There were brave days aboard the _Queen_ as she voyaged up the
coast--days of sun and light winds when the boys sat lazily in the blue
shadow of the sails, looking off through half-closed eyes toward the
faint line of shore that appeared and disappeared to leeward; or
listened to Job's long tales of adventure up and down the high seas; or
fished with hand-lines over the taffrail, happy if they pulled up even a
goggle-eyed flounder. Twice they ran into fog, and on those days, when
the wet dripped dismally off the shrouds and the watch on deck sang
mournful airs in the gray gloom, the two lads settled into big chairs in
the cabin, beneath a mighty brass oil-lamp, and while Bob sat bemused
over Captain Dampier's Voyages, Jeremy fought Apollyon with that good
knight Christian, in "Pilgrim's Progress." But best of all were the days
of howling fair weather, when sky and sea were deep blue and the wind
boomed over out of the west, and the scattered flecks of white cloud
raced with the flying spray below. Then all hands would stand by to
slack a sheet here or reef a sail there, and Ghent, who was a bold
sailor, would take the kicking tiller with Job's help, and keep the big
ship on her course, the last possible foot of canvas straining at the
yardarms. High along the weather rail, with the wind screaming in their
ears or down in the lee scuppers where the white-shot green passed close
below with a roar and a rush, the boys would cling, yelling aloud their
exultation. It was more than the risk, more than the dizzy movement that
made them happy. With every hour of that strong wind they were ten knots
farther north.
So they sailed; and one morning when the mist cleared, Mr. Curtis led
both boys to the port rail to show them where the green head of Cape
Henlopen stood, abeam. There was moisture in the corners of his eyes as
he pointed to it. "Thank God, Bob, my lad, you're here to see the
Delaware again!" he said huskily.
Up the blue bay they cruised in the fine October weather and came in due
time--a very long time it seemed to some aboard--to the roadstead
opposite New Castle port. There was a boat over almost before the anchor
was dropped and a picked crew rowed the Curtises, Job and Jeremy ashore
as fast as they dared without breaking oars. They drew up across the
swirling tidewater to the foot of a long pier. It was black with people
who cheered continually, and somewhere above the town a cannon was fired
in salute, but all Bob saw was a slender figure in white at the
pier-edge and all he heard was a woman's happy crying. A message to his
mother telling of his safety had been sent from Charles Town three weeks
before, and there she was to welcome him. There was a ladder further in
along the pier, but before they reached it some one had thrown a rope
and Bob swarmed up hand over hand. Jeremy, stricken with a sudden
shyness, watched the happy, tearful scene that followed from the boat
below.
Women had had small part in his own life. Since his mother's death he
had known a few in the frontier settlements, and they had been good to
him in a friendly way, but this ecstatic mother-love was new and it made
him feel awkward and lonely.
It seemed that all Delaware colony must be at the waterfront. Every soul
in the little town and men from miles around had turned out to welcome
the returning vessel, for the news of Bonnet's defeat had been brought
in, days before, by a Carolina coaster. There was bunting over doorways
and cheering in the streets as the Governor's coach with the party of
honor drove up the main thoroughfare to the Curtis house.
When they were within and the laughing crowds had dispersed, Bob's
mother came to Jeremy, put her hands on his shoulders and looked long
into his face. She was a frail slip of a woman, dark like her son, with
a sensitive mouth and big, black eyes full of courage. Jeremy flushed a
slow scarlet under her gaze, but his eyes never flinched as he returned
it.
"A fine boy," she said, at length, "and my own boy's good friend!" Then
she smiled tenderly and kissed him on the forehead. Jeremy was then and
there won over. All women were angels of light to him from that moment.
That night, alone in the white wilderness of his first four-poster, the
poor New England boy missed his mother very hard, more perhaps than he
had ever missed her before. He fell asleep on a pillow that was wet in
spots--and he was not ashamed.
In the days that followed nothing in Delaware Colony was too good for
the young heroes. Jeremy could never understand just _why_ they were
heroes, but was forced to give up trying to explain the matter to an
admiring populace. As for Bob, he gleefully accepted all the glory that
was offered and at last persuaded Jeremy to take the affair as
philosophically as himself. They were in a fair way to be spoiled, but
fortunately there was enough sense of humor between them to bring them
off safe from the head-patting gentlemen and tearfully rapturous ladies
who gathered at the brick house of afternoons.
Perhaps the thing that really saved them from the effects of too much
petting was the trip up the Brandywine to the Curtis plantation. It was
a fine ride of thirty miles and the trail led through woods just turning
red and yellow with the autumn frosts. Jeremy, though he had been on a
horse only half a dozen times in his life, was a natural athlete and
without fear. He was quick to learn and imitated Bob's erect carriage
and easy seat so well that long before they had reached their journey's
end he backed his tall roan like an old-timer. With Job it was a
different matter. He was all sailor, and though the times demanded that
every man who travelled cross-country must do it in the saddle, the lank
New Englander would have ridden a gale any day in preference to a steed.
Even Jeremy could afford to laugh at the sorry figure his big friend
made.
The trail they followed was no more than a rough cutting, eight or ten
feet wide, running through the forest. Here and there paths branched off
to right or left and up one of these Bob turned at noon. It led them
over a wooded hill, then down a long slope into the valley of a stream.
"John Cantwell's plantation. We'll stop here for a bite to eat,"
explained the boy. By the water side, in a wide clearing, was a group of
log huts and farther along, a square house built of rough gray stone.
They rode up to the wide door which looked down upon the river. In
answer to Bob's hail a colored boy in a red jacket ran out to take the
horses' heads and four black and white fox terriers tore round the
corner barking a chorus of welcome. Bob jumped down with a laughing, "Ah
there, Rufus!" to the horse-boy, and proceeded to roll the excited
little dogs on their backs. As Jeremy and Job dismounted, a big man in
sober gray came to the doorway. His strong, kindly face broke into a
smile as he caught sight of his visitors. "Well, Bob, I'm mightily glad
to see thee back, lad! We got news from the town only yesterday." He
strode down the steps and took the boy's hand in a hearty grip, then
greeted the others, as Bob introduced them. Jeremy marvelled much at the
cut of the man's coat, which was without a collar, and at his continual
use of the plain _thee_ and _thy_. But there was a direct simplicity
about all his ways, and a gentleness in his eyes that won the boy to him
instantly.
One moment only he wandered at John Cantwell. In the next he had
forgotten everything about him and stood open-mouthed, gazing at the
square doorway. In the sun-lit frame of it had appeared a little girl of
twelve. She was dressed demurely in gray, set off with a bit of white
kerchief. Her long skirt hid her toes and her hands were folded most
properly. But above this sober stalk bloomed the fairest face that
Jeremy had ever seen. She had merry hazel eyes, a straight little nose
and a firm little chin. Her plain bonnet had fallen back from her head
and the brown curls that strayed recklessly about her cheeks seemed to
catch all the sunbeams in Delaware.
For a very little time she stood, and then the pursed red mouth could be
controlled no longer. She opened it in a whoop of joy and catching up
her skirts ran to smother Bob in a great hug. Next moment Jeremy, still
in a daze, was bowing over her hand, as he had learned to do at New
Castle. She dropped him a little curtsey and turned to meet Job.
Betty Cantwell and her father were Quakers from the Penn Colony to the
north, Bob had time to tell Jeremy as they entered. That accounted for
the staid simplicity of their dress and their quaint form of speech--the
plain language, as it was called. Jeremy had heard of the Quakers,
though in New England they were much persecuted for their beliefs by the
Puritans. Here, apparently, people not only allowed them to live, but
liked and honored them as well. He prayed fervently that Betty might
never chance to visit Boston town. Yet already he half hoped that she
would. Of course, he would have grown bigger by then, and would carry a
sword and how he would prick the thin legs of the first grim deacon who
dared so much as to speak to her! These imaginings were put to rout at
the dining-room door by the delicious savor of roast turkey. One of the
black farmhands had shot the great bird the day before, and the three
travellers had arrived just at the fortunate moment when it was to be
carved.
It was a dinner never to be forgotten. The twenty miles they had ridden
through the crisp air would have given them an appetite, even had they
not been normally good trenchermen, and there were fine white potatoes
and yams that accompanied the turkey, not to mention some jelly which
Betty admitted having made herself, "with cook's help." Bob joyfully
attacked his heaped-up plate and ate with relish every minute that he
was not talking. Jeremy could say not a word, for opposite him was Betty
and in her presence he felt very large and awkward. His hands troubled
him. Indeed, had it been a possibility, he would have eaten his turkey
without raising them above the table edge. As it was, he felt himself
blush every time a vast red fist came in evidence. Yet he succeeded in
making a good meal and would not have been elsewhere for all Solomon
Brig's gold. Perhaps Job, who was neither talkative nor under the spell
of a lady's eyes, wielded the best knife and fork of the three.
Dinner over, and Bob's story finished, they were taken to see the stable
and the broad tilled fields by the river bank, where corn stood shocked
among the stubble. Afternoon came and soon it was time for them to
start. There were laughing farewells and a promise that they would stop
on the return trip, and before Jeremy could come back to earth the gloom
of the forest shut in above their heads once more. They put the horses
to a canter as soon as the ridge was cleared, for there were still ten
miles to go and the light was waning. Jeremy was very much at home in
the woods, but the chill, sombre depths that appeared and reappeared on
either hand seemed to warn him to be prepared. He reached to the
saddlebow, undid the flap of the pistol holster, and made sure that his
weapon was loaded, then put it back, reassured. The footing was bad, and
they had to go more slowly for a while. Then Bob, in the lead, came to a
more open space where light and ground alike favored better speed. He
spurred his horse to a gallop and had turned to call to the others, when
suddenly the animal he rode gave a snort of fear and stopped with braced
forefeet. Bob, caught off his guard, went over the horse's head with a
lurch and fell sprawling on the ground in front. Then he gave a scream,
for not two feet away he saw the short, cruel head of a coiled
rattlesnake.
Jeremy, riding close behind, pulled up beside the other horse and threw
himself off. Even as he touched the ground a sharp whirr met his ear
and he saw the fat, still body and vibrating tail of the snake. He
wrenched the pistol from the holster, took the quickest aim of his life
and pulled the trigger. After the shot apparently nothing had changed.
The whirr of the rattle went on for a second or two, then gradually
subsided. Bob lay white-faced, and still as death. Jeremy drew a step
closer and then gave a choked cry of relief. The snake's smooth,
diamond-marked body remained coiled for the spring. Its lithe forepart
was thrust forward from the top coil and the venemous, blunt head--but
the head was no more. Jeremy's ball had taken it short off.
Bob was unhurt, but badly shaken and frightened, and they followed the
trail slowly through the dusk. Then just as the shadows that obscured
their way were turning to the deep dark of night a small light became
visible straight ahead. They pushed on and soon were luxuriously
stretched before a log fire in the Curtis plantation house, while Mrs.
Robbins, the overseer's wife, poured them a cup of hot tea.
When bedtime came, Bob came over to Jeremy and gave him a long grip of
the hand, but said never a word. There was no need of words, for the New
England boy knew that his chum would never be quite happy till he could
repay his act in kind. Yet he could not tell Bob that the shooting of a
snake was but a small return for the gift of a vision of one of heaven's
angels. Each felt himself the other's debtor as they got into the great
feather bed side by side.