Kate Bonnet Part 2

"I don't want to frighten you," he said, "but I must tell you about things. I could not find Ben Greenway, and I asked one of the men about him, feigning that he owed me for some fruit, and the man looked at another man and laughed, and said that he had been sent for in a hurry, and had gone ash.o.r.e in a boat."

"I cannot believe that," said Kate; "he would not go away and leave me."

d.i.c.kory could not believe it either, and could offer no explanation.

Kate now looked anxiously over the water towards the town, but no father was to be seen.

"Now let me tell you what I found out," said d.i.c.kory, "you must know it.

These men are wicked robbers. I slipped quietly among them to find out something, with my shilling in my hand, ready to ask somebody to change, if I was noticed."

"Well, what next?" laying her hand on his arm.

"Oh, don't do that!" he said quickly; "better take hold of a banana. I spied that Big Sam, who is sailing-master, and a black-headed fellow taking their ease behind some boxes, smoking, and I listened with all sharpness. And Sam, he said to the other one--not in these words, but in language not fit for you to hear--what he would like to do would be to get off on the next tide. And when the other fellow asked him why he didn't go then and leave the fool--meaning your father--to go back to his farm, Big Sam answered, with a good many curses, that if he could do it he would drop down the river that very minute and wait at the bar until the water was high enough to cross, but that it was impossible because they must not sail until your father had brought his cash-box on board. It would be stupid to sail without that cash-box."

"d.i.c.kory," said she, "I am frightened; I want to go on sh.o.r.e, and I want to see my father and tell him all these things."

"But there is no boat," said d.i.c.kory; "every boat has left the ship."

"But you have one," said she, looking over the side.

"It is a poor little canoe," he answered, "and I am afraid they would not let me take you away, I having no orders to do so."

Kate was about to open her mouth to make an indignant reply, when he exclaimed, "But here comes a boat from the town; perhaps it is your father!"

She sprang to the rail. "No, it is not," she exclaimed; "it holds but one man, who rows."

She stood, without a word, watching the approaching boat, d.i.c.kory doing the same, but keeping himself out of the general view. The boat came alongside and the oarsman handed up a note, which was presently brought to Kate by Big Sam, young d.i.c.kory Charter having in the meantime slipped below with his basket.

"A note from your father, Mistress Bonnet," said the sailing-master. And as she read it he stood and looked upon her.

"My father tells me," said Kate, speaking decidedly but quietly, "that he will come on board very soon, but I do not wish to wait for him. I will go back to the town. I have affairs which make it necessary for me to return immediately. Tell the man who brought the note that I will go back with him."

Big Sam raised his eyebrows and his face a.s.sumed a look of trouble.

"It grieves me greatly, Mistress Bonnet," he said, "but the man has gone. He was ordered not to wait here."

"Shout after him!" cried Kate; "call him back!"

Sam stepped to the rail and looked over the water. "He is too far away,"

he said, "but I will try." And then he shouted, but the man paid no attention, and kept on rowing to sh.o.r.e.

"I thought it was too far," he said, "but your father will be back soon; he sent that message to me. And now, fair mistress, what can we do for you? Shall it be that we send you some supper? Or, as your cabin is ready, would you prefer to step down to it and wait there for your father?"

"No," said she, "I will wait here for my father. I want nothing."

So, with a bow he strode away, and presently d.i.c.kory came back. She drew near to him and whispered. "d.i.c.kory," she said, "what shall I do? Shall I scream and wave my handkerchief? Perhaps they may see and hear me from the town."

"No," said d.i.c.kory, "I would not do that. The night is coming on, and the sky is cloudy. And besides, if you make a noise, those fellows might do something."

"Oh, d.i.c.kory, what shall I do?"

"You must wait for your father," he said; "he must be here soon, and the moment you see him, call to him and make him take you to sh.o.r.e. You should both of you get away from this vessel as soon as you can."

For a moment the girl reflected. "d.i.c.kory," said she, "I wish you would take a message for me to Master Martin Newcombe. He may be able to get here to me even before my father arrives."

d.i.c.kory Charter knew Mr. Newcombe, and he had heard what many people had talked about, that he was courting Major Bonnet's daughter. The day before d.i.c.kory would not have cared who the young planter was courting, but this evening, even to his own surprise, he cared very much. He was intensely interested in Kate, and he did not desire to help Martin Newcombe to take an interest in her. Besides, he spoke honestly as he said: "And who would there be to take care of you? No, indeed, I will not leave you."

"Then row to the town," said she, "and have a boat sent for me."

He shook his head. "No," he said, "I will not leave you."

Her eyes flashed. "You should do what you are commanded to do!" and in her excitement she almost forgot to whisper.

He shook his head and left her.

CHAPTER III

THE TWO CLOCKS

It was already beginning to grow dark. She sat, and she sat; she waited, and she waited; and at last she wept, but very quietly. Her father did not come; Ben Greenway was not there; and even that Charter boy had gone. A man came aft to her; a mild-faced, elderly man, with further offers of refreshment and an invitation to go below out of the night air. But she would have nothing; and as she sadly waited and gently wept, it began to grow truly dark. Presently, as she sat, one arm leaning on the rail, she heard a voice close to her ear, and she gave a great start.

"It is only d.i.c.kory," whispered the voice.

Then she put her head near him and was glad enough to have put her arms around his neck.

"I have heard a great deal more," whispered d.i.c.kory; "these men are dreadful. They do not know what keeps your father, although they have suspicions which I could not make out; but if he does not come on board by ten o'clock they will sail without him, and without his cash-box."

"And what of me?" she almost cried, "what of me?"

"They will take you with them," said he; "that's the only thing for them to do. But don't be frightened, don't tremble. You must leave this vessel."

"But how?" she said.

"Oh! I will attend to that," he answered, "if you will listen to me and do everything I tell you. We can't go until it is dark, but while it is light enough for you to see things I will show you what you must do.

Now, look down over the side of the vessel."

She leaned over and looked down. He was apparently clinging to the side with his head barely reaching the top of the rail.

"Do you see this bit of ledge I am standing on?" he asked. "Could you get out and stand on this, holding to this piece of rope as I do?"

"Yes," said she, "I could do that."

"Then, still holding to the rope, could you lower yourself down from the ledge and hang to it with your hands?"