THE WARNING.
CHRIS had started a brisk fire in the box of sand and was preparing to
fry a big mess of fish which had fallen victims to his craft.
"Golly!" he exclaimed when the boys offered their assistance, "I doan
want none ob you white chillens foolin' around an' spoilin' dese fish.
If you-alls wants to help, jes' light up de lanterns an' sot de table."
Charley groped around, found the matches, and struck a light. "Why
didn't you get more than one lantern, Walt?" he complained. "We will
need four when we get to fishing."
"I bought four. They are hanging right there on the wall," his chum
replied.
"There's only one here," Charley announced. "Are you sure you got four?"
"Of course," Walter replied. "Maybe some of us moved them, when we were
fixing up the shack."
But a close search of the shack failed to reveal the missing lights.
"They have been stolen," Charley said, quietly. "We had better look and
see if anything else has been taken."
But Walter was already looking over his purchases. "Nearly all our
groceries are gone," he cried.
The band of chums gazed at each other in dismay.
"It must have been done while we were working with the launch," Charley
said. "Chris, did you see any one go into the shack?"
"No, Massa Chas," the little negro confessed. "De fish was jes'
naturally biting so fast dat I doan look around much."
"What shall we do about it?" Walter inquired.
"I don't see as we can do anything," said Charley, thoughtfully. "We
will just have to grin and bear it and be more careful in the future.
Of course, it was one of those fishermen who did it, there was no one
else on the dock,--but we have no clue as to which was the guilty one
and we can not accuse all of them."
"Wisely said, my lad," approved Captain Westfield, "all we can do is to
keep quiet and watch out in the future. We evidently have some tough
characters for neighbors. Let's not mourn and get downhearted, that
won't bring the things back. Here Chris has got a good supper ready.
Let's get at it and be cheerful."
The boys recognizing the wisdom of the old sailor's advice, and hiding
their disappointment, they made merry over the crisp, tasty, fried
fish, pancakes, and coffee that the little negro had prepared.
As soon as the supper things were cleared away, Captain Westfield
produced his old worn, well-loved Bible and read the story of Christ
with the discouraged fishermen, after which he prayed earnestly and
with simple faith for the Lord's blessing upon them in the new life
upon which they were about to enter.
Just as he concluded, there came the sound of shuffling footsteps
outside, and a bit of rustling white paper was shoved in under the door
of the shack.
Charley picked it up and glanced at the ill-written scrawl it
contained. With an angry gleam in his eyes, he flung open the door and
peeped outside. The retreating footsteps had died away, and he could
distinguish nothing in the inky darkness but the glimmering lights in
the other shacks.
He closed and fastened the door carefully.
"What was it?" Walter asked, noting the grim, set look on his chum's
face.
"Nothing much," Charley replied with a meaning glance. "I'll tell you
about it later."
As soon as Chris, who was always early to bed, was snoring peacefully
on his blanket, Charley produced the scrap of paper.
"What do you think of that?" he asked, briefly.
Walter and the captain bent their heads over the almost illegible
scrawl.
Walter looked up from the paper, his face flushed with anger. "It's an
outrage!" he cried. "Why I'd die first."
"Read it to me, Walt," requested the Captain. "I can't make out that
writing."
Walter obeyed.
"Strangers,
"We-alls don't allow no niggers around hyar. Get rid of
that little nigger you've got with you or it will be
worse for him and worse for you.
"The White Caps."
The old sailor fairly exploded with wrath as he listened. "By the keel
of the Flying Dutchman," he shouted, "that little darkey is better than
a shipload of thieving fishermen. I just wish I had my hands on the
fellow that dared write that thing."
"Poor little Chris," Walter exclaimed. "He is as noble a little fellow
as ever lived. His skin may be black but he's white, clean white,
inside. Think of the times he's risked his life for us and how good,
honest and uncomplaining he has always been. Get rid of Chris, never!"
"Of course not," Charley agreed. "The question is what are we going to
do. I wouldn't say anything about it while Chris was awake because I
knew how terribly bad it would make him feel,--he is a sensitive little
fellow, but what are we going to do? The fellow or fellows, who wrote
this are liable to do something to him at the first good opportunity
they have, especially if he is not warned and on his guard."
"Give up all idea of fishing and leave this place, before we part with
Chris," declared Captain Westfield.
"Not much," cried Walter. "Just tell those fishermen, one and all, that
Chris stays with us. And if they do him the slightest injury, we will
make them suffer for it."
"I don't like either course you propose," observed thoughtful,
clear-headed Charley. "As for the Captain's plan, I don't want to leave
here. We have a good prospect of making money here if we can stick it
out and we are in poor shape to pick up and leave. Besides I don't like
the idea of being forced out of a place by any one. I don't think much
better of what Walt proposes either. We are no match for a hundred
fishermen, and it is foolish to make threats when one can not carry
them out. In the second place, if we quarrel with the fishermen over
Chris, it will make them more bitter against him and more certain to do
him an injury. Lastly, nothing we could do to them for an injury done
Chris would help him any after the injury was done. What we need to do
is to protect him from any possible harm."
"Well, let's have your plan," Walter said.
"I have none as yet," Charley confessed. "I propose we wait until
morning before we decide on any course. Some plan will occur to us, I
am sure. There is always a way out of any difficulty if one only thinks
hard enough. I am dead tired and I'm going to bed and try to forget
about this trouble until morning. I'd advise you two to do the same."
It had been a very full and eventful day and Walter and the Captain
were not loath to follow Charley's example. The three crept into their
blankets and turned out the lantern; but, tired as they were, they were
not to get the sleep they longed for. From the other shacks came the
voices of their occupants gradually increasing in number and volume.
At first, it seemed as though a kind of celebration was in progress;
for the sound of laughter, songs, and dancing filled the air, but
gradually, the uproar took on a rougher note. Voices were raised in
anger, curses were bandied back and forth, and now and then came the
sound of fighting.
"I believe they are all drunk or fast getting drunk," Charley declared.
"Why, I understood Mr. Daniels to say that this was a dry town and
that no liquor was allowed in the place," said his chum.
"Yes, and he also said that there was more liquor drunk here than in
any other town in the state," Charley amended. "He says it's a mystery
where it comes from. The town authorities it seems, keep a close watch
for blind tigers and also keep an eye on the packages that come by
freight and express but none of it seems to come in that way."
"Well, it evidently comes in some way," remarked Captain Westfield as a
fresh uproar of fighting arose from the dock.
It was useless to try to sleep as long as the din continued, so the
three lay talking in low tones.
"Hark!" cried Charley, suddenly. "I wonder what they have done now."
Loud and clear above the din of fighting rang the sharp crack of a
pistol. The report was followed by excited shouting and then silence.
"I'll bet one of them has been shot and it has frightened and sobered
up the rest," Walter exclaimed. "Let's go out and see."
"No, you don't, lad," Captain Westfield declared, firmly. "You'll stay
here if I have to hold you. It's none of our trouble and we don't any
of us want to get mixed up in it."
Whatever had happened, it had effectually quieted the wild revelry.
Our little party lay for awhile listening but the silence remained
unbroken and one by one, they at last dropped off to sleep.
It was perhaps midnight when Walter raised up on his elbow and
whispered softly.
"Are you asleep, Charley?"
"As wide awake as I ever was in my life," his chum grunted. "Why,
anything the matter with you?"
"Something is stinging me to death," declared Walter, anxiously, "I
smart, burn, and itch all over."
"Me too," chimed in the captain's voice, "I've laid quiet here and took
it rather than wake you boys up. Jehosaphat, what is it?"
Charley chuckled. "It's nothing dangerous," he explained, "evidently
we are entertaining a few thousand of those fishermen's closest
friends--bedbugs. Light up the lantern, Walt, and let's have a look."
An examination by the light showed their faces and bodies covered with
red, angry-looking blotches.
"There's no use trying to sleep here," Charley declared. "Let's go out
on board the 'Dixie.' It will be pretty close quarters sleeping in her
cabin but anything is better than this."
"But our things will be all stolen," Walter objected.
"They will not bother anything to-night for they will think we are
inside, and we will be back before they are up in the morning," said
his chum.
Chris was awakened and the four crept softly out of the shack closing
the door carefully behind them.
To reach their skiff, they had to pass the other shacks. As they came
opposite the first one Charley, who was in the lead, stopped short with
a muffled cry of horror.