WILSON RUNS A RACE.
The diversion of which we have spoken was caused by the sound of
stealthy footsteps, and an indistinct murmur of voices which came from
the opposite side of the storehouse. Somebody was coming down the lane.
Believing that it was the Don returning with the horses, Wilson arose
slowly to his feet and stood awaiting the orders of the guard, while
Chase stopped his walk and looked first one way and then the other,
as if he were going to run off as soon as he could make up his mind
which direction to take. The actions of the overseer, however, seemed
to indicate that there was some one besides the Don approaching—some
one whom he had not been expecting and whom he did not care to see. He
stood for a few seconds listening to the footsteps and voices, and then
moving quickly into the shadow of the storehouse, crouched close to the
ground, muttering Spanish ejaculations and acting altogether as if he
were greatly perplexed. His behavior did not escape the notice of Wilson,
and it at once suggested to him the idea of escape. His first impulse
was to rush out of his concealment and throw himself upon the protection
of the new-comers; but sober second thought stepped in and told him
that it would be a good plan to first ascertain who they were. He moved
to the corner of the storehouse, and looking up the lane, saw four men
approaching. They were dressed like sailors—he could see their wide
trowsers and jaunty hats, dark as it was—and he noticed that two of them
carried handspikes on their shoulders. They were so near to him that he
was afraid to move lest he should attract their attention, and they came
still nearer to him with every step they took. They were directing their
course toward the storehouse, talking earnestly as they approached, and
presently some startling words, uttered by a familiar voice, fell upon
his ear.
“I tell you this is the house. I guess I know what I am about. When I
first discovered it the negroes belonging to the plantation were gathered
here in a crowd, and a white man was serving them with corn-meal and
bacon. All we’ve got to do is to bust open this door, and we’ll find
provisions enough to last us on a cruise around the world. Now, Bob, I
want you to clap a stopper on that jaw of yours and hush your growling.
If I don’t take you safely to Havana, I’ll agree to sign over to you all
the prize money I win in that privateer.”
“I ain’t growling about that,” replied another familiar voice. “I don’t
like the idea of stealing private yachts and running away with them. It
looks too much like piracy.”
“Well, it can’t be helped now. The Banner is ours, and the best thing we
can do is to use her while we’ve got her. Give me that handspike and I’ll
soon open this door. Keep your weather eyes open, the rest of you.”
Wilson listened as if fascinated; and when the conversation ceased, and
the door began to creak and groan as the handspike was brought to bear
upon it, he thrust his head farther around the corner of the storehouse,
and at the imminent risk of being seen by the men, who were scarcely more
than four feet distant, took a good survey of the group. His ears had not
deceived him. The men who had thus unexpectedly intruded their presence
upon him, were none other than Tomlinson and the rest of the deserters
from the revenue cutter. He could distinctly see every one of them.
Tomlinson was engaged in breaking open the door of the storehouse, and
the others stood a little farther off, some looking up and the rest down
the lane.
“Now here’s a go,” thought Wilson, so excited that he scarcely knew what
he was about. “Them fellows have stolen the Banner, and are preparing to
supply themselves with provisions for their voyage to Havana. What will
become of us if we don’t get that boat back again? They shan’t have her.
We’ll slip away from this overseer and turn their triumph into defeat
before they are ten minutes older.”
Wilson turned to look at the guard. The man was standing close behind
him, and seemed to be awaiting the result of his investigations. Acting
upon a resolution he had suddenly formed, the young sailor stepped aside,
and motioned to him to look around the corner of the building. The man
complied, and no sooner was his back turned, than Wilson ran swiftly, but
noiselessly, along the side of the storehouse, looking everywhere for
Chase; but the latter was not in sight. Greatly surprised at his sudden
disappearance, and almost ready to doubt the evidence of his eyes, he
glanced along the building again and again, and even spoke his friend’s
name as loudly as he dared, but without receiving any response.
“He has watched his chance and taken himself off,” thought Wilson. “I’ll
soon find him, and if we don’t upset the plans of Tomlinson and his crew,
I shall miss my guess. Good-by, Mr. Overseer! When the Don returns and
asks where your prisoners are, you may tell him you don’t know.”
So saying, Wilson dodged around the corner of the storehouse, and struck
off toward the beach with all the speed he could command.
And where was Chase all this time? If Wilson had known the reason for his
disappearance, he would not have had a very high opinion of his friend.
That worthy had been thinking deeply since his last conversation with
Wilson, and had at length hit upon what he conceived to be a remarkably
brilliant plan for extricating himself from his troubles.
“The expedition is a failure—that’s plain enough to be seen,” he had said
to himself; “and instead of trying to rescue Fred Craven, it strikes
me that it would be a good plan to look out for our own safety. I am
not going back to town with the Don, and the only way to avoid it is to
desert. Yes, sir, that’s just what I’ll do. I shall be much safer alone
than in the company of such fellows as this Wilson and Walter Gaylord,
who are continually getting themselves and others into trouble, and I’ll
see home before they do, I’ll warrant. I’ll get out of Cuba, at any rate.
I’ll ship aboard the first vessel that leaves port, I don’t care if she
takes me to South America.”
It never occurred to Chase, while he was congratulating himself upon
this idea, that, in carrying it into execution, he would be making a
very poor return for Wilson’s kindness and friendship. He forgot the
fidelity with which the latter had clung to him through thick and thin,
and the assistance he had rendered him in inducing Walter Gaylord to
interest himself in his affairs. All he thought of was his own safety.
The approach of the deserters was a most fortunate thing for him, for it
gave him the very opportunity he was waiting for. He heard the voices
and the footsteps, and the alarm the sounds at first produced gave way
to a feeling of exultation, when he saw Wilson and the overseer move
cautiously toward the opposite end of the storehouse. Had he waited a
minute longer he might have escaped in company with his friend, and saved
himself a good many exciting adventures which we have yet to relate;
but the guard with his dreaded pistols was at the farther end of the
building, and the chance was too good to be lost. He sprang around the
corner of the storehouse, and in an instant was out of sight in the
darkness.
Wilson, little dreaming what had become of him, pursued his way with
rapid footsteps across the field toward the beach, taking care to keep
the negro quarters between him and the men at the storehouse. He kept
his eyes roving through the darkness in every direction, in the hope of
discovering Chase, but was disappointed.
“He can’t be far away, and when I come up with him, I will tell him
how we can beat these deserters at their own game,” chuckled the young
sailor, highly elated over the plans he had formed. “If they came here
in the Banner, she must be at anchor somewhere along the beach. As there
are but four of them, and they are all at the storehouse, it follows as a
thing of course that they must have left the yacht unguarded. It will be
the easiest thing in the world to swim off to her, hoist the sails, and
put to sea before they know what is going on. I declare, there’s Chase
now, and the yacht, too! Hurrah!”
Wilson had by this time arrived within sight of the little bay, which
set into the shore at this place, and just then, the rays of the moon,
struggling through a rift in the clouds, gave him a fair view of the
scene before him. The first object his eyes rested upon was the yacht,
riding at anchor about a quarter of a mile from the shore. The next, was
a stone jetty extending out into the water, beside which were moored
several boats. In one of them a sail was hoisted. This was probably the
one which the deserters intended to use to convey the stolen provisions
on board the yacht. The third object was a human figure, standing on
the beach near the jetty. He wore a cloak and a slouch hat, and Wilson
thought he recognised in him his missing friend, although he at the same
time wondered how he had come by the articles named, for he certainly
had not worn them the last time he saw him. Hearing the sound of his
approach, the figure stepped upon the jetty and moved nervously about, as
if undecided whether to take to his heels or wait until he came up.
“Don’t be alarmed, Chase; it is I,” exclaimed Wilson, as soon as he came
within speaking distance. “What possessed you to run off without saying
a word to me? It is only by good luck that I have found you again. Do
you see what those deserters have been doing?” he added, pointing to the
yacht. “Let’s get into one of these boats and take possession of her
before they return. We’ve got the best right to her.”
Wilson, who had shouted out these words as he approached the figure,
was a good deal surprised at the manner in which his proposition was
received. It did not meet with the ready response he had expected, for
the figure, whoever he was, remained perfectly motionless and said
nothing. That was not at all like Chase, and Wilson began to believe
there was something wrong somewhere. He stopped a few feet from the
figure, and peering sharply at him, discovered, to his great surprise,
that the slouch hat covered a face that did not at all resemble his
friend’s. It was a bearded face—an evil face—a face that was quite
familiar to him, and which he had hoped never to see again.
“Pierre!” he exclaimed, in alarm.
“’Tain’t nobody else,” was the reply.
For the next few seconds, the two stood looking at one another without
speaking—Wilson wondering what was to be done now, and trying in vain to
find some explanation for the smuggler’s presence there, and the latter
evidently enjoying the boy’s bewilderment.
“What are you doing on this plantation?” asked the young sailor, breaking
the silence at last.
“I might ask you the same question, I reckon. We thought you were
captured by the Spaniards long ago. That’s what we sent you out here for.”
“_We?_ Who are we?”
“Mr. Bell, Captain Conway, and the rest of us.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Wilson, so indignant at this avowal that he forgot all
his fear; “then Chase and I were right in our surmises. Well, your little
plans didn’t work, did they? But you have not yet told me what you are
doing here. How came you in company with these deserters; and how did you
get possession of the yacht?”
“That’s Mr. Bell’s business.”
“So, he had something to do with it, had he? I thought as much. Where are
Walter and the rest of the fellows?”
“We left them somewhere about the village.”
“Where have you started for—Havana?”
“That’s another thing that don’t interest you.”
“Yes, it does. I know you are going there, and that you will start as
soon as Tomlinson comes back with the provisions. Will you take me with
you?”
“Not much. We’ve got all the crew we want.”
“Why, Pierre!” exclaimed Wilson, “you surely do not mean to leave me
here? I am all alone. Chase has left me, and I haven’t seen Walter and
the rest of the fellows since four o’clock this afternoon.”
“Well, I can’t help that, can I?”
“How am I to get home, if you go away in the Banner?”
“That’s your lookout.”
“Now, what have I done to you, that you should treat me in this way?”
“You have been meddling with our business—that’s what you have done,”
answered Pierre, fiercely. “You ought to have stayed in Bellville, while
you were there, and attended to your own concerns. We don’t care whether
or not you ever get back.”
Wilson, with an air of utter dejection, seated himself on the jetty,
while Pierre, who took a savage delight in tormenting the boy, thrust
his hands into his pockets and began pacing back and forth on the beach.
The crew of the yacht had caused the smugglers considerable anxiety, and
they had shown so much courage and perseverance in their pursuit of the
Stella, that they had raised the ire of every one of her company, and
Pierre was glad of this opportunity to obtain some slight satisfaction;
but had he known all that was passing in the boy’s mind, he would have
found that he had even more spirit and determination to deal with than he
imagined. Wilson was only playing a part. He was firm in his resolution
to recover the yacht, but knowing that he could not cope with Pierre
openly, he resorted to strategy. By pretending to be completely cowed by
the smuggler’s fierce words and manner, he had thrown the latter off his
guard; and when he walked past him and took his seat on the jetty, Pierre
did not raise any objections. By this manœuvre, Wilson gained a position
between the man and the nearest boat, which happened to be the one with
the sail hoisted. That was the first step accomplished. The next was to
draw Pierre’s attention to something, if it were only for a moment, until
he could run to the boat, cast off the painter, and fill away for the
yacht. He was not long in hitting upon a plan.
“I know what I shall do,” said he, at length. “I’ll stay here until
Tomlinson comes, and ask him if he won’t take me aboard the Banner.”
“I can tell you now that he won’t do it,” replied Pierre.
“I don’t care; I’ll ask him, any way. If I can only go to Havana, that’s
all I want. I shall be able to find some vessel there bound for the
States. He’s coming now.”
Pierre paused in his walk and looked toward the plantation house, but
could see nothing. He listened, but all he heard was the roar of the surf
on the beach.
“I can hear them,” continued Wilson, rising to his feet; “and they’re in
trouble too. They’re running and shouting. There! did you hear that gun?”
Pierre listened again, and then walked a few steps up the beach to get a
little farther away from the surf. A moment later he heard the sound of
rapid footfalls, and turned quickly to see Wilson flying along the jetty
toward the boat.
[Illustration: THE RACE FOR THE YACHT.]
“Stop!” he roared, springing forward in pursuit the instant he divined
the boy’s intention. “You are not going aboard that yacht.”
“That depends upon whether I do or not,” shouted Wilson, in reply.
The race that followed was short but highly exciting. Wilson sped along
as swiftly as a bird on the wing, scarcely seeming to touch the ground;
while the clumsy Pierre puffed and blowed like a high pressure steamboat;
and finding that he was encumbered by his heavy cloak, threw it aside,
and even discarded his hat; but all to no purpose. Wilson made such good
use of his time that he succeeded in reaching the boat and jumping into
it, before his pursuer came up; but there his good fortune seemed to end.
He could not cast off the painter. One end of it was passed around one
of the thwarts, and the other made fast to a ring in the jetty, and both
knots were jammed so that he could not undo them. He pulled, and tugged,
and panted in vain. He felt for his knife to cut the rope, but could
not find it. As a last resort he seized the thwart with both hands, and
exerting all his strength, wrenched it loose from its fastenings, and
threw it overboard, at the same time placing his shoulder against the
jetty, and with a strong push, sending the boat from the shore. With a
cry of triumph he seized the sheet which was flapping in the wind, passed
it around a cleat with one hand and seized the tiller with the other. The
boat began to gather headway, but just a moment too late. Pierre, all
out of breath, and full of rage, now came up, and seeing that the boy
was about to escape him, threw himself, without an instant’s hesitation,
headlong into the water. He fell just astern of the boat, and although
Wilson hauled hard on the sheet, and crowded her until she stood almost
on her side, he could not make her go fast enough to get out of the man’s
reach. He made a blind clutch as he arose to the surface, and fastened
with a firm grip upon the rudder.
“Now, then!” exclaimed Pierre, fiercely, “I reckon you’ll stop, won’t
you?”
Wilson was frightened, but he did not lose his presence of mind. Had he
spent even a second in considering what ought to be done, his capture
would have been certain, for the smuggler clung to the rudder with one
hand, and stretched out the other to seize the stern of the boat.
“Pierre,” said the boy, “if you want that piece of wood, you may have it.
I can get along without it.” And with a quick movement he unshipped the
rudder, and the boat flew on, leaving it in the man’s grasp.
The little craft, now being without a steering apparatus, quickly fell
off and lost headway, and Pierre, with a loud yell of rage, threw away
the rudder and struck out vigorously, expecting to overtake her; but
Wilson seized the sheet in his teeth, picked up one of the oars that lay
under the thwarts, dropped the blade into the water, and in less time
than it takes to tell it, the boat was again under control, and rapidly
leaving Pierre behind.
“There, sir!” said Wilson; “I did it, but I wouldn’t go through the same
thing again to be made an admiral. I’ve got the yacht in my undisputed
possession, or shall have in a few minutes, and what shall I do with her?
Shall I lay off and on and make signals for Chase, or shall I go back to
the village after Walter and the other fellows? Come on, old boy! I am
well out of your reach.”
This last remark was addressed to Pierre, who, having been washed ashore
by the surf, had run to one of the boats that were moored to the jetty,
and was hoisting a sail, preparatory to pursuing Wilson. This movement
caused the young sailor no uneasiness. He had a long start, and he knew
that he could reach the yacht, slip the anchor, and get under way before
Pierre could come up. He kept one eye on the man, and pondered upon
the questions he had just asked himself; but before he had come to any
decision, he found himself alongside the yacht. As he rounded to under
her bow, he thought he heard a slight movement on her deck. He listened
intently, but the sound was not repeated; and after a little hesitation,
he placed his hands upon the rail, drew himself up and looked over. He
saw no one, but he soon found that that was no proof there was no one
there, for, as he sprang upon the yacht’s deck, and ran forward to slip
the anchor, his feet were suddenly pulled from under him, and he fell
forward on his face. Before he could move or cry out, some one threw
himself across his shoulders, and seizing both his hands, pinned them to
the deck.