Go-Ahead; Or, The Fisher-Boy's Motto

by Harry Castlemon

"Bobby Jennings!" said he, as soon as he had succeeded in quieting the brute, "be you there, all safe an' sound?"

"Of course I am!" replied the fisher-boy. "How do you suppose I could be anywhere else after you have tied me hand and foot, and put a dog at the door to guard me?"

"That's all right," said the chief, who seemed to be greatly relieved to learn that his prisoner had not found means to effect his escape. "Come in, Friday, an' strike a light."

Bob heard the two boys stumbling about in the darkness; for, although it was broad daylight, the cave was as dark as it had been at midnight, and when the lantern was lighted, he saw that Sam carried a huge slice of meat in one hand, and a tin dinner pail in the other.

"Here's your share," said he, throwing the meat to the dog; "an' now, Bobby, if you'll promise, honor bright an' no jokin', not to try any tricks on us, we'll untie your arms an' give you a chance to eat the grub we've brought you."

The fisher-boy readily promised to behave himself, for he was tired of sitting with his hands bound behind him. "How do you suppose that I could get away?" he asked, as Sam began to remove the rope from his arms. "You are both as large as I am, and besides, you've got a dog to help you."

"That's nothin'," said Friday. "We aint a goin' to trust you too fur, an' that's jest all about it. No tricks, now."

After Bob had stretched his cramped arms he felt so much better that he asked Sam to untie his feet, a request which the latter positively refused to grant. "You don't need your legs to eat breakfast with," said he; "so pitch into that bread an' taters, an' don't keep us waitin'."

Whatever else Bob had to say about the governor of the Crusoe band, he could not accuse him of wishing to starve him, for Sam had filled the bucket with all kinds of eatables that he had been able to procure. Never had a better breakfast been served up to him, and never had he eaten a meal in so romantic a spot as the cave appeared to be at that moment. Bob could not help feeling amused, and he thought that the scene there presented, was well worth the pencil of an artist. The fisher-boy sat on the piece of sail which had served him for a bed, his back against his skiff, his legs, which were stretched out straight before him, almost wrapped up in ropes, the dinner bucket at his side, and a slice of bread in one hand and a piece of cold meat in the other. On one side of him stood the chief of the Crusoe band, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hat pushed back on his head, one hand resting on the flour barrel, and the other holding the boat-hook which had done him such good service the night before. In front of him stood the governor's man, Friday, leaning carelessly against the wall, with his arms folded; but within easy reach of him was a heavy oar, which could be seized, in case the prisoner made any attempts at escape. The space on the other side of him was occupied by the dog, which, having finished his breakfast, sat with his head turned on one side, watching the bread and meat as it disappeared down Bob's hungry throat, no doubt envying him his enjoyment. The lantern, which stood on the flour barrel, beside the copy of Robinson Crusoe, threw a dim, ghostly light over the scene, and the fisher-boy could almost bring himself to imagine that the old feudal times—stories of which he had read and wondered at—had returned, and that he was taking part in them; that the cave represented the dungeon of some ancient castle, and that the governor and his man were the retainers of some cruel nobleman, into whose hands he had fallen.