A Sailor in Spite of Himself

by Harry Castlemon

"Bully for the first mate," he said to himself. "If the second mate had spoken to me he would have sent me into the galley, sure. Now, if I can get into the boat I'm all right."

At the end of two hours the last cask had been hoisted from the hold, and while it was being lowered into the water Bob and Ben, anticipating the next order, began to overhaul the cutter's falls; and when the mate told the crew to lay aft and lower away, they sprang in, one at the bow and the other at the stern, to unhook the falls when she touched the water. As Ben had expected, almost every hand volunteered when a crew was called for to man the cutter—so many that the mate was obliged to order some of them back, and Ben felt not a little alarmed lest one of the brawny fellows should be ordered to take Bob's place, and the latter be compelled to remain on board. But nothing of the kind happened. The captain kept a sharp eye on him as the boat was being rowed around the vessel to the long line of water-casks, but seeing that he knew how to handle an oar he allowed him to keep his place.

Bob had always plumed himself on being a good and enduring oarsman, but on this occasion his powers were tested to the utmost. The sun was broiling hot even at that early hour; the tow was a heavy one, and the officer in charge of the boat was constantly urging the crew to greater exertions, now and then casting his eyes over his shoulder toward a bank of clouds that was slowly rising above the horizon. Bob was seaman enough to know that those clouds might prove friends to him and Ben. There was wind in them, and when it came the ship would be obliged to put to sea or run the risk of being dashed on a lee shore.

After following the windings of the creek for a mile or more, the mate drew up alongside the bank and the work of filling the casks began. It was brackish water, as Bob found when he came to taste of it, but it would do them until they reached a place where they could get better. The officer had doubtless been instructed by his superior to keep a sharp eye on the men while they were thus engaged; at any rate, he did so, stationing himself on the bank above them, where he could see all their movements. Bob's heart sank within him as the work progressed without any signs of decreasing watchfulness on the part of the officer, and he had almost made up his mind that he had to go back on board the ship and abandon all idea of going home, when, as he happened to cast his eye toward the upper end of the line, where Ben had been at work, he was surprised to find that he was not in sight. He had found opportunity to slip away unobserved.

The Escape.

"By George! Ben has made it," said he, and his heart beat like a trip-hammer. "Now, what is the reason I am not as sharp as Ben? I am going to try it. That officer can't any more than shoot at me, and I will bet he don't hit me if I once get inside the bushes."

At that moment the officer was engaged in rating some of his men for what he called their "lubberly way of doing business," and his back was turned toward Bob. It was now or never. Hastily dropping his bucket, the boy ran quickly along the water's edge until a projecting root hid him from the sight of the mate, and then crawling up the bank he plunged into the woods. The tropical vegetation was so dense that he could scarcely work his way through it; but he made the best progress he could, unmindful of the heavy falls and severe scratches he received, and heedless of the other dangers he might run into. All he thought of was Ben's order to get as far away from the creek as possible. He might have saved himself a deal of unnecessary work if he had only known it, for no search was made for him. Of course the officer very soon discovered that he and Ben were gone, but he said nothing about it, knowing that if he sent his men into the woods to hunt them up he would lose every one of them. He simply redoubled his vigilance and hastened the work of filling the casks, in response to a warning gun from the ship; and when it was done he made fast to his tow and started down the creek.

Bob remained in his concealment nearly an hour, listening for sound of pursuit, and hardly daring to move for fear of guiding his enemies to his hiding-place, and then, believing that all danger was passed, made the best of his way back to the creek. When he emerged from the woods he saw the old sailor sitting on the bank, waiting for him.

"Oh, Ben, we've done it, haven't we?" exclaimed Bob, who was so excited that he could hardly speak plainly. "I couldn't feel any better if I was sailing into Clifton harbor."