It had been about the beginning of September when the pirate fleet had
sighted the live oaks on the bars of the Cape Fear River. To Bob and
Jeremy those first days were uneventful but hardly pleasant. Through the
long still afternoons a pitiless sun blazed into every corner of the
deck. Wide flats and hot-looking white dunes stretched away on either
hand. Only the line of woods half a mile distant offered a suggestion of
green coolness. When the sun had set the fo'c's'le held the heat like a
baker's oven. One long, tossing night of it sufficed for the two boys,
and after that they sought a corner of the deck away from the snoring
seamen and lying down on the bare planks, contrived to sleep in
reasonable comfort.
The days were spent in hard work for the most part. A good deal of
washing and cleaning had to be done aboard all three vessels, and as
labor requiring no special skill, it fell frequently to the lot of
Jeremy and Bob. It was small matter to them whether they toiled or were
idle, for the blistering sun allowed no respite and it seemed preferable
to sweat over something useful than over nothing at all.
On the third day after the return of the _James_ from her foraging trip,
Jeremy, who had been scraping and tarring ropes for hours on end,
straightened his back with a discontented grunt and looked away to the
edge of the woods, his eyebrows puckered in a frown. "Bob," he said in a
voice too low for any of their shipmates to hear, "Bob, I'm going to run
away if something doesn't happen soon."
"You'll be shot, like as not," answered the Delaware boy.
"Well, shot let it be," he replied doggedly. "If I'm to stay aboard here
all my life, I'd _rather_ be shot. It looks like the best chance we've
had, right now. Will you come tonight?"
Bob thought for a moment. "I'm not afraid of their catching us," he
finally said. "It's the Indians, after we're into the woods. You say you
know the Indians and trust them as long as they are treated right. That
may be true of the ones you've known, but these Tuscaroras are
different. They don't talk the same language, and those words you
learned would mayhap go for curses down here. I don't think we ought to
try it."
Jeremy admitted that his previous acquaintance stood for nothing, but
argued, from the fact that Bonnet had been trying to frighten them, that
he had probably exaggerated the danger. Finally, not wishing to leave
his friend if he could help it, he agreed to abandon the plan for the
present.
They worked at the rope-tarring till suppertime, then rose wearily,
stretching, and went for their salt-horse and biscuit. When the coarse
rations were eaten, it was nearly sunset. Jeremy watched the sluggish
water glide by below the canted rail, till at last small quivering blurs
of light, the reflections of stars, began to gleam in the ripples. A
faint breeze, sprung up with the coming of night, blew across the
sweltering lagoon. Bob, tired out, fell asleep, his head pillowed on the
deck. The pirates, some below in the bunks, some stretched on the
planking, lay like dead men. After the hard labor of the day even the
regular watch slumbered undisturbed. Jeremy's thoughts went drifting off
into half-dreams as the soft black water lulled him with its unending
whisper. His head nodded. He raised it, striving, he knew not why, to
keep awake. The gentle water-sounds crept in again, soothing his drowsy
ears. He was close to sleep--so close that another moment would have
taken him across the border. But in that little time the sharp double
cry of a heron, flying high over the lagoon, cut the night air and
startled the boy broad awake.
As he stared off over the dim whiteness of the bars, his senses astretch
for a repetition of that weird call, there was a faint splashing in the
water close to the sloop. One of the starpools was blotted out in
blackness at the instant he turned to look over the rail. The boy's
heart seemed to be beating against the roof of his mouth. Thoughts of
alligators crossed his mind, for he had heard of them from the pirates
who had plied in southern waters. As quietly as he could, he moved to
the rail and stood staring over, his eyes bulging into the dark and his
breath coming short and fast. For perhaps a minute there was no sight
nor sound but the lapping water of the lagoon. Then he became aware of a
whiteness drifting close, and heard a familiar voice whispering his
name. "Jeremy--Jeremy--it's Job!" said the white blotch. It bumped
softly along the side, and at last the boy could see the homely features
of his old friend, pale through the gloom. There was a loose rope-end
dragging over the side, and Job's hand feeling along the woodwork came
in contact with it.
"Better not try to come aboard," whispered Jeremy. "They're all on deck
here. Can you take us off?"
There was silence for an instant as Job felt for a hold in one of the
gun ports. Then he raised himself till his head was level with the deck.
"Is the other lad there?" he asked.
"Ay," replied Jeremy. "He's here but he will have to be wakened."
[Illustration: "Don't say a word--sh!--easy there--are you awake?"]
"Go to him and take his hand. Begin squeezing soft-like, and press
harder till he opens his eyes. Don't startle him," was Job's admonition.
The boy did as he was bid. A gentle grip on the Delaware lad's palm
brought him to his senses. Jeremy was whispering in a cool, steady
undertone, "Bob, that's the lad--wake up, Bob--don't say a
word--sh!--easy there--are you awake?" When he was rewarded by a nod of
comprehension, he told his comrade of Job's presence and the chance they
had to escape. Bob understood in a moment. They returned to the rail and
first one, then the other let himself quietly down, holding to the rope.
Jeremy slipped into the water last.
Luckily they could both swim, though the sloop was so near the beach
that swimming was hardly necessary. The tall ex-pirate crawled out upon
the sand in the lead and they followed him quickly over a dune and
across another creek. They were now far enough away for their flight to
be unheard and Job began to run, the boys close behind him. They made a
good mile to the south before he allowed his panting runaways to stop
for breath. There in the reeds beside a narrow estuary, they came upon a
small dinghy, pulled up. The seaman ran the boat into the water, bundled
the boys into the bottom astern, and was quickly pulling down stream
along the sharp windings of the creek.
When they had put three miles of sand and water behind them, Job rested
on his oars to catch his breath. His voice came through the hot dark,
pantingly. "Lucky you stood up an' came to the rail the way you did,
lad," he said. "I didn't know just how I was to reach you. When you came
to the side I could see it was a boy, an' knew things was all right.
Well--we'd best be gettin' on--no tellin' how soon they may find you're
gone." Once more the big Yankee bowed his back to the task in hand and a
silence fell, broken only by the faint sound of the muffled oars and the
swirl of water along the sides. Not even the thrill of the escape could
keep the two tired boys awake, and it was nearly an hour later that they
were roused by voices calling at no great distance. A tall black mass on
which showed a single moving light rose out of the gloom ahead. The hail
was repeated. "Oh, there, Job Howland--boat ahoy! What luck?" "All's
well," replied Job, and ran in under the ship's counter. A line was let
down and as soon as the skiff was made fast Bob and Jeremy and their
deliverer scrambled up to the open port.
There was shouting and a moving to and fro of lanterns, as they were
ushered into the cabin, and suddenly a tall man, half-clad, burst
through the door at the farther end. He had the tattered form of Bob
Curtis in his arms in an instant, and great boy though he was, the
Delaware lad hugged his father ecstatically and wept.
Job and Jeremy, pleased as they were to see this reunion, were hardly
comfortable in its presence and made a vain attempt to withdraw
gracefully. The merchant was after them before they could reach the
door. "Here, Howland," he cried, holding to Bob with one hand and
seizing the ex-pirate's arm with the other. "Don't you try to leave yet.
Gad, man, this is the happiest hour I've had in years. I owe you so much
that it can't be put in figures. And this tall lad is Jeremy that you've
told me of. Look at the sunburn on the pair of 'em--pretty desperate
characters to have aboard, I'm afraid!"
His roar of laughter was joined by the other three, as he showed the way
to a couple of roomy berths, built in at the end of the cabin. The two
boys were left, after a final boisterous "Good-night," and proceeded to
make themselves snug between the linen sheets. Jeremy had never slept in
such luxury in his whole life, and moved gingerly for fear of hurting
something. At last their exhilaration subsided enough for the rescued
lads to go to sleep once more. Jeremy's last thought was a half-mournful
one as he wondered how long it must be before he, too, could throw
himself against the broad homespun wall of his father's breast.