No, I reckon not,” answered the other. “Ketch hold of him, and we’ll souse him in the water and bring him to life again. Them thousand dollars are our’n.”
Barr was a coward as well as a professional lawbreaker, and if he had been alone he would havefled at the top of his speed, leaving Don to recover or to remain insensible, as the fates might decree; but Peter wasn’t that sort. Barr had told him of the money that Lester Brigham was willing to give to any one who would send Don so far out of the country that he would never come back again; and Pete didn’t see why they should not earn it, now that it was in their power to do so. In accordance with his suggestion, Barr took hold of one foot while Pete held fast to the other, and by their united efforts, Don was pushed out of the path and churned up and down in the cold water, until he began to show signs of returning consciousness. Then he was hauled up again, feet first, Pete threw him over his shoulder as if he had been an infant, and the worthy pair retraced their steps toward the beach.
Don had a dim idea of what was going on, but he was powerless to resist. His head felt as if it were about to burst, his strength was all gone; but in courage he was as undaunted as ever. He knew when he was put into Barr’s canoe and taken off to the sloop, which lay at anchor a short distance from the shore; and he heard, as in a dream, his abductors talk about shipping him offfor Cuba on a coaster that was to sail from Havre de Grace that night; but for reasons of their own, which Don could not understand, owing to the fuddled state of his brain, they were going to make Brigham believe that they had sent him off to China. This gave the prisoner a vague idea that he was the victim of a plot, but he did not try to get at the bottom of it. On the contrary, he fell asleep while his captors were lifting him over the side of the sloop.
When Don awoke it was dark, and he was lying on a rough bunk in the sloop’s cabin. Barr was standing at the top of the companion-ladder in such a position that he could keep an eye on Don, and at the same time listen to the conversation that was carried on between Pete and a man whom Don could not see.
“It’s a business that I don’t like to meddle with,” Don heard the invisible man say.
“’Tain’t no wuss than other things that you’ve done more’n a hundred times,” answered Pete. “He’s a teetotal stranger in these parts, and not one of his friends knows where he is. You can sign the articles for him, and sw’ar that he was shipped all squ’ar and reg’lar, can’t you? If youdon’t want to bring him back from Havanny, why, you needn’t to.”
“But my bunks in the forecastle are all full,” said the voice. “Where can I stow him?”
“Put him in the cabin till you call him up for duty, and arterwards let him stow himself o’ nights,” said Pete. “If you don’t do it, who’ll ketch your cigars for this trip?”
“Well, I suppose I shall have to do it,” replied the voice, which belonged to the captain of a coaster, who now and then turned a penny in the line of smuggling. “Bring him aboard.”
Pete at once came down the ladder, and Don, who, during his sleep, had been bound so tightly with ropes that he could not move hand or foot, was carried to the deck and hoisted aboard the coaster. The mate, who came to the side at that moment, was informed, in response to his inquiries, that Don was a sailor-man, who had signed the articles all right and square, but had made up his mind, at the last moment, that he didn’t want to go to Havana.
“Tried to desert, did he?” said the mate, with a grim smile. “I’ll make him wish he hadn’t before this run is over. You didn’t knock himdead, did you? I see he’s got a fearful bump over his eye.”
Pete hastened to assure the mate that Don would be all right by the time his services were required on deck, and then he and Barr carried him into the cabin and tumbled him into one of the bunks.