The report of a gun came to him from the shore, but his back was in that
direction and he did not bother to turn around. A second report followed,
and a bullet cut the water within a couple of feet of his oar-blade. This
time he did turn around. The soldier on the beach was leveling his rifle
at him for a third shot.
Joe was in a predicament, and a very tantalizing one at that. A few
minutes of hard rowing would bring him to the beach and to safety; but
on that beach, for some unaccountable reason, stood a United States
soldier who persisted in firing at him. When Joe saw the gun aimed at
him for the third time, he backed water hastily. As a result, the skiff
came to a standstill, and the soldier, lowering his rifle, regarded
him intently.
"I want to come ashore! Important!" Joe shouted out to him.
The man in uniform shook his head.
"But it 's important, I tell you! Won't you let me come ashore?"
He took a hurried look in the direction of the _Dazzler_. The shots had
evidently awakened French Pete, for the mainsail had been hoisted, and
as he looked he saw the anchor broken out and the jib flung to the breeze.
"Can't land here!" the soldier shouted back. "Smallpox!"
"But I must!" he cried, choking down a half-sob and preparing to row.
"Then I 'll shoot you," was the cheering response, and the rifle came to
shoulder again.
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