Free Serpent Never Sleeps by Scott O’Dell Page B

Miss Lynn. Please sit," he said, waving at a rock.
    "Thank you," I said. "I'll stand."
    "You come on a mission. A serious one, I see by your demeanor. May I be of help? I devoutly hope so."
    "You can, sir. It's about Anthony Foxcroft."
    "Yes, I know how brutally he's been treated. You and I talked about it once during the voyage. I again regret that I was not able to be of help in the matter. But things have changed. There's a ray of hope fluttering on the horizon."
    "More than a ray," said one of the young gentlemen, Richard Knowles, I believe. "And more than fluttering. It's the sun itself coming up."
    "We have an interesting thought," Francis Pearepoint said. "It comes from Hopkins, who, as you know, is well versed in the Scriptures. He believes,
and we join him in believing, that it's no breach of honesty or religion to refuse to follow the rules Governor Gates has laid down. From the moment we were wrecked, the governor's authority ceased, Hopkins maintains. We are now free men, he says, absolutely free to conduct ourselves as we deem fit. Here we enjoy nature's richest bounties. To leave an earthly paradise for Jamestown, where people starve, die from the plague and arrows, is the sheerest folly."
    "You and your friends and Stephen Hopkins may believe this, but you're only a part of the camp," I said.
    "But an armed and determined part," Pearepoint said.
    It was hopeful news, the best of news. A revolt against the governor, if it succeeded, would free Anthony Foxcroft.

TWELVE
    The next morning, as soon as it was light enough to make my way through the dense growth of palmetto trees, I set off to tell Anthony Foxcroft the news I had heard from Francis Pearepoint.
    The moon, a ghost in a cloudless sky, shed no light. But I had taken the path each day since we came to the island and knew it well. The trees that huddled together, the quick shadows of dawn, the lingering shadows of dusk, the deep red sand that left no tracks, the many turnings—I knew them all.
    Yet on this morning, as I hurried along, everything seemed different—the twisting path, the huddled trees, the far-off sound of waves on the beach. At last and for the very first time in all my visits, I carried wonderful news.
    A fire burned in the clearing. A guard sat beside it, sleeping with one eye open. He had eaten something from a bowl, and a forest animal was nibbling at what he had left. The guard nodded when I spoke to him and uttered three words, words he always used as a greeting, whatever time of day it happened to be.
"Good morning, miss," he said, and closed the eye that was open.
    Anthony was in his hut, asleep. He had a hammock brought from the wreck, but he preferred sleeping on the sand and used the hammock for a pillow. Usually if I found him asleep, I returned to camp, leaving the gift I had brought—something special to eat from the settlers' table or a piece of clothing I had sewn, like a shirt made from a tattered sail. This morning I roused him with a kiss.
    He raised his hands, shielding his eyes from the sun that suddenly bore down upon him through the trees. "You caused me an awful night," he said. "The lobster mixed with something that tasted like spoiled turnips gave me a vast ache in my belly." He stared up at me. "What did you bring today? Nothing to eat, I hope."
    "I bring wonderful, cheering news."
    He sat up and rested his manacled hands against his knees. "A ship has just arrived from England, bringing a pardon from the king? At this moment the ship waits off the coast to take me back to England? I'm to return in triumph, to the discomfort of Robert Carr, who is no longer the king's favorite?" He paused and wrinkled his brow. "Or Sir Thomas Gates has died from the turnip concoction that nearly caused my death last night?"
    "You ate hearts of palm, not turnips, and they were delicious. Everyone said so, even Sir Thomas. I helped to make the dish myself."
    He got up and began to pace. I let him pace. Finally he walked