THE _THREE SISTERS_ SETS SAIL
As soon as the _Three Sisters_ was well on her way out into the bay,
Bob gave his attention to Jerry. Neither Tom nor Hal seemed surprised.
“Are you goin’ along as cook?” began Bob, questioning the grinning
Jerry.
“Cook!” exclaimed Hal. “Can he cook?”
“I met Jerry the other day,” explained Bob, “and he told me he was the
chef of the Anclote Island Club.”
Jerry’s grin was not so broad.
“He did, did he?” broke in Tom. “I only wish he knew enough to fry ham.
Jerry is ouah dish washah, crab fishah, frog catchah, watah carriah,
camp sweepah, boat bailah――are you anything else, Jerry?” concluded
Tom, with a laugh.
“I shuah am. I done bile de coffee. An’ Marse Hal hissef he done call
me de ’sistant chef. I ain’t call mahsef no chef. Yo’ all is who calls
me de chef. I ain’t tell no lie.”
“You told me you had an important engagement to hire assistant chefs,”
persisted Bob.
“No, sah, no, sah, Marse Bafah――dars whar you’ musunderheerd me. Ah
says Ah’s de ’sistant――das what I recomembah fo’ shuah advisin’ yo’.
An’ Ah _is_ dat, ain’t I, Marse Tom?” pleaded Jerry. “Ain’t I de first
’sistant chef?”
“Oh, I reckon so,” conceded Tom, with a laugh, “if that’ll save yo’
from lyin’. But you must quit talkin’ so much Jerry.”
“Where’s he been the last two or three days?” asked Bob, turning to the
boys. “I forgot he belonged to us.”
Both boys looked a little sheepish, and then Hal explained.
“Jerry is usually with us and we half way consented that he might go
along this spring. But when Mac dropped out, he told Jerry if he went
along, he’d get into trouble――”
“Mac told Jerry he’d beat him up if he went,” interrupted Tom.
“Jerry was in a terrible stew,” continued Hal. “He was crazy to go, and
was afraid of Mac. He compromised by lyin’ to Mac, and, last night, he
hid in the schooner.”
“What are you afraid of, Jerry?” asked Bob sharply facing the
embarrassed Jerry again.
“Ah’s ’fraid Mac done see me on de boat jes now,” almost blubbered the
colored boy.
“Well, what if he did? How is he goin’ to harm you, even if he wants
to?”
“Yo’ all know what Mac done say he gwine do to de club?” asked Jerry in
what was almost an awed whisper.
“I know he’s full of wind,” answered Bob. “But what did he say?”
“He done say de cabin is much his as yo’ alls. An’ he done make his
boas’ dat he gwine right to de cabin hissef an’ take up his lodgin’
dar, and ef any one try put him out, he gwine lam him biff on de jaw.
Das what he’s a boas’in’. An’ he say ef he cotch me gwine dar, he goin’
break my haid.”
Bob snorted with indignation. The other boys seemed to take Mac’s
threats more to heart.
“I guess we can take care of ourselves and you too Jerry,” answered Tom
valiantly.
“Guess!” almost shouted Bob. “I think the guess is on Mac’s side. But
look here, fellows――let’s cut out Mac’s threats and bluffs. He ain’t
goin’ to bother us or try to. I think he’s a four flusher. Anyway, I
told him what I thought of him and what he could expect from us. I
ain’t borrowin’ any trouble about him. Let’s quit discussin’ him.”
The other boys seemed willing. Bob amused himself a few more minutes
quizzing the not wholly confident Jerry. While Tom and Hal were
forward, Bob leaned over towards Jerry and whispered:
“Jerry,” he said――suppressing a smile――“did you ever tell the truth
about anything?”
“Yo’ mean to ’sult me Marse Balfah?” answered the swaggering Jerry.
“How come yo’ ax sich a fool question? Yo’ nacherly boun’ to tell de
truf――sometimes. Dey is times when it’s bes’,” and he tried to appear
indignant.
Bob edged closer to the colored boy.
“Jerry,” he asked, “are there any old colored folk over on Perdido? Old
white haired darkies who have lived on the bay about a hundred years,
say?”
Jerry looked up, puzzled.
“Ah reckon dey’s quite some up nigh Mill View.”
“Did any of ’em ever tell you about any pirate treasure?” added Bob,
dropping his voice still lower. “Did any of these old white haired
colored men ever search for pirate gold?”
“Did any o’ dem Perdido coons eber sarch fur pirate treasure?” repeated
Jerry. “Is dey any o’ dem dat ain’t? Say, Marse Balfah,” added
Jerry confidentially, “Ah don’t want to boas’, but Ah reckon Ah hab
got, pussonally, de likeliest treasure tree on de bay. On’y,” and he
scratched his chin with assumed importance, “Ah ain’t nebber had no
time yit to go diggin’ dar.”
“Who told you about buried treasure?” asked Bob breathlessly, grasping
Jerry’s arm. “And do you know a place?”
Jerry, perceiving that he had now attracted attention, began to grow
important.
“I cain’t tell dat,” he answered solemnly. “Ah swored neber to tell no
libbin soul. ’Sides, Ah’s got to gib half de gold to who done tole me.
Ah reckon Ah’s gwine do mah diggin’ purty soon now.”
Of course, Bob knew that Jerry was lying. But this sort of romancing
delighted him. Nothing would have pleased him better than to follow the
colored boy on a wild goose chase for mythical treasure.
“Jerry,” he said at last, very soberly, “I’ll give you two dollars,
and give it to you now, if you’ll let me go partners in your treasure
diggin’.”
The colored boy hadn’t a cent in his pocket. Bob’s two-dollar bill
looked like a blanket to him. The whites of his eyes showed, and he
restrained his itching hands with difficulty.
“Marse Balfah, Ah cain’t do dat. I swored not to tell fur love nur
money. Dat’s a monstrous big treasure. No, sah. Ef Ah eber tells whah
dat is, Ah got to be ready to drap down daid. Ah cain’t tell nothin’
’bout mah _reg’lar_ treasure.”
“Your _regular_ treasure?” asked Bob. “Have you more than one treasure
place?”
“More’n one?” almost sneered Jerry. “Why, Marse Bob, dat old Perdido
Bay is de likeliest treasure diggin’ groun’ in all de worl’. Yas, sah.
Dey’s as good places to dig fo’ pirate gold under dem old pine an’ oak
trees as you’ll disciver even in Cuby, an’ Ah reckon dat’s whar de
riches’ pirates all come frum.”
“But do they ever find anything?” continued his questioner soberly.
“Das what don’t no one know. Ef yo’ fine a box o’ pirate gold dollars,
yo’ mus’n’t tell no one. Ef yo’ do, yo’ luck’s broke――ain’t never goin’
fine no mo’.”
“Well, how do you know where to dig, if you haven’t got a chart?” went
on Bob.
“Das it,” slowly answered Jerry, closing one eye. “Dey’s signs ’at yo’
can tell by. But yo’ got to have a reg’lar treasurer, ef yo’ don’t
know em. I’m feared to drap daid ef Ah tell ’bout mah reg’lar treasure
place, but ef ye’ll gimme de two dollars, Ah know de best treasurers on
the bay――”
Bob laughed and returned his money to his pocket.
“Jerry,” he said, “if you ever run across any fresh treasure tracks and
can show ’em to me, I’ll go along and help dig and won’t charge you a
cent.”
The boys found treasure of various kinds very soon, but none of it was
pirate gold. Before Jerry and Bob could enter into new negotiations
concerning doubloons or pieces-of-eight, Tom and Hal swooped down on
the colored boy, and set him to work repacking cargo. Long before
the navy yard was passed, everything was in order, and Captain Joe’s
passengers were settled to enjoy the sail.
“It’s great,” exclaimed Bob, as he welcomed the fine salt spray, “and
the best part of it is that it’s just about as far from anything I
expected as it well could be.”
“That’s one thing about sailin’,” remarked Hal. “It’s usually far from
anything you imagine. You’d think, scootin’ along here with this
breeze and on this baby swell, that there wasn’t a ‘norther’ in the
wide world.”
“How does she look, Captain Joe?” spoke up Tom, as if to provide an
antidote to Hal’s gloomy comment.
Captain Joe pulled at his pipe slowly, and then looked gulfward and
landward.
“’Tis make a red sky in de eas’ an’ de clouds hang low,” he remarked,
shrugging his shoulders. “Dat make sometime bad night an’ cold an’
win’. But no troub’ on de schooner――all safe.”
It did not require these words to reassure the boys. The most direful
predictions would hardly have disturbed their juvenile patter. When,
about five o’clock, the _Three Sisters_ rounded the west end of Santa
Rosa Island and stood out to sea, Tom, Hal and Bob were on the forward
deck, their legs sprawled out and their backs to the foremast, their
hands and faces already salt encrusted and their tongues wagging.
As the little schooner finally came about and headed west, Bob
exclaimed:
“It certainly gets cool quickly out here. Beyond the protection of the
land, I suppose,” he added, as the _Three Sisters_ began to feel the
rising swell.
Tom, a little wiser, pointed to the east.
“Red sky in east at sunset means bad weather,” he said. “But I reckon
we’ll be in the bay long befoah any wind comes up.”
But the evening chill rapidly increased. Hal nudged his companions
and pointed sternward. Captain Romano’s brazier was already aglow. In
another instant, the three spray soaked adventurers joined the skipper
and Jerry about the little brick hearth. The _Three Sisters_ was
pulling like a horse, cutting her course true and straight, and the pot
was on the brazier with supper preparing.
The boys huddled beneath the rail, glad to escape the freshening breeze
and to enjoy the warm glow of the charcoal fire. Captain Joe’s meal
was not complex――a plain beef stew with potatoes and onions. Jerry had
peeled the potatoes――a labor he did not fail to describe several times
over. As dusk came on, Captain Joe ordered Tom and Hal to light the
port and starboard lights, and just before supper was served, he hung a
ship’s lantern from the forward edge of the cockpit.
As soon as the stew was off the fire, Captain Romano made coffee.
While it was brewing, each boy was given a heaped dish of meat and
potatoes, half a loaf of bread, and the banquet was on. The only sweet
was the sugar that came in the coffee. With a second helping of the
savory concoction, the supper came to an end, the brazier fire was
extinguished, and Captain Joe’s pipe glowed again.
It was now wholly dark, fairly cool, and the breeze had risen until
sheets and stays were cracking occasionally. Bob turned up his collar,
and rather wished for his sweater. Only a few stars were to be seen,
and shoreward, a distant swishing moan told where the swell was
breaking on the low, sandy gulf beach.
Bob was just trying to figure out where he might steal a few hours’
sleep on the schooner when a smash of water on the stern of the _Three
Sisters_ startled him. An instant later, the little craft heeled over
before a gust of wind and then, righting herself, rushed upward on the
yellow crest of yeasty water.
“We’re headin’ in for the bay,” explained Tom, noticing Bob’s surprise,
“and it’s time. The wind has changed and it may blow a bit. But I
reckon we’ll make the pass befoah trouble begins.”
And Captain Romano barely did it. Feeling his way cautiously landward
in the dark, using his ears more than his eyes to locate the narrow
pass into the bay, it was nearly eight o’clock when the _Three Sisters_
struck the outflowing Perdido River current and began tacking through
the narrow entrance. The wind was fair, but strong, and just before
attempting the pass, Captain Romano, Tom and Hal double reefed both
sails, leaving Bob and Jerry at the wheel.
It was all very wet and dark and far from warm. There was a succession
of sharp commands from Captain Joe to Tom at the jib and Hal at the
center board; a great deal of slatting of canvas and quick hauling of
jib sheets before the imperturbable skipper called “all free,” and the
_Three Sisters_ slid into calmer water.
“What’s doing?” asked Bob, at last, as the schooner came up in the wind
and its sails flattened.
“It don’t look like a pleasure sail on the bay to-night,” responded
Tom, panting from his exertion, “and Captain Joe’s goin’ to drop anchor
back of the island till day.”
“Bad as that?” continued Bob.
“The wind’s boxin’ the compass,” said Tom, “an’ it’ll be stirrin’ up
the bay in a little while. It’s safah here in smooth watah.”
The roar of the breakers on the gulf side of the long, sandy peninsula
almost closing the pass was increasing each minute. Evidently a storm
was brewing, and no small one. At that moment, Hal joined the two boys.
“Captain Joe says we’d better take the new tent ashore in the dingy,
and bunk there,” he exclaimed. “I guess he’s more scared than he lets
on.”