Tom, The Bootblack Part 58

They sat quite still a good while, watching her beating about, going out to the open sea, and then turning as often, and heading toward the coast on which they sat.

"It's plain that she's trying to make this island," said Jem.

"Yes, sir. She'll go to pieces if she tries it," answered Lloyd, taking off his cap and putting it on again, emphatically. "Yes, sir; she'll go to pieces."

"If there was anybody aboard that knew of Cook's Crack!"

"How could anybody aboard _that_ schooner know of Cook's Crack?" said Lloyd, contemptuously.

"That's so. How could they? Sure enough."

Then the boys blew on their fingers to keep them warm, and hustled in closer under the rocks, clasping their hands about their knees.

Now, to make you town boys understand, I must tell you that the schooners in summer landed at the village, which was a couple of miles from the point where the boys were. The sh.o.r.e off from where they sat was full of hidden rocks and sand bars running out under the froth and swirl of the waves, against which no s.h.i.+p could run without having her bottom ripped up.

But through these rocks there was one narrow opening, through which the sea ran clear and deep, making a safe channel to the sh.o.r.e. This was Cook's Crack. Very few of the fishermen knew of it. It was not likely, therefore, that anybody on board of the schooner would be able to pilot her through it.

"She's bound to run ash.o.r.e," said Jem. "What'll we do, Lloyd?"

All the boys asked Lloyd what to do whenever there was any trouble. He did not answer at once, being busy considering.

"Go down to the village, Jem, and let some of the men go out with a boat to them!"

"That will be too late to do any good. It will be dark before I reach the village, and there's no moon. n.o.body could go out after night in that sea. Besides, she's putting in so fast, she'll be on the rocks in half an hour."

"Do you go to the village, Jem!" said Lloyd, quietly. He was in dreadful doubt himself as to whether he was right. But a captain, he knew, never should let his crew see that he was in doubt; and Lloyd knew he must be captain in this case. Jem had legs to run and a tongue to give a message, but he had no head to plan or execute.

"All right!" said Jem, good-naturedly. "I'm off."

When he was gone on the full run, Lloyd stood thinking. There were no men nearer than the village. Whatever he did, he must do alone. He was tired of acting a man's part and doing a man's work, though the other boys often envied him. His head and bones ached most of the time, and he was getting a sober, old, wizened face.

He wished often that he could have a month of downright play and idleness; and no doubt it would have been the very best thing for him.

However, now he had to manage all alone.

"I'll go up to supper, or mother will be uneasy," he said at last. He would be back in half an hour, and before that he could do nothing. The wind drove the schooner back, so that she could not reach the rocks under an hour. Lloyd's eyes were sharper than Jem's.

He did not tell his mother about the schooner. She was a little woman, not strong, and she was easily frightened.

Lloyd tried to keep all trouble from her, as he knew his brother John had done when he was living.

She was waiting for him. "Come, sonny, boy. Here's fish for supper, and good corn bread."

Lloyd laughed, and washed his hands. He joked and talked all the time he was eating, though he was terribly anxious about the schooner. He would have liked, too, to have some nouris.h.i.+ng tea for his mother, or a warmer dress than the thin one she wore. But John had been a hearty, cheerful fellow, keeping up everybody's heart.

"There's no use shoving trouble on to mother," thought Lloyd.

After supper he heaped up the fire, put her chair in the warmest corner, and brought her knitting all ready. She had a great basket full of socks and stockings, big and little, ready to send for sale down to the town.

"Are you going out again, Lloyd?" when he kissed her. "It's a bitter night."

"Down on the beach a bit, mother. You go to bed early. I'll be in all right and safe."

He seemed to have forgotten that it was Christmas eve. His mother had not. She looked after him sorrowfully. In old times, when his father was alive, Christmas had been a great holiday for his boys. Afterward, John had made it so for Lloyd. Now, she had not a penny to spare to buy him a book or a toy, such as other boys had down in the village, even the poorest. Even the new shoes which she had hoped to be able to buy, to take the place of his broken boots, she had to give up.

She thought it was but a dull, poor life coming for Lloyd. He was too young to be put to hard, hard work with neither chance for learning nor play. But, as she sat looking in the fire, she suddenly remembered how G.o.d, who held the great, moaning sea and the starless night in the hollow of His hand, held her, too, and her boy.

In the meantime, Lloyd was down on the beach. It was growing dark fast.

The schooner was beating about uncertainly, yet evidently determined to reach the island.

Lloyd had made up his mind. There was no way to give her warning. All he could do was to guide her, if possible, into the safe channel.

He went down to the landing opposite Cook's Crack, and began making a half-circle of bits of rock and sand, to keep off the wind from the fire he meant to make.

Then he began collecting sticks, dried gra.s.s, and bits of old wrecks, with which the beach was strewed.

Now, making a bonfire no doubt appears to you, boys, to be only fine fun, and you think Lloyd a very lucky fellow to have the chance. But a bonfire in the street, on a summer night, or down in a vacant lot, is a very different matter from Lloyd's work, alone, on a December night, with the salt water plas.h.i.+ng about his legs, and his breath freezing about his mouth. Besides, he knew that the lives of the s.h.i.+p's crew depended on what he did, or left undone. And he was not a man, to be sure he was right, but a boy, only thirteen years old.

He heaped up the wood on the light pile of drift, struck a match and put it to it, and in a minute the big flames flashed out all over the dark rocks, and the black, seething plane of the sea, and the wedges of ice that lay along sh.o.r.e. It was very cheery at first. Lloyd gave a grand hurrah! and capered about it. But one does not care to hurrah and caper alone. He thought the schooner would be in, now, in half an hour.

"They'll make straight for the fire," he said.

But half an hour, an hour pa.s.sed, and, strain his eyes as he would, he could see nothing but inky darkness, and hear nothing but the dull swash, swash of the tide upon the sand. The fire was dying down. He went groping up and down the beach for wood, and built it up again.

Two hours. Three.

It was terribly cold. Overhead there was neither moon nor star, only a flat of black fog descending lower and lower. Surely the schooner had gone. Suddenly he heard a cry.

It was Jem.

"Why, Lloyd! Are you crazy? Do you know this is the coldest night this year on the island? My father says so."

"It's not so very cold," said Lloyd, beginning to hop about the fire, and sing. "That schooner's due now, I should say." It heartened him so to hear anybody's voice.

"The schooner's gone hours ago, I dare say. You'd have heard from her before now if she meant to run in."

"Did the men go out?"

"No. It was dark when I reached the village. Too late. I say, Lloyd,"

clapping his hands to keep warm, "come home. This is nonsense. I am going."

Now Jem was older than Lloyd, and though Lloyd was always captain of the two, still he was half frozen, and very willing to be tempted.

"_Do_ you think it's nonsense?" pus.h.i.+ng the logs with his foot, doubtfully.

"Of course I do. I'm going."

"Don't go yet, Jem," Lloyd begged. It was horribly lonely here in the cold, and dark, and storm.

"I'll wait while I count ten," standing first on one leg and then the other.