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Pieces of Eight, a novel by Richard Le Gallienne |
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Book 2 - Chapter 8 |
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_ BOOK II CHAPTER VIII Better Than Duck.
But we were not long left to continue our speculations, being presently interrupted by the arrival of exciting news--news which, I need hardly say, promptly drove all thought of "Jack Harkaway" out of Charlie Webster's head, though it was not so soon to be banished from mine. The news came in the form of a note from Father Serapion. He had sent it by the captain of a sponging schooner, who, in turn, had sent it by two of his men in a rowboat, not being able to venture up the creek himself owing to the northeast wind which was blowing so hard, that, as sometimes happens on that coast, he might have been left high and dry. Father Serapion's note simply confirmed his conjecture that it was Tobias who had bought rum at Behring's Point, and that he was probably somewhere in the network of creeks and marl lagoons in our neighbourhood. Telling Tom to give the men a good breakfast, Charlie thought the news over. "I'll tell you what we'll do," he said presently. "I'm going to leave you here--and I'm going to charter the sponger out there. This river we are on comes out of a sound that spreads directly south--Turner's Sound. Turner's Sound has two outlets: this, and Goose River ten miles down the shore. Now, if Tobias is inside here, he can only get out either down here, or down Goose River. I am going down in the sponger to the mouth of Goose River, to keep watch there; and you must stay where you are, and keep watch here. Between the two of us, a week will starve him out. Or, if not, I'll chase after him up Goose River; and in that case, he'll have to come down here--and it will be up to you, for I don't believe he'll have the nerve to try walking across the marl ponds to the east coast." So it was settled, and, presently, Charlie went along with two of his best guns and Sailor, in the rowboat, and I saw him no more for a week. Meanwhile, I kept watch and studied the scenery, and old Tom and I talked about the strange people who inhabited the interior--those houses that moved away into the mist as soon as you caught sight of them. Some day old Tom and I are going to explore the interior, for he is not so much afraid of ghosts as he was, since we tried them out together. At the end of the week, the wind was blowing strong from the west and the tides ran high. About noon we caught sight of triumphant sails making up the river. It was Charlie back again. "Got him!" was all he said, as he rowed ashore. Sailor was with him in the rowboat, but I noticed that he was limping, going on three legs. "Yes!" said Charlie. "It's lucky for Tobias he only got Sailor's foot, or, by the living God, I'd have stood my trial for manslaughter, or whatever they call it. It'll soon be all right, old man," he said, taking Sailor's wounded paw in his hand, "soon be all right." Sailor wagged his tail vigorously, to show that a gunshot through one of his legs was a mere nothing. "Yes!" said Charlie, as we sat at lunch in the shack, under the tamarind tree; "we've got him safe there under decks all right; chained up like a buoy. If he can get away, I'll believe in the Devil." "Won't you tell me about it?" I asked. "Not much to tell; too easy altogether. I waited a couple of days at the mouth of Goose River. Then I got tired, and left the sponger with the captain and two or three men, while I went up the river with a couple of guns and Sailor, and a man to pole the skiff--just for some duck-shooting, you know. We lay low, for two days, on the marshes, and then Sailor got sniffing the wind one morning, as if there was something around he didn't care much for. The day before, we had heard firing a mile or so inland, and had come upon some duck that some one or other had shot and hadn't had time to pick up. So, that morning, I let Sailor lead the way. We had been out about an hour, and were stealing under the lee of a big mangrove island, after some duck we had sighted a little to the eastward, when, suddenly, apparently without anything to alarm them, they rose from the water and came flying in our direction. But evidently something, or somebody, had startled them. They came right by me. It was hard luck not to be able to take a shot at them. I could have got a dozen of them at least." "Probably more," I suggested. "I really believe I could," agreed Charlie, in entire innocence. "Well, as I have said, it was hard luck; but Sailor seemed to have something on his mind, beside duck. As we poled along silently in the direction from which the duck had risen, he grew more and more excited, and, at last, as we neared a certain mangrove copse to which all the time he had been pointing, he barked two or three times, and, I let him go. Poor old fellow!" As he told the story, Sailor, who seemed to understand every word, rubbed his head against his master's hand. "He went into the mangroves, just as he'd go after duck, but he'd hardly gone in, when there were two shots, and he came out limping, making for me. But, by this, I was close up to the mangroves myself, and in another minute, I was inside; and there, just like that old black snake you remember, was Tobias--his gun at his shoulder. He had a pot at me, but, before he could try another, I knocked him down with my fist--and--Well, we've got him all right. And now you can go after your treasure, as soon as you like. I'll take him over to Nassau, and you can fool around for the next month or so. Of course we'll need you at the trial, but that won't come off for a couple of months. Meanwhile, you can let me know where you are, in case I should need to get hold of you." "All right, old man," I said, "but I wish you were coming along with me." "I've got all the treasure I want," laughed Charlie. "But don't you want to come and interview our friend? He might give you some pointers on your treasure hunt." "How does he take it?" I asked. "Pretty cool. He talked a little big at first, but now he sits with his head between his hands, and you can't get a word out of him. Something up his sleeve, I dare say." "I don't think I'll bother to see him, Charlie," I said. "I'm kind of sorry for him." Charlie looked at me. "Sorry for him?" "Yes! In fact, I rather like him." "Like him?" Charlie bellowed; "the pock-marked swine!" "I grant," I said, smiling, and recalling Charlie's own words of long ago, "that his face is against him." "Rather like him? You must be crazy! You certainly have the rummiest taste." "At least you'll admit this much, Charlie," I said; "he has courage--and I respect courage even in a cockroach--particularly, perhaps, in a cockroach ..." "He's a cockroach, all right," said Charlie. "Maybe," I assented. "I don't pretend to love him, but--" "If you don't mind," interrupted Charlie, "we'll let it go at 'but'--". And he rose. "The tide's beginning to run out. Send me word where you are, as soon as you get a chance; and good luck to you, old chap, and your doubloons and pieces of eight!" Then we walked down to his row-boat, and soon he was aboard the sponger. Her sails ran up, and they were off down stream--poor Tobias, manacled, somewhere between decks. "See you in Nassau!" I shouted. "Right-O!" came back the voice of the straightest and simplest Englishman in the world. _ |
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