Jack Harvey's Adventures: or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates

The man shambled off down the road toward the landing.

“It doesn’t look very inviting,” said Tom Edwards, as their new-found host went on his way, “but we’ve got to take what we can get. We’ll make up for it when we get to Baltimore.”

The man’s promise to be back soon was not fulfilled, for it was more than an hour before they saw him returning. He was burdened, however, with the weight of the sack, which he had evidently been to the warehouse to fill. He set it down as he came up to them, and Harvey offered to carry it a way for him – an offer which was accepted promptly.

“I’m not so spry as I used to be,” he remarked; “and you’re young and rugged.”

He started up along the road he had first come, and the two followed, Harvey carrying the sack, which proved to be filled with potatoes. They proceeded for about half a mile, when Harvey, wearied with his load, inquired how much farther they had to go.

“Oh, just a leetle piece,” responded the man, cheerfully. He did not offer to relieve Harvey of the sack, however. The “leetle piece” proved to be fully a half mile more, when the man turned from the road and followed a wheel track through the fields. They proceeded along that for about a quarter of a mile.

“I guess I’ll stop and rest for a minute,” said Harvey presently. “This sack is pretty heavy.”

“Sho!” exclaimed the man. “You’ve been carrying it a long way, haven’t you? I’ll take it the rest of the way.”

He gave a grin, as he spoke, the reason for which was soon apparent. They had gone on for only a rod or two more when they espied, in a clump of trees, a dingy, weather-beaten house. It was of one story in height, leaning over at an angle that threatened its complete collapse at no distant day. The hearts of Tom Edwards and Jack Harvey sank. It was not a pleasant prospect for Christmas.

Throwing open the door, the man invited them to enter. They found themselves within a shabby room, bare of furnishing, save a wooden table, some chairs, strengthened with pieces of board, and a horse hair sofa in one corner, the springs of which had broken through and were touching the floor.

“You’re welcome, misters,” said the man, “to such as it is. It ain’t nothing to boast of, but it’s a sight better than some dredgers I’ve seen. Had breakfast?”

Harvey nodded. The place left him little appetite.

It was some time before the man spoke again. He seemed to be considering something. Then he said, somewhat hesitatingly, “Misters, I know as how you are all right, by the looks of you – sailors, eh, but not such as would take advantage of a poor man. But bein’ as you are strangers, why it will have to be pay in advance – and no offence intended. Besides, I don’t keep much on hand, as I live alone; and I’ll have to go along up the road a piece, and buy a bit of meat.”

Harvey was prepared for it. In the absence of the man on his errand to the warehouse, he had carefully withdrawn four one dollar bills from the money pinned into his clothing, and now he had the two dollars ready. He handed them over.

The man snatched the money greedily, while his eyes twinkled. He took down his slouch hat from a peg, and prepared to be off again.

“Will you make yourselves at home, misters,” he said, more deferentially than before. “I’ll be after a bit of meat for dinner. The old house isn’t much to look at, but it don’t leak rain, and it’s warm. You keep the fire going, and I’ll promise you’ll have a dinner that beats dredgin’ grub by a long sight.”

He went out and left them alone. They sat for a moment in silence. Then Harvey laughed, as he surveyed the dingy room.

“Merry Christmas! Tom,” he said.

It was Tom Edwards’s turn to smile now.

“The same to you, Jack, old boy,” he exclaimed, heartily. “I guess the old cove is right, after all. It does beat Haley’s dredger – but not by such a big margin.”

They explored the ramshackle house, together. There was a room opening off the one they were in, a sleeping room, with a rough cot in it that might accommodate two, on a pinch. A wood-shed led off from the first room, also. That was the extent of the cabin. They returned to the living room, which, with a small cook-stove set up in it, answered for dining-room, parlour, and kitchen in one. They replenished the fire-pot with wood, from a box, and stretched themselves out at length on the floor beside the fire. The room was at least warm, and they were still weary from lack of sleep.

The hours passed, and it was near noon when they heard the returning footsteps of their host. He came in and busied himself with preparations for dinner, setting out a coffee pot on top of the stove and cutting some strips of bacon to fry in a pan. He took from a closet a few cold boiled potatoes, and sliced these into the pan, with the bacon.

That was their Christmas dinner; but they were hungry, and ate heartily. Toward the end of the meal, their host eyed them slyly, but critically. He noted their clothing, their shoes, even the wisps of hay still clinging to their hair. He arose and pretended to be busy about the fire, but cast sidelong glances at them.

“I heard that there were tramps got into Warren’s barn, over yonder, last night,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “We don’t have much of that around here. Neighbour Darrell says Warren would give a dollar, and perhaps more, to catch them. But I says, ‘Probably the poor fellows didn’t have nowheres else to go, and I wouldn’t tell on ’em, if I knew where they were.’”

Again the man stole a stealthy glance at his guests.

“I wouldn’t take money for that,” he added, “though I reckon it would be worth a dollar to the chaps, themselves, to keep out of the lock-up.”

Harvey, and Tom Edwards exchanged significant glances. It was only too clear what their host was driving at. But Harvey waited for some time before he yielded. It was half an hour later, when they had finished dinner and were sitting by the fire, that he met the sly demand.

“Look here,” he said, suddenly, as though the thought had just struck him, “you’re giving us the best you can, and we haven’t paid you enough. Here’s another dollar. I’d give more than that, if we could afford it.”

He held out the dollar. The man took it, eyed it avariciously and stuffed it into a pocket.

“I wouldn’t take it if I wasn’t as poor as poverty,” he said.

Late that afternoon, he took down his hat and said he would go “up the road” again, and be back shortly. They watched him till he was out of sight. Then Tom Edwards turned to Harvey, his face clouded with anger.

“Jack,” he said, “we’ve got to get out of here, and now’s our chance. I wouldn’t trust that old rascal another minute. He may be lying about the lock-up he spoke of – I don’t believe there’s one for miles around. But he’d sell us to the first captain that came along. What do you think?”

Jack Harvey nodded, wearily.

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s a beastly shame, though. I want a night’s sleep. But we can’t get away from here any too soon, I’m thinking. Come on. Let’s bolt.”

They started off, running along the wheel track, and thence down the road they had come before. It was already growing dark, and their hearts sank, as they hurried on, wondering anxiously where they should spend the night.

They followed the road down to the landing, because they knew not where else to go. They came finally to the wharf, with its warehouse at the farther end. This was shut fast, and no sign of life about it. They sat down for a moment, to rest.

“Well?” queried Harvey, “what do you think?”

“Try another farmhouse?” suggested Tom Edwards.

“I’m scared to do it,” replied Harvey. “There’s an old barn, or factory of some sort over yonder, however, that looks deserted. Anything will do for a night. Let’s go and see.”

They made their way over to the eastward of the wharf, for a distance of several rods, and came up to an old canning factory, which had been some time out of use and was closed. They forced the shutter of a window and entered, finding themselves almost in darkness.

What sort of a place they were in, what it consisted of, and whatever accommodations it might afford them for a night’s lodging, they had no means of finding out. They had only a few matches, and these would serve them but little. They feared to wander about, lest some rotten timbers should let them through to the cellar, or whatever might be beneath. The single match they lighted sufficed to show them all they needed.

The little patch of light fell upon a litter of old straw, as though from packing boxes of some sort. Tired and sleepy, they crept into this, devoured the remaining biscuits they had in their pockets from the Brandt’s cabin, and fell sound asleep.

Both awoke shivering, the following morning, for there had been scant covering to their bed, and the building was cold. They hastened out into the sunshine, going around to the southern exposure of the cannery, where the warmth was greatest. Again, Harvey took the precaution of dividing the money in his small and very private bank, drawing on the account pinned to his undershirt, for three dollars, leaving fourteen thus secured.

He had hardly accomplished this transfer when they heard voices, and three men came past the corner of the old cannery, going off to the right in the direction of a great creek. Harvey halted them, with a call, and they turned in surprise. They were negroes, and evidently oystermen of some sort.

“Hello, what be you two doing here?” inquired one of them, who seemed by his manner to be the leader of the three.

“We want to get to Baltimore,” replied Harvey.

The man shook his head.

“Boat don’t go to-day,” he said.

“We want something to eat,” said Tom Edwards. “You fellows got anything to sell?”

“Mebbe a little bread, and sure enough some oysters,” answered the man. “They’s down ’board the boat, though. You’ll have to come and get ’em.”

The three negroes started on again, Tom Edwards and Harvey following. The three apparently paid no more attention to Harvey and his companion – at least, they did not arouse the suspicion of the two. Nevertheless, one by one, as they walked along, the three turned and looked the strangers over. Then they conversed together, softly, but with more than ordinary interest.

Arrived at the creek, there appeared a great canoe drawn up to shore, with perhaps a bushel of oysters lying in a heap in the bottom. It was a canoe of unusual size, at least twenty-four feet long, and broad of beam. The man who had spoken handed over to Tom Edwards half a loaf of bread, while another of the men began shucking some of the oysters. He passed these to them, and they devoured them hungrily.

“You want to go to Baltimore right away?” asked the negro, suddenly, turning to Tom Edwards.

“Quick as we can get there.”

“Jim,” said the man, addressing one of his companions, “what time this afternoon does that Potomac river steamer get ’round to Otter Point?”

“About five o’clock,” answered the man promptly.

“You know Otter Point?” asked the first man, of Tom Edwards.

The latter shook his head.

“I know,” said Harvey. “It’s a long way down.”

“’Bout eighteen miles,” said the negro. “Good offshore wind this fo’noon; take you down in ’bout three hours, you catch the afternoon steamer, get you into Baltimore to-morrow mo’ning.”

“How much will you charge?”

“Guess it’s worth ’bout a dollar.”

“What do you say, Tom?” asked Harvey.

“I say, let’s go,” answered Tom Edwards.

“All right,” said Harvey. “When will you start?”

“Jes’ as soon as you get aboard,” replied the negro.

Harvey handed a dollar to the man, and they stepped into the canoe. The men shoved off, the sails were set and the canoe glided out of the creek, through a narrow opening, into the bay. There was a smart breeze coming up, off the land; and the canoe, with the wind about abeam, headed down along shore. It was fast, and they made good time. Some three hours later, at about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, they ran between two points of land, into a creek that spread out broadly for over a mile in width, and extended northward for some three miles.

They ran for something like a mile northwesterly, and turned into one of the numberless coves, to where a small cabin stood, a little way back from shore. The country round about was desolate. There was not another sign of habitation in sight.

They went up to the cabin, with the three negroes, and entered. It was a mere fisherman’s shack, with some bunks on two sides, filled with hay for bedding. A cook stove warmed it. There was a table in the middle of the floor, with some empty boxes to serve as seats.

Despite the barrenness of it, however, Harvey and Tom Edwards made a good dinner, about two hours later, of fried fish and bread and hot coffee.

They were in good spirits, when they stood, at a quarter to five that afternoon, at Otter Point, awaiting the steamer.

But there was no wharf there – nothing but a rude framework of poles, at which a small boat might moor.

Harvey turned to their one companion, in surprise.

“A steamer can’t land here,” he exclaimed.

The leader of the three negroes, who had accompanied them from the cabin, answered, with assurance.

“The landing was over yonder,” he said. “It was carried away, and they just puts folks ashore and takes them on here. We has to send a boat off.” He took out a pipe and began smoking stolidly.

Five o’clock came – and six – and there was no steamer. Night had settled down. The negro answered their questions by asserting that “something mus’ have hap’nd; that boat was always on time befo’.”

They waited a little while longer, with fast dying hopes. It was all guesswork to them. They could not know that, at six o’clock in the evening, by its schedule, the Potomac river steamer bound for Baltimore was twenty miles back on its course, coming out of St. Mary River, into the Potomac; that it never did stop at the creek where they were anxiously waiting, and that it would go by sometime in the night. At half-past six o’clock they gave it up and rowed back with the negro, in a skiff, to the cabin.

“Jack,” said Tom Edwards, as they turned in for the night, in bunks, one above the other, “I’m afraid they’ve played a trick on us, though I don’t know what for. I don’t like the looks of this place.”

“Nor I,” said Harvey. “I’m going to keep awake for an hour or two, and watch. I’ve got Haley’s revolver.” He took it from his pocket and hid it in the straw under his head. “We’ll be ready for them, anyway,” he muttered.

But they had reckoned without their weariness. In less than an hour, they were both fast asleep.

Nothing evil befell throughout the night, however. The morning found them undisturbed. The negroes were stirring, and the odour of cooking brought them to their feet, hungry and refreshed.

That day seemed endless. There would be no boat up river until to-morrow, they were now assured. They could only wait. They were suspicious – alarmed. The place was so out of the way, and so dreary. But they decided to wait the one more day, and then, if no boat came, to strike off across country for themselves.

Harvey slept soundly that next night, for several hours. Then something – he knew not what – roused him. He stirred sleepily, half awoke and turned in his bunk. A figure stole away from him, in the darkness, toward the door. It is probable that Harvey would have relapsed into sound slumber once more had he not felt cold. He awoke, shivering, and felt a draft of cold night air blowing in on him. Then he saw a patch of moonlight streaming in through the half-opened door.

Harvey, fully dressed, as he had turned in, rolled out of the bunk and stepped to the door. Some distance away, two men were going down to the shore. The next thing he saw sent the blood leaping through his veins. Out in the creek, the moonlight was reflected on the sail of a bug-eye. It was rounding to, coming up into the wind. Harvey darted back into the cabin and awoke Tom Edwards, shaking him vigorously.

“Tom, get up, quick!” he said; and dragged him from where he lay.

“There’s a vessel coming in, Tom,” he cried, “and the men from here are going down to meet it. They’re after us – that’s what. Tom, we’ll be sold again to a dredger if we don’t get out of here. That’s what they got us down for.”

They had, fortunately, no clothing to put on, for they had turned in dressed, even to their shoes. They waited only for a moment, snatching up some pieces of dry bread that remained on the table from the supper. Then they hurried out of the door.

They were not a moment too soon. Perhaps the third man had been about the cabin somewhere and had given the alarm. As they stepped outside, the three negroes came plainly into sight, in the moonlight, armed with short poles which they brandished as clubs, running back toward them and crying out for them to halt.

There was a sharp surprise for the three, however. Tom Edwards, made desperate by the crisis, had drawn a fish knife that he had taken from the cabin of the Brandt; Jack Harvey stood coolly in his tracks, holding Haley’s revolver.

“Stand back there, or I’ll shoot,” he cried.

The negroes stopped short and stood, holding their clubs in hand. They were clearly taken all by surprise. The leader, balked of his prize money for two able-bodied men for the dredger, was not to be beaten, off-hand, however. His eyes flashed with anger, as he advanced a step.

“That thing isn’t loaded,” he asserted. “You can’t fool us. It won’t shoot.”

“Won’t it?” said Harvey. “Let’s see.” He raised the weapon, aiming it over the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. The report of the weapon sounded afar in the still night air, ringing out across the water. The man sprang back, in terror, and, the next moment, the three started running for the shore toward the vessel.

“Tom,” cried Jack Harvey, “get your wind for a run now. We’ve got to get out of here before they bring the captain and mate and his men after us. We’ll have to run and trust to luck.”

They started off across country, away from the shore, as hard as they could run. The moonlight, fortunately, showed them the ground over which they ran – though they knew not whither they were travelling.

All that night they proceeded, coming to a road, after a time, that went northward. They followed along that. Not until daybreak did they pause to rest.

Poor Tom Edwards was groaning, and gasping like a fish out of water.

“The luck’s against us, Jack, old boy,” he murmured. “Here we are, twenty miles worse off than we were before – and, only to think, that other boat goes up to-morrow from Millstone, and we won’t be there in time.”

“Never mind,” said Jack Harvey, stout-heartedly, “we’ll get out of it some way. We’ll follow the road, and we won’t starve. I’ve got the money to pay for food along the way.”

He thrust his hand under his waistcoat, as he spoke – and uttered a cry as he did so.

“Tom,” he shouted, “I haven’t got the money. I’ve been robbed! It’s gone!”

He felt through his clothing, feverishly. He drew forth from one pocket a single dollar bill and a small amount of change. It was all he had left. The money that had been pinned to his clothing had been taken, pin and all, while he slept. The dollar left to him had been in the trousers pocket, protected by his body.

They were too poor now to pay their fare up the river. They were worse off than before against the cold or any storm that might arise; for they had left their oil-skins back in the cabin, in their flight.

CHAPTER XV

HENRY BURNS IN TROUBLE

Will Adams, stirring the coals in the fireplace of his cheery dining-room, added two sticks of oak to the blaze, resumed his seat and addressed his guests.

“I’ve been wishing for years,” he said, “that I could have a chance to catch one of these dredging pirates that misuse their men so. Why, I’ve lain in bed on summer nights and heard those poor fellows out aboard begging for mercy – and I couldn’t do anything to help them. It’s hard to catch a captain in the act of beating a man, and they have all kinds of tricks to escape; the worst ones stand together and help one another out. But we’ll get this man, Haley, because he comes into the river, you say. I don’t remember him, at all, but I think I know the boat, as you describe it.”

“We’ll get a warrant for him, the first thing,” said Edward Warren.

“Well, that’s what we’ll have to depend on,” replied Will Adams; “but that’s a slow process, and we may be able to do better, in the meantime, ourselves. We want to get young Harvey, right off, before he has any more of Haley’s rough handling.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Ed. You take the boat, day after to-morrow, for Baltimore, swear out the warrant, and get back here as quick as ever you can. That will start the authorities after the fellow. But I warn you, they’re rather slow. They’ll have to put a steamer on Haley’s trail, to make sure.

“You see, news has a way of leaking out up in Baltimore. I don’t know how they do it – politics, I suppose. But as soon as a warrant is out, somebody gets word of it on the water-front and then the news travels down the bay like wildfire. One captain passes it along to another. Why, the chances are, Haley might have young Harvey out of the way aboard some other craft, or set ashore down in the Eastern shore swamps, before any police captain came up with him.

“That’s why I say I hope we can get the boy off, ourselves, in the meantime. Now I’ve got a sloop up in the creek back of Solomon’s Island, that I can fit out and have ready by to-morrow afternoon. She’s a good one, too, is the old Mollie. She’s fast, and she can go across the bay in anything that ever blew; thirty-seven feet long; a good, roomy cabin that will sleep six of us easy, and seven on a pinch, by making up some beds on the cabin floor. She’ll carry sail, too, and if it comes to a brush between us and Haley’s craft, why the Mollie will show up surprisingly. He’d have hard work to give us the slip, altogether, unless night came on.

“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Will Adams, arising and squaring his broad shoulders, “we’ll fit out the Mollie like a regular sloop-of-war. I’ve got three shot-guns and any number of revolvers, and you’ve got a good rifle, Ed. Why, we could show enough force to capture a Malay pirate, let alone Haley. We may get him easier than that, right here in the river – and then again we may not. We’ll be ready for anything. What do you say?”

“Well,” said Edward Warren, “I’m for capturing the man wherever he shows himself, if we can; but I’m not so sure that I ought to let these youngsters run the risk of getting into a fight like that.”

Will Adams smiled.

“Perhaps I put it a little bit strong,” he said. “I don’t really think there would be very much fight about it. Haley is a coward, I’ll venture to say, if it comes to a pinch. Most bull-dozing men like that are. We won’t give him a chance to fight, if we can help it; just take him of a sudden, and he’ll give up.”

“Don’t you worry about us, Cousin Ed,” said George Warren. “We are old enough to take care of ourselves. We don’t mind running some risk, if we can only get Jack out of his scrape.”

“Well,” replied Edward Warren, “you fit up the Mollie, Will, and wait till I get back from Baltimore before you start off anywhere. Then we’ll see.”

“I wish we could start to-night,” said Henry Burns.

It was surprising, the change that had come over this usually coolest and most deliberate of the boys. He and Jack Harvey had not always been friends; but now that circumstances had brought them together, and they had cemented their friendship by a summer together and a partnership in a fishing enterprise, they were loyal comrades. Henry Burns would have set out on the moment, for Solomon’s Island and the sloop Mollie, and have worked all night to get her ready, if Will Adams had only said the word.

But there was, plainly, nothing to be done until morning; and so, with a hearty handshake all round, the boys and Edward Warren left the big house on Drum Point and headed homeward across the river in the canoe.

There was no time lost, on the following morning, however. They were up and across the river at an early hour; and, taking Will Adams into the canoe, they all went along by the shore into the creek where the Mollie lay at her mooring. She was stripped of her sails and some of her rigging, out of commission for the winter season.