Part 6

They watched ten minutes, and the yawl did not change its course.

"Some man in that yawl knows well enough where this landing-place is, an' they're coming to it, you can bet your last guinea," remarked Jim Avery. "My advice is to git away from here quick, an' take to the lime-kiln."

"Wait a few minutes first, to make sure they're comin'," suggested someone.

They watched five minutes longer, and then, keeping a thick bunch of cedars directly in range of the boat, they ran half-bent to the lime-kiln and shell-heap at the landing, and there concealing themselves, set one of their number to watch the movements of the boat.

In the lime-kiln they began to discuss a plan of action.

"Load the big musket with buckshot and give that to 'em first, if they undertake to land," was the first proposition.

"Put in a rippin' good charge. Four fingers of powder, and ram it hard--"added Jim Avery.

The steel ramrod sent out its cling as the wad was pounded down.

"Oh, the devil! Put in more buckshot than that if you want 'em to know we mean it. There!" continued Jim, as he clapped his hand over the bore and let a handful of buckshot guzzle down upon the first charge, "that'll plug 'em."

After the big gun was loaded the men began to load their own guns, their excitement increasing and the discussion growing loud enough to be heard outside the kiln. At length, the natural leader of the party checked it, and fixed a plan of action.

"The thing to do," he said, "is this: hail 'em when they get near the shore, an' if they don't hold up, rip into 'em a volley from the big gun, an' hold our other firelocks in resarve."

But a question at once arose who should fire the big musket. It required a stout man to hold the huge firearm out, and the smallest man of the group, in the haste of gathering, had caught it up in a neighbor's house.

"I swar I won't fire it with such a load as that in," he said; "and I can't fire it anyway without a rest."

"You take her, then," said the leader to one who stood beside him.

"Not a bit of it. I ain't agoin' to fire nobody else's gun but my own."

"They're not more'n three gun-shots off," spoke the sentinel, husking the tones of his voice; "settle upon suthin' darn quick, ur we'll hev a han'-to-han' fight here on the shore."

"You're the boy, Jim; you fire it," said the leader, clapping a negro who stood near him, on the shoulder.

Jim took the gun.

It was now dusk. The party slipped out from behind the shell-heap, and the leader shouted, "Back water there an' stop, or I'll fire."

No reply was made, but he caught the words, "Pull, _pull_;" and the quicker dip of the oars told that the rowers heeded.

"Another yard and I'll fire."

No word of reply--but, spoken loud and with vengeance, "Pull, damn you, _pull_."

"Fire, Jim;" and the huge musket thundered out her volley.

A shriek from one poor devil, the noise of others falling over in the boat, and the striking of oars followed. With oaths and confusion, the outlaws turned their boat and pulled back.

Black Jim stood stiff in the tracks where he had fired, but the big musket lay upon the ground--the recoil had broken his collar-bone.

In the morning the schooner was gone. Week after week went by, and the scattered inhabitants continually expected some descent of the outlaws to take vengeance for their repulse. Jim's collar-bone was well knit together, and yet there had been no further molestation.

"I guess we fixed 'em. They don't seem to want to come anymore," remarked one of the party to a neighbor.

More than six weeks had passed since that one charge of buckshot repulsed the outlaws, and June was half gone. The Bay's rest spell was come--the time when, day after day, its surface is calm, and the air above it quivers--the time when the Beach goes off to its farthest limit and melts into islands with air inlets between them.

On one of those quiet, dreamy days in June, when all thought of alarm is farthest from one, the identical long-boat which barely two months before had turned back with its wounded, was crossing the Bay, and making, too, directly for the landing by the lime-kiln and shell-heap. The schooner this time lay outside the Beach, and the outlaws had made a portage over with their long-boat. Again someone in that boat knew there was a landing near the shell-heap.

They rowed up till the boat touched the sand, but before all landed, two sailors jumped ashore and went around the shell-heap and into the kiln to discover whether any body of men was lying in wait there. Upon their return, the boat was secured, and the oars were put in position for quick launching. Then, adjusting slashed black bands across their faces, the outlaws took their way up across the lot, making straight for the inn on the north side of the old country road. A dozen rods, perhaps, from the shore, there sprang up what always springs up when any group of sailors take to land--what in general may be called rough fooling. It was started by Nate Crosby, the most irrepressible devil of the whole crew, throwing his leg between those of the sailor who walked beside him, and sending him sprawling to the ground, his face tearing into one of the stunted cedars. As he rose, he plucked the cedar up, and began lashing Nate about the neck and face, and not only did he deal blows at Nate, but also upon those who laughed at the way Nate had thrown him. Whereupon some five or six others uprooted cedars and fell to cracking back, and then at each other.

"What in thunder are you thinking of, you devil's birds?" said the leader, stepping back among them. "Quit this fooling. We're darn near in sight of the inn, and instead of keeping your eyes skinned for just what some of us got the last time we tried this thing, you've taken to rollicking. Spread out, spread out; don't bunch up, if you've got any wit whatever. Nate, cast away that cedar; cast it away, and come with me to the head of the gang."

They reached the inn and filed into the front room. There was no one at home but Widow Molly and Judy, and both were at work in the kitchen. The noise and boisterous talk brought Widow Molly to the room in an instant, and Judy, taking one peep, scrambled down cellar and hid herself in a bin.

"Ah! Dame Molly," said the leader very affably, as she entered, "a surprise to you! What of cheer can ye make us?"

"Mek it damn quick, too," broke in a rough voice.

"Hold your jaw, you ill-trained cur," spoke the leader, smiting the upstart flat-handed on the mouth.

Such words, the black bands with fierce eyes looking through, the knives and pistols thrust in their belts, told Widow Molly that the gang of outlaws had landed and were in her house. The thought that she was alone came swift, and she stood a moment stricken and dazed. But quite as suddenly she regained her self-possession, stepped past them into an adjoining room, reached a decanter and glasses, and setting these before them, bade them drink their pleasure.

"More, _more_," thundered one outlaw, hammering on the table with the butt of his pistol.

She brought another decanter and glasses. The two decanters were emptied, refilled, and emptied again before the outlaws gave heed to anything else.

"And now, Dame Molly, thou hast well slaked our thirst, can'st thou not bring something to stay our stomachs," said the leader.

"An' bring thy silver spoons, too," said another of the company, who, turning towards her, chucked her under the chin.

Her eyes flashed with resentment at the indignity, and swiftly she whirled a stinging slap in the intruder's face.

A roar of laughter filled the room, and derisively they cried, "Try it ag'in, now, will ye? Try it ag'in."

Widow Molly's heart beat hard. Her breath was catchy, and with her capacious lungs that was a new experience. A way of escape was her first thought. Should she slip out of the kitchen door, run a mile to the nearest neighbor, and give the alarm?

She found no chance to do it, for three of the outlaws followed her into the pantry and then into the kitchen. Nothing was left but to put on the bravest appearance, and she had already done that. Had they been soldiers with muskets, their presence would not have affected her as it did. She was used to muskets. But the dirks, sheath-knives, and horse-pistols that filled their belts gave her a tremor.

Everything eatable the inn afforded she set before them, and although there was considerable of it, it was not sufficient to fill them all. During the whole while, Widow Molly waited on the ravenous crowd, and when the eating came to an end, the leader said, "And now, Dame Molly, produce thy purse and what of gold thou hast besides." She drew forth her purse and emptied it upon the table. A sailor started towards the table and made a grab, but he was caught by the leader, and shoved back against the wall with a thud.

"Four pound ten," said the leader, counting it; "and that's all ye have about, Dame Molly? Search the house from garret to cellar. Hold--two stay in the room with our landlady."

Forth they burst into all parts of the house, striding up stairs, kicking open doors instead of unlatching them. Clatter and din came from every room. Beds were upturned, drawers ransacked and the contents turned upon the floor, looked over, and then kicked into corners to make room for other examinations. Closets were rummaged, feather-beds and pillows thrown upon the floor, felt over carefully, and then as carefully trodden over, to make sure nothing was concealed therein.

"Look for loose bricks in the fireplaces. See if the hearth-stones are tight down," shouted the leader, from the head of the stairs.

And with these words, Widow Molly heard Judy's cries from the cellar imploring mercy from the outlaw who was hustling her about and demanding where the silver was.

"Oh, please, sah, lem me go. Don't. Oh! oh! don't."

"No, sah; no, sah; true es I lib, missus ain't got no silber."

"Oh, dear, hab marcy, please, sah; do hab marcy. Oh, _oh_!-- -- --you break my poor ol' arm."

"Fall on yer knees. Stop your beggin' for mercy."

"Yes, sah; _yes, sah_. Hab a little marcy. Oh!-- -- --."

"Clasp yer hands above yer head. Keep 'em up there."

"Oh, sah, _oh_!-- -- --"

"Stop yer beggin'. Another whimper and I'll pull. Now, you tell quick, where the silver is, or I'll blow your old black head into mince-meat."

Judy, shaking with fear, told him.

The outlaw came up out of the cellar, and rummaged where Judy had said. Securing several small pieces of silverware, he came back into the front room. Then for the first time he noticed the gun, with its bright mountings, which stood in the corner, and walking towards it, he remarked, "That gun's mine."

"No," replied Widow Molly, her affection rising as she thought of him to whom the gun belonged. "You can have anything else. That's a friend's gun."

He took it, and Widow Molly, who had already stepped across the room, seized the gun, and with one strong, quick twist, wrested it from him. Setting it back in the corner, she replied, "That you can't have as long as I can defend it."

One of the outlaws who had been keeping her prisoner now tried the same game. All the woman's soul again stirred within her. She wrested the gun from him, but the struggle was hard and long.

"I tell you," she said, as she fell back with the gun in her possession--"I tell you," she repeated between breaths, "that's a friend's gun, and I'll defend it. You can't have it."

Then with the gun in her hand she walked directly across the room into an adjoining one, and set the gun behind the door.

In the meantime the leader passed from room to room to see what valuables had been found. The outlaws put into their pockets a few nondescript articles that struck their fancy, but nothing of any great value, and they had searched through everything. For some time there had been cursing at their want of luck, but now that it had become disappointment, their blasphemy was frightful. The whole gang came tramping down the stairs, swearing and threatening in ugly mood, and filed into the front room. Widow Molly, who stood at the farthest side, grew deathly white.

They will now, thought she, resort to some desperate scheme. She took a long, deep breath, and then caught it to stop the flutter of her bosom. "And no one comes!" she almost said aloud in her emotion.

All through the time of their ransacking, she had felt that they would be surprised in their robbery by a company of the townsmen, or that, perchance, some body of horsemen would ride up. Now that hope was wholly gone.

But shouts came from two outlaws in the garret who had been reaching down behind the rafters.

"Gold--gold!" they shouted. "We've found it. We ain't _clean_ dished."

The outlaws in the front room surged into the hall, and yelled as the finders came jumping down-stairs. The group at the foot of the stairs stood back to give passage, and the finders rushed through into the front room, followed eagerly by the crowd.

Nate Crosby threw upon the table a stout, heavily-filled stocking, drew his sheath-knife, severed the stocking just below where it was tied, and poured the contents out upon the table.

"Stand back," said the leader, "whilst I count and divide."

The group very willingly stood back, formed a circle about the table, and grinned and chuckled as the coins were counted.

"One hundred and eighty pounds, all told."

The leader counted out a pile to each man, setting up the coins as he did so. And when this was done, he handed each man his pile. "The other booty," he said, "goes into the common lot."

"And now, my rovers," continued the leader, "no more marauding for this day. Back to our boat, forthwith."

"Good-day, Dame Molly. Your hospitality has been right well enjoyed;" and hurrying out of the house, the outlaws struck into a run for the landing.

Widow Molly sank into a chair, and let her arms fall beside her in an exhausted way. After a brief space she summoned energy sufficient to go to the window and assure herself that they were not returning. She was just in time to see them disappear below the curve of the cedar lot. One outlaw at the rear, she noticed, carried a gun. She turned swiftly and went into the adjoining room to see whether the gun had been taken from behind the door. It was gone. Then Widow Molly buried her face in her hands and cried bitterly.

"Devil Dan'l showed that gang the way, you may be sartin'. Who else 'ud know the place and Widow Molly's name?" was the common remark from Swan River to Penataquit.

The feeling against the outlaws was intense, and a company of men from five leagues along the South Road was organized to be ready at courier's summons.

For a few days the schooner's masts were seen outside the Beach, coursing one day westward, and the next eastward--lingering for some purpose off the coast.

Another descent was expected, and the inhabitants conjectured it would be made during the night. Squads of five or six men patrolled their neighborhoods, with horses ready to summon other squads in any emergency.

On the fourth night, the scattered guard-groups noticed, early in the evening, the low beat of the surf upon the Beach. In the course of the night it grew stronger, and the pounding of each huge breaker could be distinctly told.

In those days every man was a weather-prophet, and every man awake that night said, "There's a big storm off at sea, and we'll likely get it here."

The next day broke with a dull sky and a raw east wind that betokened the coming of the storm. The wind rose as the day progressed, and mid-afternoon a few drops of rain--the harbingers of the storm--showed themselves upon the window-panes. At that very hour, the schooner, low-reefed, was seen close in under the Beach, scudding westward. It was evident to those who saw her that she was making for some near harbor.

The night came wild and wet. The wind blew great rushing sweeps from the south-east, crowding the water up into the western part of the Bay, forcing it up creeks and over meadows. Between midnight and morning, the wind suddenly shifted into the west, like the banging of a door, and blew with just as great fury. The whole black area of clouds and rain bore back from the west. The gulls alone found life in it.

In three hours the wind wore itself out, but there followed a thick morning, with the Bay and the sky all one wet blend of gray. At noon the dampness lifted, and the Beach showed itself.

Keen eyes were not long in discerning, as they scanned it, two masts and a hull, heeled over. The schooner was ashore--inside the Beach at the Point of Woods.

Scudding west the afternoon before, and now ashore at the Point of Woods and heeled over! What was the inference from the two things? Plainly to every inhabitant, that the outlaws had run the schooner into Fire Island for a harbor, and when the wind made that sudden shift, the vessel had fouled anchor or parted chain and had gone ashore.

That afternoon there was brisk riding to summon the squads of men.

"Now's our chance, if ever. They'll hang on there till high tide 'bout midnight, an' try to get 'er off. But they won't find as much water piled up there agin at high tide as they went ashore in. An' to-morrow, after workin' an' tuggin' half the night to no purpose, they'll conclude to abandon her," were the rousing words of a man who gathered a small squad at Islip within half an hour after the word of summons came.

By understanding, the place of rendezvous was the old tavern still standing at Blue Point, where the road running south makes a sharp angle and bends to the west.

Two squads came from the west--twelve men. They halted at Widow Molly's, and rested a short time in that front room. They talked of the ransacking and robbery of the house, and nothing else; boasted of the vengeance they would take out of those "hell-birds;" drank two or three times around, and then set out for Blue Point, assuring the hostess that they would recover her gold.

Widow Molly made no reply to this, but to Captain Ben of the Penataquit squad, with whom she walked to the door, she said quietly, "Bring back, if nothing else, a gun with brass mountings, which they took the last thing without my knowing it. It must be on board somewhere."

A squad came up from Patchogue, and when those from the west arrived at the tavern, there were twenty-six men ready for the enterprise.

Three hours passed in discussing plans and selecting a leader. It could not have been done in less time. Every man had _his_ ideas, and every man had to be heard. And so the company gradually broke up into groups. One knot of men stood outside the tavern door, a group of five or six were out by the barn, a number walked towards the shore to see just the position the schooner lay in, thinking that a sight of her from Blue Point would suggest the best move to make. When those who walked towards the shore came back, they suggested that all go into the tavern and either all agree upon some plan or give the affair up and go home. In all the discussion two or three self-contained men had kept quiet, knowing evidently that there must be just so much futile talk, and that when this had become tiresome, the company would adopt any good plan.

Among those who had said very little was Captain Ben of Penataquit. A little vexed, he suddenly stepped into a chair and spoke: "This talk can go on till Doomsday, but it won't accomplish anything. Now, I know, there has been three or four plans stated; but I propose this as the surest one, though it'll take longer an' be harder on us. After dark, muffle our oars, an' row across the Bay to Long Cove. Land there, draw our boats up an' cover 'em with sea-weed. At midnight start west along the surf-shore, an' when we get opposite to where the schooner is ashore, cross the Beach, an' surprise the crew at daybreak. That's the main plan. All the rest'll have to be decided accordin' to what turns up."

This plan met a hearty reception; and someone forthwith proposed that Captain Ben be made leader, which was just as heartily agreed to.

It was four miles across to Long Cove, and nearly seven miles down the Beach to where the schooner lay. They took with them such provisions as could be secured, and as soon as twilight had wholly faded, pulled across the Bay. It was past nine o'clock when they made the start, for the days were then at their longest.

They struck the Beach a little east of Long Cove, but followed it up, entered the Cove, and drew their boats up.

"We've got plenty o' time," said Captain Ben, "an' we'd better take a bite o' what we've got afore we start. There's no knowin' when we'll get the next chance."

Standing around the boats or sitting on the gunwales, the men ate and drank and talked. Shortly after midnight they shouldered their arms, crossed the Beach, and began the march westward along the surf shore.

The inner side of the Beach is covered with marshes and meadows, indented most irregularly by the Bay. But along the ocean side there is a smooth piece of strand, six or eight rods wide, and flanked all along by steep sand-hills, which sometimes rise thirty feet high. Along this piece of strand lay their line of march. It was hard travelling, for the sand, unless wet, is not firm, but yields under the foot, and gives forth at every step a creaking note, doubtless caused by the particles of salt that are commingled with the sand. The sounds coming from so many footsteps made one continuous creaking, very much like the sound of a loaded wagon drawn over a snow-packed road.

The surf boomed and pounded, rushed and seethed and swirled, so that thirty rods from the group the noise of their footsteps was swallowed up. The men, though, heard the creaking continually, and it apparently grew louder and more distinct. It seemed to them to be giving the alarm of their coming to the whole Beach.

"I'm goin' to take to the wet sand," said a man in the middle of the group. "I've had enough of this everlastin' creak, creak, creak."

The tide was half-way down, and as he struck for the wet sand, he was followed by the rest of the company. They found the sand firmer, and the walking easier. Now and then a wave would lap up and wet their feet. They were used to wet feet, all of them; but creaking sand at every footstep on a midnight march they could not endure.

When the first streaks of daylight showed themselves in the east, Captain Ben put his followers in file close up under the surf hills. So soon as daylight grew strong enough to define faintly the reaches of the coast, he crept to the top of the row of hills, and reconnoitred the Beach. He could just make out dimly, a mile westward, the masts and hull of the stranded schooner. He backed down from the sand-hill and reported what he had seen.

"About a mile to west'ard, an' nobody stirrin' as I can make out. See that your guns are all well primed an' dry. Keep in close to the hills till we get abreast the spot. And now, forward!"

There were two or three places in the hills in that mile, where the ocean had broken through and poured its waters over low spots of beach into the Bay. Cautiously the men skulked by these openings.

"I b'lieve in bein' wary," said a Blue Point bay-man. "There's no calc'latin' what we may run upon any minute--mebbe the hull poss on 'em in some o' these ere hill hollers."

The daylight was now fast flooding ocean and Beach and Bay. What they were to do must be done quickly.