“What madness!” cried my father, angrily stamping his foot. “Quick, Morgan! Quick!”
Morgan broke into a trot, and soon reached us, rapidly placed his load in the boat, and took up one of the pieces.
“How could you waste time by letting that woman come loaded in this ridiculous way?”
“She would bring them, sir; she wouldn’t come without.”
“No,” said Sarah, who came up completely breathless, “I wasn’t going to.”
“Into the boat,” cried my father, “if you value your life!”
Hannibal was already in with his box, and my father tried to drag the bundle from Sarah, but she held on with such tenacity that she was forced in bundle and all.
Hannibal placed the huge white sphere in the stern, where it rose up high and projected far over the sides. Then, in obedience to my father’s orders, he seized the oars and sat down.
“Quick, Morgan!” said my father; “be ready to fire steadily as you can if I give the order. Stop!” he cried quickly, as a sudden thought struck him; “pass that box into this boat. There, across the stern, as you have placed that bundle.”
The boats were drawn together, and the transfer was made, while my hands grew wet with perspiration as I scanned the edge of the forest, fancying I could hear the breaking and rustling of twigs and leaves.