Hamilton Haley and Captain Bill called to their men to be ready.

"He means business sure enough this time," muttered Haley. "He's given him the speed bell. He's coming on the run."

The words were hardly uttered when the steamer rushed forth into view from the fog. She was, indeed, coming on at full speed, without firing a gun. Not until she was almost upon them did the bug-eye captains realize what was intended. They had sent a volley at her, to which she paid no heed, but was coming silently and swiftly on.

Gathering speed as she came, the smoke pouring in black clouds from her funnel, the steamer rushed directly at the nearest bug-eye which lay broadside in her path.

"Get back! Jump, boys! The rascal's going to ram us!" shouted Haley, darting back across the decks to his own vessel.

The crews scattered, and the deck of the bug-eye was cleared. They were not a minute too soon. On came the steamer, tearing through the fog, with the sparks flying from its stack, lighting up the black smoke. There was a crash that could be heard far ash.o.r.e as its iron bow splintered the side of the bug-eye, buried itself in the yielding planks and cut the craft half in two.

The bug-eye reeled under the shock and groaned as if in mortal agony. The steamer's bell jangled twice and the craft backed away, leaving a great hole through which the water poured in a torrent. Another bell, and the steamer was going astern at full speed. Some distance away she reversed again, and once more came on. Into the same gap she steered; her iron bow once more rent and tore the planking asunder. Again she backed away.

The vessel, rapidly filling, broke from the lashings that held it to its companion and sank to the bottom of the river.

Thrown into the utmost confusion and dismay at this unexpected turn of affairs, the captains now thought only of safety in flight. The seamen of the foundered vessel scattered through the three remaining ones; there was a frantic rush to lashings and halyards; knives were drawn and lashings cut when that was easier and quicker. Sails were run up and orders shouted hoa.r.s.ely amid the confusion. The two anchors were slipped, and left. There was no time to get them aboard.

There seemed to be no escape, however, for at least one other of the bug-eyes-the one that lay nearest the steamer. The latter craft was even now manuvring to reach a point from which to ram the bug-eye, only the sunken vessel that lay between preventing her from repeating her success at once. Tom Noyes, in command of the imperiled vessel, was driving his men to their utmost to get sail on before he should be cut down.

But for the fog he would have had little chance. The steamer worked cautiously out into the river and turned, heading for Tom Noyes's bug-eye just as she began slowly to make headway, under foresail and jib. The steamer gave the signal to go ahead, slowly, then another for full speed.

The bug-eye was standing slowly in toward the bank, endeavouring to put the wreck once more between itself and its foe.

At this critical moment, Hamilton Haley, whose craft was already under weigh and standing across to the opposite sh.o.r.e, could not resist taking a parting shot at his enemy, even though it might imperil his own chances. He raised his rifle and fired in the direction of the steamer's pilot-house. It was a chance shot, for he was even then losing sight of the steamer in the fog. Yet, with the report, there came a cry of pain from the steamer. Haley bawled exultantly. He knew not what he had done, but the sound told him of some success of his shot. It had, indeed, struck the arm of the pilot, inflicting a wound that caused him to drop the wheel and fall back, fainting.

The steamer, now at full speed, veered in its course. Before the captain could signal for the engines to slow down or could right the steamer on its course, the police boat had run afoul of the wreck and had become entangled, its bottom resting on the after-house of the sunken bug-eye.

The next moment, Haley pa.s.sed exultantly down stream. Tom Noyes, rounding the wreck insh.o.r.e, went on his way; the other bug-eye slipped past the steamer, and the fog hid them from view.

Yet they were not to get off scot free. Even as he stood, chuckling at their success, a bullet from the farther sh.o.r.e grazed the head of Jim Adams; and, stunned, he lurched and went overboard. Henry Burns, seeing him fall, and springing to the side as the negro's body was swept astern, caught a hand in his clothing and held on. Haley, running to the rescue, seized the mate's arm, and, together, they dragged him aboard. Jim Adams had had a close call. The bullet had stunned him. An inch more and it had gone through his head. He came to, a half-hour later as they went down stream, groping their way in the fog; and, in half an hour more, was able to "feel" the way, as he called it, out to the mouth of the river.

The escape was made. They were free. But Captain Bill had lost a vessel.

CHAPTER XIX SURPRISES FOR JACK HARVEY

Jack Harvey and Tom Edwards, standing in the middle of the road that extended drearily northward before them through St. Mary county, on the cold winter morning of December 28, gazed at each other ruefully. They were aching from the exertions of their escape and of the night spent without sleep, wandering across country. They were lame, foot-sore, and hungry, and the cold now began to penetrate their garments, unprotected, as they were, for lack of oil-skins or heavy coats. The discovery that they were also now almost penniless, and in an out-of-the-way and spa.r.s.ely settled section of Maryland, was well-nigh appalling. They cast anxious glances over the fields and low rolling hills, to see if they could discover shelter.

Off to the left of the highway, there wound a thin ribbon of frozen stream, going down to the southwest, through some irregular ridges; twenty rods away, on the southern bank of this stream, the roof of a small house showed, with a chimney sending up a light coil of smoke.

Harvey and his companion left the road and made their way toward the house.

The occupant of this dwelling, whoever he might be, would not be taken unawares by their coming, surely, for there bounded out toward them three dogs, barking. Harvey and Tom Edwards halted, then proceeded slowly. The dogs did not offer to molest them, but ran close by their side, as a sort of escort.

A man appeared in the doorway, warned by the dogs, and called to the three to come away. Then he gave a greeting to the two travellers.

"Don't mind the dogs," he called; "they're not savage. We're not accustomed to seeing travelers often, though, and it makes them excited."

The speaker was a middle-aged, well-built man, of medium height, bronzed by sun and wind, with an expression and bearing that told of a condition in life above that of the poor settler. He spoke, too, in accents different from what they had been accustomed of late to hear. He eyed them shrewdly, as they came to the door.

"Come inside," he said, holding the door ajar for them. "You're fishermen by your dress-and you're not. Am I right? If I were to guess, I'd take you to be northerners, though what you're doing away down in this lonesome place is what puzzles me. You've been on the bay, perhaps, but you don't look like bay men."

All the while he spoke, his keen, brown eyes were bent critically upon them, as if the two afforded him an interesting study.

"You're right, sir," answered Tom Edwards, "we have been fishermen, but we're not now; and what's more, I hope we never shall be again. We've escaped from a dredger. And, sir, if you will allow me, you don't look like a man that toils hard for a living. You've got a business hand."

The man smiled and nodded. "You and I are regular Sherlock Holmeses," he said. "Sit down by the fire. No, I'm not a resident here. I'm an invalid.

Do I look it?"

He threw out his chest and laughed heartily.

"You certainly do not," answered Tom Edwards.

"Well, I was," continued the stranger. "My name is Phillips, and I live in New York. I'm a lawyer, and I'm taking a year off for my health. I had spent many vacations, shooting and fishing about the Chesapeake, and when I had to give up work for a year, I came down here with my dogs and gun and rod. I hired this old house and set up as monarch of all I survey-including an old darkey servant who does my work and cooking. I'm a pretty l.u.s.ty invalid, I can tell you. Now where did you come from?"

"It's a long story," said Tom Edwards, stretching out comfortably in his armchair before the hearth fire, "but I'll make it brief." And he sketched rapidly the adventures that had befallen himself and Harvey since their captivity aboard the dredger. Their host listened intently.

"That's a strange story, sure enough," he said, when Tom Edwards had finished; "but I've heard of cases like it before. It's a bad state of affairs. I'd like to help prosecute that man, Haley. What a rascal he must be!"

Mr. Phillips arose, stepped to a closet and produced from a shelf a bottle and a gla.s.s.

"Mr. Edwards," he said, "I won't offer this to your young companion, but you look played out. I keep it on hand, for cases just like this."

So saying, he poured the gla.s.s partly full and handed it to Tom Edwards.

The latter took it, arising from his chair as he did so, and started to raise it to his lips. To his utter astonishment, and that of the host, Jack Harvey stepped to the side of his elder companion, drew back his right arm and planted a blow on Tom Edwards's shoulder that nearly sent him off his feet, knocked the gla.s.s from his hand and sent it crashing to the floor.

Tom Edwards recovered his balance, flushed angrily and turned on Harvey, who stood, chuckling at the effect of his unexpected blow.

"Look here," cried Tom Edwards, confronting his friend, threateningly, "what kind of tom-foolery do you call that? What's the matter with you?

Have you gone crazy?"

Mr. Phillips, seeing the fate of his liquor and his gla.s.s, had also flushed with resentment and stood glaring at Harvey. Harvey laughed.

"You asked me to do it, Tom," he said.

"What's that!"

"I did it just to oblige you," insisted Harvey. "Don't you remember the first night we met in that beastly old forecastle of the Brandt? You said if I ever saw you try to take a drink again to punch you good and hard.

Well, I did the best I know how. Truly, though, Tom, I'm sorry if you're angry. I just happened to remember it, and I did it for fun, right off quick. Say you're not mad, will you?"

Tom Edwards, thus confronted with his own words, stood, open-mouthed with surprise. Then a smile overspread his face. He turned to his host, somewhat embarra.s.sed; the expression on his face became serious.

"Mr. Phillips," he said, "the boy is right. I asked him to do it. And what's more-though I owe you an apology, sir-I'm glad he did it."

He turned to Harvey and extended his hand.

"Jack, old chap," he said, "you did just right. Upon my word, I forgot. I meant that, when I said it aboard the Brandt, and I did intend to stick to it, upon my word. The fact is, Mr. Phillips, if it hadn't been for that stuff, I never should have been caught in this plight. I swore I'd never touch another drop; and if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll start all over again. Jack, here's my hand on it. I'll stick to it this time, as long as I live."