Fishing pole tucked beneath his arm, the minister started up the pier, smiling and bobbing his head at those who called greetings to him. Despite his broad-brimmed straw hat he had picked up a sunburn, and his nose was very red. His outing had apparently done him good, for his eyes were clear and sparkling, and if he suffered any discomfort from the bum, he did not show it.
As he stepped off the dock onto dry land, Gabriel called to him: "Which way we go? Harbor Street best, I think."
The clergyman did not slacken his pace. "No, Gabriel," he said unconcernedly. "We'll take the waterfront route. It's by far the quickest."
"But "
"I'm hungry, Gabriel." Reverend Pennywell chuckled. "You and Michael are accustomed to life in the open, but I'm not— and I'm ravenous. And there's nothing I crave so much as one of these fine fish we've caught today!"
Before they had walked one hundred yards, the reason for Gabriel's objections became evident. The Duke of York was riding at anchor in her berth, and her captain. Lieutenant Commander Hardy, was standing in the midst of a small knot of officers, one of them an army man. Their conversation was earnest and seemed somewhat heated. The two Negroes instinctively began to increase their tempo, but the minister deliberately slowed his pace.
"Good day, Mr. Hardy," he called. "Gentlemen, greetings!"
The master of the Duke of York seemed to welcome the opportunity for a brief respite from the talk of his companions, broke away from them, and hurried to the clergyman, hand outstretched. "Good day. Reverend Pennywell," he said. "What luck have you had today?"
" 'The life is more than meat.' Luke, 12. Nevertheless, my harvest was excellent. Michael, Gabriel—set the boat down upon the ground, if you please."
The two men did so, their faces wooden, and the reverend pointed with considerable pleasure to the strings of fish still wriggling and flopping on the planking of the bottom. Commander Hardy leaned over and examined the catch, his face alive. It was obvious that the sport of fishing held a considerable interest for him.
"Well!" he boomed. "You've had damned—excuse me, Reverend—exceptional luck. Half a dozen kingfish, a great mound of snapper "
"The parable of the loaves and fishes is not without parallels in our own day, Mr. Hardy. Or so it would seem." Reverend Pennywell's eyes were twinkling merrily. "May I offer you a portion of the catch? My niece and I can eat but a small share before it spoils, and even these two brutes with their great appetites can manage to make but a small dent in the total."
Commander Hardy beamed with pleasure. "Reverend," he said enthusiastically, "this is damned—exceptionally kind of you. It so happens I'm very partial to freshly caught snapper, so if I may I'll take advantage of your generous offer, I will. I will indeed, sir!" He examined the fish critically, then hauled out a string of four plump snappers. "Wilson," he bellowed, "come over here! On the double!"
A seaman lounging at the water's edge ran up and saluted sloppily. The commander handed him the fish and spoke to him slowly, as one would to a child. "Fill a large basin with water and put these fish into it. As they've just been in the sea, they're still alive—and I must congratulate you, Reverend, for not destroying the delicacy of their flavor by allowing them to fry under the sun's rays at the bottom of your little craft all day. But remember this, Wilson—^you are not to drop them into the sea at the end of a line, for the cutter that operates in the bay has reported that the roads will be full of sharks tonight. Place them in a large container of water in the Duke of York's galley."
"Aye, aye, sir." Again the sailor saluted and hurried off.
Without waiting to be told, Gabriel and Michael picked up the rowboat and once again balanced it on their shoulders. Reverend Pennywell shook hands with the commander, who was still thanking him profusely as the minister started toward home. A gentle smile lighted the cleric's face, then he suddenly pursed his lips and began to whistle. The tune was an old Crusaders' hymn, "Marching to God."
Chapter Ten
ESTHER MARY PENNYWELL was standing in the door as her uncle strolled up the front walk of the little house, and Janine was somewhere behind her, where she would not be seen by a passer-by on the road. Neither girl spoke as he entered the house, and although Janine had no real idea of what possible connection the minister had with the effort to rescue Jeremy Stone, she was as tense as Esther Mary. The reverend placed the fishing pole against the wall, and for once he refrained from citing biblical quotations.
"I've never enjoyed a more successful day of fishing," he said succinctly. "I'm very proud of my day's catch."
"Where are your fish, Uncle Jonas?" Esther Mary worded her question with great care.
"In the shed. Gabriel and Michael are cleaning them. You'll be happy to see the size of my haul if you have time to wander out there."
"There's nothing I'd like better." Esther Mary was already stalking through the house to the back door. "Come along, Sister Janine," she called over her shoulder.
It was growing dark when the two girls burst into the shed, and they stood for a moment in the doorway to accustom their eyes to the gloom. Michael was tossing strings of fish into a wooden pail and Gabriel was on his knees in the dirt, leaning over the edge of the boat and doing something with the sharp end of an ax. Esther Mary laughed quietly, and her relief was evident. The two Negroes looked up from their work and grinned, but neither spoke.
Janine, peering over Esther Mary's shoulder, crowded closer. To her utter amazement, she saw that Gabriel was prying up the flooring of the boat, and she caught a glimpse of a patch of human skin. The rowboat had a false bottom, and between the flooring and the hull there was a narrow space, just big enough for a man.
Esther Mary broke the silence. "Michael, help him!" she commanded.
The husky Negro hastened to obey, and in a few seconds the upper half of Jeremy's body was revealed. The skin on his arms and chest was blistered, his eyes were closed, and his face was bloated and raw. In the dim half-light it seemed to Janine that he had stopped breathing,
"Is he—still alive?" she asked faintly.
Gabriel did not pause in his work. "Him alive," he answered shortly. "But sick. Plenty sick."
Esther Mary knelt beside the boat and first felt Jeremy's forehead, then pried open his eyes and examined them critically. "He's sick, all right," she said. "I can't be sure in this light, but I think he has the Yellow Death." She stood, squared her shoulders, and jammed her thumbs into her belt. "It can't be helped, he'll have to be moved regardless. The Duke of York makes at least one more trip this evening, and when they discover he's disappeared, they'll scour the town for him."
Michael, who had apparently been paying no attention to the conversation, pried up a board and looked at Esther Mary, his dark eyes filled with deep concern. "Can't keep him here till he better, Mistress Essie?"
"No, Michael." She frowned and shook her head. "There's no place to hide him here, and when he grows delirious he's
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likely to shout and scream. You've seen people with the Yellow Death before."
"Me see. And me know this one maybe not live if take him someplace now, Mistress Essie."