It was growing dark already in the dense fir growth that covered the
hillside, and when Jeremy suddenly stepped upon the moss at the brink of
a deep spring, he had to catch a branch to keep from falling in. There
was an opening in the trees above and enough light came through for him
to see the white sand bubbling at the bottom.
At one edge the water lapped softly over the moss and trickled down the
northern slope of the hill in a little rivulet, which had in the course
of time shaped itself a deep, well-defined bed a yard or two across.
Following this, the boy soon came out upon the grassy slope beside the
sheep-pen. He looked in at the placid flock, brought a bucket of water
from the little stream, and, not caring to light a lantern, ate his
supper of bread and cheese outside the hut on the slope facing the bay.
The night settled chill but without fog. The boy wrapped his heavy
homespun cloak round him, snuggled close to Jock's hairy side, and in
his lonesomeness fell back on counting the stars as they came out. First
the great yellow planet in the west, then, high overhead, the sparkling
white of what, had he known it, was Vega; and in a moment a dozen
others were in view before he could number them--Regulus, Altair, Spica,
and, low in the south, the angry fire of Antares.
For him they were unnamed, save for the peculiarities he discovered in
each. In common with most boys he could trace the dipper and find the
North Star, but he regrouped most of the constellations to suit himself,
and was able to see the outline of a wolf or the head of an Indian that
covered half the sky whenever he chose. He wondered what had become of
Orion, whose brilliant galaxy of stars appeals to every boy's fancy. It
had vanished since the spring. In it he had always recognized the form
of a brig he had seen hove-to in Portsmouth Harbor--high poop,
skyward-sticking bowsprit and ominous, even row of gun-ports where she
carried her carronades--three on a side. How those black cannon-mouths
had gaped at the small boy on the dock! He wondered--
"Boom...!" came a hollow sound that seemed to hang like mist in a long
echo over the island. Before Jeremy could jump to his feet he heard the
rumbling report a second time. He was all alert now, and thought
rapidly. Those sounds--there came another even as he stood there--must
be cannon-shots--nothing less. The ships he had seen from the hilltop
were men-of-war, then. Could the French have sent a fleet? He did not
know of any recent fighting. What could it mean?
Deep night had settled over the island, and the fir-woods looked very
black and uninviting to Jeremy when he started up the hill once more.
As their shadow engulfed him, he was tempted to turn back--how he was to
wish he had done so in the days that followed--but the hardy strain of
adventure in his spirit kept his jaw set and his legs working steadily
forward into the pitch-black undergrowth. Once or twice he stumbled over
fallen logs or tripped in the rocks, but he held on upward till the
trees thinned and he felt that the looming shape of the ledge was just
in front. His heart seemed to beat almost as loudly as the cannonade
while he felt his way up the broken stones.
Panting with excitement, he struggled to the top and threw himself
forward to the southern edge.
A dull-gray, quiet sea met the dim line of the sky in the south. Halfway
between land and horizon, perhaps a league distant, Jeremy saw two vague
splotches of darkness. Then a sudden flame shot out from the smaller
one, on the right. Seconds elapsed before his waiting ear heard the
booming roar of the report. He looked for the bigger ship to answer in
kind, but the next flash came from the right as before. This time he
saw a bright sheet of fire go up from the vessel on the left,
illuminating her spars and topsails. The sound of the cannon was drowned
in an instant by a terrific explosion. Jeremy trembled on his rock. The
ships were in darkness for a moment after that first great flare, and
then, before another shot could be fired, little tongues of flame began
to spread along the hull and rigging of the larger craft. Little by
little the fire gained headway till the whole upper works were a single
great torch. By its light the victorious vessel was plainly visible. She
was a schooner-rigged sloop-of-war, of eighty or ninety tons' burden,
tall-masted and with a great sweep of mainsail. Below her deck the
muzzles of brass guns gleamed in the black ports. As the blazing ship
drifted helplessly off to the east, the sloop came about, and, to
Jeremy's amazement, made straight for the southern bay of the island. He
lay as if glued to his rock, watching the stranger hold her course up
the inlet and come head to wind within a dozen boat-lengths of the
shore.