Some three hours later he was roused from the heavy sleep of utter
fatigue by the voice of the overseer. Bewildered, he raised himself upon
his elbow to stare at Woodson's grim face, framed in the doorway and lit
by the torch held by Win-Grace Porringer, who stood behind him. "You
there, you Landless!" cried the overseer, impatiently. "You sleep like
the dead. Tumble out! You and Porringer are to go to Godwyn's after that
new sail for the Nancy. Sir Charles Carew has taken it into his head to
run over to Accomac, and he's got to have a spick and span white rag to
sail under. Hurry up, now! He wants to start by sun up, and I clean
forgot to send for it last night. You're to be back within the hour,
d' ye hear? Take the four-oared shallop. There's the key," and the
overseer strode away, muttering something about patched sails being good
enough for Accomac folk.

Landless and the Muggletonian stumbled through the darkness to the wharf
behind the quarters, where they loosed the shallop, and in it shot
across the inlet towards the mouth of the creek.

"I will row," said the Muggletonian with grim kindness; "you look worn
out. I suppose you were out last night?"

Landless nodded, and the other bent to the oars with a will that sent
them rapidly across the sheet of water. A cold and uncertain light began
to stream from the ashen east, and the air was dank and heavy with the
thick mist that wrapped earth and water like a shroud. It swallowed up
the land behind them, and through it the nearer marshes gloomed
indistinctly, dark patches upon the gray surface of the water. The
narrow creek was hard to find amidst the universal dimness. The
Muggletonian rowed slowly, peering about him with small, keen eyes. At
length with a grunt of satisfaction he pointed to a pale streak dividing
two masses of gray, and had turned the boat's head towards it, when
through the stillness they caught the sound of oars. The next moment a
boat glided from the creek and began to skirt the shores of the inlet,
hugging the banks and moving slowly and stealthily. It was still so dark
that they could tell nothing more than that it held one man.

"Now, who is that?" said the Muggletonian. "And what has he been doing
up that creek?"

"Hail him," Landless replied.

Porringer sent a low halloo across the water, but if the man heard he
made no sign. The boat, one of the crazy dugouts of which every
plantation had store, held on its stealthy way, but being