The Voyage of the Hoppergrass Part 17

"Who's Simon?" asked Mr. Daddles.

n.o.body paid any attention to his question.

"To think of forgetting him!" exclaimed Pete, "can you see anything of him, Warren?"

Sprague had run up forward, and was peering ahead as we entered the inlet.

"Here he comes!" he cried, "by Jingo, here he comes! Well, what do you think of that? Isn't he a brick, Pete?"

I tried to see what all this was about. The moon was bright on the water, and at last I could make out some white thing, like a sea gull, moving toward us. We were running before the wind and soon were near enough to get a good view. It was a bird of some kind.

We were in no doubt about the kind when it raised itself upon the water, flapped its wings and uttered a loud "Quack! qu-a-a-a-ck!"

"It's a duck!" said Ed Mason.

"Of course it's a duck," replied Pete, "we got him at Duck Island, too. It's Simon. Can you reach him, Warren?"

"I think so," answered Sprague, "easy now!"

Pete brought the yacht carefully alongside the duck, Sprague twined one foot around the bob-stay, reached over and lifted the bird into the boat. As soon as it was set on deck the duck shook its feathers, gave one defiant waggle of the tail, and paddled aft, remarking: "Quack! quack! qua-a-a-ck!"

"Well! Simon, old man!" said the delighted Pete, "did you think we had left you behind? You didn't think that of us, did you? But you had started out to overtake us, hadn't you? That shows what a good old sport you are. The Chief might have left you in the lurch, but your Uncle Warren and I wouldn't."

Simon waddled about a little, and finally settled down in the center of a coil of rope. Once more we turned and started again on our flight from Bailey's Harbor.

It was a beautiful night. The moonlight sparkled on the water, and shone clear and soft on the sails of the boat. The breeze was cool and delicious. Gregory the Gauger had stopped thumping and everything was very pleasant and restful after the jail, and the other exciting events of the night. Except for the sound of the water at the bow, we sailed for five or ten minutes in perfect silence. My eyes half closed and my head fell forward as I sat in the c.o.c.kpit.

"Well, I'd go below, and turn in," said Mr. Daddles, "but I don't know about facing that sabre-toothed tiger down there. We made a great mistake, boys, in not slitting his weasand the first time we saw him. Somehow, I think I'm going through life with him in close pursuit."

"Let's see what he's up to now," said Sprague.

"He's probably scuttling the ship," suggested Jimmy Toppan.

Sprague opened the cabin doors, and pushed back the hatchway.

Gregory had lighted the lamp and was calmly engaged in examining the clock. To our surprise the wrath seemed to have gone out of the man.

"Where didger git that air clock?" he asked, peering up at Sprague.

"In Boston," Sprague answered him, "what do you think of it?"

"Pretty fair, pretty fair. What does a clock like that cost?"

They entered into a conversation about the clock, and some of the other furnishings of the cabin. Sprague asked him if he wanted to come on deck. He accepted the invitation and came up.

"You'd better look out for him," Mr. Daddles whispered to Pete, "this may be guile."

Then all of us, except Pete, the Chief, and our prisoner, went below, and prepared to turn in. Jimmy Toppan stretched himself out on a bunk and went to sleep in no time at all. Ed Mason and I picked out places for ourselves, while Mr. Daddles made himself comfortable with a couple of pillows under his head.

"Today," I heard him murmur, "I've lost my steamboat, been wrecked on a desert island, been rescued, fallen overboard, rescued again, lost my money hunting buried treasure, was deserted by the boat that rescued me, and left stranded in Bailey's Harbor, been scared pink by an old cow, committed burglary, scared again by a snoring policeman, got arrested by the High Sheriff and his posse, confined in dungeons, escaped from jail, committed abduction, Gregory-s.n.a.t.c.hing, and m.u.f.fling-with-a-pillow. I wonder--"

Here his voice trailed off into a whisper.

I had expected to go to sleep as soon as I lay down, but I found the cabin rather close and stuffy. Sprague and Ed Mason didn't seem to mind it,--they lay still, and were evidently asleep. I hitched about for a while, and finally decided to go up on deck.

It struck me that I could sleep better there.

So I took a pillow and went up. Gregory was sitting in the c.o.c.k- pit, contentedly smoking a clay pipe and watching the sails with the air of an owner. Pete and the Chief were both sitting quietly in the stern. The Chief was again at the wheel. I found some canvas, part of a sail-cover, and stretched myself out on a seat, with the canvas over me to keep off the dampness. In a minute or two I was asleep,--the best and most refreshing sleep I ever remember. All through the rest of the night I was dimly aware of the sound of the water about the bows, and the cool breeze on my face.

When I woke it was broad daylight. The boat had come to a stop, the mainsail was down, and they were taking in the jib. I heard the anchor go over with a splash, and then Pete came running aft.

"Hullo! Awake? How are you?"

"All right. Where are we?"

"I don't know. Unknown island."

I sat up and looked over the starboard side of the boat. We were in a little bay, and there was land about a hundred yards distant, --a rocky island with pine trees, and two or three small cottages set amongst the trees. I heard someone talking on the other side of the boat, and I looked up forward to see Sprague, in a bathing suit, and Gregory the Gauger. Sprague was entertaining the Gauger with a poem which he had been reciting at intervals ever since we met him.

"'She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing Kulla-lo-lo!'--but not in Bailey's Harbor,--hey, what? She wouldn't get her little banjo there, or you'd run her in, wouldn't you, Squire? You and the Constable!"

"Where did you get that poem?" asked Pete, who was furling the sail.

"I read it in a paper last week. Isn't it great? It's by a man with a funny name,--I wish I could remember it! 'An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!' That's the way the dawn does come up over there, isn't it? Ever been in China, Squire?"

"No, I haint," said Gregory. "Where be you fellers goin' to put me ash.o.r.e? That's what I want to know."

"All in good time, Squire, all in good time. Watch this,--I bet you can't do it!"

And Sprague made a clean dive and scoot under the water, came up thirty feet away, and commenced to float, facing the boat, and waggling one big toe at Gregory the Gauger.

It did not take me two seconds to know what I wanted to do, nor two minutes to get overboard. The water was cold, but I swam around the yacht, before I climbed out again. One by one the others came up from below, and they all jumped over for a swim, except Gregory and the Chief. The latter went poking about, in his silent, methodical way, paying no attention to the orders which Sprague fired at him.

"Food! food!" called the banjo-player, climbing aboard; "my wasted frame cries aloud for food. Get out the frying-pan, Chief, and the coffee-pot! Move about more briskly,--remember that I have been many days on bread and water in a dungeon ... Oh, hang it!"

He floundered about in his shirt, which he had put on wrong side foremost in his hurry.

"Fish out those eggs, and see if there are any rolls left,--I'll match you for yours, Squire. You won't be hungry, you haven't been in swimming."

"Ketch me goin' into that water!" returned Gregory, "I'll make my abbalootions right here."

And he proceeded to wash his face and hands over the stern of the boat. We were all very much awake now, very hungry, and no longer tired. The swim had opened our eyes. The drowsy moonlight world had gone and given place to one of sunshine. A breeze rattled the halliards against the mast, and ruffled the blue water of the bay in little patches. We hurried into our clothes, while the Chief warned us to keep out of the c.o.c.kpit, and not get everything wet.

Sprague struggled with his shirt, and declaimed his favorite poem in a m.u.f.fled tone.

"'And the flyin' fishes play,'--And speaking of flying-fishes, where is Simon? Has he had his morning swim? ... Oh, there he is, --paddling about like a good one! Swims like a duck, doesn't he, Squire?"

"There's nothing for breakfast except bacon and eggs," said the Chief.

"And coffee and rolls," added Pete, "what more do you want, you old lemon?"

"No, there are only three rolls. Some of us will have to eat crackers."