CHAPTER XI

IN PERIL OF DEATH

The storm which raged with unabated fury for a full half hour was one of the severest ever experienced on the St. John River. Hail mingled with the rain, and did considerable damage to the crops which happened to be caught in its on-rushing sweep. Trees were blown down, as well as several buildings, and in a number of farm houses the gla.s.s in the windows was broken by the fury of the driving hail.

While the storm was at its height, Eben sought shelter in the lee of the cabin. This afforded him some protection, and from here he watched anxiously to see how the boat would bear herself. During vivid flashes of lightning the whole country around became illuminated, and he glanced occasionally toward the sh.o.r.e upon his right. He had never been afraid of a thunder storm, so it did not affect him now. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, for it harmonised with the state of his mind. If only the anchor would hold; that was his sole concern. He thought of his prisoners within the cabin, and chuckled. He knew what a noise the hail was making upon the roof, and he could hear the men pounding at times upon the door and begging to be released.

Another quivering flash, followed instantly by a more terrific roar of thunder, told Eben that something had been hit not far away. He caught a glimpse of the trees along the sh.o.r.e and then all was dark. But that fleeting vision was enough to cause him to straighten suddenly up. The "Eb and Flo" was drifting before the wind! Another flash showed that she was making fast for the main channel, and something had to be done at once to save her. It was high tide now, he was well aware, and should the boat, heavily loaded as she was, ground on the soft marshy flats across the river, it would be next to impossible to get her off again. Apart from the valuable cargo, the loss during the busy carrying season would mean much. He must get the boat under steerage way, and head her down stream.

It took him but a second to reach the cabin door and tear it open. A bright flash showed him two white faces at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hustle up here, an' give a hand," he ordered.

"W-what's wrong?" Donaster asked, shaking with fear.

"Never mind what's wrong. I ain't got time to explain. Git a move on."

The men at once obeyed, scrambled up the steps, and tumbled on deck.

"Come on," Eben commanded. "Follow me."

This, however, was no easy thing to do, for the two men found it most difficult to make their way across the blocks of stone. The lightning blinded and dazed them so much that they often stumbled and fell, so by the time they reached their guide who was standing by the halliard, their bodies were bruised in a number of places.

"Lay hold on this rope," Eben ordered. "We've got to hist the sail or this boat'll be aground. Now, pull fer all yer worth."

"Without a word the two men did as they were bidden, and as the sail slowly rose it flapped wildly in the wind, and threatened to tear itself loose from the yards. Fortunately at this critical moment the wind lulled for a brief spell, which enabled them to accomplish the task, and make the halliard fast.

"Now come over here," Eben again commanded. "I want ye to look after the sheet-line." He darted across the deck, the men following him as fast as possible. "Look after this rope," he continued, "an' do jist as I say." He then sprang aft, and laid hold of the wheel.

Although this had taken but a short time the "Eb and Flo" had already drifted into the main channel and in a few minutes she would have been aground on the opposite sh.o.r.e. A quick turn of the wheel caused the boat to fall off to the left, and presently she was under way, headed down the river. And not an instant too soon, for scudding through the rough water she cleared by only a few yards the edge of the soft ground. With sail hauled closer than was safe, she sped forward and at length reached a wider stretch of water. Eben breathed a deep sigh of relief when the danger was past, and he steered the boat a little more to the left. The two men at the sheet obeyed his every command, and he smiled to himself as he remembered how high and mighty they had been when they boarded the boat that evening.

The storm was now rolling away to the east, and the wind was lessening.

But still there was a fine sailing breeze, so by exercising special care, Eben was able to make good progress as he beat from side to side of the river. He was well acquainted with the course, and he was greatly helped by the steady gleam of a lighthouse ahead. He made up his mind to keep on sailing all night, and thus reach the city early the next morning. If the wind held firm, he knew that he could run on longer tacks where the river was wider in the lower part of the Reach and in Grand Bay. He was certain that his father would be very anxious in the morning when he found that the "Eb and Flo" had disappeared.

But he would show the folks at home that he could be depended upon, and could handle the boat in an emergency. He would go to the city, discharge his cargo and return in triumph to Beech Cove. Just what to do with his pa.s.sengers he was not sure. At first he felt inclined to report them to the police. But upon second thought, he decided to let them go. But for their a.s.sistance he would not have been able to save the boat, and he was somewhat grateful to them now. In fact, he felt quite friendly with his visitors.

"How d'ye feel?" he at length called out, just after he had taken another tack for a long run across the river.

"Wet to the skin," Donaster angrily replied. "When are we to let up on this job? I'm sick of it."

"Same here," his companion agreed.

"Well, I guess ye'll have to make the best of it, me hearties. We'll reach the city early in the mornin', if the wind holds. Ye kin change yer clothes then."

The men made no reply, but Donaster, leaving Bill to manage the sheet, scrambled over to Eben's side.

"My, it's confoundedly dark and nasty to-night," he growled. "It's absolutely beastly."

"Don't like it much, eh?" Eben queried. "Ye got more'n ye expected, didn't ye?"

"Should say I did. But I thought you had Miss Randall on board. Where in h---- is she, anyway? You know, don't you?"

"So it's her ye was lookin' fer, was it?"

"Certainly. Didn't I tell you so?"

"No, ye didn't. Ye only asked me if I had a woman on board."

"Oh, well, you understood all right, so you needn't make believe you didn't. You knew I was looking for Miss Randall."

"But she's dead, isn't she?"

"Dead! When did she die?"

"Why, they was searchin' fer her body down river."

Donaster laughed, and reaching out laid his hand upon Eben's arm.

"Say, stop your fooling, will you? Miss Randall's not dead. She ran away, and came on board this boat. Own up now, like a good fellow."

"What did she run away fer?"

"Because she doesn't want to marry me. She's acted very foolishly, and I'm bound that she shan't escape. I shall find her, no matter where she is."

"Did she promise she'd marry ye?"

"No, she never did. But her parents said I could have her."

"She doesn't love ye, then?"

"Love, be d----! What do I care about love? There's no such a thing as love. It's the girl I want. Love has nothing to do with it."

Eben made no reply. His attention was taken up with bringing the boat around for a short starboard tack, and in giving orders to Bill. When she was running steadily once more, his mind reverted to what he had just heard. So the girl had thrown over Donaster, too, he mused, the same as she had treated him at the quarry. He felt a certain degree of sympathy for the man. Why should he not help him, and take her away from Hampton? It would be some satisfaction, for the spirit of revenge was still rankling in his soul. But Donaster didn't love her. He had said that there was no such a thing as love. He knew that the man was wrong, for he himself loved the girl as he had never loved anyone before. She meant everything to him, and his life was bleak and desolate since she had left the boat. Why should Hampton have her?

"Look here, you haven't answered my question." It was Donaster speaking.

"What question?"

"I asked you where Miss Randall is. I am sure you know."

"Yer mistaken, then. I don't know where she is." Eben suddenly remembered the stone he had hurled through the window. He realised that the less he said the better it would be. If he should commit himself in the least degree as to what he knew about Miss Randall, he was certain that Donaster would continue to bother him with no end of questions.

"But surely you must know where she is," the man persisted. "I am positive that she went up river with you on this boat. What became of her after she left you?"

"I told ye I don't know where she is. Ye'll have to go an' find her yerself, if yer so interested in her."

Several times during the night Donaster attempted in vain to wrest the secret from Eben, and his failure made him angry. Lack of sleep, his wet clothes, and the stubbornness of the boy annoyed him. But he could do nothing, so at length, giving up in despair, he went down into the cabin, and lighted a fire in the little stove, for he was very chilly.

And there he crouched, leaving the work of looking after the sail to his companion. Selfishness bulked large in his nature, and this was never more apparent than now. His own comfort was the first consideration, no matter how much others might suffer.