A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS
Inside the tavern all was life and jollity. In the tap-room, located at
the upper end of the hostelry but down two steps lower than the rest
of the building, a crowd of burly traders, farmers and sailors were
assembled, drinking, smoking and talking loudly. Occasionally a sailor
would burst into a song of the sea, and his mates would join in the
chorus, drowning out every other sound until the song came to an end
with a heavy thumping of glasses and mugs.
Beyond the tap-room was the parlor, a tidy place, with quaint furniture
brought from England sitting in rows along the walls. Here, in a
book-case, were a number of leather-bound volumes, and also a file
of the Spectator, a much-prized English periodical. There were also
several copies of a Maryland newspaper which had but lately made its
appearance and was languishing for want of support.
Next to the parlor came the dining hall, down one step, with a kitchen
in the rear. The hall was long and narrow and had a floor which was
well sanded and marked before meals into fancy shapes. The tables were
low and solid, the chairs broad and high-backed, and at the front was
a long settle, where one might rest and gaze out on the dusty highway.
On a shelf in the dining hall rested the wooden model of a ship, the
vessel in which Theophilus Mangot had come over from England. Beside
the ship was a small brass clock and a frame containing a hand-made map
of Annapolis and vicinity.
Dave saw but little of this until the next morning. For six shillings
his uncle hired a small but comfortable bed-chamber in the rear of the
inn, instairs, and to this they retired, after a bountiful supper which
both enjoyed. No sooner had Dave’s head touched the pillow than he sank
into slumber, and from this he did not awaken until the sun shone in at
the window.
Joseph Morris had already gone below, and the youth hastened to follow
him. But while he was dressing his attention was drawn to a fight
in the stable yard, between two of the negro hostlers. This was a
head-ramming contest, in which the slaves butted each other over and
over again until at last one apparently had enough of it, when he ran
away, leaving the victor to ha! ha! loudly.
“I would rather it were their heads than mine,” said Dave, after
telling his uncle of the affair. “It’s a wonder one of them wasn’t
killed.”
“They get used to it, by practice,” replied Joseph Morris. “I have seen
them fight for hours in that fashion and then give it up little the
worse for the sport.”
Dave’s uncle was to do his purchasing on King and Church streets,
two of the busiest thoroughfares of the town, and hither they went
immediately after breakfast. Several ships from England had come in
only a few days before, so the shops were well filled, and trading was
brisk on every hand. Ready money was often scarce, but the Assembly had
some years before made both tobacco and Indian corn a legal tender for
all debts, and these were readily accepted, at the rate of one penny a
pound for tobacco and twenty pence per bushel for corn. But with it all
the shop-keepers and others who had goods to sell preferred cash, and
Mr. Morris got many a good bargain in consequence.
One of the shops was close to the end of Church street, and while his
uncle was having some goods wrapped up and made otherwise ready for
transportation by horseback, the youth slipped down to the immense
wharves fronting Chesapeake Bay, to take a look at the stately ships,
with their towering masts and square yards, and the little boats of
all descriptions. Here the smell of tar and salt air was heavy, and
here large gangs of black and white laborers were toiling at their
tasks of loading and unloading tobacco, hemp, lumber, rum, molasses,
hardware, and a hundred and one other things.
“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?” asked one of the sailors at hand.
“If ye are there’s nary better craft nor the _Queen Mary_ lying yonder,
nor better master than Cap’n Ringdale who commands her.”
“Thank you, but I don’t care to be a sailor,” answered Dave. “I have
come in to do some trading, that’s all.”
“But you’d better ship,” went on the tar, and caught Dave by the arm.
“No.”
“Come and see our cap’n--he’ll treat ye well,” urged the sailor, trying
his best to became friendly. The ship was short of hands and Captain
Ringdale had promised his men ten shillings for each new man brought in.
“I don’t want to go--and I want you to let go of me!” cried Dave, and
at once grew suspicious, for he had heard of how men had been impressed
into service against their will.
[Illustration: “Looking for a chance to ship, lad?”--_Page 86._]
“Don’t grow alarmed, lad, I won’t hurt ye. Come, you’ll like the
cap’n, I know. Perhaps you never had the chance to look over a ship.
It’s a sight worth seeing, and will cost you nothing.”
“I said, let go of me,” exclaimed Dave, in more alarm than ever. “If
you don’t, I’ll call the watch.”
“You’re a troublesome lad truly!” answered the tar, and then gazed
around to see who else was in sight. Apparently satisfied that the
coast was clear, he suddenly stepped behind Dave and pinned his arms
fast to his side. Then he lifted the lad up bodily in his brawny grasp.
“You shall see the cap’n--whether you go or not,” he went on.
But if he imagined that Dave was to be taken thus easily, he soon found
out his mistake. In an instant the youth twisted his legs around those
of his assailant, so the latter could not budge a step--and there they
remained, one locked above, the other locked below.
“Let loose!” roared the tar. “Let loose, I say, or by my soul, I’ll
knock ye down!”
“Help! help!” cried Dave, shrilly. “Help! Watch!”
“Stow your calls, I say!”
“I will not! Help!”
Dave did his best to turn his head and look up the long dock. The
sailor did likewise, at the same time trying to loosen his legs, that
he might make off with the boy. A small boat was handy and once he had
Dave in this, he felt he could get off with the boy easily.
But now an answering shout came back, which filled the youth with joy
and brought dismay to the tar. Coming from the trading shop, Joseph
Morris had heard and recognized his nephew’s cry and was now running in
that direction.
“What’s the matter, Dave?” he shouted when he caught sight of his
nephew. “What’s the trouble?”
Hearing Dave called by name, the sailor at once let go his hold on the
youth and struck the lad in the side. To keep from falling Dave had to
step away, and thus freed, the tar lost no time in taking to his heels.
“That man wanted to carry me on board his ship,” answered the youth, as
he gazed after the sailor, who was now disappearing behind one of the
nearby warehouses.
“On board his ship?”
“Yes. First he asked me if I didn’t want to become a sailor. I told him
no, and then he caught me around the breast.”
“The rascal!” burst out Joseph Morris. “He wanted to impress you! I
thought it was safe here, or I should not have allowed you to come
alone. If I can catch him I’ll give him a piece of my mind, I’ll
warrant you!”
He ran toward the warehouse, and quite willing to see the sailor
punished, Dave went with him. But the tar had taken time by the
forelock, and when the warehouse was gained, he had disappeared
utterly, nor did a hunt of half an hour bring him to light.
The “scare” made Dave more cautious, and for the remainder of the time
spent in Annapolis he kept within sight of his uncle, especially when
down by the docks. With his uncle he boarded one of the merchantmen
lying at anchor in the bay and inspected the great ship from stem to
stern. From the captain of the merchantman they learned that sailors
were just then scarce and a good price had to be paid to get them to
sail in West Indian waters on account of the pirates.
“The minute you say West Indies to them they won’t sign articles at any
price,” said the captain. “The pirates are as thick as bees and when
they take a prize it’s either join them or walk the plank and not over
half an hour to make up your mind to it either.”
Three days were spent in Annapolis, and then, having purchased all the
things needed, and also several extra horses to carry the load, the
Morrises set off for home. With them for part of the distance went
a settler named Crosby, a whole-souled man of middle age, who by his
light-hearted talk did much to while the weary hours away.
“’Tis a great city, this Annapolis,” said Crosby. “And a good one
wherein to get rid of one’s loose money. Five days ago I had a well
filled purse, but between the drinking, and the card playing, and a
trip to the races at Marlboro ’tis little I have left. To-night there
was to be a play by an Englishman named Shakespeare, but I thought I
would not stay to it, for I’m not overly fond of make-believe things.”
“I’d like to see a play,” said Dave. “At the inn I saw a book of them
written by this same Shakespeare of whom you speak. It must be very
fine.”
“I saw a play at Annapolis several years ago,” put in Joseph Morris.
“It was a comedy called ‘The Sailor’s Lass,’ but it was not well
produced and the actors were hooted off the stage and bombarded with
stale cabbages.”
Our friends were to take the same road home by which they had come, and
proceeded as rapidly as the loads carried by the pack horses permitted.
These latter beasts were powerful animals and well broken, although one
large horse named Lovejoy had a habit of wandering away if not closely
watched.
The third day of the return journey found the Morrises climbing through
the Blue Ridge Mountains once more. Aaron Crosby was still with them,
although he expected to leave them when the Shenandoah was gained.
It was a warm day for this time of year, and Crosby ventured the
prediction that a storm was at hand. “We’ll catch it afore midnight,”
he said, and Joseph Morris agreed with him.
By nightfall the wind had freshened and the sky was heavily overcast.
They had tried to reach the cabin of a settler living in the
neighborhood, but before they could gain it, the rain came down in
torrents and they were glad enough to seek the first shelter at hand.
This proved to be a cliff of rocks, and here they found a cave-like
opening a score of feet in depth, and huddled beneath. At first they
thought to light a camp-fire, but the wind blew so furiously that the
scheme was abandoned.
“The fire would fly in all directions,” said Joseph Morris. “We would
get no benefit and there would be much danger.”
By ten in the evening the storm was at its worst. The rain came down in
sheets, while the fitful gusts of wind tore through the mountain gap
with a fierceness that threatened to uproot every bush and tree in its
path. Sometimes a tree would come down, with a booming and a crashing
to be heard distinctly for hundreds of yards away.
The horses had been tied up in a clump of bushes, but that was all that
could be done for them, excepting to strap the blankets tightly over
them, and also the loads, the latter being placed in the shelter of
some rocks.
At length, when the fury of the storm had subsided somewhat, Dave laid
down to sleep, and Aaron Crosby followed. Joseph Morris walked away
from the cliff to see if the horses were safe. He was gone about half
an hour and came back much disturbed.
“Lovejoy is gone and so is Fanny,” he said. “I’ve looked for them
everywhere but I can’t find any trace of them.”