STUCK ON AN OYSTER BAR
"Do you think they'll attack us, Joe?" asked Jerry as the sharpie began
to head straight for the anchored motor-boat.
"No, I don't. Them fellers is big cowards, and when they see the guns
they'll take it out in talking," came the prompt answer.
"I believe Joe is right. They must be cowards, or they'd never have
abused a boy as they did him. He showed me a lot of bruises from kicks
he's had," observed Frank, with a gleam in his eye and a look on his face
that told of his detestation for the brute who could, in a temper, knock
a child down.
"Say! Perhaps it might be just as well to get the anchor up, and start
the motor, in case we wanted to move, anyway," remarked Bluff.
"A hunky idea!" echoed Jerry.
Frank himself agreed to it. So while Jerry hastened to get the mudhook
aboard, Frank bent down over the motor. They heard him crank it, and then
came the merry and suggestive hum that bespoke business.
"Now, if we wanted, we could go spinning away, and laugh at them,"
observed Will.
"But we don't intend to, all the same," said Frank quietly, making his
appearance again, gun in hand. The boat had moved a length or so, and
then floated on the smooth water of the lagoon.
A shout from the sharpie had told that the spongers believed they meant
to run off, and at the same time one of them was seen flourishing a gun.
"Hold up, there, you rascals, you!" came across the water, and a shot
followed, the bullet splashing close to the motor-boat.
"Don't you try that again, there, or we'll give you a broadside! Do you
hear?" shouted Frank, as he and his chums lifted their array of weapons
so that the men could easily see what they were up against.
The sharpie kept pushing on until close by. Then a sudden shifting of the
rudder caused the boat with the tall masts to "come to" in the wind, with
her dingy sails shivering as they hung there lifeless.
"We want that kid!" called a tall, gaunt man with a red beard.
"That's Uncle Ben!" exclaimed Joe, who was peeping over the gunwale.
"Well, you'll have to take it out in wanting, then, because you're not
going to get him. Joe says you beat him. He prefers to stay with us, and
we're going to take him home to his mother in Cedar Keys. Get that?"
called Frank.
The three men conferred together for a minute or two.
"Say! my breakfast's getting cold! I wish they'd hurry," remarked Bluff.
Will was getting busy himself. The old familiar click announced that he
had secured a picture of the three spongers at a time when they stood out
plainly.
"Hey, you fellers! What yuh mean a-comin' an' stealin' my nephew out o'
my boat? He signed for the cruise, he did. It's ag'in the law, what yuh
did, an' yer liable ter git yerselves in trouble," the red-bearded man
now called.
"We can stand it if you can. The marks on this boy will settle your case
for you. Better go on about your business. We don't want any fight, but
just make up your minds that if you start it we're going to shoot holes
through every one of your crowd. That's enough talk. Now, twenty-three
for yours!"
It was seldom that Frank used slang, but just then he was in want of a
better expression by means of which to give vent to his feelings.
Bluff was already sitting down and eating, though he kept hold of his gun
at the same time, like a true soldier on duty. The trio of spongers
talked among themselves for a short time, then, with many harsh words,
they pushed their boat around with a pole until the dingy canvas took
the breeze again, after which they sailed away.
"A good riddance of bad rubbish," declared Bluff, with his mouth full of
bacon; and the others voiced his sentiments exactly.
As for the boy, he was smiling as if tickled over the wonderful change
that had come about in his fortunes. Frank, remembering the limp form
squatting in the stern of the sharpie, so given up to despair and bodily
anguish, could hardly believe that this bright-faced lad was the same.
They did not linger long after finishing breakfast.
While the weather remained favorable Frank thought they ought to be
making further progress along their way. True, Cedar Keys was not so
very far distant, but who could say what difficulties they might
encounter from time to time?
"It will do to loiter when we've arrived within a dozen or two miles of
the city," he remarked, and they all admitted the wisdom of his decision.
They went out the same way they had come in. Joe said it was safer, since
the lagoon was exceedingly shallow at the east end of the island, and
they stood to get aground if the tide was falling, as seemed to be the
case.
As they came out from behind the key they discovered the sharpie far away
to the west, careening over under a brisk morning breeze, and looking
like a dun-colored frightened bird.
"We're not apt to see anything of that tough lot again, I guess," quoth
Jerry.
"They're heading for a favorite ground. I didn't know they hunted sponges
so far north, Joe. Key West seems to be the head center for the
business."
"Get a few, but not many. Mostly fishing and turtling. Some look for
coral on the bottom. Lots of ways to earn a living around the water in
the gulf," replied the boy, in answer to Frank's inquiry.
"I should say there were. A man need never go hungry in this region if he
knows enough to let strong drink alone," said Will.
"That's the trouble with Uncle Ben; he's drunk half the time. And when he
is he wants to fight everybody. We all tried to keep away from him,"
observed Joe.
They were now out upon the gulf again. Will was a little dubious,
remembering his bitter experience of the preceding day, but to his
surprise and delight, he did not seem to feel the least bit sick.
Perhaps the motion was entirely different, for they were now running
almost directly into the light breeze.
Frank had turned the wheel over to Bluff, and was conning his charts,
with Jerry bending over his shoulder.
"There's where we are right now. Looking along the shore, you can see
where a key offers the same sort of refuge we enjoyed last night. In
cruising along this coast, it's the only thing to do--run behind one of
those islands each night. Only big boats anchor off shore. It's too
dangerous for little craft, for a storm is liable to spring up during the
night."
In this way Frank went on. They decided that since there seemed to be
several possible havens ahead, they had better keep right on until the
day waned, or they found themselves forced by a change in the weather to
seek shelter.
Jerry had a line trailing astern, with a hook at the end, to which he had
attached a bit of white rag. In less than ten minutes after he threw it
out he pulled in a gamy fish that might have weighed a couple of pounds.
"A cavalli," said Joe; and they were glad indeed to have a native along
who could post them on such things as might have puzzled them.
"Good to eat, is it?" asked Jerry, eyeing the forked tail, which, in this
fish, resembles that of the Spanish mackerel.
"Fine. Not so good as pompano, but better than bonita," was Joe's
verdict.
"All right. He looks good to me," said Bluff. "Do it some more, Jerry. We
need a couple more to make good all around."
"Now, talk to me about that, will you! Listen to how the greedy fellow
gauges everybody's appetite by his own voracious longings."
But in spite of his talk, Jerry, being a sportsman to his finger-tips, as
he was fond of saying, was only too glad to make a second trial.
This time he had hardly half of his line out when there was a sudden
vicious jerk.
"Wow! Nearly took a finger off then! Look at the line whizz, will you?
Must have struck a whale!" he cried. But, after all, it was another
cavalli (sometimes called crevalle), and not much larger than the first.
So the sport went on until he had brought five to the boat, when he gave
up.
"Too hard on the fingers, boys. You see, we're spinning along at a lively
clip, and a two-pound fish feels like a ton. I'm all in," he explained.
"Well, we want to keep the fish until evening. Will, here, is dying to
clean them for us," said Frank.
"No! no! That is my part of the work!" exclaimed Joe, nor would he hear
of anything else.
Noon came and went. Their progress was altogether satisfactory. All of
them admitted that outside of that one puzzling breakdown, the motor was
working like a charm. It was indeed a pleasure to lie around and see the
green waves flashing past, with the picturesque shore only a mile or so
away.
Finally Frank announced that he had discovered the island for which he
was aiming. They had made a splendid day's showing, and logged more than
thirty miles, against a head wind and sea.
Frank tried to follow the chart, but he knew he would have more or less
difficulty, for back of the key it was exceedingly shallow, and the
channel narrow.
Speed was reduced as they started to enter the open bayou. Jerry, up in
the bow, was using the pole as a sounding line, and calling out:
"Two feet! One and three-quarters! One and a half! Hey! Hold up, there!
We're on an oyster bar, for sure!" And the grating noise that immediately
followed told that they had lost the narrow channel again.