Latitude 19 degree Part 5

"What's his name when he's sober?" asked the Skipper viciously.

"Ned Chudleigh, sir."

"Didn't you call him?"

"I did, sir," puffed Bill.

"Why didn't he come, then?"

"Said he was _English_, sir; 'd _like_, to go back. Waited a _purpose_ for them Britishers. _Wanted_ 'em to capture him."

"I am afraid he has mistaken their nationality," said I.

"d.a.m.n the Britishers!" remarked the parrot.

"We have no quarrel with the British at present," I remarked. "What's your antediluvian bird talking about, Miss Archer?"

"I should think that with two six-pounders in the waist, and a gun that none of you had the pluck to fire on the p.o.o.p, you might have----"

"Too much noise in the bows!" growled the Skipper.

I was sitting in the bows, facing Cynthia, as we left the Yankee Blade.

I had watched the citadel on its far distant height grow lower and lower to the eye, and finally sink behind its seaward hills and ma.s.ses of foliage. I noticed, however, that our course was laid in an almost direct line for it; a little to the left, but still so that the position of the castle was impressed upon my mind. As we neared the sh.o.r.e, white rocks began to show, and the water, from having been blue, of a dark and beautiful shade, began to fade into tints no less lovely. There were streaks of pale green upon darker green, streaks of yellow upon blue.

This was caused by the depth or shallowness of the water which flowed between us and the white rocks. Cocoanut tufts fringed the sh.o.r.e, and behind them were the various species of trees that thrive in the tropics. The gri-gri, the mahogany, reared their tall heads and vari-coloured leaves. Ma.s.ses of green of all shades clothed the hills, which sloped upward a short distance from the level of the beach.

"O Uncle! See those lovely pieces of coral! Stop a moment, do, and let me get a piece to take home to Aunt Mary 'Zekel."

The stroke trailed his oar.

"What are you about, Bill Tomkins, stopping for coral! I never saw a mite round here. You stop when I give the order.--Don't be too much of a fool, Cynthy! Do you know we're running for our lives? Look back at that Yankee of ours, and see if there are any other----"

"I see only one lonely man. He looks repentant, as well as I can make out. Let's go back and--Why, yes! There are some other people, too. They seem to----"

"Go slow there, ahead!" called out the Skipper, standing up as he spoke.

He held the steering oar firmly and looked for a landing place, trying vainly to see over the heads of those in the boat.

"Tom, jump up there in the bows, and see if you see any----"

"There goes another piece of the flag! O Uncle Tony! they've almost shot our flag away."

The spygla.s.s dropped with a b.u.mp into the bottom of the boat, and Cynthia put her hands inside the funnel and over her eyes, and burst into floods of tears. She did not cry like a young lady. She cried like a young cyclone.

"d.a.m.n those Britishers!" shrieked the parrot.

"Yes, d.a.m.n them, Solomon dear! d.a.m.n them again, since there's no one here to even----"

Her words ended in a rain of sobs. They issued from the sunbonnet wringing wet and soaked through. They might have come out of the washtub. She stood up the better to see the extent of her misery.

"Down in the bows! You will be overboard."

"There comes the Union Jack! I see it over the Yankee. That letter of marque's getting closer. Shame on us all! Oh, shame!"

The grounding of the boat seated Cynthia rather suddenly again in a manner which would have been undignified in any girl in the world but Cynthia.

The bow of our boat had not reached the sh.o.r.e. Some of the men dropped overboard and tried to get her clear. She had grounded amids.h.i.+ps. As they pushed, she swung round as if on a pivot. I joined the men.

"We'll have to lighten the load," said I, and without more words I took Cynthia in my arms and waded with her ash.o.r.e. I set her high and dry on the beach. She surveyed me with anger and scorn glowering from her eyes.

"Your Uncle was steering," I explained humbly, "and the men----"

She cast a comprehensive glance at Bill and Tanby.

"Yes, I suppose you are better than----"

"William Brown will have to possess his soul in patience," said I. "Do you think he'll wait?"

"Yes, he will, but he _will_----"

"What! On that dock?"

"Yes, and I'll wait here."

"I wouldn't; at least, not too long," hazarded I.

"Where's that kag of salt pork and that bag of hard bread?" roared the Skipper. "Is the breaker ash.o.r.e?"

"Looks hospitable, don't it?" said I.

She raised her eyes to the wooded heights above us, and then looked up along the coast.

"I see the other boat has landed."

I looked along the beach, and saw that the men were leaving the dinghy and were carrying some heavy weights high up on the beach. Cynthia seated herself upon a rock. She deposited the cage on one side and the worked bag on the other.

"Jones," said the Skipper, "I wish you'd keep the gla.s.s on those people out there while the men get the provisions up."

I took the gla.s.s willingly and seated myself by Cynthia. Before I put my eyes to the gla.s.s, they rested upon the bag which reposed at Cynthia's side.

"I'm so glad I brought it," said she. "Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for me."

"It's a curious-looking bag," ventured I. "What are those funny-looking white things on the side, made of gla.s.s beads?"

"There's nothing funny at all about that bag, Mr. Jones. That's our family plot."

"Your what?"

"Plot--our family plot. Aunt Mary 'Zekel worked it for me. She said she thought it would be a pleasant reminder of home. That's her tomb in the middle. Don't you see her initials: 'M. S. A.'--Mary Schuyler Archer?"