"His boat?" I cried. "Oh, come now, my friend—if I'd known that—well, really, I think we'd better turn back."
"Not now," said he. "We're almost there."
"But why doesn't the captain keep his boat closer to civilization?" I queried. "Isn't there room for him closer to town?"
"Yes, there's plenty of room closer to town," replied my strange acquaintance, "but the captain prefers to be closer to the sea in case he needs to make a quick get-away. He and the government aren't on the best of terms. Between you and me, he's doing a little stunt in filibustering, and the folks up at Washington are getting suspicious."
My heart sank into my boots and then rebounded to my throat. "You should have told me all this before we started," said I.
"Well, I should have," said he; "but—well, I was afraid if I did you wouldn't come, and the captain told me not to come back without you. What he says goes with me."
I could think of only one word. The simple term kidnapped flashed across my mind, and then the pleasing little phrase, so nice for a headline, Held for Ransom, burned itself into my nerve. The beating of my heart sounded like the muffled tread of that invisible steed ahead on the coquina road. I glanced out of the chaise to see what my chances of escape might be in case I made a break for liberty, and saw off to the right of me the lines of a rotting pierhead, and the towering masts of a huge schooner that was moored to its decaying piling. At the inner end of the pier was a white-washed shed. Everything in sight except the driver, the chaise, and my future looked white—a ghastly, ghostly white that made me think of all the tales of horrid spooks I had ever heard. Here the carriage came to a sudden halt, and a tall black figure loomed up from behind the shed.
"Did you get him?" came a deep bass voice out of the night.
"You betcha!" was the reply from my companion.
I descended from the carriage, and my conductor led the way along the rotting stringpiece of the pier, a little more than a foot wide, the chill waters of St. Simon's Sound lapping about six feet below on each side, and the dark figure from behind the shed immediately to the rear. I was completely a captive. A moment later we came to a narrow gangplank leading to the broad, holy-stoned deck of the schooner, in the fore part of which was an open hatchway, out of which there streamed a steady shaft of yellow light.