THE RESCUE
For a few moments Joe was in a sort of daze. He was extremely
uncomfortable, lying on the hard bottom of the boat, and there seemed to
be rough water, for the craft swayed, and bobbed up and down.
Joe wondered if he was alone, for he did not hear the noise of oars in
the locks, nor did he catch the voices of the three rascals.
But it soon developed that they were with him, for, presently Wessel
asked:
"Where are we going with him?"
"Keep still!" snapped Shalleg in a tense whisper. "Do you want someone
to hear us?"
"Who, him?"
"No, someone on these ships. We're right alongside of 'em yet. Keep
still; can't you!"
Wessel subsided, but one of Joe's questions was answered. There were
other problems yet unsolved, though. What were they going to do with
him? He could only wait and learn.
The bandage was still over his eyes, and he tried, by wrinkling the
skin of his forehead, to work it loose. But he could not succeed. He
wished he could have some glimpse, even a faint one, in the darkness, of
where he was, though perhaps it would have done him little good.
"Take the oars now," directed Shalleg, after a pause. "I guess it's safe
to row out a bit. There aren't so many craft here now. But go easy."
"Hadn't we better show a light?" asked the man who had twisted Joe's
arm. "We might be run down!"
"Light nothing!" exclaimed Shalleg, who now spoke somewhat above a
whisper. "I don't want some police launch poking her nose up here. It's
light enough for us to see to get out of the way if anything comes
along. I'm not going to answer any hails."
"Oh, all right," was the answer.
Joe's head was beginning to clear itself from the fumes of the
chloroform, and he could think more clearly. He wondered more and more
what his fate was to be. Evidently the men were taking him somewhere in
a rowboat. But whether he was to be taken wherever they were going, in
this small craft, or whether it was being used to transport them to a
larger boat, he could not, of course, determine.
The men rowed on for some time in silence.
"It's getting late," ventured Wessel at length.
"Not late enough, though," growled Shalleg.
Joe went over, in his mind, all the events that had been crowded into
the last few hours. He had told Rad that he was going to see his
mother's friend in Camden, but had given no address.
"They won't know but what I'm staying there all night," he reasoned.
"And they won't start to search for me until some time to-morrow. When I
don't show up at the game they'll think it's queer, and I suppose
they'll fine me. I wouldn't mind that if they only come and find me. But
how can they do it? There isn't a clue they could follow, as far as I
know. Not one!"
He tried to think of some means by which he could be traced, and rescued
by his friends, but he could imagine none. No one who knew him had seen
him come down to the ferry, or walk through the deserted neighborhood.
And, as far as he knew, no one had seen the bearded stranger accost him.
"I'll just have disappeared--that's all," mused poor Joe, lying on the
hard and uncomfortable bottom of the boat.
For some time longer the three men, or rather two of them, rowed on,
paying no attention to Joe. Then Shalleg spoke.
"I guess we're far enough down the river," he said. "We can go ashore
now."
"And take him with us?" asked Wessel.
"Well, you don't think I'm going to chuck him overboard; do you?"
demanded Shalleg. "I told you I wasn't going to do anything violent."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Wait, and you'll see," was the rather unsatisfactory answer.
Joe wished it was settled. He, too, was wondering.
The course of the boat seemed changed. By the motion the men were rowing
across a choppy current, probably toward shore. Joe found this to be so,
a little later, for the boat's side grated against what was probably a
wooden pier.
"Light the lantern," directed Shalleg.
"But I thought you didn't want to be seen," objected Wessel.
"Do as I tell you," was the sharp rejoinder. "We're not going to be
seen. We're going to leave the boat."
"And leave him in it?" asked the other man.
"Yes, I'm going to turn him adrift down the river," went on the chief
conspirator. "I'll stick a light up, though, so he won't be run down. I
don't wish him that harm."
"Are you going to leave him tied?" Wessel wanted to know.
"I sure am!" was the rejoinder. "Think I want him giving the alarm, and
having us nabbed? Not much!"
Dimly, from beneath the handkerchief over his eyes, Joe saw the flash
as a match was struck, and the lantern lighted. Then he heard it being
lashed to some upright in the boat. A little later Joe felt the craft in
which he lay being shoved out into the stream, and then he realized that
he was alone, drifting down the Delaware, toward the bay, and tied hand
and foot, as well as being gagged. He was practically helpless.
"There, I guess that'll teach him not to meddle in my affairs any more!"
said Shalleg bitterly. Then Joe heard no more, save the lapping of the
waves against the side of the craft.
For a time his senses seemed to leave him under the terrible strain, and
when he again was in possession of his faculties he could not tell how
long he had been drifting alone, nor had he any idea of the time, save
that it was still night.
"Well, I've got to do something!" decided Joe. "I've got to try and get
rid of this gag, and yell for help, and to do that I've got to have the
use of my hands."
Then he began to struggle, but the men who had trussed him up had done
their evil work well, and he only cut his wrists on the cruel bonds. He
was on his back, and he wished there was some rough projection in the
bottom of the boat, against which he could rub his rope-entangled
wrists. But there was none.
How the hours of darkness passed Joe never knew. He was thankful for one
thing--that there was a light showing in his boat, for he would not be
run down in the darkness by some steamer, or motor craft. By daylight he
hoped the drifting boat might be seen, and picked up. Then he would be
rescued. Even now, if he could only have called, he might have been
saved.
Gradually Joe became aware that morning had come. He could see a film of
light beneath the bandage over his eyes. The boat was bobbing up and
down more violently now.
"I must be far down the bay," thought Joe.
He was cramped, tired, and almost parched for a drink. He had dozed
fitfully through the night, and his eyes smarted and burned under the
bandage.
Suddenly he heard voices close at hand, above the puffing of a
motorboat.
"Look there!" someone exclaimed. "A boat is adrift. Maybe we can work
that into the film."
"Maybe," assented another voice. "Let's go over and see, anyhow. We want
this reel to be a good one."
Dimly Joe wondered what the words meant. He heard the voices, and the
puffing of the motor coming nearer. Then the latter sound ceased. Some
craft bumped gently against his, and a man cried:
"Someone is in this boat!"