Chapter XI

There's no telling how many anxious people there may have been in that region, after tea-time that evening, but of two or three circles we may be reasonably sure. Good Mrs. Foster could not endure to stay at home, and her husband and Annie were very willing to go over to the Kinzers' with her, and listen to the encouraging talk of Dabney's stout-hearted and sensible mother.

"O, Mrs. Kinzer, do you think they are in any danger?"

"I hope not. I don't see why they need be, unless they try to return across the bay against this wind."

"But don't you think they'll try? Do you mean they wont be home to-night?" exclaimed Mr. Foster, himself.

"I sincerely hope not," said the widow, calmly. "I should hardly feel like trusting Dabney out in the boat again if he should do so foolish a thing."

"But where can he stay?"

"At anchor, somewhere, or on the island. Almost anywhere but tacking on the bay. He'd be really safer out at sea than trying to get home."

"Out at sea!"

There was something dreadful in the very idea of it, and Annie Foster turned pale enough when she thought of the gay little yacht, and her brother out on the broad Atlantic in it, with no better crew than Dab Kinzer and Dick Lee. Samantha and her sisters were hardly as steady about it as their mother, but they were careful to conceal their misgivings from their neighbors, which was very kindly, indeed, in the circumstances.

There was little use in trying to think or talk of anything else besides the boys, however, with the sound of the "high wind" in the trees out by the road-side, and a very anxious circle was that, up to the late hour at which the members of it separated for the night.

But there were other troubled hearts in that vicinity. Old Bill Lee himself had been out fishing, all day, with very poor luck; but he forgot all about that when he learned that Dick and his young white friends had not returned. He even pulled back to the mouth of the inlet, to see if the gathering darkness would yield him any signs of his boy. He did not know it; but, while he was gone, Dick's mother, after discussing her anxieties with some of her dark-skinned neighbors, half weepingly unlocked her one "clothes-press," and took out the suit which had been the pride of her absent son. She had never admired them half as much before, but they seemed to need a red neck-tie to set them off; and so the gorgeous result of Dick's fishing and trading came out of its hiding-place, and was arranged on the white coverlet of her own bed with the rest of his best garments.

"Jus' de t'ing for a handsome young feller like Dick," she muttered to herself:

"Wot for'd an ole woman like me want to put on any sech fool finery. He's de bestest boy in de worl', he is. Dat is, onless dar aint not'in' happened to 'im."

But if the folks on shore were uneasy about the "Swallow" and her crew, how was it with the latter themselves, as the darkness closed around them, out there upon the tossing water?

Very cool, indeed, had been Captain Dab Kinzer, and he had encouraged the others to go on with their blue-fishing, even when it was pretty tough work to keep the "Swallow" from "scudding." He was anxious not to get too far from shore, for there was no telling what sort of weather might be coming. It was curious, too, what very remarkable luck they had, or rather, Ford and Dick; for Dab would not leave the tiller a moment. Splendid fellows were those blue-fish, and work it was to pull in the heaviest of them. That's just the sort of weather they bite best in; but it is not often such young fishermen venture to take advantage of it. Only the stanchest and best-seasoned old salts of Montauk or New London would have felt altogether at home, that afternoon, in the "Swallow."

"Don't fish any more," said Dabney, at last. "You've caught ten times as many as we ever thought of catching. Whoppers, too, some of 'em."

"Biggest fishing ever I did," remarked Ford, as if that meant a great deal.

"Or mos' anybody else out dis yer way," added Dick. "I isn't 'shamed to show dem fish anywhar."

"No more I aint," said Dab; "but you're getting too tired, and so am I. We must have a good hearty lunch, and put the "Swallow" before the wind for a while. I daren't risk any more of these cross-seas. We might get pitched over any minute."

"Dat's so," said Dick. "And I's awful hungry."

The "Swallow" was well enough provisioned, not to speak of the blue-fish, and there was water enough on board for several days, if they should happen to need it; but there was very little danger of that, unless the wind should continue to be altogether against them.

It was blowing hard when the boys finished their dinner, but no harder than it had already blown, several times, that day, and the "Swallow" seemed to be putting forth her very best qualities as a "sea-boat." No immediate danger, apparently; but there was one "symptom" which Dab discerned, as he glanced around the horizon, which gave him more anxiety than either the stiff breeze or the rough sea.

The coming darkness?

No; for stars and light-houses can be seen at night, and steering is easy enough by them.

A fog is the darkest thing at sea, whether by night or day, and Dabney saw signs of one coming. Rain might come with it, but that would be of small account.

"Boys," said Dabney, "do you know we're out of sight of land at last?"

"Oh no, we're not," replied Ford, confidently; "look yonder."

"That isn't land, Ford; that's only a fog-bank, and we shall be all in the dark in ten minutes. The wind is changing, too, and I hardly know where we are."

"Look at your compass."

"That tells me the wind is changing a little, and it's going down; but I wouldn't dare to run toward the shore in a fog and in the night."

"Why not?"

"Why? Don't you remember those breakers? Would you like to be blown through them, and not see where you were going?"

"No," said Ford. "I rather guess I wouldn't."

"Jest you let Capt'in Kinzer handle dis yer boat," almost crustily, interposed Dick Lee. "He's de on'y feller on board dat un'erstands nagivation."

"Shouldn't wonder if you're right," said Ford, good humoredly. "At all events I sha'n't interfere. But, Dab, what do you mean to do?"

"Swing a lantern at the mast-head and sail right along. You and Dick get a nap, by and by, if you can. I wont try to sleep till daylight."

"Sleep! Catch me sleeping!"

"You must, and so must Dick, when the time comes. Wont do to get all worn out together. Who'd handle the boat?"

Ford's respect for Dabney Kinzer was growing, hourly. Here was this overgrown gawk of a green country boy, just out of his roundabouts, who had never spent more than a day at a time in the great city, and never lived in any kind of a boarding-house: in fact, here was a fellow who had had no advantages whatever, coming out as a sort of a hero. Even Ford did not quite understand it, Dab was so quiet and matter-of-course about it all; and as for the youngster himself, he had no idea that he was behaving any better than any other boy could, should and would have behaved, in those very peculiar circumstances.

At all events, however, the gay and buoyant little "Swallow," with her signal-lantern swinging at her mast-head, was soon dancing away through the deepening darkness and the fog, and her steady young commander was congratulating himself that there seemed to be a good deal less of wind and sea, even if more of mist.

"I couldn't expect everything to suit me," he said to himself. "And now I hope we sha'n't run down anybody. Hullo! Isn't that a red light, though the haze, yonder?"