Chapter 2 SCULLING IN THE NIGHT

The thing Ruth saw on the water was startling, mysterious. Nothing quite like it had ever come into her life before. She could not believe her eyes. Yet she dared not doubt them. A moment before she had dreamed of pirates with pistols in their belts. Now out there on the sea they were, or at least seemed to be, in real life. There could be no denying the existence of a boat on those black waters of night; a long narrow boat propelled by six pairs of sweeping oars swinging in perfect rhythm. This much the flare of light had shown her.

More, too; there was no use trying to deny it. She had seen the men only too clearly. Dressed in long, black coats, with red scarfs about their necks and broad-brimmed hats on their heads, with their white teeth gleaming, they looked fierce enough.

Strangest of all, there were pistols of the ancient sort and long knives in their belts.

What made her shudder was the sign of skull and cross-bones on the black flag they carried.

"Pirates! What nonsense!" she thought. "Not been one off the Maine coast in a hundred years." Pausing to listen, she caught again the creak of oarlocks.

"Betty! Betty!" she whispered frantically. "Hurry! We'll be trapped!"

Poor Betty! She certainly was having her troubles. Frightened half out of her wits; expecting at any moment to be arrested for trespassing, or who knows what, she struggled madly with her half dry and much wrinkled garments.

"It's all my fault," she half sobbed. "I insisted on coming up here. Now we shall be caught. I-I hope they don't hang us at the yardarm."

This last, she knew, was nonsense; but in the excitement she was growing a trifle hysterical.

At last, with shoes and stockings in her hands, she emerged from the door.

Gripping her arm tight and whispering, "Don't speak! Not a sound!" Ruth led her rapidly to the end of the rope ladder.

"Follow me. Drop in the boat. Sit perfectly still."

Tremblingly, Betty obeyed. Presently they were in the punt. The sound of rowing came much more clearly now. They could even hear the labored breathing of the oarsmen.

Thankful for the darkness, Ruth thrust an oar into a socket at the back of the boat and began wabbling it about in the water. She was sculling, the most silent way to move a boat through the water.

"We-we'll go round the bow," she thought, as a sudden sound set her heart racing.

"If only they don't light another flare!"

With a prayer on her lips which was half supplication for forgiveness and half petition for safety, she threw all her superb strength into the task before her.

Many times she had rowed around the Black Gull. Never before had it seemed half so far.

Now they had covered half the distance, now three-quarters. And now there came a panic-inspiring gleam of light on the sea. It lasted a second, then blinked out.

"Only a match." Her heart gave a bound of joy. "But if they strike another, if they are attempting to light a flare!" She redoubled her energy at the oar. Great beads of perspiration stood out on her brow as they rounded the stern of the ship.

Even then catastrophe threatened, for the ship's anchor chain, touched by the punt, sent out a rattling sound.

"What was that?" came a bass voice from the sea.

An instant later the sea was all aglow with a second flare. But luck was with them. They had rounded the ship's hull and were out of sight.

"If they row around her, we are caught," whispered Betty.

Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty, forty, a minute. Then came the sounds of a boat bumping the ship and of men ascending the rope ladder.

"Not coming!" Ruth breathed a sigh of relief.

"We'll just move back under the stern by the rudder," she whispered a moment later. "Even if they look over the side they won't be able to see us there."

"Who-who are they?" Betty's question carried a thrill.

"I don't know."

"What do they look like?"

Ruth told her.

"Oh, oh!" Betty barely suppressed a gasp.

"But they can't be!" she said the next moment.

"They are," said Ruth. "And they are going to man the Black Gull and sail her away. The wind is rising. There's plenty of sail. A sail boat makes no noise. What's to hinder?"

"What could they want with her?"

"Don't know; for exhibition, sea pageant, moving pictures, or something. Captain Munson, the owner, has been offered ten thousand dollars for her. Moving picture company wants her. She's the last six-master in the world."

"Betty," she whispered, impressively, after there had been time for thought, "we've got to do something. We can't let the Black Gull go like this. The Black Gull doesn't belong just to Captain Munson. She belongs to all us Maine folks. That's why he won't sell her. She stands for something, for a grand and glorious past, the past of our coast and of the most wonderful state in the Union.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," she whispered. "They're all on board now. We'll scull around and get their boat. We'll tow it ashore so they can't escape, then spread the alarm. Even if they get out to sea, the fast cutter will catch them and bring them back."

"I h-hope," chattered Betty, half beside herself with fear, "that they don't catch us. I wouldn't like to walk the plank."

"They won't," said Ruth. There was an air of conviction in her tone. Alas for conviction.

Once more their punt, creeping forward in the dark, rounded the ship's hull and came at last to a point but a boat's length from a long, dark bulk just ahead.

"Their boat," thought Ruth. "We'll be away in a moment." But they were not.

That they were taking grave chances, Ruth knew right well. Her heart was in her throat as she sent her punt gliding through the dark. Only thoughts of her beloved Maine and the ancient six-master that stood for so much that was grand and glorious in the past could have induced her to run the risk. Run the risk she did. Trouble came sooner than she dreamed.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the dim light told her that there was no one in the long boat that had brought the black-robed crew to the ship.

Her relief was short lived. She had succeeded in untying the painter of that other boat and swinging it half about, when there came a harsh jangling of chains. A rusty chain dangling from the side of the ship had caught in the stern of the long boat and, slipping free, had gone thudding against the hull. Ten seconds of suspense ended with a gruff:

"Who's there?" and the sudden flash of a brilliant electric torch which brought the two girls out in bold relief.

At once there followed exclamations of astonishment as dark figures crowded the deck above them.

"Trying to steal our boat," said one.

"Ought to walk the plank," came from another.

"Up with 'em!" said another, placing a foot on the top rung of the ladder.

Ruth sat there, red-faced, defiant. Betty was beginning to cry softly, when a fourth person spoke up suddenly:

"Lay off it, boys! Can't you see they're just girls? I don't know what they are about, but I'm bound to say it can't be anything wrong. One of 'em is Tom Bracket's girl. I know her well."

Ruth's heart gave a great leap of joy. She had recognized her champion's voice. He was Patrick O'Connor, the skipper of a sea-going tug, one of her father's good friends.

At once her head was in a whirl. What could it all mean? Captain O'Connor dressed as a pirate and aiding in a night raid of the harbor? The thing seemed impossible.

Her thoughts were broken short off by the voice of the man on the ladder.

"I'm still in favor of havin' 'em tell their story. An' mebby girls don't care for pie and hot coffee an' the like."

"We'll leave it to them," said Captain O'Connor. "If they want to come up we'll be glad to have them. If they don't, then they have their punt. Let them go. What do you say, girls?"

"Come on," said Ruth. There was a large lump in her throat. "We've got to go up. 'Twon't do to let them misunderstand."

Truth was, there were things she did not understand and that she wanted dreadfully to know about.

So, once more, hand over hand, they went up the rope ladder and tumbled in upon the deck.

Ten minutes later the two girls found themselves seated one on either side of Captain O'Connor before the massive mahogany table in the cabin of the Black Gull.

The table was piled high with good things to eat. A great copper kettle filled with doughnuts, a basket of sandwiches, two hams roasted whole, a steaming tank of coffee, and pies without end, graced the board. A merry band of pirates, surely. Most surprising of all was the fact that the pirate at the head of the table, blackest and fiercest of them all, was none other than Captain Munson, owner of the Black Gull.

"Now," said Captain Munson, and there was a friendly smile on his formidable face, "I am sure you will enjoy the meal more fully if you tell us first why you were about to take our boat."

"Rest assured," he said, as he saw the crimson flush on Ruth's cheek, "you stand absolved. You shall not walk the plank."