Produced by Larry Harrison, Cindy Beyer, Ross Cooling and the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net with images provided by CANADIANA BY THE SAME AUTHOR. THE RAID FROM BEAUSEJOUR, and How the Carter Boys Lifted the Mortgage. Two Stories of Acadie. Illustrated $1 00 REUBE DAREâS SHAD BOAT A Tale of the Tide Country BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS [Illustration] NEW YORK: HUNT & EATON CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS 1895 Copyright by HUNT & EATON, 1895. Composition, electrotyping, printing, and binding by HUNT & EATON, 150 Fifth Ave., New York. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. The _Dido_ Goes Adrift 9 CHAPTER II. The Red Bull 21 CHAPTER III. The Chase of the _Dido_ 32 CHAPTER IV. The Cave by the Tide 41 CHAPTER V. A Prison House 53 CHAPTER VI. The Blue Jar 63 CHAPTER VII. Mart Gandy Hacks the Shad Net 75 CHAPTER VIII. A Midnight Visitor 86 CHAPTER IX. The _Didoâs_ First Fishing Trip 96 CHAPTER X. Besieged on the Sand Spit 107 CHAPTER XI. Foiling the Sharks 115 CHAPTER XII. The Shot from the Rocks 125 CHAPTER XIII. Gandy is Rescued from the Honey Pots 135 ILLUSTRATIONS. âSheâs adrift!â he shouted. âCome on! Come on!â The bull swerved slightly and shot past Will marched ahead, carrying the torch It was coinâall coin! Then came the shining, silvery sides of a dozen shad âI think weâll make it,â he said to himself Will and Reube bent their bodies to the pull REUBE DAREâS SHAD BOAT. A Tale of the Tide Country. CHAPTER I. The âDidoâ Goes Adrift. THE road from Frosty Hollow to Westcock, after climbing the hill by the red creek and passing Mrs. Carterâs yellow cottage, ran through a piece of dark and ancient fir woods. With the sighing of the firs there mixed a deeper sound, the voice of the wild tides of the changing Tantramar, unseen and far below. Turning sharply to the right, the road presently emerged from the woods and came upon a very different picture from that which it had left behind. It traversed the face of a long, wide, steep slope of upland, set here and there with a gray or white cottage, here and there a little grove. From the upland foot a mile-wide belt of marsh stretched to the waters of the open bay. The pale-green marsh was divided sharply from the yellow and flashing waves by the long lines of the dike, to which it owed its existence as good dry land. At intervals could be seen small creeks winding through the grassy level. Every creek mouth formed a little haven, clustered about with net reels, and crowded with the boats of the shad fishers. Out from the whispering wood and into the fresh June sunlight of the open came two tallish youths, walking slowly and talking with the joyous zest of old friends who had been long parted. The older-looking of the two was Will Carter, just home from college for the summer vacation. Two years of college life had changed him little. He was the same slim, thoughtful, discreet, yet blithely dauntless lad who had lifted the mortgage from his motherâs farm and punished the ruffian Baizley, and softened the hard old heart of Mr. Hand.[A] College study had increased the somewhat scholarly pallor of his face, but college athletics had added poise and grace to the movements of his well-knit muscles. He had hastened home to his mother immediately on the close of the college, leaving his brother Ted to take a monthâs canoe trip through the inland waters. Willâs present companion, Reuben Dare, was a chum only second to Ted in his love. Reube Dare was just eighteen. He was about the same height as Will, but of a much heavier build. His was also a heavier and slower nature, but one of faithful loyalty and courage combined with strong common sense. His hair was light like Willâs, but his face was round and ruddy. At a hasty glance one might fancy that he was good-natured to the verge of being âsoft,â but there was a steady, controlling gleam in his light gray eyes which made folk very slow to presume on his good nature. In fact, his eyes gave one the peculiar impression of having reached full manhood before the rest of his face. He swung his long arms loosely as he walked, and occasionally he stumbled in the ruts, being too much absorbed in watching his comradeâs words to note just where he was stepping. It had long been Reube Dareâs keenest ambition to put himself through college, but the poverty of his widowed motherâthe population of that land of sailors and fishermen is largely made up of widowsâhad stood sternly in the way. The success of the Carter boys, however, in reclaiming that rich marsh by the creek had proved a strong stimulus, and given him new hopes, with results which this story will show. All at once Will Carter, who had been talking eagerly for the last half hour, stopped short, wiped his forehead, and perched himself on the rail fence under a shady roadside maple. Reube leaned against the fence, and took off his round straw hat. âNow, Reube,â said Will, âitâs your turn. Iâve talked myself dry, and gabbled right along like the âcrickâ at low water. Your letters, you old oyster, have told me mighty little. What have you been up to all winter?â âBuilding my shad boat,â answered Reube. âMother told me something about it. Itâs great, old man!â said Will. âBut you donât mean to say you built her all yourself.â âWell, pretty near,â replied his friend. âOld Chris Boltenhouse helped me with the frame, and set me right whenever I got in a muddle. It was hard work, but I tell you, Will, it was so interesting I could hardly take time to eat. Iâve thought of nothing else for months, except when I was worrying over motherâs eyes, and nowââ âI heard about your motherâs trouble with her eyes,â interrupted Will, sympathetically. âI do hope itâs not going to be serious.â âWorries me a lot,â said Reube, gloomily. And then, his face brightening again, he went on, âBut now Iâve got her done, and rigged and tarred and afloat at Wood Creek landing.â âReube,â interrupted Will again, and this time in a tone of severe surprise, âwhat a singular way to treat your mother! I cannot imagine that dignified lady in any such absurd situation as you speak of.â âCome off!â retorted Reuben, very literally, as he caught at Willâs ankle and, with a quick twist, jerked him from his perch. âIâm not talking of mother, but of the _Dido_, and I say thereâs not a trimmer craft will go shad fishing from Westcock this season. I tell you, Will, Iâve just put my heart into that boat. If it were not for that grove of Barnesâs we could see her now, lying with the others, in the mouth of the creek; and even at this distance you could pick her out from the rest.â âWell,â said Will, âletâs get along and inspect her as soon as possible. Iâm as tickled about her as if Iâd built her myself; and Iâm going to help you with the fishing all I can, as my holiday diversion. Did she cost you much? Is she going to _pay_, like _new marsh_?â âIf she has a lucky summer,â answered Reubeââand they do say thereâs going to be a great run of shad this seasonâIâll have her all paid for and quite a lump of money in the bank this fall.â âAnd then!â said Will, in a voice of joyous anticipation. âWhat then? College with us, for the winter term, anyway! And maybe a scholarship that will still further simplify matters!â âNo!â exclaimed Reube, shaking his head gravely. âNo college for me till I have had mother away to Boston or New York, to get her eyes properly seen to.â Willâs face fell a little. âThatâs so, old man. The eyes must be fixed up first of all, of course. But if the boatâs a success, another season will straighten it all out, eh? And when you come to college youâll be a freshman, while Iâm a senior! Wonât I haze you though?â âCome and practice a bit now!â said Reube, grimly. Will ignored this invitation. âWhat did you say you called the boat?â he queried. âThe _Dido_,â answered Reube. âImagine the stately queen of Carthage going out shad fishing!â chuckled Will. âWhat struck you to choose that for a name?â âO,â said Reube, gravely, âit will serve to keep my aspirations before my mindâs eye, even when I am occupied in the prosaic task of splitting shad.â At this moment a long, shambling figure was seen climbing a fence some distance down the hill, to the left of our pedestrians. Long, lank black hair fell on his shoulders from beneath a black and greasy slouch hat. Immediately the fellow disappeared in a choke-cherry thicket, after turning a furtive, swarthy face for one moment toward the road. âHowâs your hereditary enemy behaving himself these days, Reube?â inquired Will. âWell,â said Reube, âMart Gandyâs Mart Gandy, same as he always was. But it seems to me that of late he has been troubling his neighbors less and himself more than he used to. They say heâs seldom quite sober. Heâs left us alone pretty much all winter, though he did shoot one of my best sheep in the upper pasture along in the first of the spring.â âBut didnât you punish him for it?â asked Will, indignantly, glaring back at the cherry trees wherein Gandy had vanished. âI didnât actually catch him, or I would have,â said Reube. âAnd I didnât want to have him taken up, for, bad lot as he is, he does look after his mother and sisters in a kind of a way, and he is all they have to depend on; for his drunken old father has become a regular idiot, doing nothing but sit in the sun, pick at his beard, and whimper for a drink.â By this time they had reached the top of a knoll, whence the whole shore line was visible. âThereâs the _Dido_!â exclaimed Reube, proudly, turning with a sweep of the hand toward the mouth of Wood Creek. But the words ended in a cry of anger and anxiety. âSheâs adrift!â he shouted. âCome on! Come on! We must catch her before she gets out of the creek. The windâs right down the bay!â As he spoke he vaulted over the fence and started on a run across the fields. Will was at his side in an instant. âHow can it have happened?â he asked. âGandyâs work, Iâll be bound!â muttered Reube, between his teeth; and his eyes grew pale and bright like steel. ----- [A] Professor Roberts has already told the spirited story of âHow the Carter Boys Lifted the Mortgage,â in a volume, _The Raid from BeausÃ©jour_, which is published by Hunt & Eaton, New York. [Illustration: âSheâs adrift!â he shouted. âCome on! Come on!â] CHAPTER II. The Red Bull. THE short cut which Reube was taking across the fields and marshes was calculated to diminish by a good half mile the distance which separated him from his beloved boat. But it was a path beset with obstacles. Will Carter saw all theseâthe long strip of bog and alders at the foot of the upland; then the gluey stretch of âbroad-leafâ marsh, passable enough at a later season, but now a mire with the spring rains; and beyond, furrowing the firm levels of young timothy and clover, the windings of a creek which he knew was, in most places, too wide to jump, and too deep to ford. With what breath he could spareâfor his excited comrade was setting a terribly stiff paceâhe spasmodically exclaimed, âWeâd save time, Reube, by keeping to the road. Weâll be tangled up and stuck here the first thing we know; and the _Dido_ will be off on her own hook to seek the ruins of Carthage.â But Reuben made no answer. He saw no obstacles. All he could see was the far-off red stream, with the _Dido_, only a little way inside the line of the dikes, veering gently and aimlessly from one green bank to the other, but steadily creeping seaward with the current. Well he knew how soon, with the falling tide, this current would quicken its pace. Once let the _Dido_ get outside the creek, and he knew not what might happen to her. She would certainly be off down the bay at a speed which it appalled him to think of. And now, running in grim silence, Reube and Will drew near the foot of the uplands. Heavily, and with no waste of energy, they flung themselves over a peculiarly massive rail fence, and entered a spacious pasture. The field was dotted with mossy hillocks and a few low spruce bushes, between which the grass grew short and thick. Two or three wide-armed maple trees, standing far apart, relieved the vacancy of the sloping expanse, which ended in a broad fringe of alder swamp, spreading its labyrinth of black roots and bog holes a hundred yards out upon the marsh. As they ran, threading their way among the bushes, and springing from hillock to hillock, they heard an ominous grunting bellow on their right, and turning sharply they saw a large dark-red bull stepping out from under the shade of a maple tree. The animal bellowed again, deep in his throat; and running his horns into the nearest mound, tossed into the air a little shower of turf and moss. This was an honest challenge, but our runners were in no mood to accept it. âThis seems to be his bullshipâs private domain!â panted Will. âI wonder if heâs really as mad as he looks, or just bluffing?â âNo bluffing there!â muttered Reube, in a voice of anxious concern. âItâs Barnesâs bull, and he means every word of it! Weâre in a muss, and weâve just got to run for all weâre worth. I wish weâd stuck to the road!â As he spoke the bull, seeing his challenge unanswered, charged like a great red thunderbolt. The boys rose into a fine burst of speed; but ere they were halfway across the field Reube felt his legs and wind failing. He vowed inwardly that he would not, could not break down, and he wondered in his heart how Will was holding out. Will was a little ahead, being the lighter runner; but his pace was flagging, and the bull was now gaining upon them with dreadful rapidity. Under fair conditions the fierce and active animal could have given his rivals a hard race; but now, fagged from their long run down the hill, they were no match for him. He was not more than fifty feet behind them, when their course took them right under one of those spreading maples. âNo use!â gasped Will. âUp with you, Reube!â And springing desperately into the air, he caught a branch and swung himself up into safety. But Reube was not one who could change his purpose thus rapidly. âThe _Dido_!â he groaned; and, pausing under the tree, he glanced irresolutely from the sea to his pursuer. âCome up, quick!â yelled Will, his voice as sharp and inflexible as an ax blade. Reube saw that there was no help for it. His eyes glared fury at his pursuer, as a tiger glares at the hunters when he reluctantly retires before them, and he started to climb the tree. But his stubbornness was all but fatal. He grasped at a branch, and, missing his hold, fell back. He repeated the attempt, this time more eagerly, but again he would have missed and would have felt the bullâs horns pinning him to the tree had it not been for Willâs readiness of action. Locking his legs between two branches, Will reached down, grasped his comrade under the shoulders, and with a mighty effort swung him around to the other side of the trunk. The bull swerved slightly and shot past. Half climbing, half dragged up by Will, Reube found himself safe among the branches ere the bull had checked its rush and returned to the attack. âYou saved me that time, Will,â said Reube, in a somewhat shaky voice, grasping his companionâs hand and wringing it hard. âBut that was an awful grip of yours. I think every finger took a piece out of me!â Will grinned inscrutably, and it flashed across Reubeâs mind that the severity of the grip had had some connection with his own obstinate delay in seeking safety. But the next instant all else was forgotten in his anxiety about the _Dido_, which was plainly visible through an opening in his leafy refuge. The boat had grounded for a moment on a grassy point, and now the quickening current wrenched her off again and carried her with slow gyrations beyond the very last of the landing slips. Fifteen minutes more, at this rate, and she would be in the open. âI canât stand this, Will! I must try another dash,â he groaned. Immediately beneath was the bull, snorting and bellowing, thrusting with his great forehead against the trunk, and pawing the young turf so energetically that it seems as if he aimed at uprooting the tree. âAll right, old man,â said Will. âRun right along now, and Iâll wait here for you. Or perhaps you will mount the gentle steed beneath us and ride to your destination.â To this Reube vouchsafed no answer. He sat silent on his branch, glowering across the marshes, and eating his heart in helpless wrath, while Will, stretched face downward across the limbs, eyed the bull pensively, and cudgeled his brains for a way out of the dilemma. Suddenly he straightened himself with a radiant face, and exclaimed: âI have it, Reube! Weâll trick his exasperated bullship and catch the _Dido_ yet!â But while the words were yet on his lips the bull lifted his head high, gazed out across the field for a second or two, and then dashed off at the same terrific gallop which had so nearly proved disastrous to our heroes. He had seen a burly, red-shirted figure traversing the upper corner of his field. It was seldom, indeed, that anyone other than his master, the only man he feared, presumed to enter the precincts of his sway, and here, in one morning, were three trespassers. The bull, blind with rage, charged upon the red-shirted figure, and the red-shirted figure, after facing him for a few seconds, turned and fled for the fence. âItâs John Paul! Heâll get away safe enough,â said Reube. âBut whatâs your plan?â âGot a better one by this time, old man,â replied Will, dropping out of the treeââjust to cut while his bullship is otherwise engaged.â And side by side the two sped on toward the shelter of the alders. Before they got far the bull, having routed red-shirt and snorted at him loudly through the rails, turned, discovered their flight, and came once more thundering at their heels. But this time he had allowed his rivals too much handicap. Before he could get anywhere near them Will and Reube were among the alders. Once there, the big red bull could not match their speed. He floundered, foaming and grunting, through the shallow pools, and the deeper ones he had to skirt. The boys, on the other hand, sprang lightly from root to hillock, from hillock to elastic, reedy tuft, swinging across the pools on the long, bending stems of the alders, and soon leaving their persecutor far behind. They reached the fence, vaulted it, emerged upon the open marsh, and there before them, still half a mile away, was the _Dido_, wheeling gracefully out from the mouth of the creek. [Illustration: The bull swerved slightly and shot past.] CHAPTER III. The Chase of the âDido.â REUBE uttered a cry of something like despair. âNow, old man, whatâs the matter with you?â queried Will, reprovingly. âDo you suppose the _Didoâs_ gone? Why, you old chump, weâll take one of the other boats and go after her. With this wind weâll catch her before she goes half a dozen miles. She wonât get past the Joggins, anyway, Iâll bet you a red herring!â Reubeâs face brightened, beamed broadly, and resumed its old boyish frankness. âWhy, thatâs so!â said he. âThatâs just what weâll do. What a perfect fool Iâd be sometimes, Will, if you didnât keep an eye on me!â That half a mile across the marsh proved a long one owing to the many detours which our runners, now trotting slowly and deliberately, were forced to make by the windings of the full creek. At last they reached the landing place where the _Dido_ had been moored. About the rickety old wharf stood four or five high reels, skeletons of light gray wood wound with the dark-stained folds of the shad nets. The fishing season was right at hand, but had not yet begun. Around the boats and the reels were many half-obliterated footprints, left by the feet of those who had been winding the nets and pitching the seams of the boats. Of fresh tracks there was but one setâthe tracks of someone with long, narrow feet, who walked without turning out his toes. To these tracks Reube pointed with grim significance of gesture. âYes,â said Will, âI understand. Did you ever see a plainer signature than Mart Gandy makes with his feet?â The smallest of the fishing boats at the wharf was a light âpinkieââa name given by the Tantramar fishermen to a special kind of craft with the stern pointed like the stem. The pinkie, painted red and white instead of blackened with tar like the other boats, was a good sailer. She belonged to Barnes, the owner of the red bull; and to Reubeâs judicial mind it seemed appropriate that she should be taken without leave. There was a further inducement in the fact that she could be got afloat more easily than any of the other boats. The tide had fallen so that her keel was high and dry; and the fine mud of Tantramar gripped it with astonishing tenacity. But after a few minutes of such straining as made the veins stand out on Willâs forehead, and brought a redness about Reubeâs steel-gray eyes, she was afloat. Up went her dainty jib; up went her broad white mainsail; and presently the red-and-white pinkie with Reube at the helm was nimbly threading the sharp curves of the creek. After a succession of short tacks the channel straightened, and heeling far over with the strong wind on her quarter the pinkie ran into the open with the tawny surf hissing at her gunwale. Reube held his course till they were a couple of hundred yards out, dreading some hungry shoals he knew of. Then he let out the sheet, eased up on the tiller, and put the pinkieâs head straight down the bay on the _Didoâs_ track. Will loosened out the jib, belayed it, and lay down on the cuddy in its shadow. The _Dido_ was out of sight beyond the rocks and high oak trees of Wood Point. A stern chase, as has been said from of old, is a long chase; and while the red-and-white pinkie was scudding before the wind and shearing the yellow waves with her keen bow, Reube and Will had to curb their impatience. They did not even whistle for more wind, for they had all the wind the pinkie could well endure. When their ears had grown used to the slap and crumbling rush of the foam-wave past their gunwale they spoke of Mart Gandy. Reube Dareâs father, whose farm adjoined that of the Gandys, had got himself embroiled with old Gandy over the location of the dividing line. While Reube was yet a very small boy old Gandy had pulled down the dilapidated line fence during one of Captain Dareâs absences, and had put up a new one which encroached seriously on the Daresâ best field. On Captain Dareâs return he expostulated with Gandy; and finding expostulation useless he quietly shifted back the fence. Then his ship sailed on a long voyage to the Guano Islands of the Pacific; and while he was scorching off the rainless coasts of northern Peru, Gandy again took possession of the coveted strip of field. From this voyage Captain Dare came back with broken health. He gave up his ship, settled down on the farm overlooking the marshes, and called in the arm of the law to curb old Gandyâs aggression. The fence had by this time been moved backward and forward several times, each time leaving behind a redder and more threatening line of wrath. When the case came into court the outcome was a surprise to both contestants. There were rummaging out of old titles and unearthing of old deeds, till Captain Dareâs lawyer made it clear not only that Gandyâs claim was unfounded, but also that before the dispute arose Gandy had been occupying some three acres of the old Dare property. The original grant, made a hundred years earlier to Captain Dareâs grandfather, required that the line should run down the middle of old Gandyâs sheep pastureâa worthless tract, but one which now acquired value in Gandyâs eye. Down the pasture forthwith was the new fence run, for Captain Dare, fired to obstinacy by his neighborâs wanton aggression, would take no less than his rights. Then, the victory assured to him, the captain died, leaving to his widow and his boy a feud to trouble their peace. The farm was productive, but for some years old Gandy had vexed them with ceaseless and innumerable small annoyances. When the old man sank into imbecility, then his son Mart, a swarthy and furtive stripling, who betrayed the blood of a far-off Indian ancestor, took up the quarrel with new bitterness. In Mart Gandyâs dark and narrow soul, which was redeemed from utter worthlessness by his devotion to his family, hatred of the Dares stood as a sacred duty. It was his firm faith that his father had been tricked by a conspiracy between judge, jury, and lawyers. The persistency of his hate and the cunning of his strokes had been a steady check upon the prosperity of Reube and his mother. In answer to a remark of Reube on this subject Will exclaimed, âBut youâve got him all right this time, old man. There can be no difficulty in identifying those footprints.â Reube laughed somewhat sarcastically. âDo you suppose,â he inquired, âthat the tide is going to leave them as they are while we go after the _Dido_, fetch her back, and then go and get those holes in the mud examined by the authorities?â âWell, perhaps my suggestion was hasty,â acknowledged Will. After an hourâs run Wood Point was left behind, and there was the _Dido_ not a mile ahead and well inshore. She had been delayed in the eddies of the cove below the Point. Reube gave a shout of joy and twisted his helm to starboard, while Will warned him to look out for the mud flats with which the cove was choked. âO,â said Reube, confidently, âI know the place like a book.â The red-and-white pinkie was now rapidly overhauling the vagrant craft when a stiff current caught the latter and she began to race along the curve of the farther shore. Reube was anxious to catch her before she should round the next headland, and get back into rough water. The headland was a low, humped promontory of mingled plaster rocks and yellowish sand, without a tree upon its grassy crest. Shifting his course to intercept the _Dido_, Reube steered the pinkie straight for the point. Just then the _Dido_ was seen to give a lurch, stop short, and keel over to the gunwale. âSheâs run aground!â cried Will. âBut weâve got her safe and will sail her back on next tide,â said Reube, heaving a sigh of relief as he saw that his beloved craft stood still, refusing to be rolled over by the push of the yellow tide upon her ribs. The pinkie was sailing at a great pace. âBetter take in the jib, Will,â said Reube. Will sprang up to obey. Just as he rose there was a staggering shock. The pinkie buried her nose in a hidden mudbank. The waves piled over her gunwales; the mast bent without breaking, like the brave, tough timber it was; and Will shot overboard headlong into the foam. CHAPTER IV. The Cave by the Tide. ACTING instantly on the impulse of an old sailor, Reube had sprung forward almost with the shock, and started to haul down the mainsail in order to relieve the strain. The next moment, however, while the half-lowered sail was bulging and flapping, he leaped into the bow to help Will. The latter rose with a gasp and stood waist deep, clinging to the bowsprit. His head and arms were bedaubed grotesquely with the mud into which he had plunged with such violence. He gazed sternly at Reube, and exclaimed: âPerhaps youâll claim that you know these mud banks as well as I do! I earnestly hope you may, some day, gain the same intimate knowledge of them!â Then he climbed aboard and finished the furling of the sails, while Reube rolled convulsively in the bottom of the boat, unable to control his laughter. He recovered himself only when Will trod upon him without apology, and threatened to put him overboard. When the sails had been made snug, and the pinkie bailed out, and the mud cleaned with pains from Willâs face and hair and garments, there was nothing to do but watch the _Dido_ in the distance and wait for the tide to fall. In another half hour, or a little more, only a waste of red flats and yellow pools separated the two stranded boats. Reube took off his shoes and socks, rolled his trousers up high, and stepped overboard. These precautions were for Will superfluous; so he went as he was, and congratulated himself on being able to defy all hidden clam shells. Before he went, however, he took the precaution to put out the pinkieâs anchor, for which Reube derided him. âThe pinkieâs no Western stern-wheeler, to navigate a field of wet grass!â said he. âI fancy sheâll wait here till next tide all right!â âYesâbut then?â queried Will, laconically. âThen,â replied Reube, âweâll come back for her with the _Dido_.â âThereâs lots one never knows!â said Will, as he looked carefully to the anchor rope. And as things turned out it was well he did soâa fact which Reube had to acknowledge penitently. The distance between the stranded boats was little more than a quarter of a mile, yet it took the boys some time to traverse it. The bottom of the cove was for the most part a deep and clinging ooze, which took them to the knee at every step, and held their feet with the suction of an airpump. Here and there were patches of hard sand to give them a momentâs ease; but here and there, too, were the dreaded âhoney potsâ for which that part of the coast is noted, and to avoid these they had to go most circumspectly. The âhoney potâ is a sort of quicksand in which sand is replaced by slimeâa bottomless quagmire which does its work with inexorable certainty and deadly speed. Both Reube and Will knew the strange, ominous olive hue staining the red mud over the mouths of these traps, but they knew, also, that all signs sometimes fail, so they took the boathook with them and prodded their path cautiously. At last, after wading a long, shallow lagoon, the bottom of which was thick with shells, and unfriendly to Reubeâs bare feet, they reached the runaway _Dido_. Breathless with anxiety, Reube climbed over the side, suddenly imagining all sorts of damage and defilement. But his darling was none the worse for her involuntary cruise. She had shipped some muddy water, but that was all that Reube could grumble at. Gandy had been too shrewd to do anything that might look like malice aforethought. In a trice the trim craft was bailed out and sponged dry. Then Will admired her critically from stem to stern, from top to keel, asking a thousand learned questions by the way, and feeling almost persuaded to build a boat himself. But even this interesting procedure came to an end, and at length the comrades threw themselves down on the cuddy roof, and realized that they were hungry. It was long past their dinner time. The tide was not yet at its lowest ebb, and it would be four or five hours ere they could hope to get the boats again afloat. The only thing they had to eat was a pocketful of dried dulse which Reube had brought with him. This they devoured, and it made them very thirsty. They decided to go ashore and look for a spring. Far away, on the crest of the upland, were some houses, at which they gazed hungrily, but the idea of leaving the _Dido_ and the pinkie for any such long jaunt was not to be entertained for a moment. As they again stepped out into the mud Will repeated the precaution which he had taken in regard to the pinkie. He put out the little anchor, and paid no heed to Reubeâs derision. To be sure, Reube was both owner and captain, but Will stood not on ceremony. Not far from high-water mark our thirsty explorers found a clear, cold spring bubbling out from beneath a white plaster rock. The water was very hard, carrying a great deal of lime in solution, and Will lectured learnedly on the bad effect it would have upon their stomachs if they drank much of it. As usually happens, however, this theorizing had small force against the very practical fact of their thirst. So they drank till they were perfectly satisfied, and were afterward none the worse. This, Will insisted, was thanks to the abundance of sorrel which they found amid the grass near by, whose acid was kind enough to neutralize the lime which they had swallowed. âBut I say,â urged Reube, âthere are folks back yonder who drink water like this all their lives. The wells in this plaster belt are all hard like this, and some of the people who drink from them live to over ninety.â âThat proves nothing,â said Will, âexcept that they are a long-lived stock. If they had sense enough to go somewhere else and drink soft water they might live to over a hundred!â Reube cared little for argument, always finding it hard to know whether Will was in earnest or not. He lazily changed the subject. âBy the way,â he remarked, ânowâs just the chance to visit the cave at the end of the Point!â âCave!â cried Will, jumping up from the grass. âWhat cave? How can there be a cave round here without me knowing it?â âWhy, I only heard of it myself last fall,â said Reube. âYou see, the mouth of it isnât uncovered till near low water; and nobody comes near this point at any time, there being nothing to come for, and the shoals and eddies so troublesome. Iâve sailed round here a good deal at high and half tide, but no one comes near it when tideâs out. You see all the broken rocks scattered away out across the flats from the Point. And as for the âhoney potsâ between themâwell, old Chris Boltenhouse, who told me all about the place last fall, said they were a terror. You couldnât step without getting into one. Chris also told me that the Acadians, at the time of their expulsion, had used the cave as a hiding place for some of their treasures, and that when he was a boy quite a lot of coin and silver ornaments had been found there.â âQueer, too,â muttered Will, âhow things like that drop out of peopleâs minds, come back, and are forgotten again! Well, letâs look into the hole while weâve got time;â and the two ran hastily to the narrow end of the turf. Over the slippery rocks below tide mark they had to move more deliberately, but in a short time they reached the foot of the promontory and stood on the verge of the flats not half an hour above low water. Very villainous indeed looked the flats, with the olive-hued menace spread over them on every hand. But there was no sign of a cave. Scanning the rocks minutely, our explorers skirted the whole front of the headland, but in vain. Then they started to retrace their steps, inveighing against the falsity of traditions. But now, their faces being turned, the rocky masses took on for them a new configuration, and they discovered a narrow strait, as it were, behind a jutting bowlder. It was a most unlikely-looking place for a cave entrance, but Will poked his nose into it curiously. The next moment he shouted: âFound!â Reube sprang to his side. There, behind the sentinel rock, was a narrow, triangular opening of about the height of a man. Its base, some four feet wide, was thickly silted with mud, and its sides dripped forbiddingly. Will stepped inside, and then turned. âItâs darker than Egypt!â he exclaimed. âHow are we going to explore it without a light?â âAh,â said Reube in tones of triumph, âIâve got ahead this time, Will! I happened to bring a whole bunch of matches from home in my pocket to supply the _Didoâs_ cuddy. And I picked up this on the Point when you were running ahead in such a hurry.â And he drew a sliver of driftwood pine from under his jacket. âGood for you, old man!â cried Will, joyously. In a second or two the sliver was ablaze, and the explorers plunged into a narrow passage whose floor sloped upward swiftly. [Illustration: Will marched ahead carrying the torch.] CHAPTER V. A Prison House. IN their eagerness they forgot to look around before entering the cave. They forgot to look at the tide, which had already turned and was creeping swiftly over the treacherous levels. They forgot everything except that they were in the cave where once undoubtedly had been Acadian treasures, and where, as each dreamed in his heart and denied on his lips, some remnant of such treasures might yet lie hidden. Will marched ahead carrying the torch and peering with eager enthusiasm into every crevice. The cave was full of crevices, but they were shallow and contained nothing of interest but some fair crystals of selenite, which gleamed like diamonds in the torchlight. A few of these Reube broke off and pocketed as specimens. The cave widened slowly as it ascended, and the slope of its floor kept it well drained in spite of the water ceaselessly dripping from roof and walls. Its shape was roughly triangular, and our explorers sometimes bumped their heads smartly in their haste. Presently they reached a point where a narrow gallery ran off from the main passage. Which to take was the problem. âIt seems to me,â said Reube, âthat if there was any of the old Acadiansâ stuff here it would be most likely to be hidden in the smaller passage.â âAcadiansâ stuff!â sniffed Will, sarcastically. âA lot of that weâll find!â But, none the less, he acted on Reubeâs suggestion, and led the way up the side gallery. After running some twenty-five feet the gallery turned a corner and ended in a smooth, sloping face of rock. There was no sign of crevice or hiding place here. Across the sloping face of the rock there ran a ledge about a foot wide some five or six feet above the floor, and the roof of the gallery at this point ascended steeply to a narrow and longish peak. âNo risk of bumping our heads here,â said Will, as he flung the torchlight along the ledge and showed its emptiness. âBetter hurry back and try if we canât finish the main cave before the light goes out,â said Reube, pointing to the pine sliver, already more than half consumed. Shielding the flame with his hand to make it burn more slowly, Will led the way with quick steps back to the larger gallery. This now became more interesting. Its walls were strewn with most suggestive-looking pockets, so to speak, full of silt and oozy _debris_, into which Will and Reube plunged their hands hastily, expecting to find a coin or a silver candlestick in every one. So fascinated were they by this task that they paid no heed to the torch till it burned down and scorched Willâs fingers. He gave a startled cry, but had presence of mind enough not to drop it. To make it last a little longer he stuck it on the point of his knife and then exclaimed, in a tone of disappointment: âReube, we must get out of this while the light lastsâand thatâll have to be pretty quick!â âRather!â assented Reube. âHark!â The word was barely out of his mouth before the two lads were running for the cave mouth, their heads bent low, their hearts beating wildly. The sound which they had caught was a hollow wash of waves. In a few seconds the torch went out, but there was a pale, glimmering light before them, enough to guide their feet. This puzzled them by its peculiar tone, but in half a minute more they understood. It came filtering through the tawny tide which they found seething into the caveâs mouth and filling it to the very top. Will gave a gasp of horror, and Reube leaned in silent despair against the wall of the passage. âThe tide will fill this cave to the very top, I believe,â said he. âYes,â answered Will, in a voice of fixed resolve; âthereâs nothing for it but to try a long dive right out through the mouth and into the rocks. We may get through, and itâs our only chance!â âGo on, then, Will. Hurry, before itâs too late! Andâhave an eye to mother, wonât you?â Here a sob came into Reubeâs voice. âYou know Iâm a poor swimmer and no diver. Good-bye!â and he held out his hand. But Will was coolly putting on his coat again. âI forgot that,â said he, simply. âWell, weâll find some other way, dear old man. Bring along your matches;â and he turned back toward the depths of the cave. For answer Reube merely gripped his arm with a strong pressure and stepped ahead with a lighted match. He could not urge Will to carry out the plan just proposed because in his heart, for all his confidence in Willâs powers as a swimmer, he could not believe it feasible. He saw, in imagination, his comradeâs battered body washing helplessly among the weedy and foaming rocks; while in the cave, for all the horror of it, there would certainly be some hours of respiteâand who could say what they might not devise in all that time? He had a marvelous faith in Willâs resources. In grim silence, and husbanding every match with jealous care, they explored the main cave to its end. Its end was a horrid, round, wet hole, a few feet deep, and not large enough to admit them side by side. They looked each other fairly in the eyes for the first time since that one glance when they had learned that they were entrapped. Reubeâs eyes were stern, enduringâthe eyes of one who had known life long. The boy had all gone out of them. Willâs eyes looked simply quiet and kind, but his mouth was set and his lips were white. âThis is just a rat hole, Reube,â said he. âWe wonât stay here anyway. Seems to me it would be better to have room to stand up and meet it like a man.â âYes,â replied Reube, his voice choking with a sort of exaltation at his comradeâs courage; âweâll go back to the little gallery with the high roof. Weâll get up on that ledge and weâll fight it out with the water to the last gasp, eh? Itâs pretty toughâespecially for mother!â âWell,â said Will, with a queer, low tone of cheerfulness which seemed to his friend to mean more than cries and tears, âwhen I think of mother and Ted it sort of comes over me that Iâd like to say my prayersâeh?â and for a minute or two, standing shoulder to shoulder, he and Reube leaned their faces silently against the oozy rock in the darkness. Then, lighting another match, they made all haste possible back to the side gallery, ascended it, and climbed upon the ledge. Hardly had they got there when they heard the tide whispering stealthily about the entrance of the passage. They felt that it was marking them down in their new retreat. When the next match blazed upâfor they could not long stand the darkness with that creeping whisper in their earsâWill gazed steadily at the peak of the roof above his head. The match went out. âAnother!â he cried, in a voice that trembled with hope. âWhat is it?â asked Reube, eagerly. âRoots!â shouted Will, leaping to his feet. âTree roots coming through the roof up there! We must be near the surface, and there is evidently a fissure in the rock filled up with earth. Weâll dig our way out with our knives and our fingers yet!â âBut there are no trees on the Point,â urged Reube, doubtfully. âThunder, Reube! but canât there be old roots in the soil?â cried Will, impatiently. âDig, man, dig!â And he began clawing fiercely at the earth above his head. Reube aided him with fervent energy, and the earth, though hard and clayey, came down about them in a shower. Presently they could reach no farther up. âWe must cut footholds in this rock,â said Will. The rock was plaster, but hard, and this took time. When it was accomplished they again burrowed rapidly toward the surface and air and light. They were working in the dark now, because with the rise of tide in the cave the air was growing close and suffocating. Three times they had to cut new footholds in the rock. They toiled in silence, hearing only each otherâs labored breath and the falling of earth into the water beneath them. The tide was now crawling over the ledge where they had first taken refuge. There it stopped; but this they did not heed. The fear of suffocation was now upon them, blotting out the fear of drowning. Their eyes and ears and nostrils were full of earth. They worked with but a blind half-knowledge of what they were doing. All at once there came a gleam of light, and Reubeâs hand went through the turf. He clawed at the sod desperately, and a mass of it came down about their heads. It troubled them not. There was the clear, blue sky above them. A sweet wind caressed their faces. They dragged themselves forth and lay at full length on the turf with shut eyes and swelling hearts. CHAPTER VI. The Blue Jar. IT was some minutes before either spoke. All they knew was that they were once more in the air and light. Then, with a start, Reube sat up and looked about him. He looked, of course, for the _Dido_. To his inexpressible relief the cherished craft was there in plain sight, riding safely at her anchor, some fifty yards from shore. And there, farther out, rode the pinkie. Reube blessed his comradeâs foresight. âWill, where would the boats be now?â said he, âif you hadnât insisted on anchoring them?â Will sat up and surveyed the situation, thoughtfully clearing the mud from his eyes with little bunches of grass. âIt was just as well we anchored them,â he assented. âAnd now that Iâve got my wind, I think I had better swim out to the _Dido_ and bring her in for you. I feel as if I wanted a bath anyway; donât you?â âIâll be with you in half a minute,â said Reube. âBut first I want to explore the cave a little more. It seems to me we came away in something of a hurry!â He let himself cautiously down in the hole, feet first. Will stopped his undressing and stared at him in amazement. âAre you crazy?â he cried. âDo come out of that beastly hole! The idea of it makes me quite ill!â âO, Iâm not
{'title': "Reube Dare's Shad Boat: A Tale of the Tide Country by Sir Charles G. D. Roberts", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}