But it wasn't only at the Naval Academy that important matters were happening at this time; for near Annapolis, events were occurring of tremendous import to a few people, and particularly so to a small, white-faced whimpering boy, seven years old.
Up the Severn River, some little distance before it reaches Round Bay, was an offshoot from the river. This offshoot, a small creek, by devious windings led through a desolate, untenanted, uncultivated, roadless region. Once, in the heyday of slavery, prosperous tobacco fields existed where now there was a dense second growth of trees crowded by a tangled underbrush impenetrable to man unless armed with a hatchet. Here, through an absolute wilderness, inhabited only by coons, squirrels and hares, the little offshoot to the Severn took its unmolested way. No Man's Creek it was called, and well named it was. Not even isolated negroes' cabins were to be seen on its banks, and wild duck in their season, unmolested by the gun, here found a secure place.
But, completely hidden in this creek, disturbing visitors had recently appeared. In one of the sharp turns of No Man's Creek, and completely hidden from view, was a covered gasoline launch. In it were three men and a small, weeping boy.
"We'll start to-night at eleven; it will be dark then, the moon sets at nine; and I'll be glad to have the thing over with. Jingo! I wish we had never done this thing," said one of them, a red-bearded man of uncertain age. "I'm sure no one followed us to Indian Landing; we landed there at a time when nobody was awake. But it was a hard trip from there across lots to this place. I never would have found this spot if I weren't so well acquainted about here. But I wish we could have got out last night—confound that leaky gasoline tank—it dished us at the last moment. But we'll be out to-night sure—it will take us an hour to run by the Naval Academy, and two hours later we'll be across the bay and in Kent Island—once there I'll be easy in my mind; we'll be absolutely safe. And then we'll get ten thousand for our trouble. Stop your crying, Georgie, we're taking you to your father. Hello, Jim, what's that noise? I hear a man shouting!"
The red-bearded man jumped up and out of the boat; he ran up a bank and returned in a moment. "We're caught," he cried hoarsely; "somebody has seen us and has given us away. We'll have to leave instantly—cut the painter! Hurry, start the engine—shove off the boat; we haven't a moment to lose!"
With zeal born of fear and desperation, the three men worked frantically, and very soon the gasoline boat was chugging down the stream. And none too soon, for two men now standing near where the gasoline boat had been secured were shouting for them to return. With pallid faces the three men confronted one another.
"What is to be done?" asked one.
"Let's land somewhere on Round Bay shore, turn the kid adrift and run," ventured a second one. "We'll be caught in this boat; our only hope is to separate and each of us try to get away by himself."
"We'll do nothing of the kind," retorted the red-bearded man; "we will stick to this boat; we'll follow the original programme. What chance would I have? That chap saw me plainly and everybody in six counties would look for a man with red whiskers. No, sir! Those two men are left on the shore; they are miles from a telephone; we'll be halfway across Chesapeake Bay before they can communicate with anybody, and there are so many launches in the Severn River that we won't be noticed. That's the only thing to do, fellows."