The bug-eye, Brandt, with its companion craft, skimmed down the Patuxent like a bird. Captain Haley, with a huge satisfaction in his heart, turned into his own bunk, leaving the wheel to Jim Adams, and slept the sleep of the just. The night had been satisfactory. Life was not all one disappointment. He could sleep well.
The bug-eye, with its trim lines, its picturesque rake of masts, its sails filled with the smart breeze that made the vessel heel gracefully, and the now waning moonlight casting a faint gleam on its sails, made a pretty picture as it glided down the river. One standing on the Drum Point shore, as the vessel went by in the early hour before dawn, would have admired the sight. Jim Adams hummed a jolly rag-time tune as the Brandt passed out by the lighthouse, into the open bay, and headed for Tangier Sound.
Some time later, a shaft of sunlight streaming down the companion-way awoke Henry Burns. Once asleep, he had slept soundly, the blow he had received having only stunned him and done him no great harm. The bug-eye was pitching in a heavy chop-sea, and a youth in the bunk near him was groaning; but Henry Burns, accustomed at home to bay sailing, felt no ill effects from the thrashing of the boat.
For a moment he wondered what was the matter with the old Warren farmhouse. Then the memory of the events of the night came back in a flash. Henry Burns sprang up and darted out on deck. It was all too true. He was a prisoner aboard the bug-eye; they were leaving Drum Point far astern.
Henry Burns shrugged his shoulders and seated himself on the forecastle hatch. He was in for it—whatever might happen—and it was not in his make-up to worry over what he could not help.
A step on the deck, as a man emerged from the cabin, caused him to look up. The figure that his eyes rested upon gave him a start of surprise. Where had he seen the man before? Then he remembered. It was the man whom Young Joe had butted in the stomach in darting out of the Warren door—the Captain Haley, of whom he had an unpleasant recollection. Henry Burns gave a low whistle of evident concern.
Seeing the boy sitting, watching him, Hamilton Haley strode forward. When he had approached near, he, too, stopped and eyed him with surprise. Then his face darkened.
“Well, I’m jiggered!” he exclaimed. “It’s you, is it, Young Impertinence? What sent you sneaking aboard here in the night? Confound you, if I’d a-known it was you, I’d just have chucked your overboard neck and crop.”
For once, Hamilton Haley seemed perplexed. Here was someone he evidently didn’t want. He glanced back toward the harbour, as if estimating how far they had come from land. Then he shook his head. To Henry Burns’s surprise, Captain Haley turned abruptly, without another word, and went back to the wheel, where Jim Adams was seated, yawning.
The two men talked together, earnestly. It was clear Haley did not wholly favour the idea of carrying off a boy from the Patuxent harbour, from people that would make trouble. It was risky business; there was bound to be trouble. Jim Adams seemed not to encourage it, either; but the bug-eye was miles out from the river now, and the breeze was favourable. After further conversation with the mate, Haley went forward again.