Part 8 (1/2)

”That's all right, Dan,” Vincent said as he roused himself and looked over. ”We shall learn soon where we are.”

In a quarter of an hour the fis.h.i.+ng-boat put off, and the lads at once rowed to it.

”How far are we from the mouth of the York River?” Vincent asked the two negroes on board.

”About twenty miles, sah. Where you come from?”

”We were off the mouth of the river, and were blown off in the gale.”

”You tink yourself berry lucky you get back,” one of them said.

”Berry foolish to go out like dat when not know how to get back.”

”Well, we have managed to get back now, you see, and none the worse for it. Now, Dan, up with the sail again.”

There was a light wind off sh.o.r.e, and all the reefs being shaken out the boat ran along fast.

”I should think we are going about five miles an hour, Dan. We ought to be off the mouth of the river in four hours. We must look out sharp or else we shall pa.s.s it, for many of these islets look just like the mouth of the river. However, we are pretty sure to pa.s.s several fis.h.i.+ng-boats on our way, and we shall be able to inquire from them.”

There was no need, however, to do this. It was just the four hours from the time of starting when they saw some eight or ten fis.h.i.+ng-boats ahead of them.

”I expect that that is the entrance to the river. When we get half a mile further we shall see it open.”

On approaching the fis.h.i.+ng-boats they recognized at once the appearance of the sh.o.r.e, as they had noticed it when fis.h.i.+ng there before, and were soon in the entrance to the river.

”It will be high tide in about two hours,” Vincent said, ”according to the time it was the other day. I am afraid when it turns we shall have to get down our sails; there will be no beating against both wind and tide. Then we must get out oars and row. There is very little tide close in by the bank, and every little gain will be a help.

We have been out four days. It is Thursday now, and they will be beginning to get very anxious at home, so we must do our best to get back.”

Keeping close under the bank, they rowed steadily, making on an average about two miles an hour. After five hours' rowing they tied up to the bank, had a meal, and rested until tide turned; then they again hoisted their sail and proceeded on their way. Tide carried them just up to the junction of the two rivers, and landing at c.u.mberland they procured beds and slept till morning.

Another long day's work took them up to the plantation of Mr.

Furniss, and fastening up the boat, and carrying the sails and oars on sh.o.r.e, they started on their walk home.

”Why, Vincent, where on earth have you been all this time?” Mrs.

Wingfield said as her son entered. ”You said you might be away a couple of nights; and we expected you back on Wednesday at the latest, and now it is Friday evening.”

”Well, mother, we have had great fun. We went sailing about right down to the mouth of the York River. I did not calculate that it would take me more than twice as long to get back as to get down; but as the wind blew right down the river it was precious slow work, and we had to row all the way. However, it has been a jolly trip, and I feel a lot better for it.”

”You don't look any better for it,” Annie said. ”The skin is all off your face, and you are as red as fire. Your clothes look shrunk as well as horribly dirty. You are quite an object, Vincent.”

”We got caught in a heavy gale,” Vincent said, ”and got a thorough ducking. As to my face, a day or two will set it all to rights again; and so they will my hands, I hope, for I have got nicely blistered tugging at those oars. And now, mother, I want some supper, for I am as hungry as a hunter. I told Dan to go into the kitchen and get a good square meal.”

The next morning, just after breakfast, there was the sound of horses' hoofs outside the house, and, looking out, Vincent saw Mr.

Jackson, with a man he knew to be the sheriff, and four or five others. A minute later one of the servants came in, and said that the sheriff wished to speak to Mrs. Wingfield.

”I will go out to him,” Mrs. Wingfield replied. Vincent followed her to the door.

”Mrs. Wingfield,” the sheriff said, ”I am the holder of a warrant; to search your slave-huts and grounds for a runaway negro named Anthony Moore, the property of Mr. Jackson here.”

”Do you suppose, sir,” Mrs. Wingfield asked angrily, ”that I am the sort of person to give shelter to runaway slaves?”