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<h2>CHAPTER 16</h2> <div class="figleft"><ANTIMG src="images/image_c.jpg" alt="C" width-obs="81" height-obs="75" /></div> ome along, Amos! We must get a closer look at that ship!" Chris cried, putting his glass away. Scrambling down, the two boys ran along the stream until it was shallow enough to cross. The water was icy, telling, as well as the turning leaves and cooler air, that fall had come and winter was on the way. Hurrying forward, Chris and Amos reached the mouth of the stream where it joined the river. There on the left bank of Rock Creek, high rushes grew in rank profusion on the marshy land. They rose higher than the heads of the two boys and were too closely packed to allow for easy passage. "We'll have to skirt the very edge," Chris said glancing about. "Barefoot would be the best. This soft ground would soon go over our shoes and maybe suck them down." "Keep right against the rushes," Chris warned Amos, "and if a boat shows up coming from the wharves, we can't take any chances. We'll have to dive into the rushes and hide, just in case it's Claggett Chew." <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_118.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="556" alt="Illustration" /></div> "That's right," Amos nodded his head vigorously. "I don't want to meet him again, and you do less'n me!" he chuckled. The two went on, making slow progress, for the river was deep at that point, with little foothold between the end of the jungle of reeds and deep water. "Keep an eye out, Amos!" Chris called back over his shoulder as he went ahead. It was no time before Amos's voice came huskily up to his friend. "Chris! Chris—hold on! There's a boat with four men in it just left the last wharf, and they're headin' this way! Get in those rushes quick—my clothes is mighty bright!" <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_119.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="340" alt="Illustration" /></div> Rushing and panting, they shoved their way into the dusty rushes, groping back until they could barely see the river through the stalks. And it was just in time, for barely were they hidden when they heard, carried over the water, the dip and splash of two pairs of oars and the creak of oarlocks. Then, in another moment, came the high-pitched voice of Osterbridge Hawsey. Chris gave a shiver as it reached him. "Claggett," came the voice of the fop, who with Claggett Chew was sitting in the stern of the boat, "Claggett—I find myself quite, quite fatigued. A little wine, I fancy, might revive me when we reach the ship. Heated, I think, and spiced, to ward off the night chill. And Claggett," went on the voice, almost upon them now it was so clear, "what do you think of this muslin for my new shirts? Is it not delicate? Irish, cela va sans dire, as the dear French say. I feel sure it will be satisfactory." From Claggett Chew the two boys heard not a word, and peering out, they saw the boat shoot by. Osterbridge Hawsey, wrapped in a great cloak, was admiring a bolt of muslin that he held, but Claggett Chew, his face shadowed by a hat, was holding his whip upon his knees and glowering at the water. The boat passed, and some time after, the two boys heard from across the water the echo of wood against wood as the dinghy reached the Venture's hull. After a while, as the boys were about to move along, a heavy dropping sound, and the shuddering of the marshy ground, made the two in hiding look at one another in concern. "What in the world?" Chris murmured. The sound, accompanied by steps, oaths, and a rhythmical drop and shudder, continued farther along the shore. Stealthily, trying not to shake the rushes and so show where they might be, Chris and Amos pushed through the marsh. The sun was setting as they came near the steps and voices. Pushing through the reeds towards the river, Chris found that they were nearly opposite where the Venture floated, below Mr. Mason's island, and at a desolate part of the river. Chris gestured Amos forward, and they went on step by step until, in a pause of the thundering dropping sound, they knew themselves to be near its origin and parted the reeds enough to see. There, within a few yards of them and at the edge of a hard-beaten track from the main shore, lay a mass of cannon balls and shot for guns of various sizes, such as are used on men-of-war. The crew of the Venture, able to carry but one at a time, kept a line going from shore to pile, and this, as they dropped the cannon balls from their shoulders, was the sound and shaking of the ground the boys had heard and felt. Seeing the red caps and kerchiefed heads of men above the rushes, the boys let the reeds fall back. "I'm going to have a look at the ship through the glass," Chris whispered, and moved forward closer to the shore. Parting the stalks, he trained the glass on Claggett Chew's ship. It was a fine, rich vessel, that was evident, and swarming with activity. At this hour of dusk, other boats along the river had stopped their commerce for the day and there were none to observe what Claggett Chew might be about. Chris and Amos were the only watchers. The cannon balls and ammunition were taken out in boats and hoisted up in nets. Chris observed everything closely, and saw still other crewmen disappearing with their burdens down the hold. Then something caught his eye and he examined the name along the side through the spyglass. Curious, thought Chris, that all the letters of the ship's name seemed exact except the second and third. Among the other letters of carved and gilded wood, the E and N were not quite as straight in line as the rest. Oh well, Chris thought, it's doubtless a custom of the time for all I know. Putting the glass in his pocket, he rejoined Amos, but as he did so the last two sailors put down their cannon balls and wiped the sweat off their foreheads with their arms. In the ensuing silence the rustle of the rushes as Chris and Amos moved away was plainly to be heard. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_122.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="447" alt="Illustration" /></div> "What's that?" one man cried out. "Is a spy there? Here—take this club and beat about—we'll catch 'em!" The two men charged into the marsh so fast that Chris barely had time to whisper to Amos: "Hurry Amos—run! I'll be all right. I'll draw them off! I'll meet you where we ford the stream!" Amos safely out of sight, the men came only on a stray dog foraging for rats, wagging its tail and letting out a yip or two as it followed a scent along the ground. "Give it a kick—there—it's only a stray dog," one said. "Oh—devil take it—what do I care?" answered the other, turning back. The dog lay panting at the river's edge. Looking past the ship as it rested, it saw what it thought was snow upon the water and the banks. But it was just thousands of ducks migrating south, and when they rose to move farther away, the sky was overcast and thunderous with their wings. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_123.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="471" alt="Illustration" /></div> Long after dark, cold, dirty, and quite wet, the two boys reached the house on Water Street. "Where did you go?" Becky inquired, frowning with solicitude at the bedraggled pair. "Oh, no place much," Chris answered, yawning. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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