Part 33 (1/2)
”Yes, but you won't see me do it. Pa.s.s me the bag now. Be careful with your hands. In truth, I think you'd better raise them above your head, and your comrades can do the same. Quick, up with them, or I shoot!
That's right. Now, I'll back away. I'm going up the ladder backward, and when I go out I intend to shove in place the grating that covers the entrance to the deck there. You can escape in five minutes, of course, but by that time I'll be off the s.h.i.+p and among the bushes out of your reach. Oh, I know it's humiliating, captain, but you've had your way a long time, and the slaver's trade is not a nice one. The ghosts of the blacks whom you have caused to die must haunt you some time, captain, and since your schooner is lost you'll now have a chance to turn to a better business. For the last time I tell you to be careful with your hands. A sailor man would miss his fingers.”
He backed cautiously until his heels touched the ladder, meanwhile watching the eyes of the man. He knew that the captain was consumed with rage, but angry and reckless as he was he would not dare to reach for a weapon of his own, while the pistol confronting him was held with such a steady hand. He also listened for sounds made by other men on the s.h.i.+p, but heard none. Then he began to back slowly up the stairway, continuing his running address.
”I know that your arms must be growing weary, captain,” he said, and he enjoyed it as he said it, ”but you won't have to keep 'em up much longer. Two more steps will take me out upon the deck, and then you'll be free to do as you please.”
It was the last two steps that troubled him most. In order to keep the men covered with the pistol he had to bend far down, and he knew that when he could no longer bend far enough the danger would come.
But he solved it by straightening up suddenly and taking two steps at a leap. He heard shouts and oaths, and the report of a pistol, but the bullet was as futile as the cries. He slammed down the grating, fastened it in an instant, ran to the low rail and swiftly lowered himself and his pack over it and into the sand. Then he ran for the bushes.
Robert did not waste his breath. Having managed the affair of the grating, he knew that he was safe for the present. So, when he reached the higher bushes, he stopped, well hidden by them, and looked back. In two or three minutes the captain and the two men appeared on the deck, and he laughed quietly to himself. He could see that their faces were contorted by rage. They could follow his trail some distance at least in the sand, but he knew that they would be cautious. He had shown them his quality and they would fear an ambush.
He was justified in his opinion, as they remained on the deck, evidently searching for a glimpse of him among the bushes, and, after watching them a little while, he set out inland, bearing his burden of weapons and food, and laughing to himself at the manner in which he had made the captain serve him. He felt now that the score between them was even, and he was willing to part company forever.
Youth and success had an enormous effect upon him. When one triumph was achieved his vivid temperament always foresaw others. Willet had often called him the child of hope, and hope is a powerful factor in victory. Now it seemed to him for a little while that his own rescue, achieved by himself, was complete. He had nothing to do but to return to New York and his friends, and that was just detail.
He swung along through the bushes, forgetting the burden of his weapons and his pack of food. In truth, he swaggered a bit, but it was a gay and gallant swagger, and it became him. He walked for some distance, feeling that he had been changed from a seaman into a warrior, and then from a warrior into an explorer, which was his present character. But he did not see at present the variety and majesty that all explorers wish to find. The country continued low, the same alternation of sand and salt marsh, although the bushes were increasing in size, and they were interspersed here and there with trees of some height.
Reaching the crest of a low hill he took his last look backward, and was barely able to see the upper works of the stranded schooner. Then he thought of the captain and his exuberant spirits compelled him to laugh aloud. With the chances a hundred to one against him he had evened the score. While he had been compelled to serve the captain, the captain in turn had been forced to serve him. It was enough to make a sick man well, and to turn despair into confidence. He was in very truth and essence the child of hope.
Another low hill and from its summit he saw nothing but the bushy wilderness, with a strip of forest appearing on the sunken horizon. He searched the sky for a wisp of smoke that might tell of a human habitation, below, but saw none. Yet people might live beyond the strip of forest, where the land would be less sandy and more fertile, and, after a brief rest, he pushed on with the same vigor of the body and elation of the spirit, coming soon to firmer ground, of which he was glad, as he now left no trail, at least none that an ordinary white man could follow.
He trudged bravely on for hours through a wilderness that seemed to be complete so far as man was concerned, although its character steadily changed, merging into a region of forest and good soil. When he came into a real wood, of trees large and many, it was about noon, and finding a comfortable place with his back to a tree he ate from the precious pack.
The day was still brilliant but cold and he wisely kept himself thoroughly wrapped in the greatcoat. As he ate he saw a large black bear walk leisurely through the forest, look at him a moment or two, and then waddle on in the same grave, unalarmed manner. The incident troubled Robert, and his high spirits came down a notch or two.
If a black bear cared so little for the presence of an armed human being then he could not be as near to New York as he had thought. Perhaps he had been unconscious on the schooner a long time. He felt of the lump which was not yet wholly gone from his head, and tried his best to tell how old it was, but he could not do it.
The little cloud in his golden sky disappeared when he rose and started again through a fine forest. His spirits became as high as ever. Looking westward he saw the dim blue line of distant hills, and he turned northward, inferring that New York must lie in that direction. In two hours his progress was barred by a river running swiftly between high banks, and with ice at the edges. He could have waded it as the water would not rise past his waist, but he did not like the look of the chill current, and he did not want another wetting on a winter day.
He followed the stream a long distance, until he came to shallows, where he was able to cross it on stones. His search for a dry ford had caused much delay, but he drew comfort from his observation that the stones making his pathway through the water were large and almost round. He had seen many such about New York, and he had often marveled at their smoothness and roundness, although he did not yet know the geological reason. But the stones in the river seemed to him to be close kin to the stones about New York, and he inferred, or at least he hoped, that it indicated the proximity of the city.
But he believed that he would have to spend another night in the wilderness. Search the sky as he would, and he often did, there was no trace of smoke, and, as the sun went down the zenith and the cold began to increase, his spirits fell a little. But he reasoned with himself. Why should one inured as he was to the forest and winter, armed, provisioned and equipped with the greatcoat, be troubled? The answer to his question was a return of confidence in full tide, and resolving to be leisurely he looked about in the woods for his new camp. What he wanted was an abundance of dead leaves out of which to make a nest. Dead leaves were cold to the touch, but they would serve as a couch and a wall, shutting out further cold from the earth and from the outside air, and with the greatcoat between, he would be warm enough. He would have nothing to fear except snow, and the skies gave no promise of that danger.
He found the leaves in a suitable hollow, and disposed them according to his plan, the whole making a comfortable place for a seasoned forester, and, while he ate his supper, he watched the sun set over the wilderness. Long after it was gone he saw the stars come out and then he looked at the particular one on which Tododaho, Tayoga's patron saint, had been living more than four hundred years. It was glittering in uncommon splendor, save for a slight mist across its face, which must be the snakes in the hair of the great Onondaga chieftain who he felt was watching over him, because he was the friend of Tayoga.
Then he fell asleep, sleeping soundly, all through the night, and although he was a little stiff in the morning a few minutes of exercise relieved him of it and he ate his breakfast. His journey toward the north was resumed, and in an hour he emerged into a little valley, to come almost face to face with the captain and the two sailors. They were sitting on a log, apparently weary and at a loss, but they rose quickly at his coming and the captain's hand slid down to his pistol. Robert's slid to his, making about the same speed. Although his heart pounded a moment or two at first he was surprised to find how soon he became calm. It was perhaps because he had been through so many dangers that one more did not count for much.
”You see, captain,” he said, ”that neither has the advantage of the other. I did not expect to meet you here, or in truth, anywhere else. I left you in command of the schooner, and you have deserted your post. When I held that position I remained true to my duty.”
The captain, who was heavily armed, carrying a cutla.s.s as well as pistols, smiled sourly.
”You're a lad of spirit, Peter,” he said. ”I've always given you credit for that. In my way I like you, and I think I'll have you to go along with us again.”
”I couldn't think of it. We must part company forever. We did it once, but perhaps the second time will count.”
”No, my crew is now reduced to two--the ocean has all the others--and I need your help. It would be better anyway for you to come along with us. This Acadia is a desolate coast.”
There was a log opposite the one upon which they had been sitting and Robert took his place upon it easily, not to say confidently. He felt sure that they would not fire upon him now, having perhaps nothing to gain by it, but he kept a calculating eye upon them nevertheless.