The Story of Jack Ballister's Fortunes

“Come,” said Dred. “I’ve let you have a good long sleep, but I can’t let you have no more. We’ve got to take to the oars again, and that’s all there is about it. I tried to row, but I couldn’t do it. And so ever since you’ve been sleeping the boat’s been drifting. I’ll lend a hand with one of the oars for a while. ‘Twill not be so hard on you as if you had to pull both. But I couldn’t row by myself, and that’s all there is of it.”

“How long have I been asleep?” asked Jack.

“A matter of four or five hours,” said Dred.

“Four or five hours!” exclaimed Jack. It seemed to him that he had not been asleep an hour. He stood up, and stretched his cramped limbs. There was not a breath of air stirring. The young lady lay dark and silent in the stern, covered over with the overcoats and wraps, and evidently asleep. She stirred just a little at the sound of their talking, but did not arouse herself.

“Have you seen or heard aught of the sloop?” said Jack.

“No,” said Dred. “Go and take your place, and we’ll pull a bit. I’ll take this seat here; you take the one amidships.”

Jack climbed over the thwarts to his place. He was still drunk and half inert with the fumes of sleep. He took up his oar, and settled it quietly into the rowlock so as not to disturb the young lady. “Do you know what time ’tis, Dred?” he asked.

“I make it about two o’clock,” said Dred, “judging by the looks of the stars.” He was leaning over his oar, opening the bag of biscuit. He handed one back to Jack. “We’ll take a bite to eat and a drop to drink afore we begin rowing,” said he. “Where’s the bottle? Oh, yes; here ’tis,” and again the young lady stirred at the sound of his voice near her.

Jack’s hands were still sore and blistered from the rowing of the day before. At first the oar hurt him cruelly, but his hands presently got used to the dragging jerk, and he dipped and pulled in time with the moving of Dred’s body, which he could dimly see in the darkness. They rowed on in perfect silence. Now and then Jack’s consciousness blurred, and he felt himself falling asleep, but he never ceased his rowing. Then again he would awaken, looking out, as he dipped his oar, at the whirling eddy it made in the water. Every stroke of the oar drew the heavy boat perhaps a yard and a half onward. “A thousand strokes,” said Jack to himself, “will make a mile.” And then he began counting each stroke as he rowed. Again his mind blurred, and he forgot what he was counting. “‘Twas three hundred and twenty I left off with,” he thought, as he wakened again. “Maybe there’s been twenty since then. That would make three hundred and forty. Three hundred and forty-one – three hundred and forty-two – three hundred and forty-three – there was a splash – that was a fish jumped then – three hundred and forty-four – three hundred and forty-five.”

Dred stopped rowing. “I’ve got to rest a bit,” he said, almost with a groan. “Drat that there fever! I don’t know what a body’s got to have fever for, anyway.”

Jack rested upon his oar. It seemed to him that almost immediately he began drifting off into unconsciousness, to awaken again with a start. Dred was still resting upon his oar, and the boat was drifting. They were enveloped and wrapped around by a perfect silence, through which there seemed to breathe a liquid murmur.

Still there was no breeze, but there began to be an indescribable air of freshness breathed out upon the night. The distant quavering whistle of a flock of marsh-birds sounded suddenly out of the hollow darkness above. It was the first spark of the newly awakened life. Again the tremulous whistle sounded as if passing directly above their heads. The young lady still lay darkly motionless in the stern. All the earth seemed sleeping excepting themselves and that immaterial whistle sounding out from that abysmal vault – the womb of day. Jack fancied that there was a slight shot of gray in the east. Again the whistle sounded, now faint in the distance. Then there was another answering whistle; then another – then another. Presently it seemed as though the air were alive with the sound. Suddenly, far away, sounded the sharp clamor of a sea-gull; a pause; then instantly a confused clamor of many gulls. There slowly grew to be a faint, pallid light along the east as broad as a man’s hand, but still all around them the water stretched dark and mysterious.

Dred was again resting upon his oar, breathing heavily. “‘Twill be broad daylight within an hour,” he said, “and then we can see where we be.”

His sudden speech struck with a startling jar upon the solitude of the waking day, and Jack was instantly wide awake. “How far are we from the inlet now, do you suppose, Dred?”

A pause. “I don’t just know. ’Tis maybe not more than fifteen mile.”

“Fifteen miles!” repeated Jack. “Have we got to row fifteen miles yet?”

“We’ll have to if we don’t get a breeze,” said Dred, still panting; “and as we didn’t get a breeze to reach us to the inlet last night, we don’t want it now. ‘Twill only serve to fetch them down upon us now if a breeze do spring up.”

Again, for the third time, the sleeping figure in the stern stirred a little at the sound of voices. The growing light in the east waxed broader and broader. In that direction the distance separated itself from the sky. Jack could see that they were maybe a mile from the marshy shore, over which had now awakened the ceaseless clamor of the gulls and the teeming life of the sedgy solitude. To the west it was still dark and indistinct, but they could see a further and further stretch of water. “I see her,” said Dred. “Well, she don’t appear to have overhauled us much during the night, anyways.”

Jack could see nothing for a while, but presently he did distinguish the pallid flicker of a spot of sail in the far-away distance. Had it gained upon them? It seemed to Jack that, in spite of what Dred had said, it was nearer to them.

The day grew wider and wider. The sun had not yet risen, but everything stood out now in the broad, clear, universal flood of light that lit up the heavens and the earth. The east grew rosy, and the distance to the west came out sharply against the dull, gray sky, in which shone steadily a single brilliant star. The boat was wet with the dew that had gathered upon it.

The young lady roused herself, and sat up, shuddering, in the chill of the new awakening. She looked about her. Then Dred stood up, and looked long and steadily at the strip of beach to the east. “I don’t know much about the lay of the coast up this way,” he said; “there ought to be a signal-mast over toward the ocean side som’ers about here. But, so far as I can make out, we be ten mile from the inlet. I thought we’d been nigher to it than we are.”

The water was as smooth as glass.

Suddenly the sun rose, big, flattened, distorted, from over the sand-hills, shooting its broad, level light across the water, and presently the sail in the distance started out like a red flame in the bright, steady, benignant glow. Again Jack and Dred were rowing, and the boat was creeping, yard by yard, through the water, and leaving behind them a restless, broken, dark line upon the smooth and otherwise unbroken surface.

The sun rose higher and higher, and the day grew warmer and warmer, and still not a breath of air broke the level surface of the water. It was, maybe, ten o’clock, and the point of land they had been abreast of an hour before, lay well behind. “That’s the inlet, where you see them sand-hills ahead yonder,” said Dred.

“How far are they away?” said Jack.

“Not more’n three mile, I reckon.”

The pirates in the sloop were rowing steadily with the sweeps. Jack could see, every now and then, the glint of the long oars as they were dipped into the water and came out, wet and flashing, in the sunlight. “They’re gaining some on us, Dred,” said he, after a while.

“That comes from a sick man’s rowing,” said Dred, grimly. “Well, they won’t catch us now, if the wind’ll only hold off a little longer. But I’m nigh done up, lad, and that’s the truth.”

“So am I,” said Jack. Again, as during the night before, the keen sense of danger that had thrilled him seemed to be sunk into his utter weariness – dulled and blunted.

They rowed for a while in silence. The sand-hills crept nearer. Suddenly Dred stood up in the boat, holding his oar with one hand. He did not speak for a moment. “There’s a breeze coming up down yonder,” he said. “They’re cracking on all sail. They’ll get it, like enough, afore we do. ’Tis lucky we be so nigh the inlet.” He took his place again. “Pull away, lad,” said he; “I reckon we’re pretty safe, but we’ll make it sure. As soon as we get to the inlet we can take all day to rest.”

Jack could see that they were raising every stitch of sail aboard the sloop. Then, presently, as he looked, he could see the sails fill out, smooth and round. “They’ve got it now,” said Dred, “and they’ll be coming down on us, hand over hand.”

The young lady was looking out astern. Jack managed to catch Dred’s eye as he turned for a moment and looked out forward. He could not trust himself to speak. Again that heavy weight of fear and anxiety was growing bigger and sharper. Suddenly it swelled almost to despair. He did not say anything, but his eyes asked, “What are our chances?”

Dred must have read the question, for he said: “Well, it hain’t likely they’ll overhaul us now. If we’d only had wind enough to carry us to the inlet last night we’d been safe; but the next best thing is no wind at all, and that we’ve had. I reckon we’ll make it if we keep close to the shore where ’tis too shoal for them to folly. Yonder comes the breeze. By blood! we’ll get it afore I thought we would.” He drew in his oar, and handed it to Jack. “You take this,” said he, “and keep on rowing, and I’ll trim sail.” He went forward, and raised the gaff a little higher. “Pull away, lad – pull away! and don’t sit staring.”

In spite of what Dred had said, Jack could see that the sloop was rapidly overhauling them. It was now coming rushing down upon them, looming every moment bigger and higher. In the distance Jack could see a black strip lining the smooth surface of the water. It was the breeze rushing toward them ahead of the oncoming sail. Suddenly, all around them, the water was dusked with cat’s-paws. Then came a sudden cool puff of air – a faint breath promising the breeze to come. The sails swelled sluggishly, and then fell limp again. The line of oncoming breeze that had been sharp now looked broken and ragged upon the nearer approach of the wind. “Now she’s coming,” said Dred.

He was looking steadily over the stern. The sloop, every stitch of sail spread, was making toward them. There was a white snarl of waters under her bows. It seemed to Jack that in five minutes she must be upon them. Suddenly there was another cool breath, then a rush of air. The boom swung out, the sail filled, and the boat gave a swift lurch forward with the ripple and the gurgle of water about them. Then the swift wind was all around them, and the boat heeled over to it, and rushed rapidly away.

Jack was still rowing. The motion had grown habitual with him, and now he hardly noticed it. The sloop seemed to be almost upon them; he could even see the men upon the decks. Dred sat grimly at the tiller, looking steadily out ahead, never moving a hair. Jack thrilled as with a sudden spasm, and everything about him seemed to melt into the fear rushing down upon them – the despair of certain capture. It seemed to him that he felt his face twitching. He looked at Dred. There were haggard lines of weakness upon his steadfast face, but no signs of anxiety. Again Dred must have read his look. “They can’t reach in here,” said he; “the water is too shoal.” Suddenly, even as he spoke, Jack saw the sloop coming about. He could hear the creak of the block and tackle as they hauled in the great mainsail, and presently it was flapping limp and empty of wind. Dred turned swiftly and looked over his shoulder. “D’ye see that?” he said. “They’ve run up to the shoal now. They’ve got to keep out into the channel, and that’s about as nigh as they can come to us. They’ll run out into the channel again now. What they’ll try to do’ll be to head us off at the inlet, but they’ve got to make a long leg and a short leg to do that. Ay!” he cried, exultantly, “you’re too late, my hearty!” And he shook his fist at the sloop.

The sloop had now fallen off broadside to them. Its limp sails began to fill again, and it looked ten times as big as it had done running bow on. Suddenly there was a round puff of smoke in the sunlight, instantly breaking and dissolving in the sweeping wind. There was a splash of water; then another splash, and another, and at the same moment a report of a gun. Boom! a dull, heavy, thudding sound, upon the beat of which a hundred little fish skipped out of the water all about the boat.

At the heavy beat of the report, the young lady uttered an exclamation like a smothered scream. The cannon-ball went skipping and ricochetting across their bows and away. “Don’t you be afraid, mistress,” said Dred; “there ben’t one chance in a thousand of their hitting us at this distance; and, d’ye see, they’re running away from us now. Each minute there’s less chance of them harming us. Just you bear up a little, and they’ll be out of distance.”

She brushed her hand for a moment across her eyes, and then seemed to have gained some command over herself. “Are they going to leave us?” she asked.

“Why, no,” said Dred, “not exactly. They know now that we’re making for the inlet. What they’ll do’ll be to run out furder into the channel, and then come back on another tack, and along close in to the inlet so as to head us off. But, d’ye see, the water be too shoal for them, and they’re likely to run aground any moment now. As for us, why, we’ve got a straight course, d’ye see, and our chance is ten to one of making through the inlet afore they can stop us.”

Again there was a puff of smoke that swept away, dissolving down the wind. Again came the skipping shot, and again there was the dull, heavy boom of the cannon. It seemed to Jack that the shot was coming straight into the boat. The young lady gripped the rail with her hand. The cannon-ball went hissing and screeching past them. “By blood!” said Dred, “that was a nigh one, for sartin. ‘Twas Morton hisself lay that gun, I’ll be bound.” Another cloud of smoke, and another dull report, and another ball came skipping across the water, this time wide of the mark. The sloop was now running swiftly away from them, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, her sails again smooth and round, tilting to the wind. They did not fire any more. Jack bent to the rowing, plunging and splashing the water in the tenseness of his apprehension and fear. He no longer felt the smart of his hands or the weariness of his muscles; it seemed to him that he had never felt so strong.

It was not until the guns had been fired that the young lady appreciated the full danger they were in. Jack’s own feelings for the immediate time had been too tense to notice her. Now he saw that she was wringing her hands and tearlessly sobbing, her face as white as ashes. “Come, come, mistress!” said Dred, roughly. “‘Twon’t do no good for you to take on so. Be still, will you?”

The brusqueness of his speech silenced her somewhat. Jack saw her bite at her hand in the tense suppression she set upon herself.

“How far is it to the inlet?” said Jack, hoarsely.

“Half a mile,” said Dred.

Jack turned his head to look. “Mind your oars,” said Dred, sharply; “’tis no time to look now. I’ll mind the inlet. ‘Twon’t get us there any quicker for you to look. By blood!” he added, “she’s coming about again.”

The sloop was maybe a mile away; again it was coming about. “Now for it!” said Dred. “’Tis they or us this time.” Jack swung desperately to the oars. “That’s right – pull away! Every inch gained is that much longer life for all on us.”

The water was now dappled with white caps, and the swift wind drove the yawl plunging forward. The sloop was now set upon the same course that they were, only bearing toward them to head them off. As for them, their leeway was bringing them nearer and nearer the shore. Dred put down the helm a little further so as to keep the boat off the shoals. This lost them a little headway. Jack’s every faculty was bent upon rowing. The sea-gulls rose before them in dissolving flight – the cannon-shots had aroused them all along the shore, and Jack heard their clamor dimly and distantly through the turmoil of his own excited fears. His throat was dry and hot, and his mouth parched. He could hear the blood surging and thumping in his ears. He looked at the young lady as though in a dream, and saw dully that her face was very white and that she gripped the rail of the boat. Her knuckles were white with the strain, and he saw the shine of the rings upon her fingers. The sloop, as he looked at it, seemed to grow almost visibly larger to his eyes; it seemed to tower as it approached. He could see the figures of the men swarming upon the decks. He looked over his shoulder – the inlet was there. “Unship them oars,” said Dred sharply; “’tis sail or naught now.” Then as Jack, unshipping the oars, tipped the boat a little, Dred burst out hoarsely, “Steady, there, you bloody fool! what d’ye heave about so for?” Jack drew in the oars and laid them down across the thwarts, and again Dred burst out roughly: “Look out what ye’re doing! You’re scattering the water all over me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” said Jack; “I couldn’t help it.”

Dred glared at him, but did not reply. Jack looked over his shoulder; the broad mouth of the inlet was opening swiftly before them – the inlet and safety. Suddenly the bottom of the boat grated and hung upon the sand; and Jack, with a dreadful thrill, realized that they were aground. The young lady clutched the rail with both hands with a shriek as the boat careened on the bar, almost capsizing. Dred burst out with a terrible oath as he sprang up and drew in the sheets hand over hand. “Push her off!” he roared. Jack seized one of the oars; but before he could use it the yawl was free again and afloat, and once more Dred sat down, quickly running out the sheets.

Jack’s heart was beating and fluttering in his throat so that he almost choked with it. Dred did not look at the sloop at all. Some one was calling to them through a speaking-trumpet, but Jack could not distinguish the words, and Dred paid no attention to them. There was another puff of smoke, and this time a loud, booming report, and the almost instant splash and dash of the shot across their stern. Jack saw it all, dully and remotely. Why was Dred sailing across the mouth of the inlet instead of running into it? “Why don’t you run into the inlet, Dred?” he cried, shrilly. “Why don’t you run into the inlet? You’re losing time! They’ll be down upon us in a minute if you don’t run in!”

“You mind your own business,” shouted Dred, “and I’ll mind mine!” Then he added, “I’ve got to run up past the bar, ha’n’t I? I can’t run across the sand, can I?”

The sea-gulls were whirling and circling all about them, and the air was full of their screaming clamor.

“About!” called Dred, sharply; and he put down the helm.

Jack could see straight out of the inlet to the wide ocean beyond. It was a quarter of a mile away, and there was a white line of breakers. There was a loud, heavy report – startlingly loud to Jack’s ears – and a cannon-ball rushed, screeching, past them. He ducked his head, crouching down, and the young lady screamed out shrilly. Dred sat at the helm, as grim and as silent as fate. Again the bottom of the boat grated upon the sand. “My God!” burst out Jack, “we’re aground again!” Dred never stirred. The yawl grated and ground upon the sandy bar and then, once more, it was free.

Then Dred looked over his shoulder. He looked back. Then he looked over his shoulder again. “Get down, mistress!” he called out, sharply. “Get down in the bottom of the boat! They’re going to give us a volley.” Jack saw the glint of the sunlight upon the musket-barrels. The young lady looked at Dred with wide eyes. She seemed bewildered. “Get down!” cried out Dred, harshly. “Are you a fool? Get down, I say!” Jack reached out and caught her violently by the arm and dragged her down into the bottom of the boat. Even as he did so he saw a broken, irregular cloud of smoke shoot out from the side of the sloop. He shut his eyes spasmodically. There was a loud, rattling report. He heard the shrill piping and whistling of the bullets rushing toward them. There was a splashing and clipping. Would he be hurt? There was the jar of thudding bullets. There was a shock that seemed to numb his arm to the shoulder. He was hit. No; the bullet had struck the rail just beside his hand. He was unhurt. He opened his eyes. A vast rush of relief seemed to fill his soul. No one was hurt. The danger was past and gone. No! some of the pirates were about to fire again. There was a puff of smoke; then a broken cloud of smoke, a sharp report, another, and another; then three or four almost together. The bullets were humming and singing, clipping along the top of the water. One – two, struck with a thud against the side of the boat. Jack saw, in a blinded sort of way, that the sloop had come up into the wind; she could follow them no further. There were half a dozen puffs of smoke altogether. O God! would the dreadful danger never be past? Was there no way of escape?

“Ach!” cried out Dred, sharply.

Jack looked up with an agonizing, blinding terror. Was Dred hurt? No; he could not be. There was no sign of hurt. Was that a little tear in his shirt! O God! Was it real? Suddenly there was blood. O, it could not be. Yes; there was a great, wide stain of blood shooting out and spreading over his shirt! “O, Dred!” screamed Jack, shrilly.

“Sit down!” roared Dred. He put his hand to his stomach, at the side, and then there was blood in his hand. Suddenly there was a broken swirl and toss all around them. It was the broken ground-swell coming in past the shoals. The boat pitched and tossed. There was a thundering splash of breakers. Jack sprang up. “Steady!” cried out Dred. Jack’s blinded eyes saw that the pirate sloop was far away in the distance. Were they still shooting? He did not know. He saw everything with dizzy vision. O God! Dred’s shirt was all soaked with blood. What was it now? There was something. They were out in the ocean; that was it – the inlet was passed. “Oh – h!” groaned Dred, “I’m hurt – I’m hurt!”

CHAPTER XL

FIAT JUSTITIA

AS THE BOAT swept into the great lift and fall of the ocean swell, Dred had leaned forward and rested his forehead upon the tiller, which he still held. His body shook and heaved, and Jack sat like one turned to stone. The thought went through his mind, “He is dying – will he die as he sits there? Can it really be that he is dying?” Then Dred looked up, and his face was as white as ashes. Great beads of sweat stood on his forehead. “Some water,” he said, hoarsely; “give me some water, lad.”

Miss Eleanor Parker still lay in the bottom of the boat, whither Jack had dragged her. Jack went forward blindly across the thwarts and brought out a cup of water. His hand shook and trembled; his eyes saw, but did not see, what he was doing; his throat was constricted as though it would choke him. Then he came back with the cup of water. It slopped and spilled over his hand. Suddenly, Miss Eleanor Parker shrieked. She had aroused, and in her first glance had seen the blood. “Oh, what is it?” she cried. Dred had raised himself again from the tiller upon which he had been leaning, and he groaned. Jack pushed past the young lady without speaking to her or noticing her, and Dred reached out his hand for the cup of water. It shook, and part of the water spilled, as he put it to his lips and, throwing back his haggard face, drank it off. The young lady was sitting staring at him, white even to the very lips. “Oh! oh!” she moaned, wringing her hands, “oh! oh!” Jack panted, his breath coming hot in his dry mouth. He tried to moisten his lips again and again, but they remained dry.

The yawl, its course unheeded, had come up into the wind, rising and falling with the slow heaving of the ground-swell, the sail fluttering and flapping. Dred leaned with one elbow upon the seat beside him. “Ye’ll have to go up for’rd, mistress,” he said presently, in a hoarse voice, “I’ve got to do summat – I’ve got to do summat to stop this here place somehow. O Lord!” he groaned. She got up and went forward to the bow, where she crouched down, hiding her face in her hands. “Reach me that there shawl,” said Dred. “We’ve got to tear it up.”