" The brusque figure of old Jack,
immersed in watchfulness, paced to and fro the Maggy's deck; and in
the city as trim a young sailor as ever served signal halliards on
board man-o'-war, might be seen, his canvas bag slung over his
shoulder, carelessly plodding along through the busy street, for the
landing at the market slip. Soon the Maggy's flying jib was run up,
then the foresail followed and hung loose by the throat. Near the
wheel, as if in contemplation, sat Montague, while Hardweather
continued his pacing, now glancing aloft, then to seaward, as if
invoking Boreas' all-welcome aid, and again watching intently in the
direction of the slip. A few minutes more and a boat glided from the
wharf, and rowed away for the little craft, which it soon reached,
and on board of which the young sailor flung his bag, clambered over
the rail, and seemed happy, as old Jack put out his brawny hand,
saying: "Come youngster, bear a hand now, and set about brightening
up the coppers!" We need not here discover the hearts that leaped
with joy just then; we need not describe the anxiety that found
relief when the young sailor set foot on the Maggy's deck; nor need
we describe those eyes on shore that in tears watched the slender
form as it disappeared from sight. Just then a breeze wafted from
the north, the anchor was hove up, the sails trimmed home, and
slowly seaward moved the little bark. As she drifted rather than
sailed past Fort Pinkney, two burly officials, as is the custom,
boarded to search for hapless fugitives; but, having great
confidence in the honesty of Skipper Splitwater, who never failed to
give them of his best cheer, they drank a pleasant passage to him,
made a cursory search, a note of the names of all on board (Jack
saying Tom Bolt was the young sailor's), and left quite satisfied.
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