THE OBLIGATION OF A GENTLEMAN

The fog held throughout the day, changing to a deluge of rain about nightfall, but Cal and Tom had provided an abundance of firewood, the palmete shelter was waterproof, the long gray moss with which it was carpeted was soft to loll upon, and the book from which they read aloud by turns proved to be an amusing one. Larry kept his promise and indulged in no further impatience.

When morning came the rain was still coming down in torrents, and it was unanimously agreed that no attempt should be made to quit the place until it should cease.

“An open rowboat in a heavy rain is about the wettest place imaginable,” Dick said, and the experience of the rest had been such as to confirm the judgment.

When at last a brisk westerly wind began to tear the clouds to pieces, all agreed that Larry’s patience had fairly earned its reward, and all hands worked hard to get as early a start as possible. It was two o’clock in fact when they finally set sail, with Cal again at the helm because he knew of a narrow but navigable passage which would enable them to avoid the heavy ebb tide of the channel that Larry had selected two days before. The tide would not begin to ebb for two or three hours to come, and by taking this short cut Cal hoped to reach broad waters before that time.

He did so in fact, but upon running out of the little creek he was disappointed to find that a shift had given him a headwind to contend with. There was nothing for it but to beat to windward, and the breeze was so light that their progress was slow. Cal made the best of conditions as he found them, according to his custom, but about sunset the tide turned against him, and worse than that, the wind went down with the sun, leaving not a breath to fill the sails.

Then Cal asked for orders.

“What is your wish, Captain Larry?” he asked. “Shall we take to the oars and push on against the tide, or land for the night? Without a favoring wind we can’t possibly make Beaufort to-night.”

“What do the rest of you say?” asked Larry, in some perplexity.

“Never mind what anybody else says,” broke in Cal, before the others could answer. “This isn’t a debating club or an advisory council of ancients, or anything else of the kind. We’re a ship’s company and you are the captain; so give your orders.”

“Very well, we’ll run ashore. Do you know of a suitable place, Cal?”

“No, not from personal experience in these parts, but I’ve been watching the coast-line over there to starboard, and I think I make out the mouth of a small creek or inlet. The chart doesn’t show it very distinctly, but it roughly indicates a number of small indentations in the land, and the soundings given for all that shore seem satisfactory.”

“To the oars then,” said Larry, “and we’ll look for a landing place somewhere over there. The whole shore seems to be heavily wooded. Pull away.”

It was fully dark when Cal’s keen eyes found what he was looking for, namely, the sheltered mouth of a small creek or inlet, heavily overshadowed by woods and a tangled undergrowth.

Running into it the company landed on a small bluff-like bit of shore and made things snug for the night. The heavy dew, so prevalent on that coast, was already dripping from the trees, and the air was very chill. To avoid the dew drippings the camp-fire was built close to the margin of the inlet at a point where a little patch of star-studded sky showed clear overhead.

The little company sat with their backs against a large fallen tree as they ate their supper and planned an early start for the morrow. All were eager to make the visit to Beaufort and have it over with as soon as possible, for a reason which Dick put into words:

“I’m anxious to go to Quasi. The very name of the place appeals to my imagination; the story of it fascinates me. How long will it take us to get there, Cal, after we finish what we have to do at Beaufort?”

“The wind bloweth where it listeth, you know,” Cal answered; “and worse still, it doesn’t blow at all unless it is doing a little ‘listing’; the tides are subservient to the will of the sun and moon, and we must reckon upon them as a frequently opposing force; then too, there are fogs sometimes, as recent experience has taught us, to say nothing of possible encounters with smugglers, from which we may not escape so easily next time as we did before. How, then, shall I presume to set a time for our arrival at Quasi, particularly when I do not know how long we shall be detained at Beaufort.”

“Oh, not long,” broke in Larry. “We have nothing to do there but report to the customs authorities and spend an hour or so buying coffee, ship biscuit, some hams—for we’re out of bacon—and such other supplies of a non-perishable sort as we need. Two hours ought to cover our stay there.”

“Well, I’m not so certain of that,” said Cal. “As likely as not our detention will last for two days, or possibly two weeks, and if—”

“But how, Cal?” Tom interrupted with a look almost of consternation on his face, for he, too, was impatient to reach Quasi and try the hunting there.

“Let Cal finish, Tom,” said Larry. “He has something in mind.”

“Something on my mind,” Cal replied; “and it weighs heavily too. I’ve been thinking of it ever since we turned our prow toward Beaufort.”

“You must have thought it out by this time, then; so go on and tell us about it,” said Dick, impatiently.

“I wonder the rest of you haven’t thought of it for yourselves,” resumed Cal; “but it isn’t worth while to speculate about that. I was going to say that we four fellows have the misfortune to be eye-witnesses in the case of those smugglers. We saw them bring their goods ashore. Now I don’t know what the revenue officers do with smugglers when they catch them. I suppose they take them to a United States Court somewhere, though where I don’t know. Charleston is the most likely place in the case of men caught along this coast. In any case I suppose they need witnesses to testify to the smuggling, and unfortunately we are the witnesses in this case. Is it really necessary to set the matter forth more fully? It all comes to this, that we may be detained for an indefinite length of time at Beaufort, or we may even be taken back to Charleston as witnesses. For that reason I am reluctant to go to Beaufort at all—at least until we’ve had our trip out.”

“You’re quite right, Cal,” answered Dick; “it would be a shame to have our jolly outing spoiled. As for supplies, I suppose we might run down to Bluffton and pick up the absolutely necessary things—”

“Yes, or we can do without them,” interposed Tom, to whom every hour of their sporting trip seemed a precious thing not to be lost on any account.

“Oh, yes, we could get them by going a little out of our way,” said Cal, “or we could go without. I spent two or three months alone down among these woods and waters without such things, and I can’t remember that I was the worse for it—though I confess my breeches and my shirt and shoes suffered. Anyhow, Larry is our captain this time, and he must decide. He hasn’t spoken a word yet.”

“It has not seemed necessary,” Larry answered. “Of course we shall go to Beaufort just as fast as we can.”

“But why, Larry?” asked Tom.

“Simply because it is our duty.”

“But why can’t we wait till we’re on our way back?”

“It would be too late then.”

“But I say, Larry,” interposed Dick, “do you really think we are under so imperative an obligation as that?”

“To do one’s duty is always an imperative obligation. We are all of us the sons of gentlemen. We have been trained to think—and truly so—that a gentleman must do his duty regardless of consequences to himself. So we are going to start for Beaufort at daylight, no matter what annoyances it may bring upon us.”

“Of course you are right,” said Dick and Tom in a breath. Cal said nothing until one of them asked him why he remained silent.

“I’m a Rutledge,” he answered, “and what Larry has said is the gospel in which I have been bred. I hadn’t thought it out till Larry spoke, that’s all.”

“Neither had I,” said Dick.

“Nor I,” said Tom. “Of course we’ve all been bred in the same creed, and I for one shall never again wait to be reminded of it when a duty presents itself.”

“Your decision is unanimously sustained and approved, Larry,” added Dick, by way of relaxing the seriousness of the talk. “The Rutledges, the Garnetts and the Wentworths echo your thought, if not your words—for Echo insists upon pronouncing them—‘Bully for you!’”

At that moment something happened which brought all four of the boys to their feet and prompted Cal to slip the cartridges out of his gun and substitute others carrying buckshot in their stead. The others, observing his act, quickly imitated it.