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Title: Tom Newcombe
Author: Castlemon, Harry
Language: English
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[Illustration: TOM LEARNING TO BE A SAILOR.--Page 59.]
_THE GO-AHEAD SERIES._
TOM NEWCOMBE;
THE BOY OF BAD HABITS.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “THE GUN-BOAT SERIES,” “THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN
SERIES,” ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
CHICAGO TORONTO
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
GUNBOAT SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 6 vols. 12mo.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST. FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.
FRANK IN THE WOODS. FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS. FRANK AT DON CARLOS’ RANCH.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB IN THE SADDLE.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AFLOAT.
THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS.
FRANK NELSON SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
SNOWED UP. FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE. THE BOY TRADERS.
BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE BURIED TREASURE. THE BOY TRAPPER. THE MAIL-CARRIER.
ROUGHING IT SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
GEORGE IN CAMP. GEORGE AT THE WHEEL. GEORGE AT THE FORT.
ROD AND GUN SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DON GORDON’S SHOOTING BOX. ROD AND GUN CLUB.
THE YOUNG WILD FOWLERS.
GO-AHEAD SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TOM NEWCOMBE. GO-AHEAD. NO MOSS.
FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
JOE WAYRING. SNAGGED AND SUNK. STEEL HORSE.
WAR SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TRUE TO HIS COLORS. RODNEY THE PARTISAN.
RODNEY THE OVERSEER. MARCY THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.
MARCY THE REFUGEE.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
R. W. CARROLL & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY CHARLES A. FOSDICK.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TOM’S HABITS, 5
II. THE FISHER-BOY, 20
III. TOM GOES TO SEA, 31
IV. LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE, 47
V. HOMEWARD BOUND, 63
VI. TOM GOES INTO BUSINESS, 81
VII. HOW TOM SUCCEEDED, 94
VIII. TOM MAKES NEW BARGAINS, 103
IX. THE MYSTERY IN A STORM, 116
X. TOM’S GAME CHICKENS, 126
XI. TOM DECIDES TO BE A FARMER, 138
XII. TOM’S NEW HOME, 152
XIII. LIFE ON A FARM, 163
XIV. THE “NIGHT-HAWKS,” 177
XV. THE NIGHT-HAWKS IN ACTION, 190
XVI. THE MILITARY SCHOOL, 208
XVII. TOM WANTS TO BE COLONEL, 226
XVIII. TOM HAS AN IDEA, 238
XIX. THE CONSPIRATORS, 251
XX. PLANS AND ARRANGEMENTS, 267
XXI. THE ESCAPE, 280
XXII. THE PURSUIT COMMENCED, 297
XXIII. THE CRUISE OF THE SWALLOW, 309
XXIV. A CHANGE OF COMMANDERS, 321
XXV. CONCLUSION, 332
ILLUSTRATIONS.
TOM LEARNING TO BE A SAILOR. Frontispiece
TOM CAPTURED BY THE SQUIRE. 205
THE ESCAPE FROM THE ACADEMY. 286
TOM NEWCOMBE;
OR,
THE BOY OF BAD HABITS.
CHAPTER I.
TOM’S HABITS.
“O now, I can’t learn this lesson, I know I can’t, and there’s no use
in trying! I am the most unlucky boy in the whole world!”
Thus spoke Tom Newcombe, as he lay under one of the trees in his
father’s yard, rolling about on the grass, and tossing his heels in
the air, as if he scarcely knew what to do with himself.
Tom was not a happy boy, although all his playmates thought he ought
to be. His father was the wealthiest man in the village--owned more
than half the vessels that sailed from that port, and Tom lived in a
large house, where he had every thing a boy of his age could ask for
to make his life pass pleasantly. He owned the swiftest sail-boat
about the village; had more fish-poles, foot-balls, and playthings of
every description than he could possibly find use for; and, in the
stable, was a fine little Shetland pony, which had been bought for
Tom’s express benefit. But, in spite of his pleasant surroundings,
the hero of our story was very discontented; his face always wore a
gloomy expression, and he invariably acted as if he were angry about
something.
Tom was about fourteen years of age, as smart as any boy in the
village, and might have been of some use in the world, had it not
been for his numerous bad habits, which kept him in constant trouble,
and were the sole cause of all his unhappiness. One of these bad
habits was carelessness. He thought it was too much trouble to
carry out the motto he had so often heard--“A place for every thing
and every thing in its place”--and the consequence was, he was not
unfrequently compelled to waste half the day in searching for some
article he happened to want. His cap, especially, was the source of
a great deal of annoyance and vexation to him. For example, when
he came in to his meals, he would take off his cap on entering
the house, and throw it somewhere, not caring where it landed;
and as soon as he was ready to go out of doors again, his first
question--spoken in a slow, drawling tone, as if he were almost ready
to drop down with fatigue--would be:
“Now, mother, where’s my cap?”
“I am sure I don’t know, my son,” would be the answer. “What did you
do with it when you came in?”
“I hung it right here!” Tom would say, pointing to the hat-rack in
the hall, or to a nail behind the door, which had been placed there
for his especial benefit. “I know I hung it up, but it isn’t here
now. I do wish folks would let my things alone! Something’s always
bothering me!”
Then Tom would begin a search in all the rooms of the house, tumbling
chairs about and moving tables and sofas, and the missing article
would be found, sometimes in the “play-house,” sometimes under the
bed, but more frequently under the trees in the yard, or on the
portico.
We have spoken of Tom’s “play-house.” It was a room in the attic,
nicely furnished, with carpet, tables, and chairs, and provided with
a stove, so that he could be comfortable there in cold weather. In
this room he kept his playthings, or rather, part of them. Those
that were lost--and about half of them were missing--would have been
found, some in the barn, others scattered about the yard, while the
rest had been thrown under the house for safe keeping, where Tom
could not get at them without soiling his clothes, and that was
something he did not like to do. To have taken a single glance at
the articles in his play-house, one would have thought that he ought
never to have been at a loss to know how to employ himself; and that
a single glance would also have been sufficient to convince any one
that he never took the least care of what was given him. The only
thing that ever interested Tom for any length of time, was a fine
model of a ship, with sails and ropes complete, which an old sailor
had given him, and which had been placed on a stand opposite the
entrance to his play-house. But, having been carelessly mounted,
it had fallen to the floor, and Tom, in one of his angry moods,
had kicked it under the table, where it lay with its masts broken,
and its sails torn, looking very much like a vessel that had been
wrecked at sea. His playthings were scattered about the room in all
directions. Foot-balls, bows and arrows, Chinese puzzles, base-ball
bats, a magic lantern, models of vessels, fish poles, hats and boots
were mixed up in the most complete confusion, and every article bore
evidence to the fact that it had received the roughest usage. Indeed,
there was but one thing in the room that was entire, and that was a
little fire-engine--a birthday present from his mother. But then this
had only come into Tom’s possession two days before the commencement
of our story, and it was yet new to him.
Tom was always complaining that he never could find a thing when he
wanted it; and no one about the house wondered at it in the least.
To his mother’s oft-repeated inquiry why he did not put his room in
order, and have a certain place for each particular thing, he would
answer:
“O, now, I can’t; I haven’t got time. Let somebody else do it!”
Tom’s room, we ought to remark, was placed in perfect order every
day, but it was only time and labor wasted; for, if he happened to
want a fish-pole, or a ball bat, he would tumble the things about
until he found the article in question, and then go out leaving the
room in the greatest confusion.
Another bad trait in Tom’s character was his unconquerable pride. He
was ashamed to work, and he would not do so if there was any possible
way for him to avoid it. On a cold day, when it stormed too violently
for him to go out of doors, he would remain in his room, with
benumbed hands and chattering teeth, before he would take the trouble
to build a fire. His father often asked him why he stayed there in
the cold, and Tom replied: “O, there’s no wood up here!”
“Well, you know where the wood-shed is. Go and get some.”
“O, I can’t,” Tom would invariably answer. “Let somebody else go. It
wouldn’t look well for me to do it.”
Once or twice during the previous winter, for some offense that he
had committed, he was compelled to remove the snow from the side-walk
in front of the house. On these occasions, Tom, being very much
afraid of soiling his gloves, handled the shovel with the ends of
his fingers, and when any one passed by, he hung his head as if he
did not wish to be recognized. Work of any kind was the severest
punishment that could be inflicted upon him. In his estimation, it
was a disgrace that never could be wiped out.
Tom also had a bad habit of saying, “O, I can’t; I know I can’t, and
what’s the use in trying?” This was his favorite expression--one that
he made use of at all times, and upon all occasions. If his lesson
was hard, instead of going manfully at work to learn it, he would
read it over carelessly a few times; and if he failed to remember
it, or if he found it more difficult than he had expected, he would
throw down his book, exclaiming: “O, I can’t get it. It’s too hard.
Something’s always bothering me;” and that was the end of it as far
as he was concerned.
“Tom,” his father would say, when he heard the boy make use of this
expression, “don’t you remember the words of the old song, ‘If at
first you don’t succeed, try--’”
But Tom, as soon as he found out what was coming, would interrupt him
with--
“O, now, father, that’s all useless. What good does it do a fellow
to try, when he _knows_ he can’t succeed? It’s only time wasted. I’m
quite sure the person who wrote that song never had any very hard
things to do.”
At school, Tom never made any progress. Promised rewards or
threatened punishments seldom had any lasting effect on him, and
the result was, that all the boys of his age in the village soon
left him far behind. He disliked very much to be beaten, and always
wanted to be first in every thing; but even this failed to arouse
him, and, as his school-mates termed it, he was “promoted backward,”
until, at last, he found himself in a class with boys who were much
younger than himself, but who, in spite of the difference in their
ages, always had their lessons better than he. Finally, Mr. Newcombe,
almost discouraged, took Tom out of school, and placed him under the
charge of a private teacher, who lived at the mansion. When this
change was made, Tom looked upon himself as a most fortunate boy; but
he soon discovered a very disagreeable feature in the arrangement,
and that was, his father was always in the school-room when he
recited his lessons. This made Tom very uneasy. He did not wish to
make a display of his ignorance before his father, and, besides,
he knew that if the merchant took the matter into his own hands,
something unpleasant would happen. On several occasions, he had
assured Mr. Newcombe that he could recite his lessons much better if
he were not present; but the latter, taking a different view of the
case, was always at home during the recitations, and Tom had more
than once been soundly scolded for his failures.
Tom was also sadly wanting in firmness of purpose. Like many boys of
his age, he looked forward with impatience to the day when he should
become a man; and the question that troubled him not a little, was,
what should he do when he became his “own master,” as he termed it.
He was full of what he considered to be glorious ideas, but, when
he had determined to enter upon any particular calling, he always
found something unpleasant in it. For instance, during the previous
winter he had informed his father that it was his intention to become
a sailor, and that nothing could induce him to change his mind. As
usual with him, he wanted to begin at once, and he scarcely allowed
his father a moment’s rest, teasing him from morning until night,
for permission to go to sea on one of the vessels as cabin-boy. But
Mr. Newcombe, who had once been a cabin-boy himself, and who knew
what Tom would be compelled to endure, would not give his consent. He
was not at all opposed to his son’s going to sea, for, having been
a sailor himself, he looked upon a sea-faring man as a most useful
and honorable member of society; but he knew that on ship-board,
Tom’s uneasy, discontented disposition would keep him in constant
trouble; and before he allowed him out of his sight he wanted him to
abandon his bad habits. Besides, he did not wish his son to remain
a foremast hand all his life, and he knew that if Tom wished to win
promotion, he must first go to school and pay more attention to his
books. So Mr. Newcombe told Tom that he could not go, and this made
the boy very miserable indeed. Several of his playmates, who were
much younger than himself, had been to sea on three or four voyages,
and why couldn’t he go as well as any body? He could see no good
reason for a refusal, and in order to punish his father for not
allowing him to have his own way, he went into the sulks, and, for a
day or two, scarcely spoke to any one. This was Tom’s favorite way
of taking revenge on his father and mother, and no doubt it was the
source of great satisfaction to him. But had he known how foolish he
was, and how all the sensible boys of his acquaintance laughed at
him, he might have taken some pains to conceal his ugly temper. He
resolved that he would never abandon his idea of becoming a sailor,
and every moment that he could snatch from school, was spent on the
wharf, where he stood looking at the vessels, and wishing that he
was his “own master,” so that he could do as he pleased. One night
he took his stand on the wharf, and saw one of his father’s vessels
towed into the harbor almost a wreck. Her foremast was gone, her
deck and shrouds were coated with ice, her rigging all frozen, the
sails useless, and those of the crew that were left, were in the most
pitiable condition. This was an incident in the life of a sailor that
had never entered into Tom’s calculations; and when he had seen the
vessel moored at the wharf, and heard her captain tell his father
that the crew, besides being badly frost-bitten, had been without
food for two days, Tom started homeward, fully resolved that he would
never follow the sea.
For a day or two after that, he was a most miserable boy. He did
not know what to decide upon next; and he never was happy unless
he had something to dream about. But, one afternoon, as he stood
in his father’s office, a well-to-do farmer drove up with a load
of grain, and Tom suddenly saw the way out of his quandary. There
were four horses hitched to the sled, and they were so slick and
fat, and the farmer seemed to be so happy and contented, that Tom
could not resist the thought that he would like to be a farmer. In
fact, after a few moment’s consideration, he decided that he would
be one, and he resolved to act upon his decision at once. After a
little maneuvering, he commenced a conversation with the farmer,
during which, he asked him if he “didn’t want to hire a boy!” The man
replied that he did, that he was just looking for one, and, that, if
Tom would go home with him, he would soon make a first-class farmer
of him. Tom, delighted with the idea, at once sought an interview
with his father, to whom he hurriedly explained his new scheme. Mr.
Newcombe, too busy to be interrupted, answered his request that he
might be permitted to go home with the farmer in the negative; but
Tom, who was a great tease, was not to be put off so easily.
“You don’t understand what I want, father!” he began.
“Yes I do!” replied the merchant. “I know all about it. But there’s
one thing I don’t know, and that is, what foolish notion you’ll get
into your head next!”
“But, father!” said Tom impatiently, “may I go? That’s what I want to
know!”
“No, sir, you may stay at home!”
“O, now, why can’t I go?” whined Tom. “Say, father, _why_ can’t I go?
I want to learn to be a farmer.”
How long Tom would have continued to tease his father, it is
impossible to say, had not the merchant, well-nigh out of patience,
ordered his son to “go home, and stay there, until he should learn
not to bother persons when they were busy.” Tom reluctantly obeyed;
but the moment he reached the house again went into the sulks.
This last idea, he thought, would suit him much better than any thing
he had ever before thought of. Heretofore, when he had explained his
plans to his father, that gentleman had invariably said,
“Tom, you don’t know enough! Go to school and pay more attention to
your books. Get your education first, and decide upon your business
afterward.” But this was something the boy did not like to do. He
could not bear to study, and all his calculations, as to what trade
or profession he should follow when he became a man, had been made
with reference to this particular object--namely, to discover some
business which could be successfully conducted without a knowledge of
arithmetic and geography, two things that Tom thoroughly despised.
But now he had hit upon the very thing--farming; a farmer had nothing
to do but drive horses, take care of cows, and spread hay; and that
did not require a knowledge of arithmetic or geography. That was just
the business for him; and he resolved that some day he would be a
farmer.
During the remainder of the winter, Tom held firmly to this
determination. He thought, and dreamed about nothing else; and a
farmer’s sled or wagon was an object of great curiosity to him;
at least all his playmates thought so, for every morning and
evening, before and after school, and all day Saturdays, Tom was
seen loitering about the market-houses, looking at the horses, and
talking with the farmers. This state of things, we repeat, continued
until spring, and then all these ideas were driven out of his head as
suddenly as they had entered it.
Among other things of which the village of Newport could boast,
was its military school. This institution was attended by boys of
all ages, from almost all parts of the state, and, in addition
to being prepared either for business or college, they were
instructed in military science. The students wore a uniform of gray
trimmed with blue, the “commissioned” officers being designated by
shoulder-straps, and the “non-commissioned,” by two or three stripes
worn on the right arm, above the elbow. Every thing in and about the
academy was conducted in military order. The officers were always
addressed according to their rank, captain, lieutenant, or sergeant,
as the case might be, and punishment for serious offenses against
the rules of the school was adjudged by courts-martial, composed of
some of the teachers and students. Every spring and fall the members
of the academy, with their professors at their head, went into camp,
where they generally remained about two weeks; and it was during one
of these camping frolics that Tom, after having witnessed a series of
parades, during which, the students behaved like veteran soldiers,
lost all desire to become a farmer, and decided to turn his attention
to the military school. Tom had often wished that his father would
permit him to sign the muster-rolls of the academy, and, in fact, he
had, for a long time, been unable to determine whether he was “cut
out” for a soldier or a sailor. On this point he had often debated
long and earnestly. It must not be supposed that Tom was endeavoring
to decide in which of these two callings he could do the most good,
and be of the most use to his fellow-men! Quite the contrary. He
cared for no one but himself. It made no difference to him how much
others were troubled or inconvenienced, as long as he could get along
smoothly; and the question he was trying to answer was, Which calling
held out the better promise of a life of ease? There was another
question that Tom had never been able to answer to his satisfaction,
and that was, of what use would his military education be to him
after he left the academy? But one day, just before the camp broke
up, this problem was solved by one of the students, who informed
Tom that he had passed a successful examination, and had received
the appointment of cadet at West Point. This showed Tom the way out
of his difficulty, and, at the same time, opened before his lively
imagination a scene of glory of which he had never before dreamed.
“That’s the thing for me!” he soliloquised, as he bent his steps
homeward. “That’s the very place I always wanted to go to. If father
would let me join this school, I’d certainly be appointed captain of
one of the academy companies in two or three weeks; then, after I get
through there, I’d go to West Point. I’d stay there until I completed
my military education, and then go into the army. Then I would be
sent off somewhere to fight the Indians, and, if I was a brave man,
I might be promoted to colonel or brigadier-general. Wouldn’t that
be glorious, and wouldn’t I feel gay riding around on my fine horse,
with my body-guard galloping after me? It’s an easy life, too; I know
it would just suit me. and I am resolved that some day I will be a
soldier.”
By the time Tom reached home he had worked himself up to the highest
pitch of excitement, by imagining all sorts of pleasant things that
would happen when he should become a general in the regular army; but
what was his disappointment when his father--after he had explained
to him his glowing schemes--refused to permit him to join the
military academy.
“I might have expected it,” said Tom to himself, as he walked
sullenly out of the house. “I always was the most unlucky boy in the
whole world. I never can do any thing like other fellows, for father
don’t want me to enjoy myself if he can help it. But I’ll be my own
master one of these fine days, and then I’ll do as I please.”
Tom was decidedly wrong when he said that his father did not want him
to enjoy himself, for Mr. Newcombe used his best endeavors to make
his son happy and contented; and this was the reason he had never
allowed Tom to carry out any of his numerous schemes. He knew that
the boy’s bad habits would render him unhappy wherever he went, and
in whatever he engaged; but he hoped that, as he grew in years, he
would also grow in wisdom; that he would learn that his only chance
for success in any undertaking was to “turn over a new leaf,” abandon
all his bad habits, and begin work in earnest. But Tom, attributing
his father’s refusal to entirely different motives, went into the
sulks, and for a week scarcely spoke to any one about the house. For
two months he fretted and scolded almost constantly, and all this
time he was endeavoring to conjure up some plan by which he might
induce his father to grant his request. He declared, more than once,
that he was “bound to be a general,” and that he “never would give
up his idea of joining the military academy.” But one day an event
transpired that caused him to forget all these resolutions, and
turned his thoughts and desires into another channel.
A full-rigged ship, which had been launched at the yards early in the
spring, was completed, and Tom saw her start on her first voyage. He
had never before seen so beautiful an object as that ship, and, as
she sailed majestically out of the harbor, the thought occurred to
Tom how grand he would feel if he was the master of a vessel like
that. From that hour the military school was at a discount, and Tom
had again resolved to be a sailor--not a common foremast hand, but
the captain of a full-rigged ship.
These are but few of the instances that might be cited to illustrate
the fact that Tom was utterly lacking in firmness of purpose, for
there was scarcely a trade or profession that he had not, at some
time or another, wanted to follow. For a time he imagined that a man
who could build and run a steam-engine ought to be very proud, and
able to make his living easily, and then he wanted to be a machinist.
Then he thought that the village doctor, a fat, jolly man, who rode
about in his gig, and appeared to take the world very easily, ought
to be a happy man, and then Tom wanted to study medicine. Next, after
listening for a few moments to a Fourth of July speech, delivered
by a prominent member of the bar, he decided to be a lawyer; and,
after that, a civil engineer; but, upon inquiry, he found that all
these involved a long course of study and preparation; so they were
speedily dismissed as unworthy of his attention.
Tom, we repeat, had often thought of these and many other trades and
professions; but, at the period when our story commences, he was,
perhaps, for the hundredth time, firmly settled in his determination
to become a sailor. Mr. Newcombe had often talked to his son about
his bad habits, especially his want of stability, his propensity to
build air-castles, and his aversion to study; but, it is needless to
say, the boy paid very little attention to what was said to him. The
truth was, he did not believe that his father knew any thing at all
about the matter. Besides being very stubborn--holding to his own
ideas, no matter what was said against them--he had a most exalted
opinion of himself, and had often made himself ridiculous by saying,
“They can’t teach _me_--I know just what I am about.”
Tom lived to be an old man; and perhaps we shall see what he thought
of these things in after life; whether or not he never regretted that
he had not followed the advice of those who, being older and more
experienced than himself, knew what was best for him.
CHAPTER II.
THE FISHER-BOY.
The house in which Tom lived stood on a hill that commanded a fine
view of the village of Newport and the adjacent bay, and before it
was a wide lawn, that sloped gently down to the water’s edge, shaded
by grand old trees. On the day we introduce Tom to our readers, he
had been sent out of the school-room in disgrace, not having mastered
his arithmetic lesson. He lay at full length under one of the trees,
stretching his arms and yawning, throwing his book about, and looking
out over the bay at the vessels that were sailing in and out of the
harbor. Now and then he would think of his lesson, but the thought
was always dismissed with an impatient “O, I can’t learn it; I know
I can’t, and what’s the use in trying?” But it was evident that he
did not intend to abandon it altogether, for he would occasionally
open his book and study for a few moments, with his mouth twisted on
one side, as if he were on the point of crying. The fact was, Mr.
Newcombe was present at the recitation that morning, when his son had
made a worse failure than usual; and as he was about to leave the
school-room, he turned to Tom and told him, in language too plain
to be misunderstood, that if he “didn’t have that lesson by five
o’clock that afternoon, he would get his jacket dusted in a way that
would make him open his eyes.” Tom remembered the threat, and he
would now and then turn to his task with a listless, discouraged air,
as if he regarded it as far beyond his comprehension. His mind, as
usual, was wandering off over the bay, and to save his life he could
not learn the rule for addition.
His lesson, however, was not the only thing that troubled him just
then; a more important matter was on his mind, and perplexed him
exceedingly. He had that morning found an insurmountable obstacle in
his path--one that shut him out from all hopes of ever becoming a
sailor.
When the sight of that fine ship had again turned Tom’s attention to
the sea, he laid a regular siege to his father, and tried every plan
he could think of to obtain his consent to ship as boy on one of his
vessels; and that morning he had asked permission to go out on the
“Savannah,” a schooner that was to sail in a week or two.
Mr. Newcombe had, for a long time, patiently borne his fretting and
teasing; and, finally, to set the matter at rest at once and forever,
he said to Tom:
“My son, when you can add up a column of figures without counting
your fingers, and can tell me the capital of every State in the
Union, and where it is situated, you may go to sea. Now, wake up, and
see if you can’t display a little energy. The Savannah will not sail
under two weeks, so you will have plenty of time to do all this.”
“O no, father,” drawled Tom, (he always spoke in a very low tone, and
so slowly that it made one nervous to listen to him,) “I can’t learn
all that in two weeks. It’s too hard.”
Mr. Newcombe did not wait to hear what Tom had to say, but picked up
his cane and started for his office, leaving his son pondering upon
this new and wholly unexpected turn of events.
This was a death-blow to Tom’s hopes. It was, in his estimation, a
task that would have made a Hercules hesitate. Learn all that in
two weeks! Did his father take him for a walking arithmetic and
geography, that he expected him to accomplish so much in so short
a space of time? It was simply impossible, and he was astonished
at his father for proposing such a thing. Under almost any other
circumstances, Tom would have said, “Then I can’t be a sailor,” and
would have immediately turned his attention to something else. But
he remembered how grand that ship looked as she sailed out of the
harbor, and he could not bear the thought of forever giving up all
hopes of becoming the captain of a vessel like that.
Tom regarded this as one of his unlucky days. His lesson was very
hard. He had been promised a whipping if he did not get it. There was
that tremendous obstacle that had so suddenly risen up before him,
and altogether he felt most discontented and miserable. It was no
wonder he could not learn the rule.
“O, I do wish I could be a sailor,” said he, at length; “then I
wouldn’t have any teachers to bother me, and ask why I place units
under units, and tens under tens, when I want to add figures, and
why I carry the left-hand figure to the next column when the amount
exceeds nine. What good will it do me to learn all this? I can
manage a vessel without it. And then, if I was on board ship, there
wouldn’t be any one to tell me that he’d dust my jacket for me if I
didn’t get my lesson. Ah, that would be glorious! But I can’t be a
sailor now; I can’t add figures, and tell the capitals of all the
States--there’s too many of them. O, dear, what shall I do? I always
was an unlucky boy, and something is always happening to bother me.
Now, there’s Bob Jennings! He ought to be a happy fellow, having
nothing to do but row about the harbor all day, ferrying and catching
fish. He’s a lucky chap, and I wish I was in his place. Hullo, Bob,
come up here!”
Tom’s thoughts were turned into this channel by discovering a boy,
about his own age, rowing a scow up the bay. The fisher-boy had seen
Tom rolling about on the grass, and, if the latter could have known
the thoughts that passed through his mind, no doubt he would have
been greatly astonished.
Bob Jennings was the son of a poor widow who lived in the village.
His father, like the majority of men in Newport, had followed the sea
for a livelihood, but, having been washed overboard from his vessel
during a storm, Bob was left as the only support for his mother and
two little brothers. From the time he was strong enough to handle
an oar, he had been accustomed to work, and, unlike Tom, he was not
ashamed of it. He was ready to undertake any thing that would enable
him to turn an honest penny; and many a dime found its way into his
mother’s slim purse, that Bob had earned by running errands after his
day’s work was over. But, if he was obliged to work hard while his
father was living, he was compelled to redouble his exertions now,
for the pittance his mother earned by sewing and washing could not
go far toward feeding and clothing four persons. Bob well understood
this, and he worked hard and incessantly. Every morning, rain or
shine, he was on hand at pier Number 2, which he regarded as his own
particular “claim,” ready to ferry the workmen across the harbor to
the ship-yards. After this was done, he pulled down the bay to his
fishing grounds, from which he returned in time to be at his pier
when the six o’clock bell rang in the evening.
Bob was ambitious, and he longed to follow in the footsteps of
his father. Like all the boys in Newport, who seemed to inhale a
passionate love of salt water with the air they breathed, he looked
forward to the day when he should become the master of a fine vessel.
But his mother could not live without his assistance. His earnings,
however small, were needed to procure the common necessities of life;
and, thus far, Bob had been unable to take the first step toward
attaining his long-cherished object. A few weeks previous to the
commencement of our story, he had entered into an agreement with
his mother, to the effect, that as soon as he could lay by a sum
sufficient to support her and his brothers for two months, he was
to be allowed so go on a short voyage. This served as an incentive
to extra exertion, and Bob worked early and late to accomplish the
desired end. Every cent he earned, he placed in his mother’s hands;
and so impatient was he to save the amount required, that he reserved
not a penny for himself, but went about his work ragged, shoeless,
and almost hatless. How often, as he rowed by the elegant mansion in
which Tom Newcombe lived, had he given utterance to the wish that he
could find some way in which he might earn as much money as the rich
ship-owner allowed his son to spend foolishly every month. He was
confident that it would amount to double the sum required to support
his mother while he was gone on his first voyage, and would have
placed it in his power to enter upon his chosen work at once. Nearly
every day, as he pulled by in his leaky, flat-bottomed boat, he saw
Tom rolling about under the trees; and, when he drew a contrast
between their stations in life, it almost discouraged him.
Hearing Tom calling to him, Bob turned his boat toward the shore, and
in a few moments reached the spot where the young student was seated.
There was a great difference between the two boys. The rich man’s son
was neatly clad, while Bob was barefooted, wore a brimless hat on
his head, and his clothes were patched in a hundred places, and with
different kinds of cloth, so that it was almost an impossibility to
tell their original color. The fisher-boy thought his garments looked
worse than ever by thus being brought in contrast with those of the
well-dressed student, and he involuntarily seated himself on the
ground, with his feet under him, as if to hide them from the gaze of
his more fortunate companion. But the difference did not cease here.
About the one, there were virtues that could not be hidden by ragged
clothes; and in the other, there were glaring defects that made
themselves apparent in spite of his well-blacked boots and broadcloth
jacket; and, had a total stranger been standing by, with an errand he
wished promptly executed, the successful accomplishment of which was
of the utmost importance, he would, without hesitation, have selected
Bob as the more reliable. There was an honest, resolute look about
him, which showed that he was ready for any thing, and that he felt
within him the power to overcome all obstacles; while Tom had a
listless, die-away manner of moving and talking, that led one to
believe that he had been utterly exhausted by hard labor.
“You’re a lucky chap, Bob Jennings,” said Tom, at length, throwing
down his book rather spitefully, and seating himself on the grass
opposite the fisher-boy. “A most lucky chap.”
Bob looked down at his clothes, but made no reply.
“You have no arithmetic lesson to learn, as I have,” continued Tom.
“All you have to do is to row about in your boat all day, and be your
own master. That must be fun!”
For a moment Bob gazed at his companion in utter astonishment. Was it
fun that he was compelled to work day after day, through storm and
sunshine, and at such small wages that his mother could scarcely lay
by half a dollar a week? Was it fun for him to pull five miles down
the bay, in a leaky boat, and back, without catching a single fish,
as he had done that day? If there was any fun in that, the fisher-boy
thought he had never before understood the meaning of the word.
“No, I don’t see much sport in it,” answered Bob. “I call it
downright hard work, and so would you if you could trade places with
me for a few days. You are the one that sees all the fun. You have no
work to do.”
It was now Tom’s turn to be astonished. He started up in perfect
amazement, and looked at the fisher-boy for a moment without
speaking.
“I see all the fun, do I?” said he, when he had recovered somewhat
from his surprise. “Bob Jennings, let me tell you that you don’t know
what hard work is. Did your father ever tell you that he’d dust your
jacket for you if you didn’t get a difficult arithmetic lesson?”
“No,” answered, Bob, slowly.
“Well, that’s just what my father told me this morning,” continued
Tom, “and he also informed me that I can’t go to sea until I can add
up a column of figures, and tell him the capitals of all the States.
Now, that’s a harder job than you ever had laid out for you.”
The fisher-boy did not act as though he considered that a very
difficult task, for he brightened up, and said:
“I wish somebody would give me that job, and agree to support my
mother while I was at sea; I’d sign shipping articles in three days.
Don’t you want that book?” he added, as Tom picked up his arithmetic
and threw it down the bank toward the water, as if he wished it as
far as possible out of his sight. “If that book was mine I wouldn’t
fling it about that way. I’d study it and try to learn something.”
“Why, I thought you wanted to be a sailor,” said Tom.
“So I do. But I don’t want to be before the mast all my life. I want
to be captain; and I will, too, if I live to be a man.”
“So will I. I am going to be master of a full-rigged ship, like
the one that left port about two months ago. But what’s the use of
studying arithmetic?”
“Why, you can’t be captain until you understand navigation,” said
Bob; “and you can’t learn that unless you know something about
figures.”
As Tom heard this very disheartening piece of news, he stretched
himself at full length on the grass, drew on a long face, and twisted
his mouth on one side, as if he had half a mind to cry. He looked at
the fisher-boy a moment, then out over the bay, and finally drawled
out, “Then I can’t be a sailor! I didn’t know they had to study
arithmetic. I can’t learn it, and there’s no use in trying.”
As Tom said this, he happened to glance toward the gate, and saw his
father approaching. Remembering the whipping that had been promised
if he again failed in his lesson, he hastily sprang to his feet
and ran down the bank after his book; while Bob, thinking that the
gentleman regarded him rather suspiciously, retreated to his boat and
pulled toward home.
Mr. Newcombe always returned from his office at five o’clock; and
Tom, knowing that it was time to recite his lesson, applied himself
to his task with much more energy than he was accustomed to display.
But, as usual, his mind was upon something else; for, as he read
over the rule, he was pondering upon what the fisher-boy had told
him--that a sailor, in order to win promotion, must know something
about arithmetic. Here was another obstacle in his way. All that day
Tom had cherished the hope that he might, in some manner, be able
to avoid the task his father had imposed upon him, of committing to
memory the capitals of the different States, and learning to add
without counting his fingers; but here was something that could not
be got over. In building his air-castles (for he was continually
dreaming about something) he thought only of the happiness he
would experience when he should be able to grasp the object of
his ambition. He did not believe that whatever is worth having is
worth striving for! He never reflected upon the toil and privation
to which he must submit before he could work his way up from “boy”
to the responsible position of captain! Work! That was something he
never intended to do. His idea was, that, when he arrived at the
proper age, he would, in some mysterious manner, be placed in the
position at which he aimed, without the necessity of labor. He was
hopeful if he was unlucky; and, although he had suffered repeated
disappointments in the failure of his grand schemes, he clung to the
belief that, at some time during his life, something would “turn up”
in his favor, and that then he would have plain sailing. There was
but one way out of his present difficulty that he could discover,
and that was to hope that the fisher-boy was mistaken. What did
Bob Jennings--a boy who had never been to school three months in
his life--know about such things? He was just as liable to make
mistakes as any body; and Tom at first hoped, and ended with finally
believing, that Bob knew nothing about the matter.
As these thoughts passed through Tom’s mind, he was industriously
studying his lesson, but of course without comprehending one word
of it, and presently the ringing of a bell summoned him to the
school-room. The sound acted like a charm on Tom, for, as he arose
to his feet and walked slowly toward the house, he began to study
earnestly, and to such good advantage--for he learned very readily
when he set himself resolutely to work--that he began to hope he
might pass a creditable recitation. When he entered the school-room,
he found his father and the teacher waiting for him. A hasty glance
at the former served to convince him that the threatened whipping
would certainly be forthcoming if he failed, and just then he looked
upon himself as the most abused boy in the world. The recitation
commenced, and with considerable assistance from his teacher Tom
managed to blunder through his lesson, but it is certain that he
knew no more about it when he got through than he did when he began.
Although Mr. Newcombe was far from being satisfied, Tom escaped
without a whipping, and that was all he cared for.
CHAPTER III.
TOM GOES TO SEA.
Tom, having managed to get safely through his arithmetic lesson,
put his book away in his desk, and again sauntered out on the lawn,
where he threw himself under one of the trees, and thought over his
hard lot in life. Study hours being over for the day, he was now at
liberty to amuse himself about home in any way he chose; but, as
was generally the case with him, he was at a loss to know how to
pass the time until dark. He never took a book of any description
in his hands if he could avoid it. Reading, he thought, was a very
dull, uninteresting way of passing the time. He never looked at a
newspaper, and if some one had asked him the name of the President
of the United States, it would have been a question that he could
not answer. As for play, he never saw any fun in that, but he was as
ready to engage in any kind of mischief as any boy in the village.
Newport, like every other place, had its two “sets” of boys, who
went by the names of “Spooneys” and “Night-hawks.” The former were,
in fact, the good boys of the village. They played foot-ball on
the common until dark, and then went home and stayed there. With
these Tom rarely had intercourse. On two or three occasions he had
mustered up energy enough to engage in a game of ball with them, and
each time he came home crying, and complaining that “the boys played
too rough,” and that “some fellow had shoved him down in the dirt.”
The fact was, Tom did not like these boys, because he could not be
their leader. They could all beat him running; the smallest boy on
the common could kick a foot-ball further than he could; and, in
choosing the sides for the game, Tom was always the last one taken.
The reason for this was that Tom, besides being a very poor player,
never entered into the sport as though he had any life about him. He
was very much afraid of soiling his clothes, or getting dust on his
boots; and this was so different from the wild, rollicking ways of
his playmates, that they soon learned to despise him; and, if Tom was
now and then pushed into the mud during the excitement of the game,
no one pitied him or stopped to help him out.
But with the Night-hawks--those that took possession of the common
at dark--Tom was a great favorite. They knew how to manage him. He
was easily duped, and, if the boys wished to engage in any mischief,
Tom was generally the one selected to do the work, for he made an
excellent “cat’s-paw.” A few words of flattery would completely blind
him, and, not unfrequently, call forth a display of recklessness
that made every body wonder. If the Night-hawks wished to remove the
doctor’s sign, and place it in front of a millinery store, or if
they wished to fasten a string across the sidewalk, to knock off the
hats of those that passed by, one of them would say to Tom: “Now,
Newcombe, you do it. You are the strongest and bravest fellow in the
party. You are not afraid of any thing.” These words never failed
to have the desired effect; for Tom would instantly volunteer his
services in any scheme the Night-hawks had to propose. Any mischief
that was done, anywhere within two miles of the village, was laid
to these boys; but had the matter been investigated, it would have
been discovered that Tom was the guilty one, for he did all the work,
while his companions stood at a safe distance and looked on.
Of course Mr. Newcombe knew nothing of this. His orders to Tom were
to remain in the yard after dark; but the latter regarded this as
another deliberate abridgment of his privileges. The merchant often
said that there was something in the night air particularly injurious
to the morals of boys, but Tom did not believe it. He did not like to
remain in the house while other boys were out enjoying themselves.
However, he always promised obedience to his father’s commands,
while, perhaps, at that very moment he was studying up some plan
by which he might be able to evade them, and was revolving in his
mind some scheme for mischief which he intended to propose to the
Night-hawks that evening. Mr. Newcombe was a shrewd business man; he
could calculate the rise and fall of the produce market to a nicety,
but he was not shrewd enough to discover that Tom, in spite of the
readiness with which he promised obedience to all his requirements,
was deceiving him every night of his life. Perhaps he thought that
Tom would not dare to disobey him; or he may have imagined that
he was a boy of too high principle; but, whatever may have been
his thoughts, he never troubled himself about his son after giving
him orders to remain in the yard, and Tom, having always escaped
detection, grew bolder by degrees, until, at last, he became the
acknowledged leader of the Night-hawks. He would rack his brain for
days and weeks to perfect some plan for mischief, and follow it up
with a patience and perseverance which, if exhibited in the line of
study, would have placed him at the head of his class in a month. He
was willing to work harder to obtain the approbation of a dozen young
rogues like the Night-hawks, than to gain that knowledge that would
enable him to be of some use in the world.
On the evening in question, Tom was sadly troubled with the “blues.”
He was almost discouraged, for several things had “happened to bother
him” during the day, and among them was the very disheartening piece
of news which the fisher-boy had communicated to him. If it was
true--and sometimes Tom almost believed that it was, for that would
be “just his luck”--he knew that he must do one of two things--either
abandon the idea of becoming a sailor, or pay more attention to his
books. If there had been any alternative, Tom would certainly have
discovered it, for he was very expert in finding a way out of a
difficulty. But now, either his good fortune, in this respect, had
deserted him, or else he was in a predicament from which there was no
escape, for he lay thinking under the trees for nearly an hour, and
finally answered the summons to supper without having been able to
discover a way out of his quandary.
Tom ate his supper in silence, and so did Mr. Newcombe, who was
pondering upon the same subject that was at that moment occupying his
son’s mind.
The result of the recitation that afternoon had convinced the
merchant that something ought to be done. Tom was making no progress
whatever in his studies. He had been under the charge of his private
teacher for nearly six weeks, and he had not yet completed the
first rule of his arithmetic. The reason for this was, that Tom had
been so long in the habit of dreaming, that any thing like study or
work, had become distasteful to him. The question was, how to arouse
him--how to convince him that if he ever expected to be any body in
the world, he must work for it. This could not be done by keeping him
at his books, for that plan had been repeatedly tried, and had as
often failed. He did not want to send him to the military school, or
allow him to go to sea; for he knew that Tom would not be contented
in either place. But something must be done; and, after thinking the
matter over calmly, the merchant finally decided upon his course.
He said nothing, however, during the meal, to Tom, who, when he had
finished his supper, hunted up his cap, went out of the house, and
walked down the lawn toward the beach, where his sail-boat, which he
called the Mystery, lay at her anchorage. He had started with the
intention of taking a sail; but, on second thought, he knew that
he could not enjoy it, for his troubles weighed too heavily on his
mind. He therefore abandoned the idea, and seating himself on the
grass, pondered upon what the fisher-boy had told him, and, for the
hundredth time, wondered what he should do next.
It had now begun to grow dark, and the shouts that came from the
common bore evidence to the fact that the Night-hawks were ready
to begin operations. Occasionally he heard a long, loud whistle,
which, under almost any other circumstances, would have been promptly
answered by Tom, for it told him, as plainly as words, that he was
wanted. But he did not feel at all inclined to engage in any mischief
that night, so the boys were obliged to get along the best they could
without him. It was fortunate for Tom that he resolved to stay at
home, for scarcely had he come to this determination, when he heard
his father calling him. Tom obeyed the summons, and when he entered
the room where Mr. Newcombe sat, the latter inquired:
“Well, Tom, have you completed your task?”
“O, no, I haven’t,” was the answer. “I can’t learn the capitals of so
many States.”
“Have you tried?” asked the father.
“O, now, don’t I know what I can learn without trying?” asked Tom,
throwing his cap into one corner of the room, and seating himself
near his father. “If a fellow knows he can’t do a thing, what is the
use of his trying? It’s only time thrown away.”
Mr. Newcombe, knowing that it would be of no use to argue the point
just then, changed the subject by inquiring:
“Have you learned any thing at all during the last month?”
“O, I don’t know,” answered Tom. “I can’t study all alone. There’s
no fun in it. Say, father, can’t I go to sea without learning the
capitals of all the States?”
“What could you do on board a vessel, Tom? You would be a foremast
hand all your life.”
“O, no, I wouldn’t! I would soon be captain. Say, father, may I go? I
want to go.”
“You would have to go on a great many voyages before you could be
master of a vessel. I went to sea thirteen years before any one
called me captain.”
“Well, now, may I go? Say, father, may I go?”
“The discipline is very strict,” continued the merchant. “A sailor is
not allowed to stop and grumble at any orders he receives. Besides,
you will have to take a very low position; you will be nothing but a
boy.”
“I don’t care!” said Tom, impatiently. “May I go? That’s what I want
to know!”
“There are other things you must bear in mind also,” said Mr.
Newcombe; but Tom, fearing that his father was about to begin a long,
uninteresting lecture, interrupted him with:
“Now, why don’t you tell me whether or not I can go? Say, father may
I go?”
The merchant, however, did not immediately answer his question; and
Tom, giving it up in disgust, threw himself back in his chair with
the air of one who expected to listen to something very unpleasant.
“You must remember,” said his father, “that there is nothing romantic
about a sailor’s life. It is all drudgery and toil from one year’s
end to another; and if a man wins promotion, he does it by his own
abilities. How would you like to be in a vessel that was cast away?”
Tom thought of the wreck he had seen towed into the harbor, and, for
a moment, he hesitated, but it was only for a moment; for when he
remembered how grand that ship looked as she started on her voyage,
and thought how proud he would feel if he could only be the captain
of a vessel like that, he decided that he would willingly risk
the shipwreck, if that would enable him to gain the object of his
ambition.
“And how would you like to go aloft and take in sail during a storm?”
asked Mr. Newcombe.
“I wouldn’t care!” was the answer. “I wouldn’t do it long. I’d soon
be captain.”
If Tom once got an idea into his head, no matter how ridiculous it
was, he clung to it, and stubbornly refused to be convinced that
it was impracticable. This notion of his, that he could soon learn
enough about seamanship and navigation to be intrusted with the
management of a vessel, was one of his pet ideas; and if all the
sailors in the world had endeavored to show him that the thing was
impossible, he would still have held firmly to his opinion. Mr.
Newcombe had often tried to convince his son of his error, and he had
discovered that there was but one way to do it, and that was to let
Tom learn in the hard school of experience. A few months at sea would
drive all such improbable ideas out of his head.
“Very well,” said the merchant, picking up his paper. “That’s all,
Tom!”
“O, no, it isn’t, father! Why don’t you tell me whether or not I may
go. Say! _Say!_”
But Mr. Newcombe, who appeared to be deeply interested in his paper,
took no further notice of him; and Tom, vexed and disappointed,
picked up his cap, went out of the house, and walked up and down the
lawn. The shouts that now and then came to his ears, told him that
the Night-hawks still held possession of the common, and Tom had half
a mind to go down and join them. But he knew, by the way his father
spoke, that he had some idea of allowing him to go to sea, and he did
not wish to destroy, by an act of disobedience, all the bright hopes
he had so long cherished, and which he imagined could be realized if
he was permitted to ship as cabin-boy on some vessel.
“I always wanted to go to sea,” said Tom to himself, as he walked
impatiently up and down the lawn; “and I’d like to know why I can’t
go as well as any body? I wonder why father didn’t tell me what he
is going to do about it? What good does it do to plague a fellow
this way? Now, if I can go out in the Savannah, I’ll certainly learn
enough to be second mate by the time we get home; then, after that,
I’ll be first mate, and then captain. Then, if a war should break
out, I would go into the navy, and I might be promoted to captain of
a man-o’-war. Wouldn’t that be glorious!”
Tom became amazed when he saw what a bright prospect was suddenly
opened up before him, and he resolved that he would not allow his
father a moment’s rest until he had obtained his permission to go to
sea on the Savannah.
Before he went to sleep that night, Tom had made up what he regarded
as an unanswerable argument, which he intended to present for his
father’s consideration in the morning. But he was saved that trouble;
for, at the breakfast table, Mr. Newcombe informed him that he had
decided to allow him to go to sea on the Savannah; at the same time
giving him advice which, had he seen fit to follow it, would have
made him a better and wiser boy, and would have saved him a great
deal of trouble. Tom was in ecstasies. He made the most extravagant
promises in regard to good behavior and prompt obedience of orders,
and repeatedly assured his father that he was “cut out” for a sailor,
and that it would not be long before he would be the master of a fine
vessel.
“Don’t build your hopes too high on that, Tom,” said Mr. Newcombe.
“Do your duty faithfully as boy, and don’t waste your time in
dreaming about being a captain; for that can only come after years of
hard work.”
But Tom did not believe that. He had read about boys but little older
than himself being masters of vessels, and if he wasn’t as smart as
they were, he would like to know the reason why.
Tom ate but very little breakfast that morning, for the joy he
experienced in receiving his father’s permission to go to sea had
taken away all his appetite. He hastily swallowed a few mouthfuls,
and then, catching up his cap, started toward the wharf to
communicate the good news to the captain of the Savannah. Tom was
well acquainted with all the officers and some of the crew of the
schooner, and he looked upon them as the finest men in the world.
The captain, especially, was his beau ideal of a sailor. He always
wore wide pants, a tremendous neck-tie, and, when he walked, he
rolled from side to side, like a vessel in a gale of wind--a style of
locomotion that Tom had more than once vainly endeavored to imitate.
With the older members of the crew he had always been a great
favorite. Whenever they returned from a voyage, they always brought
something for Tom; and, besides, they invariably spoke of him as “Our
young skipper,” a title which pleased the boy exceedingly.
Tom had long ago decided that his first voyage to sea should be made
in the Savannah, and, for a time, it had been the height of his
ambition to obtain the command of a vessel exactly like her. But now
he had set his mark higher; a topsail schooner was not good enough
for him--he wanted a full-rigged ship. However, the Savannah would
answer his purpose just then, for he considered that it would be much
pleasanter to go to sea with friends who would always treat him with
the respect due the son of the owner of the vessel, than to make his
first voyage in company with total strangers. He had often talked to
the captain about going out with him, and that gentleman, with all a
sailor’s fondness for his chosen calling, had spoken so encouragingly
to him, and had appeared to take so much interest in his affairs,
that Tom concluded he would be happy to know that he was to have a
new cabin-boy. Toward the wharf, then, he went at the top of his
speed, and reaching the Savannah, he clambered over the rail, and ran
down into the cabin, where the captain was eating his breakfast.
“It’s all right, now!” shouted Tom, as the skipper shook hands with
him. “It’s all right! I am going out with you!”
“I am glad to hear that,” said the captain, “for I am always happy to
have good company. You are going out just for the fun of the thing, I
suppose?”
“Yes, I expect to see plenty of fun, but I’m going to ship as boy.
I want you to teach me all you can, for I intend to be master of
a ship one of these days. Now, captain,” he added, glancing at the
doors of the different state-rooms in the cabin, “which is my room?”
“Why, if you ship as boy,” said the captain, “you’ll have to sleep
with the sailors in the forecastle.”
“Will I?” exclaimed Tom in astonishment. “Not if I know it. Do you
suppose that I am going to bunk with the hands? No, sir! I’m going to
have one of these rooms, and mess with you.”
“I understood you to say that you wanted to learn all about the
vessel!” said the captain.
“So I do!” replied Tom. “I want to be the best navigator and seaman
that ever sailed salt water!”
“That’s an object well worth working for,” said the skipper. “But our
best sailors never obtained their responsible positions by creeping
in at the cabin windows. They came in at the hawse-hole for’ard, and
worked their way aft.”
“That’s all well enough for those who are obliged to do it,” replied
Tom. “I know I can learn just as much about a vessel by living in the
cabin as I can by staying in the forecastle.”
As Tom said this he made a hurried examination of the two unoccupied
rooms in the cabin, and, selecting the one he thought would suit him
best, he continued:
“Now, captain, this is my room. Lock it up, and keep every body out
of it! As soon as I can get my bedding ready, I will have it brought
down here.”
The captain, no doubt, thought that Tom was assuming considerable
authority for one who was to rate as “boy” on the shipping articles,
but he made no remark, knowing that in due time he would hear
the full particulars of the matter from Mr. Newcombe. Tom spent
some time in looking about his room, and deciding what articles
of furniture he ought to bring down in order to set it off to the
best advantage, and finally he left the vessel and walked toward
his father’s office. A few moments later Mr. Newcombe went on board
the schooner, and, after a long conversation with the captain, he
returned to his office, where he found his son waiting for him.
“Now, Tom,” said the merchant, as he seated himself in a chair beside
the boy, “I suppose you want to know something of the life you will
lead for the next six months!”
“O, I know all about it now,” said Tom. “I’ll have a jolly time.”
Mr. Newcombe, however, thought differently, and he began to tell his
son exactly what he might expect if he shipped on board the schooner.
In the first place, he would be treated, in all respects as one of
the crew. He would be allowed no liberties that were not granted to
others; and he would begin his career as a sailor, as his father had
done before him--at the “lowest round of the ladder.” All the duties
expected of a boy on board ship would be required of him, and, if he
disobeyed orders, he would be liable to punishment. He would receive
boy’s pay--forty-eight dollars for the voyage--and when he returned
home, his father would give him the money due him, and he might use
it as he thought proper. If he wanted to be a speculator on a small
scale, (as Tom had often thought he would be if he only had some
money,) that would be capital enough for him to commence with.
“O, no, father,” said Tom, confidently, “I have given up all idea of
being a trader. I’ll go to sea again at once. You seem to think that
I will soon grow tired of a sailor’s life.”
Those were exactly the thoughts that were at that moment passing
through the merchant’s mind; but, seeing that his son still
stubbornly held to his own opinions, and knowing that he could not be
talked out of them, he brought the interview to a close by turning
to his desk and picking up some letters that had just been brought
in. Tom was left to himself, and being too uneasy to sit still, even
for a moment, he loitered about the office for a short time, and then
started for home.
“Father doesn’t know what he is talking about,” he soliloquized.
“I never saw a man with such funny ideas. Does he suppose that the
captain of the Savannah is going to make me work? No, sir; he won’t
do it. He won’t dare do it; for my father owns that schooner, and I
guess I shall have a right to do as I please. I expect to go aloft
and take in sail, but I don’t call that work. The captain and I
understand each other, and I know that I shall get along finely.”
Tom thought the day on which the schooner was to sail never would
arrive, for never before had the time hung so heavily on his hands.
He was very cross and fretful, and spent the entire week in walking
about the wharf, with his hands in his pockets. His private teacher
had left the mansion as soon as it was decided that his pupil was
to go to sea; and when Tom saw him go out of the yard, he drew a
long breath of relief, as if a heavy load had been removed from his
shoulders. Had he dared to do so, he would have thrown his desk and
all his books out after him; but as it was, he contented himself with
believing that he would never again be required to open an arithmetic
or geography.
How he pitied his unfortunate acquaintances who were obliged to
attend school, and how they all envied Tom, when they learned that
he was about to go on a voyage to Callao. Every one of them said
that Callao was in Peru; but Tom stoutly maintained that it was
in England, and that when he arrived there, he would persuade the
skipper to take him to see the Queen.
“Look at your geography,” said one of the boys, “and you will see
that you are mistaken.”
“O, no, I won’t do it,” drawled Tom. “I said I never would open that
book again if I could help it, and I’m going to stick to it.”
At last, to Tom’s immense relief, the long-expected day arrived.
From daylight until dark he sat on the wharf, watching the workmen
who were engaged in loading the vessel, and when he went home to
supper with his father, the latter informed him that the schooner
would be ready to sail by ten o’clock that evening. At nine o’clock,
Tom bade his mother good-by, and returned to the wharf, accompanied
by his father. He was dressed in a full sailor’s “rig,” with wide
pants, a blue flannel shirt, a tarpaulin, which he wore as far back
on his head as he could get it; a neck-tie, that looked altogether
too large for him, and, when his father was not looking at him, he
tried to imitate the captain’s walk. If clothes made the sailor, Tom
could certainly lay claim to that honor. Shortly after he reached the
vessel, his bedding and extra clothing arrived, and Tom gave orders
to have them carried into the cabin. Had he taken the trouble to
see how the command was obeyed, he would have found that his bundle
was unceremoniously thrown down into the forecastle. At last, when
every thing was ready for the start, a steamer came along-side to tow
the schooner out of the harbor. Mr. Newcombe took leave of the young
sailor, and sprang upon the wharf, after which, the lines were cast
off, and the Savannah began her voyage.
CHAPTER IV.
LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.
Tom, delighted to find himself at last on board an outward-bound
vessel, remained on deck until the schooner was fairly out of the
harbor. He took his stand beside the captain, thrust his hands
deep into his pockets, pushed his hat on one side, and watched the
movements of the sailors, who ran about the deck executing the
different orders, as if he perfectly understood the meaning of
every command, and had long been accustomed to every thing he saw.
Occasionally he turned his eyes toward the rapidly receding lights
on the wharf, but, far from experiencing a single feeling of regret
at leaving home, he felt like shouting for joy. In fact, according
to Tom’s way of thinking, he had nothing to be sorry for. At home
he was always unhappy, something was forever happening to trouble
him; but in the life before him he saw nothing but sunshine. He was
entering upon the easy and romantic life of a sailor. He would soon
learn enough about seamanship and navigation to be intrusted with the
command of a vessel; and, when he arose in the morning, instead of
looking forward to six hours’ work at his arithmetic and geography
lessons, he would find before him a day of uninterrupted enjoyment.
“Ah, this is glorious!” said Tom to himself, as the schooner, having
cleared the harbor, began to move more rapidly over the waves. “This
is fine! This is just the life for me! I’m a land-lubber no longer!
I’m a sailor; and I wouldn’t be the least bit sorry if I should never
see Newport.”
Tom’s soliloquy was interrupted by an event that was as sudden as it
was unexpected. He had taken no pains to keep out of the way of the
sailors; and, when the crew came aft to hoist the mainsail, he was
so absorbed in his reverie that he took no notice of them until he
was aroused by the exclamation: “Here you are! Always in the way! Get
out o’ this!” accompanied by a violent push, which sent him at full
length on the deck.
“Now, look here!” drawled Tom, as he hastily arose to his feet. “I’d
like to know what you are about! I’ll tell the captain.”
Surprised and indignant at such treatment, he at once started off to
find the skipper, whom he at length discovered standing in the waist.
“Captain!” he exclaimed. “Did you see that fellow push me down?”
“No!” replied the captain, in a tone which implied that he was not at
all interested in the matter, “I didn’t see him.”
“Well, somebody did push me down, flat on the deck,” said Tom,
angrily. “I want you to haul that man up for it, for I won’t stand
it.”
“Well, then,” said the captain, coolly, as he turned on his heel and
walked aft, “you must keep your eyes open, and not get in any body’s
way.”
Tom was astonished to find that the skipper did not sympathize with
him; but, believing that he did not fully understand his complaint,
he started to follow him, intending to state his case more clearly,
when he was roughly jostled by the second mate, who was hurrying
forward to execute some order.
“Look here!” shouted Tom. “Don’t you know that this is my father’s
vessel? I want you to be a little more careful about pushing me
around this way. You are nothing but a mate.”
“Ay ay, my hearty!” interrupted the sailor. “I know all about that.
But now, just take my advice and keep out of the way, or you’ll go
overboard.”
“I will, will I?” exclaimed Tom. “I’ll tell the captain! Look here!”
he continued, as he approached the skipper, who was standing beside
the man at the wheel. “What do your men mean by pushing me about? I
want you to remember that my father owns this vessel. I won’t stand
such treatment; and I want you to put a stop to it; that’s all about
it.”
Tom certainly stated his case plain enough this time, and he fully
expected that the captain would at once punish the men who had
treated him so disrespectfully; but what was his surprise and
disappointment when that gentleman turned on his heel and walked off
whistling. Tom was more than surprised at this; as the sailors would
have expressed it, “he was taken all aback,” and, for a moment, he
stood looking after the retreating form of the captain, as if he
was utterly unable to understand what had caused this sudden change
in him. Undoubtedly he had been sadly mistaken in the man. While on
shore, he was good natured, and had always appeared to take great
interest in every thing Tom had to say; but now, he was exactly the
reverse. He not only did not offer to protect him from the men, but
he seemed anxious to keep as much as possible out of his way. Tom,
who was not dull of comprehension, began to realize the fact that he
had got himself into a most unpleasant situation. He had built his
hopes high upon the captain only to be disappointed; and, with his
mouth twisted on one side, as if he were on the point of crying, he
went down into the cabin to arrange his bed. He went to the room he
had picked out for his own use, and was astonished to discover that
it had already been taken. A bed was made up in the bunk, and in one
corner stood a large sea-chest, with the name J. H. Robson painted on
it, showing that the room was in the possession of the second mate.
His own bed-clothes where nowhere to be seen. Almost too angry to
breathe, Tom was about to start in search of the captain, when he met
that gentleman coming down the companion-way.
“Look here, captain!” exclaimed Tom, pointing to the bed, “your
second-mate has taken possession of my room.”
“Your room!” repeated the captain. “That room doesn’t belong to you.”
“Why, captain!” said Tom, in surprise, “I picked it out for my own
use, and told you to lock it up, and to allow no one in it. Don’t you
remember?”
“Yes, I recollect. But I told you, at the same time, that sailors
sleep in the forecastle.”
“And I also told you that I was going to sleep in the cabin, and mess
with you,” said Tom, decidedly. “Tell somebody to take that bed out
of there.”
“Where will Mr. Robson sleep, then?” asked the captain. “The second
mate always occupies that room.”
“Well, you can put him somewhere else. I’m bound to have that room.”
“I think, Tom,” said the skipper, quietly, “that you will have to go
into the forecastle. There’s where you belong. You rate as ‘boy’ on
the shipping articles.”
“But I didn’t agree to go among the men,” said Tom, “and I won’t
do it. What do you suppose my father would say if he knew that you
wanted me to bunk in the forecastle?”
“I say, captain,” shouted the second mate down the companion-way at
this moment, “is that young sea-monkey down there? Ah, here you are!”
he continued, discovering Tom. “Lay for’ard into the forecastle, and
take care of your donnage. Up you come with a jump.”
“Now what’s my baggage doing in the forecastle?” asked Tom, growing
more and more astonished at each new turn of events. “Who put it in
there? Tell one of your men to bring it into the cabin at once.”
“Sonny,” replied the mate, shaking his finger at Tom, “come up here!”
There was something in the sailor’s tone and manner that a little
alarmed Tom, and led him to draw closer to the captain, as if
seeking his protection. But the latter, after pulling off his coat
and hanging it up in his state-room, seated himself at the table,
and began to examine his chart; and Tom, finding that he was left
to fight his battles alone, resolved to do so to the best of his
ability. Turning to the mate he replied, angrily:
“I’ve got no business on deck. I can’t be of any use up there;
besides, I am sleepy, and I want to go to bed.”
“Well, then, lay for’ard into the forecastle, where you belong,” said
the mate.
“I tell you I don’t belong there!” exclaimed Tom, almost ready to
cry with vexation; “and, what’s more, I am not going there. I want
you to remember that this is my father’s vessel, and you had better
mind what you are about. And, see here, Mr. Robson! you have put your
baggage in my room, and I want you to take it out of there at once.
That’s my room.”
The mate, instead of replying, came down the stairs, and, seizing
Tom’s arm with a grip that brought tears to his eyes, exclaimed:
“I want no nonsense, now! If you don’t obey orders, I’ll take a bit
of a rope’s-end to you. Now go for’ard on the run.”
Tom struggled desperately to free himself from the mate’s grasp, but,
finding that his efforts were unavailing, he appealed to the captain
for protection.
“See here, captain!” he shouted, “are you going to sit there and see
me abused in this manner, when my father owns this vessel?”
“I can’t help you, Tom!” replied the captain. “That gentleman is one
of the officers of this schooner, and must be obeyed. If you will
take my advice, you will do just what he orders you to do.”
Tom, however, did not see fit to follow this advice, but still
continued to struggle with the mate, when the latter tightened his
grasp on his arm, and, pulling him up the stairs in spite of his
resistance, he hurried him across the deck, and pushed him down into
the forecastle, exclaiming:
“Now, then, stay there! If I catch a glimpse of your ugly figure-head
on deck again to-night, I’ll use a rope’s-end on you. Now, that’s
gospel!”
There were several sailors in the forecastle arranging their beds,
and nothing but pride restrained Tom from giving full vent to
his troubled feelings in a flood of tears. But even here he was
not safe; he had escaped from one source of annoyance only to be
immediately assailed by another; for, as he came rapidly down the
stairs, assisted by a violent push from the mate, one of the sailors
exclaimed:
“Here he comes! Just look at him! Mates, that’s the chap as wants to
learn to be a cap’in.”
“You don’t tell me so!” chimed in another. “Sonny does your mother
know you’re here?”
“Just look at his riggin’!” said another, having reference to Tom’s
suit of new clothes. “He looks like a Dutch galliot scudding under
bare poles!”
“An’ them white hands,” said the one who had first spoken, “they’re
just the thing for a tar-bucket.”
These were but few of the greetings Tom received upon his advent into
the forecastle. Had he been wise, he would have listened to them as
good-naturedly as possible; but the tone in which they were spoken
irritated him, and he took no pains to conceal the fact.
“Now, you hush up,” he shouted. “This is my father’s vessel. I’ll
have you taught better manners the minute we get ashore again.”
This only made matters worse. The sailors gathered about him, pulling
him first one way and then another, all the while ridiculing his
dress or his appearance, until Tom, unable to escape from their
clutches, or to endure their taunts, began to cry.
“Look at that! He’s pumping for salt water!” said one.
“Now, see here, shipmates!” exclaimed another, an old sailor with
whom Tom had always been a great favorite, “it has gone far enough,
now. Don’t bother the life out of the lad. Never mind ’em, sonny,” he
added, patting Tom on the head, “you’ve got the right stuff in you,
and you’ll make a sailor-man yet. Jack, just throw his donnage over
this way. Now, Tommy, here’s a bunk that don’t seem to be in use; let
me tumble up your bed for you.”
The man meant to do Tom a kindness; and the sailors, seeing him thus
defended, at once ceased tormenting him; and, it is probable that if
he had kept silent, he might have been allowed to sleep in peace.
But Tom’s ill-nature could not be suppressed. He considered that he
had been grossly insulted by both the captain and the second mate.
He was very indignant at the sailors for addressing him in such
disrespectful language, and he was resolved to show them, one and
all, that he regarded them as beneath his notice. Roughly jerking his
bed-clothes from the sailor’s hand, he pushed him away from the bunk,
exclaiming:
“Let me alone. I don’t want any of your help. I’ll have you all
discharged the moment we reach home again. You forget that my father
owns this schooner.”
“No, I don’t, Tommy,” said the sailor. “But don’t be foolish, now.
You’ll always have a friend in Jack Waters.”
“Get away from me,” shouted Tom. “I don’t want your friendship. All I
ask of you is, to let me alone.”
The man, seeing that Tom was in a very bad humor, sprang into his
bunk, leaving the young sailor to himself. The latter soon had cause
to regret that he had been so imprudent, for the new members of the
crew, who were all strangers to Tom, began to laugh at and ridicule
him worse than ever. Every exhibition of anger on his part only
brought loud shouts of derision from the sailors; and Tom, seeing
there was no chance for escape, finally spread his bed in one of the
bunks, and, crawling into it, covered his head with the blankets.
There he lay, thinking over his situation, and studying up plans
to revenge himself upon the sailors. He was surprised, angry, and
discouraged; surprised, because there had been a great change in the
captain and the older members of the crew, for which he could not
account. On shore, they had always treated him with the greatest
respect; but now, they seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. He
was angry, because he--Tom Newcombe, the son of the richest man in
Newport--had been addressed as “sonny.” Besides, the second mate had
dared to lay violent hands upon him, and the sailors seemed ready to
carry out the system of persecution that had been commenced in the
cabin. And he was discouraged, because he saw all his bright hopes of
one day becoming the master of a fine vessel disappearing like the
mists of the morning. What encouragement had he to persevere in his
determination to become an accomplished navigator and seaman, if he
was to be subjected to such treatment as he had just received? None
whatever. If the two hours he had passed on board the schooner were
a fair sample of the life he would be compelled to lead for the next
six months, he had already had enough of following the sea.
“O, I can’t stand it!” said Tom to himself. “I didn’t think I would
have to sleep in the forecastle. That captain isn’t the gentleman I
thought he was. I wonder what made father send me to sea? I knew I
couldn’t be a sailor, and there’s no use in trying. I wish I was at
home again!”
It was long after midnight before he fell asleep, and, even then,
he was not allowed to rest in peace. It seemed to him that he
was awakened every five minutes by orders shouted down into the
forecastle. Some one was constantly moving about; and every man that
passed by his bunk, brushed against him and pulled the blankets off
on the deck. The air of the forecastle was hot and almost stifling;
and this, together with the rocking of the vessel, presently made Tom
sea-sick as well as home-sick. He grew worse and worse, and finally
began to be afraid that he was going to die. The sailors, who were
not long in finding out what was the matter with him, again began to
torment him, and finally, in his desperation, Tom heartily wished
that the schooner and all on board, himself included, might go to
the bottom. Rolling and tossing about on his hard bed, he passed a
most uncomfortable night, and morning brought him no relief from his
troubles. At the first peep of day, the second mate came into the
forecastle; but, seeing at a glance, poor Tom’s condition, he again
went on deck, leaving him to his meditations. Shortly after this, a
sailor entered, bearing in his hand a covered dish, with which he
approached Tom’s bunk, saying:
“Can’t you eat a little, my hearty? Here’s a nice bit I have brought
you.”
As he spoke, he uncovered the dish and exposed to Tom’s view a piece
of fat pork swimming in gravy.
If there is any thing a sea-sick person dislikes, it is the sight of
greasy meat; and the thought of eating a piece of that the sailor
brought him, operated on Tom like an emetic. It was fully an hour
before he recovered from this new plan of torture; and when he became
able to think the matter over, he resolved to go to the captain and
have the sailor punished. Shortly after noon, having become somewhat
accustomed to the rocking of the vessel, his sickness began to abate,
and Tom thought he might muster up strength enough to walk to the
cabin.
Slowly rising from his bunk, he crawled up the stairs, and the first
man he met, when he reached the deck, was the second mate, the very
one of all others he most dreaded to see.
“Ah! You’re up again, are you?” exclaimed the officer. “I hope you
feel better!”
Tom was surprised to be addressed in so kind a tone by the man who
had treated him so roughly the night before, and he began to think
that, perhaps, the mate was not so bad after all.
“Where are you going?” continued the officer, as Tom moved toward the
companion-way.
“I am going to see the skipper,” was the answer. “I want some of
these men put in irons!”
“Well, Tommy!” said the mate, “never mind the captain now. He’s
asleep, and you had better not disturb him. He’ll be better natured
if you let him have his after-dinner nap out. But what have the men
been doing to you?”
“Why, they won’t let me alone!” said Tom. “They keep bothering me all
the time; and I won’t stand it, when my father owns the schooner. I
came here to learn to be a sailor, not to be laughed at, and told
that I look like a ‘Dutch galliot under bare poles.’”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the mate. “If you’ll obey
all orders promptly, and to the very letter, I’ll stand by you, and
see that nobody bothers you. But you say you want to learn to be a
sailor. Come here; I have something to show you!”
The mate’s face wore a good-natured smile, and his words were spoken
in a tone that, under any other circumstances, would have won Tom’s
heart. But, as it was, he could not be easily deceived, and he had a
suspicion that the officer was about to show him some work he wished
him to do. The mate evidently guessed the thoughts that were passing
through his mind, for he continued:
“Of course we don’t intend to work you hard at the start, Tommy. I’ll
give you an easy job. Are you fond of horses?”
“Yes, I am!” replied Tom, eagerly. “Have you horses on board?”
“Yes, we’ve got one--a regular old sea-horse. He’s been with us
now--let me see--this is the fifth voyage. Would you like to take
care of him? That’s the job we always give to boys when they first
come on board vessels.”
“All right,” said Tom. “Where is he?”
“Come this way, and I’ll show him to you,” said the mate, as he led
Tom toward the galley, where a negro was engaged in sawing wood.
“Now, Tommy,” he continued, “can you do that kind of work?”
“Saw wood!” exclaimed the young sailor, in surprise. “No, I can’t do
that. But where’s the horse?”
“Here it is! I meant the saw-horse,” said the mate. “By the time you
have made as many voyages as he has, you’ll know something about a
ship. You say you can’t do that kind of work?”
“O, no, I can’t!” drawled Tom.
“Well, then, that’s the first thing you’ll have to learn. You never
can be an able seaman until you understand every thing about a
vessel, you know. Snow-ball!” he added, turning to the negro, who was
the cook of the schooner, “here’s your new boy. He’ll saw all the
wood you want.”
The negro dropped the saw, and the officer, again turning to Tom,
said:
“Now, then, bear a hand!”
“O, now, I can’t saw wood!” whined Tom. “I didn’t ship for that, and
I won’t do it.”
The whole appearance of the mate instantly changed. Stepping to the
foremast, he uncoiled a heavy rope from one of the cleats, and, again
approaching Tom, exclaimed:
“Now bear a hand, sonny, or I’ll use this rope.”
Tom saw that the mate was in earnest, and that the only way to escape
punishment was to obey. Reluctantly picking up one of the smallest
sticks of wood he could find, he placed it upon the saw-horse, and
took his first lesson in the duties of a sailor. He had never
attempted work of that kind before, and it was a most tedious task to
saw that stick of wood; but it was accomplished at last, and Tom drew
a long breath of relief, for he thought that his work was done.
“That’s the way to do it,” said the mate, approvingly. “You’ll make
a sailor yet. You’ll be captain one of these fine days. Now try
another!”
Tom looked first at the wood-pile, then at the rope which the mate
still held in his hand, and, not daring to refuse, he placed another
stick on the saw-horse, and again went to work, his eyes so blinded
with tears that he could scarcely see what he was about. For an hour
the mate stood by watching his movements, and, seeing that Tom began
to make more rapid headway, he said, as he returned the rope to its
place:
“You begin to understand how it is done. Now, I want you to listen
to me, and I will tell you all your duties. In the morning, you must
be up at five o’clock. Your first job will be to black the captain’s
boots; then come here and saw wood till breakfast time. After that,
you will make up the bunks in the cabin, and then come back here to
the wood-pile. When this is gone, I’ll find more for you. Those are
your duties. Mark you, now, no more nonsense, or I’ll make you sup
sorrow with a big spoon.”
As the mate ceased speaking, he turned and walked aft, leaving Tom
lost in wonder. Every hour he spent on board the schooner, developed
some new and most unpleasant features in the life of a sailor, upon
which he had never made any calculations. Sawing wood was one of
them, and blacking the captain’s boots another. Had he, while at
home, been told to perform such work, he would have indignantly
refused; and, as it was, he had half a mind to arouse the captain
and demand his protection. But there was the second mate pacing the
deck between him and the companion-way; and the young sailor knew,
from what he had already experienced, that, if he left his work, the
officer would not hesitate to fulfill his threat of using a rope’s
end. Poor Tom was already “supping sorrow with a big spoon.” Besides
being homesick, he had seen more than enough of a sailor’s life; and
he firmly resolved that, if he again put his foot on shore in his
native village, he would stay there.
But why had the mate selected him to perform these very disagreeable
duties? There was another boy on board, whose name was Bob White. He
was nothing but the son of a sailor, and, according to Tom’s way of
thinking, _he_ was the one that ought to do the work. While he was
compelled to saw wood like a laborer, Bob was walking up and down the
deck, putting on as much style as if he had been the commander of the
vessel. Of course he had duties to perform, but they were very light
and pleasant compared with those imposed upon Tom; and the latter
resolved that, as soon as he could see the captain, he would have
matters arranged differently.
“Come, come, bear a hand; no skulking here!” came the voice of the
second mate, abruptly terminating his meditations; and Tom fearing
the rope’s end, again took up the saw and went to work. Observing
that the officer kept close watch of all his movements, the young
sailor applied himself steadily to his task, and, as he saw his pile
of wood growing larger by degrees, he began to hope that the cook
would have fuel enough to last two or three days. But when the middle
of the afternoon came, the negro began the work of cooking supper;
and when he had carried three armfuls into the galley, Tom’s pile of
wood was all gone.
“Why, boy!” exclaimed the cook “what ’count be you on board this
vessel? Go back from dar!” Pushing Tom away, he seized the saw, and,
in a few moments, had fuel enough to finish cooking the supper.
This was another severe blow. Even the negro cook scolded him;
and, for the first time in his life, Tom made to himself what he
considered to be a most humiliating confession; namely, that the
position a person occupies among his fellow-men, depends not upon
his father’s wealth or influence, but upon his own abilities. The
sailors all knew that Tom was the son of the richest man in Newport,
but that had no weight with them. In their estimation, he was nothing
but a “surly young land-lubber,” and of no possible use in the world.
Tom, we repeat, realized the position in which he was placed, and one
would suppose that he would have seen the necessity of submitting to
his fate with as good a grace as he could command, and of improving
every opportunity that was offered him to learn something about
his duties. But, unfortunately for him, this was very far from his
thoughts. The unexpected obstacles that had suddenly arisen in his
path, he regarded as altogether too great to be overcome, and he
deliberately resolved that he would do absolutely nothing except upon
compulsion. He was continually saying to himself: “O, I can’t be a
sailor; I know I can’t!” and that was the same as though he had said
“I sha’n’t try.”
CHAPTER V.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
That night, after supper, the second mate informed Tom that he
belonged to the port watch, and that when that watch was called at
midnight, he would be expected to answer the summons with the others.
Tom was not at all pleased to hear this, for the night promised to be
a stormy one, and the thought of remaining on deck in the rain from
twelve o’clock until daylight was not an agreeable one. He sought his
bunk at an early hour, and being considerably wearied with his day’s
work, soon forgot his troubles in a sound sleep. It seemed to him
that he had scarcely closed his eyes, when a gruff voice shouted down
the hatchway:
“Port watch ahoy! Roll out lively!”
This was followed by a commotion among the sailors, who sprang out of
their bunks; and, as they commenced pulling on their pea-jackets, one
of them shook Tom by the shoulder, exclaiming: “Turn out, sonny! It’s
your watch on deck.”
Tom was perfectly well aware of that fact, but, after listening a
moment, he heard the moaning of the wind through the shrouds, and the
pattering of the rain on the deck, and fearing the storm more than
the wrath of the second mate, he drawled out:
“O, I can’t get up! It’s raining!” and thinking that he had settled
the matter, he pulled the blankets over his head, to shut out all
sounds of the storm, turned his face to the bulk-head, and in a few
moments was fast asleep again. But he was not allowed to remain
long undisturbed, for the second mate stood on deck as the watch
came up, and seeing that Tom was not among them, he ran down into
the forecastle, and, seizing the young sailor by the arms, pulled
him, bed and all, out of the bunk. Tom arose to his feet as soon as
he could throw off the blankets, and turning to the mate, angrily
exclaimed:
“Now, see here, Mr. Robson! I tell you, once for all--”
He suddenly paused, for the officer held a short piece of rope in
his hand, which he lifted in a threatening manner; and, Tom having
a wholesome fear of punishment, hastily pulled on his boots and
pea-jacket, and followed the mate to the deck.
It was a dismal night. The wind sent the rain in blinding sheets
over the deck. The schooner rocked and plunged in a manner that
made it impossible for Tom to keep his feet without holding fast to
something, and, for the thousandth time, the young sailor heartily
wished himself safe at home. As the gale increased in force, it
became necessary to shorten sail; and Tom, as usual, being in
the way, was roughly pushed about, and even kicked, as if he had
been an unruly dog. When five o’clock came, he was holding on to
the foremast, pondering upon his hard lot, and thinking over the
complaints he would make to his father against the crew as soon as
the schooner returned home, when he was aroused by the voice of the
second mate, whom he regarded as his evil genius.
“Didn’t you hear that bell, youngster?” inquired the officer. “It’s
five o’clock, and time for you to turn to.”
Tom knew that “turn to” meant go to work; and he also remembered
that his first task was to black the captain’s boots. At first he
determined to flatly refuse to perform such work; but, on second
thought, he concluded to go into the cabin and tell the skipper how
badly he was treated, and again demand his protection. So, without
stopping to answer the mate, he sullenly walked aft, when the
officer, as if guessing his intention, said:
“I’ll give you five minutes in which to black the captain’s boots;
and, if you are not on deck again at the end of that time, I shall be
after you.”
Tom made no reply, but went down into the cabin, where he found the
captain seated at the table examining his chart.
“Well!” exclaimed the latter, as Tom entered, “how do you like a
sailor’s life?”
“O, I don’t like it at all!” was the answer. “I can’t imagine why my
father sent me to sea, to be kicked about and abused as I have been
on board this vessel. I am not treated right, captain. I didn’t ship
to saw wood or to black your boots, and I’m not going to do it. I am
here to learn to be a sailor.”
The captain drummed with his fingers on the table, but made no reply.
“And just see here, how wet I am!” continued Tom. “I’ve been out in
all this rain ever since midnight.”
“O, that’s nothing,” said the captain, who could not refrain from
laughing. “We can’t always have pleasant weather, you know.”
“I don’t mind the rain so much,” replied Tom. “I could stand that if
I was only treated half-way decent. I didn’t suppose that you would
make me work so hard.”
“I think your duties are very light,” said the captain. “If you
intend to be a sailor, you must learn how to do all kinds of work.
When I was a boy, and made my first voyage, I had to do just the work
you are now called upon to do.”
“What! black boots and saw wood!” exclaimed Tom, in utter amazement.
“Exactly!” was the answer.
“Then I can’t be a sailor. That’s settled. I can’t do such work. I
wouldn’t mind going aloft; but I can’t black boots. Why can’t Bob
White do it?”
The captain made no reply, but again turned his attention to his
chart, while Tom helped himself to a chair, resolved, now that he was
again safe in the cabin, to remain there. Once or twice, his eyes
wandered to the captain’s boots, which had been placed just outside
the door of his state-room, and to the brush and box of blacking that
lay beside them; but he could not endure the thought of playing the
part of a boot-black. He remembered a little negro boy he had often
seen plying his trade on his father’s wharf, and he could not bear
the idea of placing himself on an equality with him.
“Captain,” said Tom, at length, “must I black your boots?”
“I have nothing to say,” answered that gentleman. “If the second
mate told you to do it, you must obey him, for I can’t countermand
his orders.”
“Why didn’t he tell Bob White to do it?” whined Tom. “I can’t.”
“You can try,” said the captain.
“O, no, I can’t,” insisted Tom. “I never blacked boots in my life. It
wouldn’t look well for me to do it. Send for Bob White. He’s the one
that ought to do such work.”
“I have nothing to do with the matter,” repeated the captain. “And my
advice to you is, to obey all orders you receive promptly, and to the
letter. You will fare much better if you do.”
Tom made no reply, for he plainly saw that it was useless to hope for
assistance from the captain. Slowly rising to his feet, he picked
up the blacking brush between his thumb and finger, and, with his
eyes filled with tears, began the work of polishing the captain’s
boots, his every movement showing how distasteful was the work to
him. At this moment, the second mate appeared at the head of the
companion-way, and the sound of his voice infused new energy into
Tom, who, regardless of soiling his fingers, grasped the brush firmly
in his hand, and proceeded with his work as if he had been accustomed
to blacking boots all his life. The mate watched him for a moment,
and then said, approvingly:
“That’s the way, sonny. You’ll make a fine sailor one of these days.
I’ll give you five minutes more, and be sure you have those boots
blacked by that time, for you must be at your wood-pile.”
Tom was not at all pleased with the tone in which the mate addressed
him; for, although he appeared to be friendly, there was something
about him which told the young sailor that it would be well for him
to be at his wood-pile as soon as possible.
The work of blacking the boots was finished at last, and it was like
every thing else Tom ever undertook--not more than half done. There
was no polish on them; but the captain, although he was far from
being satisfied with the work, pitied Tom, and when the latter handed
him his boots, he pulled them on without remark. Then, knowing that
his five minutes had nearly expired, Tom went on deck, and walked
slowly toward his wood-pile. The wood was wet, and in placing a stick
upon the saw-horse, Tom’s fingers and clothes were sadly soiled, and
he was almost on the point of crying with vexation when he saw what a
plight he was in.
“Take hold of it, sonny,” exclaimed the second mate, who stood close
by, watching him. “Take hold of it. It can’t hurt you, so don’t be
afraid.”
But Tom was very much afraid of soiling his clothes, and the
consequence was, that, although he worked steadily for two hours,
he did not saw wood enough for the cook to get breakfast with. This
brought him another scolding from the negro, who declared, “’Fore
Moses, I never did see sich a useless chile. I can’t see what boys
like you is made for, no how. Go ’way from dar.”
Tom readily gave up the saw, glad indeed to be relieved, even for a
short time, from the work he so much despised.
After breakfast, the men belonging to the port watch went below to
sleep until noon; all except Tom, who still had one duty to perform,
and that was, to make up the beds in the cabin. This he did in his
usual careless manner, so that, when night came, the captain and both
mates were obliged to make them over again. But Tom did the work to
his own satisfaction, that is, in the shortest possible space of time.
When he returned to the deck, he found the second mate and Bob White
engaged in conversation. The latter was drenched to the skin, and
looked altogether like a person who had just been pulled out of the
water. The officer had one hand on the boy’s head, and in the other
he held a short piece of rope; and Tom, who, from some cause which he
himself would have found it difficult to explain, thoroughly hated
Bob, was in hopes the mate had been given him a whipping. But he
was soon undeceived, for, as he approached, he saw that Bob’s face
was lighted up with a smile of triumph, and he also heard the mate
speaking to him in the kindest possible tone, evidently praising him
for something he had just done. Tom was angry in an instant. The
mate had never praised him for any thing he had accomplished, and he
wondered what Bob had been doing to win the officer’s approbation. He
did not remain long in ignorance, for the mate, upon discovering him,
called out:
“Come here, sonny! The captain tells me that you want to learn to go
aloft,” he continued, as he led Tom toward the mainmast; “and you
might as well begin now as any time. Do you see that Irish pennant
up there?” pointing to a piece of rope which fluttered in the wind
from the cross-trees, and which the officer had placed there but a
few moments before, on purpose to give Tom his first lesson in going
aloft; “do you see it? Well, go up and bring it down to me. Up you
go!”
Tom looked at the mast, the top of which described almost a
half-circle in the air, as the schooner plowed through the waves,
and then at the mate, and finally drawled out, in his lazy way: “O,
I can’t! I wouldn’t mind going up there in calm weather, but the
schooner pitches so badly, I couldn’t hold on. I should certainly
fall down.”
“Why, sonny, sailors can’t choose the weather for going aloft!” said
the mate. “I am surprised to hear a boy who expects some day to be
master of a vessel talk as if he was afraid; come, bear a hand; don’t
be a coward.”
The officer had touched Tom in a very tender place. He did not like
to be called a coward, and, almost involuntarily, he started toward
the shrouds, as if he intended to convince the mate that he was not
wanting in courage. But just then the schooner gave a tremendous
lurch, and Tom, being taken unawares, was thrown flat upon the deck.
Slowly rising to his feet, he clung to the fife-rail for support,
and, again looking up at the mast, drawled out:
“O, I can’t go up there! Why don’t you tell Bob to go? I have to do
all the work!”
But Bob had, but a few moments before, performed the same experiment;
only the mate had placed the rope he wished him to bring on the
extreme end of the bowsprit, and securing it was a much more
unpleasant piece of work than Tom was now called upon to execute;
for, in addition to running the risk of being shaken overboard, he
had been almost smothered by the waves. Bob, however, had shipped for
the purpose of learning to be a sailor; and when the mate directed
him to bring the rope, he started at once to obey the order, and the
officer, pleased with his prompt obedience, patted him on the head
and praised him for his courage. The mate related this circumstance
to Tom; but the latter, although he disliked to be beaten in any
thing, could not muster up sufficient courage to make the attempt,
until the officer stepped to the mast and began to uncoil one of the
ropes. Then knowing that it was dangerous to hesitate any longer, Tom
reluctantly placed his hands on the ratlines, and began the ascent.
He slowly worked his way up until he reached the height of ten or
twelve feet from the deck, when he paused, and, looking down at the
mate, said, in a most pitiful voice:
“O, I can’t go up there, I tell you! I shall certainly fall down.”
“Go on, sonny!” replied the officer, shaking the rope. “Up you go; no
backing out.”
Tom again began to work his way upward, stopping every few feet
to remonstrate with the mate, whose only answer was: “Up you go,”
accompanied by a flourish of the rope, which always seemed to infuse
new courage into Tom. At length the cross-trees were reached, the
rope was detached after considerable trouble, and Tom, feeling very
much relieved, descended in safety to the deck, and handed it to the
mate, who said:
“That’s right, sonny! I tell you that you will be master of a
full-rigged ship some of these days. Now you may go and turn in until
noon.”
Tom was very glad to hear this, for he was always delighted to have
even a short respite from his unpleasant duties. Precisely at twelve
o’clock, however, he was again called on deck by the second mate,
and compelled to resume his work. He managed to saw a very little
wood, and was twice sent aloft by the officer, who, as before, was
obliged to threaten the rope’s end in case of refusal. Day after day
was passed in this way, and, long before the schooner arrived at her
destination, Tom had lost all desire to become the commander of a
vessel. His position was far from being a pleasant one, but, in this
respect, he could blame no one but himself. He well knew what his
duties were, but he would never perform them except upon compulsion.
He was always ill-natured; and the consequence was, he was cordially
disliked by all on board, from the captain down to the negro cook.
The former scarcely ever spoke to him, except to repeat his advice in
regard to promptly obeying all orders (which, it is needless to say,
was advice wasted), and the latter scolded him continually for his
failure to keep the galley stove in fuel. The sailors tormented him
in every conceivable way, and invariably called him “Sonny”--a name
that Tom particularly disliked.
But it was the severest blow of all to Tom to notice how kindly Bob
White was treated by both officers and men. The reason for this
was, that Bob always cheerfully and promptly obeyed all orders,
without waiting to be threatened with punishment. He was always
accommodating, and ready to do any thing to assist one of the crew;
and when he was spoken harshly to--as he was sometimes--he never
answered back. Tom, on the contrary, was always cross and sullen;
he moved about the deck as if he scarcely had strength to stand on
his feet; and when one of the sailors asked him to do an errand for
him, he would answer: “Wait on yourself! I didn’t ship to be every
body’s servant.” Under such circumstances, the only wonder was, that
he ever escaped severe punishment. He knew, as well as any one, that
he was entirely to blame; but he regarded the officers and crew of
the schooner as his inferiors, and he was resolved that he would obey
them only when he was forced to do so.
One afternoon the second mate called Tom and Bob White; and, after
informing them that he was about to begin teaching them the names of
the different ropes, asked if they thought they could learn them.
Bob promptly replied that he could; but Tom, although he wanted some
excuse to leave his wood-pile, thought the task was too difficult.
He looked up and down the vessel, and at the numerous ropes which
crossed and recrossed each other in every direction, and finally
drawled out:
“O, no, I can’t learn them, Mr. Robson. There’s too many of them.”
“Get back to your wood-pile, then,” said the mate, beginning to get
discouraged, “and, sonny, remember what I tell you! You’ll never be
any body in the world so long as you say ‘I can’t!’ Why don’t you say
‘I’ll try!’”
“O, now, what’s the use of trying!” whined Tom. “Don’t I know what I
can do, and what I can’t, without trying?”
“Bear a hand at that wood-pile,” said the mate. “Come, now, Bob!”
Tom went back to his work, while Bob walked about the schooner with
the mate, paying strict attention to all he said, and trying hard to
remember it. The result was that, by the time they reached Callao,
he could stand his watch at the wheel in fair weather, knew the names
of all the ropes, and had once assisted in taking in the sails.
In the meantime, Tom had learned that the right hand side of the
schooner, looking forward, was called starboard, and the left hand,
port; and that was the extent of his knowledge of a vessel.
When the Savannah reached her destination, Tom drew a long breath of
relief, for he thought that his work for the present was over. But
the galley still needed wood, the bunks must be made every morning,
and the captain wanted his boots blacked as regularly as when at
sea; and by the time these duties were done, it was night; so that
Tom never once went ashore. He had always thought that he would
experience much pleasure in visiting foreign countries, but now he
was so absorbed in his troubles that he never took any notice of what
was going on; and when the vessel had discharged her cargo and been
reloaded, he knew no more about Callao than he did when he first
arrived there.
One day, just before the schooner was ready to start on her homeward
voyage, the mate came forward where Tom was at work at his wood-pile,
and informed him that the captain wished to see him. Confident that
at last affairs had taken a turn in his favor, the young sailor
hurried aft, and as he entered the cabin, the skipper said:
“Tom, I have noticed that you don’t admire your duties, so I have
concluded to make a sort of supercargo of you.”
“Have you, captain?” exclaimed Tom, very eagerly.
“Then I needn’t saw wood, or make up the bunks, or black your boots?”
“No, if you suit me, Bob will have to do that work.”
Tom was overjoyed to hear this, for, as we have already said, he
cordially disliked Bob, and had often wished that he could see “how
he would look sawing wood and blacking boots.” Besides, Bob had, of
late, rather looked down upon Tom as a “land-lubber,” which made the
latter very angry; and he was glad indeed that he was to be placed in
a position where he could pay Bob back in his own coin. Another idea
occurred to him. He knew that a supercargo was quite an important
personage on board a vessel, and perhaps, Tom imagined, he might have
authority enough to make Bob black _his_ boots. The bare thought that
he would thus be able to settle up all old scores, almost made him
beside himself.
“I always wanted to be a supercargo,” said Tom; “and I think that’s
just what I was cut out for. I know that I’ll suit you.”
“Well, then,” said the captain, going to his table and picking up
several sheets of paper, “let us begin work at once. Here are the
bills for some goods I bought a few days ago, and, as I want to go
ashore and settle up all our accounts, I wish you would add up these
figures and see if the amounts are correct.”
These words of the captain were so many death-blows to all Tom’s
hopes. He walked up to the table and glanced over the bills, one
after the other, but the sight of those long columns of figures was
too much for him.
“O, captain, I can’t add up all these figures,” said he. “There’s
too many of them. It would take me all day. I didn’t know that
supercargoes had to do such work as this.”
“What!” exclaimed the captain, in surprise, “don’t you understand
addition? Why, Tom, what good did it do you to go to school? Didn’t
you study arithmetic?”
“O, yes, I did; but it was too hard. Let me do something else. I
can’t add figures.”
“Then you are of no earthly use to me,” said the captain. “Mr.
Robson,” he added, raising his voice, “send White here.”
This was a turn of events that Tom had not expected. He knew that the
captain intended to give Bob the position, and he could not bear the
thought of seeing the one he so thoroughly hated placed so far above
him.
“Captain,” he whined, “can’t I do something else besides add figures?”
“No,” was the answer. “I only wanted you to do my writing and
ciphering.”
“O, I can’t do such work as that. It’s too hard. I might as well go
to school and be done with it. Let me do something else.”
“I have nothing else for you to do,” repeated the captain. “And now,
let me give you another piece of advice. When you get home again, go
to work at your books, and learn all you can. Above all, stop that
bad habit of saying ‘I can’t.’”
“What shall I say, then?” asked Tom. “When I say that I can’t do a
thing, I mean it, and there’s no use of--”
“Here you are!” interrupted the captain, turning to Bob White, who
at that moment entered the cabin. “Can you add figures?”
“O, yes, sir!” replied Bob, with a smile, as much as to say, “I
thought any body could do that.”
“Then see if the amounts of these bills are correct,” continued the
captain. “That will do, Tom. I am done with you.”
The latter, however, made no move to leave the cabin, until the
second mate, who, standing at the head of the companion way, had
heard all that passed, exclaimed:
“Up you come, sonny! Pitch into that wood-pile; and mark what I say,”
he continued, as Tom slowly and reluctantly ascended to the deck, his
face all wrinkled up as if he was on the point of crying--“mark what
I say! You’ll never be any thing but a foremast hand the longest day
you live.”
Tom, too angry to reply, walked toward his wood-pile, and resumed his
work. This was, by far, the severest blow he had yet experienced,
and one would suppose that it ought to have convinced him that he
was sadly wanting in many things a boy of his age ought to know,
and that it would be well for him to lose no time in making up his
deficiencies. But, as usual, such was not the case. He had given up
all hopes of ever becoming a sailor, and, during the homeward voyage,
all attempts on the part of the officers to teach him any thing were
simply useless. Bob White pursued a different course. He attended
faithfully to his duties about decks, never failed to improve every
opportunity to pick up even the smallest items of information, and
nearly every day Tom enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing him praised
by both officers and men, while of himself they scarcely took any
notice whatever. Thus, week after week passed, and, as the Savannah
neared home, Tom, who had only been kept within bounds through fear
of punishment, began to place less restraint upon his actions. He
became, if possible, still more inattentive to his duties, and, what
little he did accomplish, was so badly done that some one was obliged
to do the work over after him. At last, the schooner arrived within
a day’s sail of Newport. If nothing unusual happened, she would be
safely moored at Mr. Newcombe’s wharf by the afternoon of the next
day. Tom was on watch until midnight; and when he turned into his
bunk, it was with the determination of doing no more work as long as
he remained on board the vessel. The next morning he was awakened
as usual, at five o’clock, but, instead of obeying the summons, he
remained in bed. The mate waited fully a quarter of an hour for
him; but finding that Tom was not likely to make his appearance, he
went down into the forecastle, resolved to give him a lesson, the
remembrance of which would go with him through that day, at least.
Tom heard him coming, and turning his face to the bulkhead, he closed
his eyes as if asleep. But this did not turn the officer from his
purpose, for, lifting Tom in his arms, he carried him to the deck,
and, in spite of his struggles and promises of better behavior in
future, threw him headlong into a cask that had that morning been
filled with salt water to wash down the decks. The cask was deep,
and, when Tom’s hands rested on the bottom, nothing but the soles of
his boots could be seen above the water. This bath seemed to have
washed all his bad habits out of him, especially his laziness, for
he kept steadily at work at his wood-pile during the entire day,
without once stopping, except for his dinner. His mind was fully as
busy as his arms, for he was constantly repeating to himself the
charges he intended to bring against the crew of the schooner, and
he could not repress a smile of triumph, when he thought how they
would feel when they found themselves discharged from his father’s
service. Four o’clock in the afternoon came at length, and, once, as
Tom looked toward the village which was then in plain view, he saw
a small steamer coming out of the harbor to meet them. He was not,
however, allowed to cease his work, for the mate kept him busy at his
wood-pile, until the Savannah was made fast to the wharf, and Tom
saw his father come on board. Taking no notice of his son’s pitiful
looks, which told him as plainly as words that he had not enjoyed the
voyage, Mr. Newcombe inquired, as soon as the greeting was over:
“Well, Tom, how do you like a sailor’s life? I suppose you intend to
go out in the Savannah again!”
“O, no, I don’t, either!” drawled Tom. “I knew I couldn’t learn to be
a sailor. I’ve been treated worse than a dog on board this vessel.
Now, father, I want you to discharge--”
Tom was about to begin his complaints at once, but at this moment the
captain of the schooner approached, and Mr. Newcombe turned to speak
to him. He was provoked because his father did not pay more attention
to him, as he regarded his business of more importance then the
captain’s; besides, he saw several of the sailors, who knew what he
was about to say, laughing at him.
However, knowing that he would have plenty of time in which to state
his grievances to his father, before the schooner sailed again,
Tom shook his head at them in a threatening manner, and went down
into the forecastle to pack his bed-clothes. As soon as this was
accomplished, he sprung ashore, and started for home at the top of
his speed.
CHAPTER VI.
TOM GOES INTO BUSINESS.
Never before had Tom’s home appeared so pleasant or inviting. His
short experience on ship-board had fully convinced him that there
were much worse places in the world, and that his grand idea of
being his “own master” was not exactly what he had imagined it to
be. In regard to the future, he had not determined upon any course
of action. He had often heard his father say that he “couldn’t have
an idler about his house,” and Tom knew that he must do one of two
things--either attend school or go to work--a most disagreeable
alternative. In spite of all he could do to prevent it, the warning
of the second mate, that he would be a “foremast hand the longest
day he lived,” would occasionally ring in his ears; and once Tom
almost came to the sensible conclusion that, in order to prevent such
a calamity, he ought to go to school and try hard to make up his
deficiencies. But this resolution, like all the good ones Tom ever
made, was short lived. There were too many difficulties in his way.
He would have arithmetic and geography lessons to learn, and would be
obliged to remain a close prisoner six long hours during each day. So
this resolution was reconsidered, and Tom settled down, as he had
done a hundred times before, in the hope that something would soon
“turn up,” and that he would then be able to see his way clearly.
That evening, after supper, in obedience to his father’s request, Tom
proceeded to give an account of all that had transpired on board the
Savannah during the voyage. He had a very retentive memory, if he
chose to exert it, and not even the smallest incident was omitted. He
told how he had been compelled to act the part of a servant in sawing
wood, blacking the captain’s boots, and making the beds; how he had
been thrust into the forecastle, when he had expected to sleep in the
cabin and mess with the officers; how all the sailors had tormented
him; and how the second mate had frequently threatened to beat him
with a rope’s end; and when he concluded, he settled back in his
chair, confident that he had made out a very black case against the
officers and crew of the Savannah, and fully expecting to hear his
father announce his intention of discharging them, one and all. Mr.
Newcombe sat for several minutes, looking down at the carpet, as if
revolving the subject in his mind, and finally inquired:
“Did the mate ever use a rope’s end on you?”
“No, sir,” answered Tom; and at that moment he almost wished the
officer had punished him, in order to make the evidence against him
complete.
“Well,” said Mr. Newcombe, “that mate isn’t half the man I thought he
was.”
“He’s no gentleman, or he would not have treated me that way,” chimed
in Tom, who thought his father was debating upon the punishment the
mate ought to receive.
“He’s not a good officer, either,” said Mr. Newcombe, looking at his
son.
“No, sir; he’s not. He’s not fit to be second mate.”
“If he was a good officer,” continued the merchant, “he would have
taken a rope’s end to you every hour in the day.”
Tom was thunderstruck! He could scarcely believe that he had heard
aright. All through his trials, which he regarded as much greater
than had ever before been endured by a boy of his age, he had been,
to a certain extent, sustained and encouraged by the thought that his
father would certainly sympathize with him; but could it be possible
that he was upholding the mate? It certainly looked like it.
“O, now, father,” whined Tom, at length, “you don’t mean to say that
I ought to have been whipped?”
“I mean to say that you ought to have been made to do your duty,”
answered Mr. Newcombe. “I have heard how you behaved yourself, and my
only wonder is, that you escaped as easily as you did.”
“But, father,” said Tom, “when you made your first voyage, you didn’t
have to saw wood and black boots, did you?”
“Certainly I did,” replied Mr. Newcombe. “What else could a green boy
do on board a ship? But what are you going to do now? Are you willing
to go to school?”
“O, no,” drawled Tom, “I can’t.”
“Well, then, do you want to go into the office?”
“What will my duties be if I go there, and how much money can I
earn?” asked Tom.
“Why, of course you will have to begin at the lowest round of the
ladder, and work your way up,” answered the merchant. “You must be on
hand at six o’clock in the morning, to sweep out the office, and make
the fires, if the weather is cold; and, during the day, you will have
to do errands about the village.”
If there was any thing Tom had a horror of, it was running on
errands. The idea of going about the streets with a bundle under
his arm was intolerable to him; and the thought of building fires
and sweeping out the office was no less distasteful. What would his
aristocratic young friends say when they found that he was an errand
boy?
“O, no,” answered Tom, at length, “I can’t do that. I can’t sweep, or
make fires, or run on errands. It wouldn’t look well, and I wouldn’t
do it for a hundred dollars a month. But I’ll do any thing else.”
“What else can you do?” asked Mr. Newcombe. “Now, Tom, if you could
have any position in the office you wanted, what would you ask for?”
Tom looked at his father, then out of the window, and rapidly called
to mind the occupations of the different clerks employed in his
father’s office. Suddenly a bright idea occurred to him, and Tom was
certain that he had at last discovered the very thing he wanted.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said he. “I’ll be a book-keeper.”
“Why, Tom!” exclaimed Mr. Newcombe, astonished at his son’s
ignorance, “how could you be a book-keeper? Here you are, fourteen
years old, and can’t tell how much six and eight are without counting
your fingers. You can’t fill a position of that kind until you pay
more attention to your arithmetic.”
This was another piece of news to Tom. He was a good deal
disappointed, for he had suddenly taken it into his head that he
would like to be a book-keeper, but again that useful, but (as far
as Tom was concerned) much despised branch of education, arithmetic,
stood in his way. He looked at his father a moment, then down at the
carpet, and finally said:
“I didn’t know that book-keepers had any thing to do with figures. I
can’t do that kind of work, either!”
“I didn’t suppose you could,” said the merchant. “But of one thing
you may rest assured; if you don’t go to school you must go to work
at something. I can’t have idlers about me. To-morrow morning I want
to hear your decision.”
As Mr. Newcombe ceased speaking, he picked up a newspaper and began
to read, thus intimating that the interview was at an end. Tom
lingered about the room for a few moments, but finding that his
father took no more notice of him, he sauntered out of the house and
threw himself under one of the trees in the yard, heartily disgusted
with himself and every one else in the world.
The conversation he had with his father will serve to illustrate
some of his ideas. He wanted to fill some position in life where
he could be at his ease; but he was unwilling to make the least
exertion to accomplish the desired end. He had often noticed the
book-keepers in his father’s office; he imagined they must be happy
fellows, and he had suddenly taken it into his head that he would
like the same position. But when he learned that the book-keepers
had something to do with figures, he had no desire to become better
acquainted with their duties. He did not believe in what he had so
often heard of, “beginning at the foot of the ladder.” He wanted
to reach the top at a single leap; but, turn which way he would, he
found that some preparation was necessary to enable him to fill any
position in life. He was fairly at his wit’s end. He had his choice
between going to school and going to work, and the question was,
which of these two evils was the least? This point, however, was soon
decided against the school; and then, for fully an hour, Tom rolled
and tumbled about on the grass, trying to think of some business in
which he could engage that would enable him to make money without
labor; and, at last, an idea occurred to him that seemed to fill
all the requirements of the occasion. Without stopping to think the
matter over, for fear of discovering some defects in it that had not
appeared at first sight, Tom sprang to his feet, and running into the
house, burst into the room where his father sat, exclaiming:
“I’ve got it now! I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”
“Well,” said Mr. Newcombe, looking up from his paper.
“You know,” began Tom, drawing a chair close to his father’s side,
“you know that I have forty-eight dollars due me, that I earned on
the Savannah, and if you will give it to me, I’ll speculate with it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Newcombe, again, “what will you speculate in?”
Tom’s bright hopes fell instantly. He had not thought of that.
“I’ll tell you what you might do,” at length, said his father, who
saw that Tom’s new idea could be made profitable to him in more ways
than one, “you might contract with Bob Jennings to take all the
fish he can catch, at a certain price; but before you enter into an
agreement with him, go to some store--Mr. Henry’s, for instance--ask
what he is paying for fish per pound, and then you will know how much
to offer Bob. If Mr. Henry is paying four cents, you might agree to
give Bob two and a half, or three cents a pound.”
“I understand,” said Tom.
“Then there is another way you might make something,” continued Mr.
Newcombe. “Butter, eggs, potatoes, and chickens are cheaper up the
coast a few miles than they are here in the village, and you might
take a sail up there some day, purchase a cargo, and bring it down
here and sell it.”
“I’ll do it!” exclaimed Tom, joyfully. “That’s just the very business
I always wanted to go into. I’ll be certain to make lots of money;
and it’s easy work, too.”
Mr. Newcombe resumed his paper, without making any reply; and Tom,
being again left to his own resources, walked about the house so
uneasy that he hardly knew what to do with himself--for, having
determined upon his course, he was impatient to begin operations at
once. It was then about nine o’clock, and, of course, too late to
make arrangements for carrying out his new scheme that night; and
after loitering about the house for half an hour, he went to bed,
full of his glorious ideas for the future, and so restless that it
was almost midnight before he fell asleep.
It may not be improper to remark, that the last plan suggested by
Mr. Newcombe, was one which, if properly managed, Tom might have
made profitable. Bob Jennings had often thought of it; and many a
time, as he rowed by the merchant’s house, had he wished that he was
the owner of a sail-boat like Tom’s, for then he would have turned
trader; and two months’ work, he was confident, would have enabled
him to lay by a sufficient sum to support his mother while he was
gone on his first voyage. But, as it was, he was powerless. His old,
leaky scow could not be trusted very far from shore, and thus Bob was
obliged to lose one source of income--one that, under his control,
would have yielded him more in one week than his fishing did in a
month. Mr. Newcombe had consented to his son’s scheme, for the reason
that he was in hopes that Tom, by being brought in contact with
business men, might be made to see his deficiencies so plainly that
he would be ashamed of them. He resolved to assist him, but, at the
same time, to allow him full control of his business, so that when he
failed (for the merchant fully expected that his scheme would result
in failure) he could have no one to blame but himself.
The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Newcombe started for his
office, and on the way, he stopped at a store, where he had a long
conversation with the proprietor, after which he resumed his walk. A
few moments afterward, Tom entered the store, and after the grocer
had concluded his inquiries concerning his voyage, (a matter about
which Tom said as little as possible,) he asked:
“Mr. Henry, what do you pay for fish?”
“What do I pay for them?” repeated the grocer. “Have you any to sell?
Are you going into that business?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, with the air of one who was doing an immense
trade; “I am a speculator.”
“Well, I hope you will succeed,” said Mr. Henry. “Fish are in good
demand now, and I’ll give you five cents a pound for all you will
bring me--large and small.”
Tom was satisfied with the price offered, and after holding a short
conversation with the grocer concerning the business in hand, he left
the store, and hurried toward the home of the fisher-boy. He found
Bob just getting into his boat to begin his day’s work. In a few
words, Tom stated the object of his visit, and concluded by offering
Bob three cents a pound for all the fish he could catch. The latter
at once accepted the proposition. Heretofore he had only received
two cents a pound; and as he was not the only fisherman about the
village, he not unfrequently found it impossible to dispose of his
day’s work at any price.
“Well, then!” said Tom, after they had talked the matter over.
“It’s a bargain. You are to bring me all the fish you can catch,
and I am to give you three cents a pound for them, here at your
house. Now, Bob, we ought to have that in writing. It will look more
business-like.”
As Tom spoke, he drew from his pocket a memorandum-book and pencil.
He had often noticed that his father carried these articles, and, not
wishing to omit any thing that would make him appear like a business
man, he had taken care to provide himself with every thing necessary
before leaving home. He seated himself on the ground, and, after
considerable study, drew up the following:
CONTRAK.
be it known by all Men that ime Agreed To take all the Fish you can
ketch here at your house at three cents a pond every day When you
Get them.
thomas newcombe.
This he signed with a flourish, and handed to Bob, who was astonished
at the bad spelling and worse writing. But Tom evidently thought it
just right, for he tore another leaf out of his book, saying, as he
did so: “Bob, that’s yours to keep. Now I must have one too;” and he
proceeded to write a second contract, which ran thus:
CONTRAK.
be it known that You are Agreed To Give me all the fish you can
Ketch here at your Home Every day except sundays for three Cents a
pond Good wait and no cheeting.
“Now, Bob,” he exclaimed, when he had finished the document, “sign
that, if you are an honest man.”
The fisher-boy, after considerable trouble, deciphered the bad
writing and spelling; and, although he thought the contract might
have been better worded, he made no remark, for fear of offending his
customer, but took the pencil and signed his name so plainly that
even Tom could read it without stopping to spell it over.
“Now,” said the young trader, as he carefully folded up his contract,
“we’re all right. Father says that whenever one man goes into
business with another, he ought to make him sign an agreement; then
both know just what is required of them. That’s the way I intend to
conduct my business. What time will you be back, Bob?”
The fisher-boy answered that he would return at five o’clock; and,
after Tom had promised to be on hand, he put his memorandum-book into
his pocket, thrust his pencil behind his ear, and started toward
his father’s office. Mr. Newcombe, as usual, was very busy, but he
managed to obtain a few moments in which to attend to Tom, who,
delighted with the success that had attended him thus far, asked for
two dollars, with which to carry on his day’s business. The money was
counted out, and Tom was requested to write a receipt, in order, as
his father said, that he might learn “how to do business properly.”
Tom seated himself at his father’s desk, and tried hard to think how
a receipt ought to be written. He twisted about in his chair, bit his
pen, and, at the end of a quarter of an hour, handed his father a
slip of paper, on which was written the following:
you Give me too dollars to by Fish.
your affectionate Son
thomas newcombe.
Mr. Newcombe put the receipt into his pocket, and then proceeded
to give Tom advice in regard to the manner in which his business
ought to be conducted. But the young trader shook his head in a very
knowing manner, as if to say: “I understand all about that;” and
presently he left the office, and walked about the wharf with his
hands in his pockets, and his pencil behind his ear.
Tom was very well satisfied with himself that morning; he had
an object to accomplish, something to live for. He was a man of
business, and he took no little pride in the thought that he had
earned, with his own hands, the two dollars he carried in his pocket.
Besides that, he had forty-six dollars more, all his own money, which
would be counted out to him whenever he saw fit to call for it. His
immediate success he regarded as a thing beyond a doubt; and, giving
full sway to his fancy, he began to wonder what he should do with his
profits.
He had often seen a neat little trading sloop, named the Swallow,
sailing in and out of the harbor, and, on the morning in question,
she was moored at his father’s wharf. As Tom stood looking at her,
admiring the graceful manner in which she rode the little swells that
came rolling into the harbor, he resolved that the first money he
made should be devoted to buying a sloop exactly like that. Then the
object of his ambition would be realized, for he would be the master
of his own vessel. Tom was elated with the idea, and to enable him
to think the matter over to the best advantage, he went into a store
close by, and invested twenty cents in candy. He then returned to the
wharf, where he sat watching the sloop, until he saw his father leave
his office at noon.
The day was a long one to Tom, for he was impatient for five o’clock
to come, that he might transact his business with Bob Jennings. In
order that he might make the time pass more quickly, he employed
himself in eating candy, apples, and nuts, and in this way he managed
to spend a dollar and a quarter. During the afternoon he met several
boys of his acquaintance on the streets, and to them he explained
his business in the most glowing language, and even conducted them to
the wharf, to show them the sloop which was to serve as a model for
the one he intended to build. All his playmates looked upon him as a
“lucky boy;” and even Tom began to think that the object he had in
view was really worth working for.
CHAPTER VII.
HOW TOM SUCCEEDED.
Four o’clock came at last, and Tom, having often heard his father
say that punctuality was of the utmost importance in all business
matters, bent his steps toward the fisher-boy’s home. He was obliged
to wait there fully an hour and a half, for Bob, having met with
better luck than usual, did not return until half-past five. When,
at last, he came in sight, the young trader’s patience was well-nigh
exhausted, and he even pondered upon the propriety of giving the
fisher-boy some advice in regard to being more punctual in his
business appointments. But, as Bob drew near, Tom saw that he had
secured a fine load of fish, and, in the excitement of counting his
prospective profits, the young trader forgot the lecture he had
intended to administer.
After Bob had made his boat fast to the wharf, he went into the house
after a pair of scales with which to weigh the fish, and, as he
returned, he exclaimed:
“Now, Tom, there’s more than you can carry. I’ll lend you my wagon!”
As he spoke, he brought from behind the house the conveyance
in question, which he had made himself; consequently, it was a
rude-looking affair, with wooden wheels, that squeaked and grated at
a terrible rate as the fisher-boy drew it toward the bank. Bob then
sprang into his boat, and began to weigh out the fish, Tom standing
by and looking on with his hands in his pockets. Once it occurred to
him that a business man ought to examine the articles he purchased;
so he raised one of the smallest fish in the tips of his fingers,
looked at it a moment, and then finding that he was soiling his hand
by the operation, he threw it into the wagon with the others. One
thing that not a little surprised Tom, was the readiness with which
Bob added up the weights of the different fish. Occasionally the
latter would look up and ask, “Is that right?” and Tom would reply,
“Yes, that’s correct!” but the truth was, Bob calculated so rapidly
that the young trader could not keep pace with him. Once, when the
fisher-boy called out, “Fourteen and five are nineteen,” Tom was on
the point of counting his fingers to see if it was correct; but,
on taking a second thought, he knew that would not look well in a
business man, so he was compelled to rely entirely on Bob’s honesty.
“Now, then,” said the latter, when he had weighed all the fish,
“there are just twenty-five pounds. Is that what you make it?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, promptly, “that’s right. Now, twenty-five pounds
of fish, at three cents a pound, makes--makes--let me see!”
“Seventy-five cents,” replied Bob, readily.
“So it does!” exclaimed Tom; although, if the fisher-boy had told him
that the amount was a dollar and a half, he would have been just as
ready to believe it. Seventy-five cents was all the money he had left
of the two dollars he had drawn that morning. This he counted out to
Bob, who received it gladly, for it was a larger amount than he had
ever before made in one day.
“If I have good luck, I’ll have as many more for you to-morrow,” said
he, as he returned from the house, where he had been to give the
money to his mother. “But what’s the matter? Don’t they suit you?”
This question was addressed to the young trader, who stood looking
at his wagon-load of fish, with rather a doleful countenance. The
question had occurred to him, how he was to get them up to the store?
He knew that the wagon, when in motion, made a great noise with
its wooden wheels, which would be certain to attract the attention
of every one he met, and he did not think it would look well for a
man of business to be seen walking through the streets drawing a
wagon-load of fish after him. His pride was too great for that.
“Bob,” said he, at length, a bright idea striking him, “I’ll give you
twenty-five cents if you will take those fish up to Mr. Henry’s store
for me.”
The fisher-boy, who would gladly have undertaken the task for half
that sum, not deeming any way of earning an honest penny a disgrace,
at once took hold of the wagon-tongue and started off. Tom followed
him for a short distance; but, as he had expected, the loud creaking
of the wheels drew the attention of every person on the streets, who
looked first at the fisher-boy and then at Tom, until the latter,
unable to endure it longer, turned off and went around by the wharf,
leaving Bob to himself. When he arrived at Mr. Henry’s store, he
found the fisher-boy there, and the grocer had just finished weighing
out his fish.
“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed, as the young trader entered.
“Please come with me, and I will settle with you.” And Tom was
conducted to the office with as much ceremony as if he had just sold
Mr. Henry a bill of goods to the amount of hundreds of dollars.
“Now then, Tom,” said the grocer, producing his pocket-book,
“twenty-five pounds of fish, at five cents a pound, makes just a
dollar, even change--eh, Tom?”
Bob Jennings would promptly have answered, “No, sir;” but Tom could
not tell how much he ought to receive without stopping to count
his fingers, and, of course, that would not look well in a man of
business. So he replied:
“Yes, sir; that’s right. A dollar is all I want.”
During the conversation with Mr. Newcombe that morning, the grocer
had learned exactly how matters stood in regard to Tom; and in
withholding a quarter of a dollar that rightfully belonged to the
young trader, he was but carrying out Mr. Newcombe’s suggestion. The
latter wished Tom to learn, by experience, since he would not take
advice, that he could not be too particular. Besides, Mr. Henry was
losing money on all the fish he bought of Tom; for, while he paid him
five cents a pound, he could sell them for only three. But this was
another suggestion of Mr. Newcombe’s, who, of course, made good all
his losses.
Although the merchant was considerably surprised at Tom’s answer, he
counted out the money, and the young trader walked to the door and
paid Bob his quarter of a dollar.
The fisher-boy, highly elated with his good fortune--for he had made
just a dollar that day, besides what he had received for ferrying
the workmen across the harbor--started homeward with a light heart,
leaving his employer in deep thought. Tom appeared to be very much
absorbed in his reflections, for he stood in the doorway several
minutes, scarcely heeding the persons that jostled him as they passed
in and out of the store. Presently he walked back toward the office,
and, discovering a vacant space behind some barrels, where he would
be unobserved, he seated himself on the floor, drew his money out of
his pocket, and counted it.
He had just three-quarters of a dollar. He counted it over and
over several times, in order to satisfy himself that he had made
no mistake, and finally searched all his pockets in the hope of
discovering more. But seventy-five cents was all he could find; and
gradually the unwelcome conviction forced itself upon Tom’s mind
that, in some utterly inexplicable manner, he had been a loser by the
day’s operation. He had started out that morning with two dollars,
and now, after his speculation had been accomplished, he had only
three-quarters of a dollar remaining.
“Somebody has cheated me!” said Tom to himself, as he arose from
his concealment and walked thoughtfully out of the store. “It’s Bob
Jennings, that’s who it is; and the contract says there’s to be
no swindling. O, I can’t be a trader. I knew I couldn’t before I
commenced. This fish business doesn’t pay, anyhow. I thought I should
make at least three or four dollars to-day.”
The young trader walked homeward with rather a crest-fallen air, and
his acquaintances, who met him on the streets, and to whom he had
that morning explained his scheme in such glowing language, had no
difficulty in discovering that Tom’s first attempt at speculating had
proved a failure. When he reached home and entered the room where
his father sat reading his paper, the latter also saw, at a glance,
that Tom had not been successful. We ought also to say that he knew
exactly where his son had made his mistake. He had seen him spending
his money foolishly in the morning; had met Bob Jennings as he was
taking the fish to the store; and the grocer had also told him that
he had withheld a quarter of a dollar of Tom’s money. He also knew
that if the young trader had managed his business properly, he would
have made just fifty cents by his day’s work. Thus, he was well
acquainted with all the facts of the case; but he wished to hear
Tom’s opinion of the matter. Appearing to take no notice of his son’s
gloomy looks, he asked, in a cheerful voice:
“Well, how much have you made to-day?”
“O, I haven’t made a red cent,” drawled Tom. “I’ve lost money. I knew
I couldn’t be a trader.”
“Perhaps somebody cheated you,” said Mr. Newcombe.
“O, I know they did,” replied Tom, in a gloomy voice. “There are a
good many swindlers about, and I believe Bob Jennings is one of ’em.”
By adroit questioning--for Tom was so disgusted with the result
of his first attempt at speculating, that he did not seem at all
inclined to talk about it--Mr. Newcombe finally drew all the
particulars from his son; and when the latter told how much he had
received for his fish, the merchant exclaimed:
“There’s where you lost some of your money. You ought to have
received more than that. Twenty-five pounds of fish, at five cents a
pound, makes a dollar and twenty-five cents.”
“So it does!” said Tom, after thinking a moment; though the fact was,
he did not know whether his father was right or wrong. “I’ll go right
back to Mr. Henry and tell him that I want another quarter. Now,
father, where’s my cap?”
“Never mind your cap now,” said the merchant. “It’s too late! The
mistake ought to have been rectified before you left the store. But
how does it come that you did not know how much was due you? Didn’t
you make any calculations?”
“O, no, I didn’t,” drawled Tom. “I didn’t stop to make out any bill.
I supposed I was dealing with an honest man! I didn’t think Mr. Henry
would be mean enough to cheat me.”
“That’s no excuse. If every man in the world was perfectly honest,
that would be no reason why business should be conducted in a
careless manner. Hereafter, when you sell any thing, be sure and make
out your bill beforehand, so that you will know just how much is
coming to you. Now, sit down here.”
Tom obeyed, and Mr. Newcombe again commenced a lengthy lecture,
containing advice which he hardly expected his son would follow.
He endeavored to impress upon his mind the necessity of being very
particular in all his business transactions, and showed him how
impossible it was for him to succeed so long as he allowed his
pride to stand in his way. Any honorable labor, he said, was no
disgrace; an honest working man was always respected; and he that
could work, and would not, ought to starve. He easily cleared Bob
Jennings of the charge of swindling, and placed all the blame on
Tom’s shoulders--right where it belonged. No suggestion or item of
information that Mr. Newcombe thought would be of service to the
young trader was omitted, and, for once, Tom was almost convinced
that he, and he alone, was to blame for his failure. He brightened up
when he found where he had made his mistake, and resolved that, in
all his future operations, he would be careful to avoid the rock on
which his day’s hopes had been wrecked. He would not spend any of his
money foolishly, neither would he pay Bob Jennings another quarter
of a dollar for pulling a wagon-load of fish through the streets; he
would do it himself, no matter what his friends said about it.
But trading in fish he still thought would not pay. If he made only
fifty cents a day, that would be but three dollars a week; and, at
that rate, it would take him at least a year to save enough to buy a
vessel like the trading sloop. Although he said nothing to his father
on the subject, he resolved that the next day he would commence
operations on a grander scale. So, on the following morning, as soon
as he had eaten his breakfast, he started to pay a visit to Mr.
Henry, the grocer.
“Ah, Tom!” exclaimed the latter, as the young trader entered. “Any
more fish to-day?”
“No, sir!” was the reply. “I intend to take a short sail up the
coast; so I thought I would stop and inquire if you want any eggs,
butter, or chickens!”
“Yes, we want all we can get,” answered the grocer. “We pay the
highest market prices.”
Tom, without thinking to inquire what the “highest market prices”
for each particular article were, left the store, and in a few
moments stood in the presence of his father, whom he asked for ten
dollars, to enable him to carry out his new project. The money was
duly paid, and the young trader, remembering his previous experience,
carefully counted it twice before he gave a receipt, which was worded
like the one he had given his father on a former occasion. Tom then
set out for the home of the fisher-boy, and, as before, found him
getting ready to begin his day’s work. He, however, at once abandoned
the idea, when Tom offered to give him a dollar, if he would assist
him in taking the Mystery on a short voyage up the bay.
“I’m not going to speculate in fish any more,” said he. “It doesn’t
pay. I’m going to show you, now, how to make money.”
In half an hour the Mystery lay at the wharf in front of the mansion,
with her sails hoisted, all ready for the start. In the forward part
of the boat were several boxes, baskets, and pails, in which the
young trader intended to bring home the articles he purchased; and
Captain Newcombe, as he now called himself, stood on the wharf with
his hands in his pockets, waiting for his first mate Bob, who had
gone to the house after some provisions that were necessary for the
trip. In a few moments the fisher-boy made his appearance, and when
the provisions had been carefully stowed away, the painter was cast
off, the captain took his stand in the stern-sheets, which he called
his quarter-deck, Bob seated himself at the helm, and the Mystery
began her first trading voyage.
CHAPTER VIII.
TOM MAKES NEW BARGAINS.
The wind being favorable, the little vessel, with all her sails set,
glided rapidly away from the shore; and Bob, in obedience to the
order of his employer, shaped her course toward a point about five
miles distant, where Tom, in one of his sailing excursions, had seen
a thrifty farm-house, at which he hoped to be able to purchase his
cargo. Captain Newcombe remained standing on his quarter-deck, now
and then looking up at the sails, as he had seen the skipper of the
Savannah do, until the Mystery was fairly under way; then he seated
himself in the stern-sheets, and began to talk with Bob; giving
him some insight into his new plan of operations. From some cause
or another, he always felt well satisfied with himself whenever he
had any new project in view; and the present expedition seemed more
to his liking than any thing he had ever before undertaken. As was
invariably the case with him, he confidently expected unbounded
success to attend his efforts, and he determined that, from that day
forward, he would make regular trips up the bay. This resolution he
communicated to Bob, and also began to explain to him the manner in
which he intended to dispose of his profits.
“I shall make at least ten dollars to-day,” said he; “and, if I make
three trips each week, and clear ten dollars each trip, that will
be--that will be--let me see, how much?” (Tom never could calculate
his expenses or profits by the day; he always wanted to know how much
they would amount to in a week.)
“That would be thirty dollars a week,” said Bob, who was rather
surprised at the magnitude of the young trader’s imaginary profits.
“So it would! And that would amount to--to--how much a year? Five
hundred dollars, at least, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered the fisher-boy, who did not know how much it was best
to assist Tom in his calculations. “It would make more than that.”
“Well, now, the Swallow cost about a hundred and fifty dollars,” said
Captain Newcombe. “That’s lots of money; but if I made thirty dollars
a week, I could pay for her in--in--a few months, couldn’t I?”
“Yes,” answered Bob, again. “It wouldn’t take long to pay for her at
that rate.”
“Then,” said Tom, settling back on his elbow, “I have decided that
I shall follow trading for a business. It’s easy work, and I know
I shall be certain to succeed. Now, Bob,” and here he straightened
himself up again, “when we get into port, I want you to call me
captain. I am master of this vessel, you know; and if you intend
to be a sailor, you might as well learn one time as another how to
address your officers. I will call you Mr. Jennings, because you are
my first mate.”
Bob thought this rather a droll proposition; but, as he could not
well afford to offend his employer, who was paying him much more
money for a day’s work than he could have earned by fishing, he
promised obedience, and Captain Newcombe again returned to the
subject of his profits. The amounts, according to Bob’s reckoning,
greatly exceeded his expectations, and he did not wish to talk
about any thing else. Once, the fisher-boy, who thought the young
trader was placing his mark rather high--in fact, altogether _too_
high--ventured to remark that “perhaps he wouldn’t make quite thirty
dollars a week;” and Tom’s reply was:
“Mr. Jennings, I am the captain of this vessel, and if I don’t know
my own business, it is time I was discharged, and some better man put
in my place. Don’t you suppose I can calculate figures? If I make
three trips each week--and there is nothing to prevent it--and clear
ten dollars each trip--and there’s nothing in the world to prevent
that, either--won’t that amount to thirty dollars a week?” and thus
Bob was silenced.
Captain Newcombe thoroughly discussed the subject in all its
bearings, and he invariably arrived at the same conclusion--namely,
that in a few weeks, he would be the owner of the Swallow, or of a
sloop exactly like her. This made him more firm than ever in his
belief that he was right in his calculations; “for,” said he, “if I
was wrong, I wouldn’t get the same result every time, would I? Of
course I wouldn’t.”
“Now, then, Bob,” he continued, “it’s a settled thing that I am to be
a trader, and that I am to own a sloop exactly like the Swallow. I’ll
need a crew, then, won’t I? How much will you take to go as my first
mate? You and I can manage her.”
“Would I have regular work?” asked Bob.
“Yes; all you can do. When we are not off on a voyage, you’ll have
to watch the vessel, keep her in order, and see that the tides, or a
storm, don’t wash her ashore.”
“Well,” said the fisher-boy, after thinking a moment, “I’ll do it for
fifty cents a day.”
“Fifty cents a day!” repeated Captain Newcombe, slowly. “That would
be--let me see--how much a week?”
“Three dollars,” said Bob.
“That’s cheaper than I expected,” continued Tom. “That’s too cheap.
I’ll give you seventy-five cents a day. Is that enough?”
Bob was so amazed at this novel way of making a bargain that he did
not answer immediately; and the young trader, thinking that perhaps
he was not satisfied with his offer, exclaimed:
“Isn’t that enough? Well, then, I’ll give you a dollar a day. Does
that suit you?”
If Bob had still hesitated, Captain Newcombe might have made him an
offer of still higher wages, but he honestly replied:
“A dollar a day is a man’s pay, and that is more than I can earn. But
if you think you can afford to give it to me, I am willing to work
hard for it!”
“Of course I can give it to you,” said Tom. “We’ll put it down in
writing.”
So saying, he produced his memorandum-book, and settling himself into
a comfortable position, began to study up a contract.
The fisher-boy was not accustomed to this way of doing business,
neither was he at all pleased with it. He entertained very serious
misgivings as to Tom’s ability to carry out his grand ideas, and
he did not like to be promised such high wages unless he could
positively rely on receiving them. He did not wish to offend his
employer, but still he thought it prudent to suggest a delay in the
signing of the contract until they had made at least one trial of
Tom’s scheme. They would then be better able to judge whether or not
such an arrangement could be made. Captain Newcombe listened very
patiently, and, when Bob had ceased speaking, he straightened himself
up and answered:
“Mr. Jennings, what kind of a trader would I be if I couldn’t make
my own calculations? Why, I would be swindled out of the last cent I
had. (Tom hesitated a little as he said this, for he remembered his
experience of the previous day.) But if a man does his own figuring,
no one can cheat him. Now I am just as certain that I shall make ten
dollars to-day as I am that I am now sitting in this boat. So, you
see, I can afford to pay you good wages. A dollar a day! that would
be--let me think a moment--how much a week!”
“Six dollars,” said Bob.
“Well, is it a bargain?”
The fisher-boy, although far from being convinced, replied that
he would be more than satisfied with the wages offered, provided
the business could be carried on according to those calculations;
and Tom, thinking that he had made the matter perfectly clear to
Bob’s comprehension, again turned his attention to his contract
and shipping articles. The Mystery rocked considerably as she
glided over the little waves, and this had the effect of making
Tom’s writing look worse than ever. But he studied hard and worked
perseveringly to draw up the important document (and that was more
than he would have done had it been his arithmetic lesson), and
when it was finished he handed it to Bob, who, after a good deal of
trouble, made out the following:
CONTRAK AND SHIPING ARTIKLES--
be it known to All men that you and i bob jennings and thomas
newcombe do Hearby agree that when i shall make Money enough to by
the Swalow, That i will Give you six dolers a weak to be my crew
and first Mait, every day except sundys, and That i will treat you
kindly and allways pay You the money when it is dew, if you do
Your work up square and no fooling when i get the Boat, and both
of us shall try To make us happy and friendly. witness my Hand and
yours.--if i should happen to Slip up on getting The boat, then
this Contrak and shiping artikles is not of any use--and is not
Binding on said thomas newcombe and bob jennings.
“Now,” said Tom, when the fisher-boy had finished reading the
document, “that is plain enough, isn’t it? Well, then, let me sign it
first, because I am the captain, you know.”
After they had both affixed their signatures to the contract, Tom put
it carefully away in his pocket, and here the subject was dropped.
Even Captain Newcombe had grown weary of counting his imaginary
profits, and he began to wish they were at their journey’s end. As
usual with him, he became very uneasy. He grew tired of sitting
still, and first he wished that a sloop about the size of the Mystery
would come along, so that they could have a race. Then he wished
there was “some boy on board learning to be a sailor;” wouldn’t he
make him “sup sorrow with a big spoon,” in revenge for the manner in
which the second mate of the Savannah had treated him? Then he almost
wished that a storm would come up; and, turning to the fisher-boy, he
asked:
“Do you believe that if a fellow whistles while on board a vessel, it
will get up a hurricane?”
“Father used to say it would,” answered Bob. “But I never tried it,
and I don’t want to.”
“I wish I could start up a little more breeze. I wouldn’t want a hard
one, for the Mystery couldn’t weather it. But I’ll run the risk;”
and, as Captain Newcombe ceased speaking, he began to whistle, at the
same time casting his eyes rather suspiciously around the horizon,
to see if the storm was coming. But there was not a single cloud
to obscure the sun, which beat mercilessly down upon them; and Tom
finally gave up his attempt in disgust, and again stretched himself
out in the stern-sheets, under the shade of the mainsail.
Although the Mystery was making remarkably quick time, she did not
sail fast enough to suit her impatient captain, who, every few
minutes, raised himself on his elbow, and looked toward the point,
which still seemed as far off as when they left the wharf. But,
nevertheless, they were gradually drawing nearer to it, and, at the
end of an hour, Bob rounded-to and landed on the beach, a short
distance from the farm-house.
As soon as the fisher-boy had hauled down the sails, Tom sprang
ashore, drew his memorandum-book from his pocket, thrust his pencil
behind his ear, and walked toward the house. Presently a man appeared
at the door, and, as soon as Tom arrived within speaking distance, he
inquired:
“Have you any eggs, butter, or chickens to sell?”
“Wal, yes,” replied the farmer, slowly surveying the young trader
from head to foot. “We’ve got some. Be you a buyin’?”
“Yes,” answered Tom. “I am paying the highest market prices--the very
highest.”
“Wal, yes! But how much?” asked the man.
“That depends upon the quality of your goods,” replied Tom promptly,
assuming a very knowing look, as if he understood what he was talking
about. “Let me see what you have to sell, and then I’ll tell you what
I’ll give for it.”
“Wal, sartin; step this way.”
Captain Newcombe and his mate followed the farmer, who conducted
them around the building, and into a room, which he called the
“milk-house;” where he showed them a large basket of eggs, beside
which stood a tub that contained several rolls of fine fresh butter.
“How many dozen have you?” asked Tom, after he had held one of the
eggs toward the sun to see if it was fresh, though, the fact was, he
knew as much about the matter before he made his examination as he
did afterward.
“O, they are all right,” said the farmer. “If you can find a bad one
among ’em, I’ll give ’em all to you. Now, let me see how many there
are. There’s just twenty dozen an’ two over,” he continued, after he
had counted them--“call it even twenty dozen. Now, how much be you
payin’?”
“Well,” answered Tom slowly, as if he was thinking the matter over,
“eggs are high now, and I’ll give you twenty cents a dozen for them.”
“Twenty cents!” repeated the farmer, in surprise. “Wal, I should say
that eggs was high. Things must have riz up like mighty in Newport
lately. Mebbe I can find some more for you;” and going to the door of
the kitchen, he called out: “Betsy! Betsy! can’t you rake up a few
more eggs somewhere? There’s a chap out here payin’ a good price for
’em.”
“Tom--I mean captain,” whispered Bob, pulling the young trader by his
coat-sleeve, “you can’t afford to give so much for those eggs. You’ll
certainly--”
“Now, Mr. Jennings,” interrupted Tom, “you hold your tongue. I guess
I know what I am about.”
“But, captain,” persisted the fisher-boy, “you can’t make a cent on--”
“Now, look here,” said the young trader, angrily, “once for all,
will you keep still? What do you know about speculating? Those eggs
are worth as much to me as they are to him; and, if I had owned them
in the first place, I wouldn’t have sold them for less than twenty
cents. I don’t want to swindle the man. Now you go to the boat and
get some baskets and pails.”
Bob reluctantly started off to obey the order, and, just at that
moment, the farmer returned, rubbing his hands with delight when he
thought of the bargain he had made.
“Now, then,” said he, “the old woman says there’s ten pounds of
butter in that ar’ kag. What’s it wuth? You can see that it is fresh
an’ nice. Betsy always gets a higher price for her butter and eggs
than any one else in the country.”
“Does she?” inquired Tom. “Then I’ll give you twenty-two cents a
pound for it.”
“Wal, I declare to goodness!” ejaculated the farmer, “how things have
riz up! A feller can live easy when he can get such prices as them
for what he has to sell.”
As the man spoke, he took down a pair of scales from a nail over the
door, and, having carefully tied the butter in a cloth, he said, as
he held the scales up so that Tom could see the weight:
“A trifle over ten pounds; but we’ll call it even ten, ’cause the
cloth weighs something, you know.”
“That’s all right,” said Tom. “So far, so good. Now, have you any
chickens to sell?”
“Wal, no,” was the reply. “If eggs is worth that much, Betsy won’t
want to sell the chickens.”
At this moment, Tom happened to look out at the door, and discovered
three very fine fowls walking about the yard. They were as white as
snow, and considerably larger than any the young trader had ever seen
before; and, from their great size, he at once put them down as game
chickens. He once heard of a man who had made a fortune by dealing
in property of that kind, and here was an opportunity too good to be
lost. Pointing to the chickens, he asked:
“Can that rooster fight?”
“Wal, yes,” answered the farmer; “he’s like four-cent sugar--all
grit. He beats all the other chickens on the place like two hundred.”
“I thought so,” said Tom. “Do you want to sell him?”
“Wal, no; I don’t care about it.”
“I’ll give you three dollars for him and those two hens.”
“Wal, I declare to gracious!” said the farmer, “has chickens riz up,
too? I’ll take that for ’em; but you’ll have to help me drive ’em
into the barn afore we can ketch ’em.”
While this conversation was going on, Bob returned from the boat,
loaded with baskets and pails. The butter was first packed away in
one of the pails, and covered with a clean, white cloth, which the
farmer furnished them, and the fisher-boy then turned his attention
to the eggs.
“Captain,” said he, “we ought to pack them in something. We’ll be
certain to break more than half of them if we carry them loose in
these baskets.”
“Can’t you give us some oats or bran?” asked Tom, turning to the
farmer.
“Wal, no,” answered the man.
“Straw or hay would answer our purpose just as well,” said Bob; “and,
besides, it wouldn’t cost any thing.”
“O, no; I can’t have my eggs packed in straw or hay,” drawled Tom.
“It wouldn’t look well. Did you ever see eggs come into Newport
packed in any thing besides oats or bran? Haven’t you any oats?” he
asked, again turning to the farmer.
“Wal, yes; I’ve got some in the bundle. I’ll thrash out some for you
for half a dollar.”
“Go and do it, then,” said Tom.
As the man turned to leave the house, his wife entered, having
succeeded in finding another dozen of eggs. She also expressed her
astonishment that “things had riz up so fast;” to which Tom replied
that the articles were worth, to him, every cent he had paid for
them. The extra dozen were placed with the others; and then Tom,
seeing that the farmer was endeavoring to drive his game chickens
toward the barn, sent Bob out to assist him. The fowls were finally
secured, and, after the fisher-boy had taken them to the boat, he
returned to the place where he had left Tom, and showed him two or
three wounds on his hands, which he had received while capturing
the rooster. The young trader was delighted; and the thought then
occurred to him that he had done a very sensible thing when he bought
those chickens, for the rooster’s attack on Bob was conclusive
evidence that he was “grit to the backbone.”
“That farmer don’t know much about chickens,” said he to Bob, “or he
would not have sold that rooster for a dollar. I’ll get more than
that for him. I knew I would be certain to succeed this time. Now,”
he continued, as he again produced his memorandum book, “I’ve got
every thing I want except the oats. Sit down here.”
The fisher-boy seated himself beside his employer, who began to “make
out a bill” of the articles he had purchased. Tom did the writing and
Bob the calculating; and finally the book showed the following:
ACKOUNT OF EXPENSES.
21 duzen eggs At twenty cts. four dollers and 20
10 ponds butter At twenty 2 cts. too dollers and 20
Three first class game chickens At one Doller 3 dollers
Oats for packing Eggs a half doller
making nine Dollers and 90
“There,” said Tom, gazing admiringly at his work, “that’s the first
bill I ever made out. I’ll show it to father when I get home. Now
I’ll have left just--just--let me see--”
“Ten cents,” suggested Bob.
“So I will. I’ll get some apples with that.”
The fisher-boy thought that if the money had belonged to him, he
would have saved it; but he knew that it would do no good to offer
such advice to Tom; and, besides, his thoughts were turned into
another channel, by the arrival of the farmer with the oats. While
Bob busied himself in packing away the eggs, Tom went into the house
with the farmer, to settle his bill; and after this was done, the
man conducted him to the orchard, where he filled his pockets with
apples. He then walked about the yard with the farmer, until Bob had
carried all the articles he had purchased to the boat, when he took
his leave; and, promising to return in a day or two for another load,
he stepped on board the sloop, which filled away for home.
CHAPTER IX.
THE MYSTERY IN A STORM.
Tom was perfectly satisfied with his day’s work--it could not have
been better, he thought, even had he desired it; and, as he again
took his stand on the quarter-deck and looked proudly over his cargo,
he began to think that he had at last found the road to fortune.
There were no obstacles in his way now; he thoroughly understood
his business, and, better than all, he had no work to do. The man,
whoever he was, that originated the old saying that “There is no
excellence without labor,” didn’t know any thing about the matter,
for it was sport for him to make bargains, pay out money, and count
his profits. If other people were obliged to work, it was their
own fault. Why didn’t they do as he had done, look about and find
some way of making a living without labor? Following the life of a
trader, even if he didn’t clear expenses, was much easier than going
to school, and poring for six hours in the day over uninteresting
lessons. That was all well enough for those who liked it; but, as
for himself, he would show people that he could get along through
the world without it. In short, Tom was delighted with the success
that had attended his efforts, for the business was still new to
him, and he had not yet found any thing unpleasant in it. He remained
standing on his quarter-deck, now and then turning to the fisher-boy,
who was seated at the helm, to give him some order in a loud voice,
so that the farmer, who stood on the beach watching them, might
understand that he was the captain of the vessel, but, as soon as
the man returned to the house, Tom walked forward to look at his
game chickens. The rooster, ever since he was put into the box, had
crowed most lustily, showing that his was a spirit which could not be
broken by confinement. Seeing Tom approach, he at once put himself
into an attitude of defense; and when the young trader forced his
hand between the bars on the box, he was saluted with a peck, and a
blow from the rooster’s spurs that brought tears to his eyes. But Tom
endured the pain without a murmur. He had received convincing proof
that the fowl was thorough game, and this gratifying knowledge served
as a balm for his wounds. He was, however, very careful not to put
his hand inside the box again; but, wishing to make the rooster give
a few more exhibitions of his pluck, Tom amused himself, for a long
time, by tormenting him with a stick. Finally, growing weary of this
sport, he walked aft, where the fisher-boy was seated, silent and
thoughtful. He was thinking over the events of the day, and wondering
if the results would meet the young trader’s expectations. Bob had
made many and careful calculations concerning the very business in
which they were then engaged, but his conclusions differed widely
from those of Captain Newcombe’s. Although he could not hope to share
in the profits, if the experiment proved a success, or be expected
to bear part of the expenses, if it should be a failure, he was
deeply interested in it. He hoped that Tom’s bright visions would be
realized, but he thought he had good reason to fear that his employer
would lose money. The young trader, however, was not troubled with
any gloomy forebodings. He looked upon what he had done as perfectly
correct, and he was unusually merry over it. He talked, laughed, and
sang; and was so full of his fun that he could not sit still, but
kept walking backward and forward over the boat, stopping now and
then to explain matters to Bob, who, he plainly saw, did not agree
with him. He again gave a full description of the manner in which he
intended to conduct his business, always taking as his starting-point
the assumed fact that he would “be certain to make ten dollars over
and above all expenses every trip;” and, standing on one of the
thwarts, with his hands in his pockets, he was endeavoring, for the
twentieth time, to make Bob “see through his grand scheme,” when the
fisher-boy suddenly pointed seaward, and interrupted him with--
“Just see there, captain!”
Tom looked in the direction indicated, and the sight that met
his gaze drove all thoughts of business out of his head. A thick
milk-white cloud, followed by one as black as midnight, was rapidly
coming into view above the horizon, and, as the young trader looked
up, he heard the low muttering of distant thunder. Captain Newcombe
knew enough about storms to be well aware that the one then coming
up promised to give him ample opportunity to test the sea-going
qualities of his fine sloop. But he had no desire to be caught out
in that storm; and one, to have seen him at that moment, would
have been satisfied that he was wanting in a quality that was very
necessary to enable him to fill the position of commander of a
vessel--namely, courage. He knew that they were in danger, for the
Mystery was fully a mile and a half from the shore, and, if the storm
overtook her with all her sails spread, she would be capsized in a
moment. This knowledge seemed to deprive him of all power of action;
for he stood looking at the clouds, and listening to the peals of
thunder that every instant came more plainly to his ears, as if he
was at a loss to know what course to pursue.
To increase Tom’s dismay, he noticed that a vessel, which he had
seen coming toward the harbor, had put about and was standing out
to sea again, while her crew was engaged in taking in the topsails,
and making every thing snug on board. Tom knew, by this, that her
captain, deeming it unsafe to attempt to reach the harbor, which
was a dangerous one to enter during a gale, had started seaward,
intending to “lay off and on” until the storm should abate. When
Captain Newcombe saw this maneuver, he knew that he ought to be
doing something also; but the sight of that black cloud in the west
disconcerted him, and he could not keep his wits about him long
enough to determine what ought to be done. It was an easy thing to be
master of a vessel in calm weather, but when a storm was brewing the
case was different.
“Captain,” said the fisher-boy, “there’s the hurricane you whistled
for this morning.”
“O, no,” drawled Tom; “now, don’t lay that on to me, for I didn’t
whistle for as hard a one as this is going to be; I said I only
wanted a little one.”
“Well,” said Bob, “I believe now that whistling will get up a storm.
We’ll be in a bad fix if we don’t find shelter somewhere very soon.
What shall we do, captain? Give your orders.”
“O, I’m sick,” answered Tom, looking up at the cloud, which seemed to
rise more rapidly. “You be captain, and if any thing happens you can
call me.”
Tom’s terror was great, but his pride was greater. He did not wish to
acknowledge his utter inability to give the necessary orders, so he
resorted to this expedient, to shift all the responsibility on Bob’s
shoulders; and he thought that he was acting in a perfectly honorable
manner; for, while he was on board the Savannah, he once heard the
captain say to the first mate: “I am very unwell, and I wish you
would take charge of the vessel; carry as much or as little sail as
you please. If any thing happens, call me.” The captain then went
down into the cabin, and kept his bed for two days, during which time
the first mate sailed the schooner. So Tom, with this example before
him, thought that he had a perfect right to turn the command of the
Mystery over to his mate, if he chose to do so, and no one could
question his motives.
Bob, at first, did not wish to take charge of the little vessel, but
Tom insisted, saying:
“I will lie down here in the stern-sheets, and if any thing happens,
you can call me.” And, suiting the action to the words, he stretched
himself out at full length, and rested his head on his hands, as if
he were very ill indeed.
“Well, then,” said the fisher-boy, “if I am the captain, I shall
shape her course toward the shore and take in that topsail and
flying-jib.”
“Do as you like,” replied Tom; “carry as much or as little sail as
you please. I’m sick.”
The fisher-boy accordingly headed the Mystery toward the beach, and,
again turning to Tom, said:
“Now, if I am the captain, you must be the crew.”
“O, no,” whined Tom, “I can’t.”
“Well, somebody must be the crew,” said Bob, looking rather anxiously
toward the clouds. “Go aloft and take in that gaff topsail.”
“O, I can’t,” answered Tom. “Suppose the storm should come up before
I got down, it would blow me overboard.”
“Then you steer the boat, and I’ll do it.”
“I can’t do that either; I’m sick.”
Bob was amazed, and utterly at a loss to know how to act. Those sails
must come in, the sooner the better; for the chances were not one in
ten that the Mystery could reach the shore, before the storm would
burst upon them in all its fury. He was the captain of the vessel,
but he was powerless, for his crew would not obey his orders, and
he had no means of enforcing his commands. He could not leave the
tiller, in order to take in the sails, neither could he lash it fast;
for what little wind there was, was shifting, and somebody must be at
the helm, in order to keep the sloop headed toward the shore.
For the first time, Bob felt a little alarmed, and, for a moment, he
sat calculating his chances for reaching the shore, should the boat
be capsized. But he knew that was no time for such thoughts. The
question then was, How to save the vessel and cargo? The fisher-boy
imagined that could be easily done, if Tom would only wake up and
lend his assistance. But how was he to arouse the young skipper, who
was so disgracefully deserting his vessel and crew, at a time when
his services were most needed?
“Captain,” began the fisher-boy.
“O, I am not the captain, now, I tell you,” interrupted Tom. “You are
the master of the Mystery. Do as you please.”
“But I must have help,” said Bob. “I can’t do every thing alone. If
we don’t take in those sails very soon, we shall be swamped.”
“I can’t help that,” said Tom, looking up at the clouds with a most
pitiful countenance.
“You must help it. What would you do if you were in the water, a mile
and a half from the shore?”
“O, I don’t know. I’m sick.”
“You must work for your life, if you are sick,” said the fisher-boy.
Tom, however, made no reply, neither did he move from his position.
Bob began to be discouraged. If the fear of losing his life would not
induce the young trader to put forth some exertion, it was probable
that nothing would. But there was one subject still untried, and at
that moment it occurred to the fisher-boy.
“Captain--I mean Tom,” said he, “if we do capsize, what will become
of your eggs, and butter, and your fine game chickens? You’ll have to
look for your ten dollars profit at the bottom of the sea.”
“So I would!” exclaimed Tom, straightening himself up, all his
sickness vanishing in an instant. “I can’t afford to lose those game
chickens. They’re worth more than ten dollars to me. But, Bob, this
is my last trip up the bay, I can tell you.”
The fisher-boy had succeeded in waking Tom up at last. The latter
knew that not only his fine boat, but even his own life was in
danger; but it was not until Bob reminded him of the loss he
would sustain in his game chickens, in the event of the Mystery’s
capsizing, that he got up, ready to lend assistance.
“Now, then,” said Bob, as the young trader took hold of the tiller,
“hold her steady, and I’ll take in that gaff topsail.”
The topsail had formerly been arranged so that it could be spread or
taken in from the deck; but this did not “look enough like a ship”
to suit Tom, who, after considerable trouble, had made it as near
as possible like the topsail of a schooner; so that when he wanted
it taken in, some one had to go aloft to do it. It was sport for
Tom to ascend the mast in fair weather, when the Mystery was made
fast at her wharf; but he did not dare to attempt it at sea, in the
face of a storm; so this duty devolved upon the fisher-boy, who went
aloft, took in the sail, and threw it to the deck. Tom took more
pride in his boat than in any thing else, and he always liked to
see the canvas neatly stowed away; and had it been fair weather, he
would have scolded Bob for not doing the topsail up properly. But an
indistinct moaning sound, which came faintly to his ears, told him
that the storm was rapidly approaching, and he was so terrified, and
so anxious to reach the shore, that he hardly noticed the condition
the sail was in. The fisher-boy then descended to the deck, and, in
a few moments more, the flying-jib was securely stowed away, and a
double reef taken in the mainsail. Then, after placing all the boxes,
baskets, and pails under the thwarts, as much as possible out of the
way, he again took his seat at the helm, which Tom readily gave up to
him.
It was not Bob’s intention to land on the beach; for there, when the
storm came, the Mystery would be in danger of being knocked to pieces
by the waves, which always ran high during a gale. He had resolved,
if possible, to run into a little cove about three miles from the
village, where they could find safe anchorage for their vessel, let
the wind blow never so hard. The fisher-boy thought he should be able
to accomplish his object; for, as he took the helm, a slight breath
of wind--the forerunner of the storm--filled the sails, and the
Mystery began to move more rapidly. Stronger and stronger grew the
breeze, causing the little vessel to careen, until she stood almost
on her beam-ends, and straining the mast until it seemed about to
break. Never before had the Mystery made such an exhibition of speed;
but, fast as she went, the boys saw that the storm gained rapidly,
and presently Bob pointed out a long line of foam in the horizon.
The gale was fast approaching, and a few moments more would decide
whether they would enter the cove--the mouth of which was but a short
distance off--or be swamped on the beach. Nearer and nearer came the
line of foam, stretching away on both sides of them as far as their
eyes could reach; and finally, a strong gust of wind, which seemed
to lift the little vessel fairly out of the water, filled the sails,
and drove her toward the beach with great speed. Tom thought all was
lost, and throwing himself flat in the bottom of the boat, expected
every instant to find himself struggling in the water. He felt the
sloop rise, as she was lifted on the crest of a tremendous billow,
heard the shrieking of the wind through the shrouds, accompanied by
a loud roar, as the wave broke upon the beach, and presently the
Mystery’s keel grated harshly on the sand--Bob having safely piloted
her behind a friendly point, and run her upon the shore, out of reach
of the storm.
CHAPTER X.
TOM’S GAME CHICKENS.
The fisher-boy had not performed a very heroic nor yet very difficult
task in taking the Mystery safely into port; and Tom, when he had
straightened up and looked about him, began to feel ashamed of
himself. His pride, however, would not permit him to acknowledge that
he had acted cowardly; so, as soon as he saw that the vessel and
cargo were safe, he exclaimed:
“Well, we did bring her in all right, didn’t we, Bob? I knew we could
do it.”
Had the Mystery been a few minutes later in reaching her shelter, it
is probable that not even Bob could have saved her from being dashed
upon the shore; for, no sooner had they reached the cove, than the
storm burst forth in all its fury. The wind blew a perfect gale; the
waves broke upon the beach with deafening roars; the clouds were
lighted up with almost incessant flashes of lightning, which were
accompanied by terrific peals of thunder, that had the effect of
convincing Tom that, perhaps, they were not yet altogether safe.
The fisher-boy made no reply to Captain Newcombe’s remark; but, after
making the sloop’s painter fast to a tree on the shore, he hauled
down the mainsail and proceeded to spread it over the boat, to
protect the cargo, and also to afford them a shelter from the rain,
which soon began to fall in torrents. Captain Newcombe and his mate
then crawled under the sail; and, as was invariably the case with
Tom, when every thing did not go off smoothly, he began to grumble.
He was the most unlucky boy in the whole world, he said. Every one
else got along easily, and without the least trouble, but whenever he
attempted any thing, something always happened to bother him. He knew
he couldn’t be a trader before he commenced, and that would be his
last attempt at speculating. If Bob would give him fifteen dollars,
he might have the whole cargo, game chickens and all. He would sell
it for five dollars less than he had intended to ask for it, for the
sake of disposing of it then and there, as he was fully resolved to
retire from business. But fifteen dollars was a much larger amount
than the fisher-boy ever had in his possession at one time, and,
besides, (although he did not say so,) he was rather inclined to
believe that the cargo was not worth so much money.
At the end of two hours the storm was over, and the waves had abated
sufficiently to allow the Mystery to continue her voyage. Tom,
although he retained the name of captain, allowed the fisher-boy
to have things all his own way; and, when he found himself sailing
toward the village once more, he began to recover his usual spirits.
He again thought of his profits; how grand he would feel when he
should inform his father that he had made just ten dollars that day;
how all the boys of his acquaintance would envy him, and he finally
concluded that a traders life was not so bad after all.
Half an hour’s sail brought them to the village, and the fisher-boy,
in obedience to Captain Newcombe’s orders, landed on the beach at
his own home. As soon as the boat had been made fast to the shore,
Bob’s wagon, with its shrieking wooden wheels, was again brought into
requisition, and the fisher-boy began the work of discharging the
cargo. As the articles, one after another, were brought out on the
beach, Tom was astonished to discover that there was another incident
in the life of a trader of which he had never dreamed. It had never
occurred to him to think what he would do in case his cargo should be
damaged; but now the question was presented to him in such a manner
that it could not be avoided. He found that a great many of his eggs
were broken. No doubt the damage had been done, either while they
were going into the cove or coming out of it. The butter, also, was
not in as good condition as it was when they left the farm-house. The
rolls were broken, the cloth soiled, and the pail in which it was
packed, having, by some means become uncovered during the storm, was
half-filled with water. In fact, the only part of the cargo which
did not seem to be injured, was the rooster, which crowed loudly, as
Bob picked up the box and carried it to the shore. The fisher-boy
was dismayed, when he came to examine into the condition of things;
but Tom, who stood on the beach with his hands in his pockets, had
suddenly discovered a way out of his difficulty.
“Never mind, Bob,” said he; “I’ll charge more for the eggs that are
left than I intended to in the first place, and then I’ll sell those
game chickens if I can get three dollars apiece for them. That would
be--let me see--how much for the lot?”
“Nine dollars,” answered Bob.
“Well, I gave three dollars for them,” continued the young trader,
“and I shall make by the operation, just--just--let me think a
moment.”
“Six dollars,” said the fisher-boy.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Tom. “Then it will take (and here the young
trader, being deeply interested in his calculations, forgot himself,
and began to count his fingers) seven--eight--nine--ten. It will take
just four dollars more to make up the ten dollars. I shall certainly
clear that off the butter and eggs. Now, don’t you see where my ten
dollars profit is to come from?”
Although the fisher-boy answered in the affirmative, he did not quite
agree with Tom, for the thought occurred to him that, perhaps, he
might not be able to sell his chickens at such a high price. However,
he made no remark, and as soon as he had loaded his wagon with the
eggs, he started off for Mr. Henry’s store. Tom waited until he was
out of sight, and then went around by the wharf as before; and, when
he arrived at the grocery, Bob had already been there, unloaded his
wagon, and gone back to the boat after the rest of the cargo. The
grocer met the young trader as he entered the store, and, after
inquiring how he had weathered the storm, called one of the clerks to
count the eggs. Tom stood by, looking on, and relating his adventures
to the merchant--being very careful, however, not to say one word
about the disgraceful manner in which he had deserted his vessel and
crew in time of danger--and, when the eggs had all been counted, he
found that he had just fifteen dozen whole ones left; six dozen
had been broken during the storm. As the young trader stood looking
intently at the floor, trying his best to determine how much he ought
to ask for the eggs that were left, in order to make good what he
would lose on the broken ones, the fisher-boy returned, bringing the
game chickens and the butter.
“Those are fine looking chickens, Tom,” said the grocer. “How much do
you ask for them?”
“Three dollars apiece!” was the answer.
“Three dollars apiece!” repeated the merchant, in surprise. “You mean
three dollars for the lot.”
“No I don’t,” replied Tom. “I mean just what I said--three dollars
apiece--nine dollars for the lot.”
“That’s too much! You surely did not give that price for them?”
“Of course not!” replied Tom. “If I had, I wouldn’t sell them for
that. I want to make something, don’t I?”
“Certainly! But you want to make too much. I’ll give you fifty cents
apiece for them.”
“No, sir!” said Tom, emphatically. “I can’t sell them for a cent less
than three dollars each.”
“What makes them so valuable?” asked the grocer.
“Why, they’re first-class game chickens,” replied Tom. “Don’t you
want them?”
“Not at your price. I am not speculating in game chickens now.”
“Well, _I_ am,” said the young trader. “They are worth three dollars
apiece to me, and I’ll keep them before I’ll sell them for a cent
less.”
While this conversation was going on, one of the clerks had weighed
the butter, and, when Mr. Henry had been informed of the number of
pounds, he leaned his elbows on the counter and said:
“Now, then, Tom, you have fifteen dozen eggs and ten pounds of
butter. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s correct; but I’d like to have you take those game
chickens.”
“I can’t give your price for them,” repeated the grocer. “Now, how
much are the eggs and butter worth?”
The young trader did not know what reply to make to this question,
for the breaking of six dozen of his eggs, and Mr. Henry’s refusal to
take his chickens at three dollars each, had completely upset all his
calculations. He wanted to make ten dollars by his day’s work, but he
did not know how much to ask for the eggs and butter to clear that
amount. He would have been very much relieved could he have had a few
moment’s conversation with the fisher-boy; but, by such a proceeding,
he would certainly show his ignorance, and that was something he did
not wish to do. He could see but one way to act; so, after looking
about the store for a moment, and putting on a serious face, as if
busily engaged in making calculations, he turned to the grocer and
asked:
“What do you think my cargo is worth?”
“Well,” was the answer, “although that butter is rather mussed up, I
will give you full price for it--thirteen cents a pound.”
Down came all the bright hopes of the young trader, who started back
from the counter in astonishment, and looked at the grocer as if he
could hardly believe that he had heard aright.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Mr. Henry.
“Thirteen--did--did you say _thirteen_ cents a pound for that
butter?” Tom almost gasped.
“Exactly! Butter is very plenty now, and that is all it is
worth--thirteen cents.”
Tom was now convinced that the merchant was in earnest; and so
astounded and vexed was he to discover that his grand attempt at
speculating had failed, that it was with the greatest difficulty that
he could refrain from crying.
“Did you pay more than that?” asked Mr. Henry, who plainly saw what
was the matter.
“O, yes,” drawled Tom, “I paid more than that. I paid too much.”
“Prices have fallen lately, you know,” said the grocer.
“Then I’ll keep that butter until they rise again,” said Tom, in
desperation. “How much do you pay for eggs?”
“Ten cents,” was the answer.
“O, no,” drawled Tom. “I can’t sell for that.”
The store was full of customers; and at this moment the grocer left
Tom, to attend to the wants of a gentleman, who appeared to be in a
great hurry to transact his business, and the young trader determined
to seize the opportunity to do a little calculating. He knew that if
he accepted the price offered by the merchant, he would be a heavy
loser, and he was anxious to know the full extent of his losses.
Beckoning to the fisher-boy to follow him toward the office, he
whispered:
“I am afraid I can’t make _quite_ ten dollars, aint you? Now ten
pounds of butter, at thirteen cents a pound, that makes--let me see.”
“A dollar and thirty cents,” said the fisher-boy.
“O, I can’t sell that good butter for such a small price as that,”
whined Tom. “That farmer swindled me, didn’t he? He said that butter
was the best in the country. And now, fifteen dozen eggs, at ten
cents a dozen, that makes--just--”
“A dollar and a half,” said Bob.
“And that makes the butter and eggs worth--worth--”
“Two dollars and eighty cents,” said the fisher-boy, who knew that
he was expected to do all the calculating; “and you paid six dollars
and ninety cents for your cargo, taking out the price of your game
chickens. So you lose just four dollars and ten cents.”
“O, that’s too much!” said Tom. “If I was to lose that every day,
that would be--let me see--how much a week?”
“Almost twenty-five dollars,” said Bob.
“That’s too much!” exclaimed Tom, again. “I can’t afford to lose
that. I’ll keep my things until prices rise again. Bob, put the cargo
into your wagon, and take it up to the house. I knew I couldn’t
be a speculator. I’m the most unlucky boy in the whole world, and
something’s always happening to bother me.”
Tom was now thoroughly disgusted with trading, and he resolved that,
as long as he lived, he never would attempt it again. As he started
to leave the store, the grocer inquired:
“Well, what do you say?”
“I say I can’t sell at your prices,” was the answer; and, in a moment
more, Tom was taking long steps toward his home. He did not stop to
speak to any of his numerous acquaintances he met on the streets,
for fear they might ask him how he was succeeding in business; and
not until he reached home, and closed the gate behind him, did he
feel safe. As he walked slowly toward the house, he glanced in at the
door, and saw his father, seated in the library, reading his paper,
and Tom knew that he still had a most difficult task to perform. Mr.
Newcombe, of course, would want to know all the particulars of the
voyage; and, at that moment, the young trader would have given even
his game chickens to be able to avoid the interview. But that was
impossible, for his father discovered him as he came up the lawn, and
called him into the house. Tom obeyed, and the moment he entered the
room, Mr. Newcombe saw at a glance that he had made another failure.
“Well,” he exclaimed, “I suppose you have cleared a small fortune
to-day?”
“O, no, I haven’t, either,” whined the discouraged young trader. “I’m
afraid I shall lose lots of money. Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t be a
speculator?”
“Did you allow somebody to cheat you?” asked the merchant.
Tom saw that his father was determined to know all about the matter,
and thinking that the sooner it was over with the better, he drew his
memorandum-book from his pocket, and turned to the bill he had made
out. His feelings, as he presented it, were very different from what
he had that morning imagined they would be. Then, he was confident
that he should be able to tell his father he had made money by his
day’s work; instead of that he had been a heavy loser.
Mr. Newcombe took the book, and as he glanced over the list of
articles that had comprised Tom’s cargo, he saw in an instant where
his son had made his mistake.
“What’s this!” he exclaimed, “twenty-one dozen eggs, at--why, Tom,
twenty cents for eggs!”
The unpleasant interview was over much sooner than the young trader
had expected. His father did not read all the bill, but, closing the
book, returned it to Tom, and resumed his reading. He saw that his
son was in no humor to talk about what he had done, nor to listen to
advice regarding his future operations.
Tom, who had expected a long lecture, was glad, indeed, to escape so
easily, and, putting the book into his pocket, he walked out of the
house, and started toward the barn, where he sat down to think over
his day’s experience, and to await the arrival of the fisher-boy.
The latter came at length, with his wagon loaded with eggs. A place
was cleared for them in one end of the oat-bin, and there they were
packed away to remain until the market prices should rise. Bob
then returned to the store, and, in due time, came back with the
butter and the game chickens. The butter was also packed away in the
oat-bin, the cover of which was closed and fastened.
“There!” exclaimed Tom, “that’s all right. I haven’t lost my money
yet. Eggs and butter will be higher next winter, and then I’ll show
you a trick or two in speculating. Now, the next thing is to drive
all father’s chickens into the hen-house, and shut them up. I want to
let my game rooster out.”
But driving the chickens into the hen-house was a much harder task
than the boys had anticipated. Having no desire to be shut up before
night, they found secure retreats under the barn; and, after half an
hour’s chase, during which only one solitary hen was captured, Tom’s
patience was exhausted.
“Never mind them, Bob!” he exclaimed, panting hard after his long
run. “We have tried to put them out of harm’s way, and now they must
look out for themselves. If they knew what they were about, they
would get into that hen-house as soon as possible. Now, Bob,” he
continued, as he stood with a hammer in his hand ready to knock the
bars off the box in which the rooster was confined, “we must name
this fellow before we let him out. What shall we call him?”
Bob proposed several names which he thought would be appropriated,
but they did not suit Tom, who finally said he wanted to call his
chicken after some great general.
“Name him Washington, then,” said the fisher-boy.
“That’s the name!” exclaimed Tom. “Come out here, General
Washington,” and, with a few blows of the hammer, he knocked off the
bars, when out walked the rooster and the two hens.
They seemed to be well satisfied with their new quarters; and the
rooster, as if to carry out the designs of his master, flapped his
wings and crowed, to announce to all the fowls within hearing that he
had come there to take possession.
He had a pair of good lungs, and Tom fully expected that his crowing
would be sufficient to frighten every thing in the yard into
submission, and that the General would be permitted to assume the
honors of champion without a single battle. But the old residents of
the barn-yard had no intention of allowing the new-comer to lord it
over them, for scarcely had Washington ceased his crowing, when an
answer came from under the barn, and, the next moment, out popped a
very small specimen of a bantam, bristling all over with rage and
excitement.
“Drive him back, Bob!” shouted Tom; “drive him back! He’s too small!
He’ll certainly get hurt!”
But the bantam had not come out there to be driven back. Dodging
the cap which Tom threw at him, he spread his wings, thrust out his
neck, and made at the intruder as if he meant to annihilate him on
the spot. Washington was evidently astonished. He stood perfectly
still, looking at his diminutive antagonist first with one eye, then
with the other, and, just as Tom was expecting to see him assume the
offensive, and drive the bantam from the field, the General uttered
one long, deep cackle, and turned and took to his heels.
This was the last feather on the camel’s back. Every thing had gone
wrong with Tom that day. He had been offered ten cents a dozen for
eggs for which he had paid twenty cents, and had been assured that
the butter for which he had given twenty-two cents was worth only
thirteen, and he had, as he imagined, borne up bravely under it all.
But to stand there and see his game rooster--one for which he had
paid a dollar, and of which he had hoped such great things--to see
him disgracefully leave the field when faced by an antagonist that
he could almost swallow--that was too much; and Tom, filled with
disappointment and vexation, seated himself on the ground and cried
aloud.
CHAPTER XI.
TOM DECIDES TO BE A FARMER.
The fisher-boy was astonished at this exhibition of weakness on the
part of his employer, and it is difficult to say whether he most
pitied or despised Tom. He had all the while been confident that
Captain Newcombe would, sooner or later, discover that he had set his
mark altogether too high, but he had not expected that his failure,
to carry out his splendid scheme, would so overwhelm him.
“O, it’s no use, Bob,” whined the discomfited trader, as he rolled
about on the grass; “it’s no use; I knew I couldn’t be a speculator.
I am the most unlucky boy on earth. Something is always happening to
bother me, and nobody in the whole world has so much trouble as I do.
It’s enough to discourage any body. But I knew just how it would turn
out. I say, Bob,” he added suddenly, looking up at the fisher-boy
through his tears, “I’ve learned one lesson to-day, and that is,
it’s no use for a fellow to try to do a thing when he knows he can’t
succeed. I always said it, and now I know it’s so.”
The fisher-boy listened to this speech in perfect astonishment. He
remembered how confidently Tom had talked of his success during
the voyage, and how perseveringly he had labored to convince his
doubting mate that there was no possible chance for failure; and he
could not understand why the young trader had so suddenly changed his
opinion. If he knew that his scheme would result in failure, why had
he risked his money in it? But this was nothing unusual with Tom.
One day he would be raised up to the highest pinnacle of joy and
excitement, by some wild project that entered his head, and to which
he held in spite of all that could be said against it; and, perhaps,
in an hour from that time, he would be plunged in the lowest depth
of despair, by the failure of his scheme. On these occasions, he
always endeavored to console himself by saying: “Didn’t I tell you it
wouldn’t work? I knew all the time just how it would turn out.” He
never acknowledged, even to himself, that he was wrong; and, in the
present instance, could he have discovered the slightest excuse for
so doing, he would have laid all the blame upon the fisher-boy.
Bob did not feel called upon to make any reply to Tom’s speech, so he
walked about the yard; and, for want of something better to do, began
to whistle.
“I see you don’t sympathize with me,” said Tom. “Well, I ought not
to be surprised at it, for nobody ever cares a red cent whether I
succeed or fail. It’s just my luck. I don’t want you any longer. I
owe you a dollar, and I’ll settle with you in the morning.”
As this was a gentle hint that his presence there was no longer
desirable, Bob took leave of his employer, and started for home,
pulling his wagon after him.
As soon as he was out of sight, Tom arose to his feet, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and began to walk about the yard. He had
concluded that he had seen enough of a trader’s life, that he would
never again attempt to play the part of speculator, and the usual
question then arose: To what should he turn his attention next? He
was balancing between three things--Mr. Henry’s store, the military
school, and a farm. Tom had often wished that he could be a grocer,
especially if he was sure that he could get along through the world
as smoothly as Mr. Henry; for he was a man who did not work. He
always went about the store in shirt sleeves, evidently keeping an
eye open to all that was going on; but Tom had never seen him roll
a barrel or measure out a bushel of potatoes. Such work was always
performed by the clerks; while the grocer himself seemed to have
nothing to do but take in his money, and stand before the counter
with his hands in his pockets talking with his customers. If Tom
could have gone into the store with the same privileges, or even as
clerk, it is probable that he would have decided to do so; but there
was one serious obstacle in his way, and that was, the ridiculous
custom so common among business men, of requiring an inexperienced
person to begin at the lowest situation and work his way up. He would
be obliged to build fires, sweep out the store, and run errands. How
would he look, walking through the streets with a basket of eggs or
butter on his arm? That was something his pride did not allow him to
do.
Then there was the military school; and on this question Tom, as he
had done a hundred times before, debated long and earnestly. Would
the pleasure he would experience in wearing the academy uniform, make
amends for the trouble and inconvenience that would be occasioned
by difficult lessons and strict discipline? Would the glory he would
win in fighting Indians on the plains, after he had graduated from
West Point, repay him for the dangers to which he would be exposed?
It would be a fine thing for him if he could become the captain of
one of the academy companies, and sport his shoulder-straps about the
village, but here he discovered two obstacles that had often stood in
his way--arithmetic and geography.
In his frequent conversations with the students of his acquaintance,
in regard to the manner in which affairs were conducted at the
school, he had made anxious inquiries concerning the different
branches taught there, and had found, to his disappointment, that
those he so much despised received their full share of attention.
It made no difference to the teachers of the academy what business
a boy intended to follow, arithmetic and geography were regarded as
very necessary to his success; and two hours each day were devoted to
these studies, until the professors were satisfied that the students
had thoroughly mastered them. Tom thought he could not stand this,
so the idea of attending the military school was again reluctantly
abandoned. His only resource, then, was farming; and just then, Tom
thought it was the “very business he had always wanted to go into.”
There would be no books to trouble him, and no teacher to say,
“Thomas, you will remain after school, and recite that arithmetic
lesson.” He would escape all these very disagreeable things, and
would have nothing to do but drive horses, milk cows, and spread hay,
and that would be fun for him. As usual, Tom managed to work himself
up to the highest pitch of excitement, and he imagined all sorts of
pleasant things that would happen, if he could only become a farmer.
But he had little hopes of being able to carry out his idea; for, as
his father “didn’t want him to enjoy himself, if he could help it,”
it was not at all probable that he would give his consent. And here
Tom showed how inconsistent he was. He had told the fisher-boy that
he had that day learned a lesson which he never would forget, and
that was, that when he knew he could not succeed in any undertaking,
he would not waste time in trying. But now, although he repeatedly
said to himself that he “knew his father would not let him go on a
farm,” he resolved to try to obtain his permission. Having made this
resolution, and settled it in his own mind, that his future happiness
depended upon the success of his new scheme, he walked toward the
house and entered the library. His father had finished reading his
paper, and sat gazing intently at the carpet, as if he there hoped to
find a solution to some problem that he was revolving in his mind. As
Tom seated himself in a chair at his side, he looked up and inquired:
“Well, how do you like trading? Do you find as much sport in it as
you expected?”
“O, no, father; there isn’t any fun in it,” was the answer. “I don’t
like it at all. I’ve quit the business. Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t
be a trader?”
Mr. Newcombe had heard this expression so often that he took no
notice of it.
“Let me see the list of the goods you bought,” said he.
Tom accordingly produced his memorandum-book; and while searching for
the bill, Mr. Newcombe found the “Contract and Shipping Articles”
that the young trader, in anticipation of complete success in his
speculations, had drawn up that morning. After considerable trouble
he got at the sense of the document, although, on account of the
miserable writing, he could not decipher all the words; and when he
found how high Tom’s lively imagination had carried him, he did not
wonder that his failure had discouraged him. After reading over the
list of articles that Tom had purchased, and noting the prices he had
paid for each, he inquired:
“What in the world induced you to give so much for your cargo? You
certainly did not expect to make any thing?”
“O, now, yes I did,” drawled Tom. “I expected to make at least ten
dollars to-day. I didn’t want to cheat that farmer. If I had been
in his place, I wouldn’t have sold my things for less than what I
offered him. But I’m sorry I dealt so fairly with him, because he
swindled me badly.”
“In what way?” asked Mr. Newcombe.
“In those chickens,” answered Tom, almost ready to cry again. “He
said that rooster beat every thing on his place, like two hundred;
but he can’t whip any thing. Your little bantam drove him out of the
barn-yard. He’s the biggest coward I ever saw. I wish I hadn’t named
him General Washington.”
“Well,” said the merchant, after a pause, “you say you have concluded
not to do any more trading. What are you going to try your hand at
next?”
“I want to be a farmer,” said Tom. “That’s just the business I have
always wanted to go into.”
Tom had expected a strong and decided opposition to this project,
and he was prepared to meet it with a host of arguments. But, to his
surprise, his father merely nodded his head, and then sat gazing at
the carpet, without making any reply. Tom was delighted, and he hoped
that, for once, his father was willing that he should “enjoy himself.”
“May I go?” he asked, eagerly.
“That depends upon whether or not you can find any farmer who is
willing to take you,” answered the merchant.
“But do you say that I may go, if I can find a place?” asked Tom,
impatiently. “That’s what I want to know.”
“The matter rests entirely with you,” was the reply. “But how long do
you suppose it will be before you will wish yourself at home again?”
“O, not for a long time! Of course I shall visit you as often as I
can; but, if I once get into the country, I shall always be a farmer.”
“We’ll see,” said the merchant. “But, Tom, if you are trying to find
some business in which you will have no work to do, and where there
will be nothing to trouble you, you may as well give it up first as
last, because you’ll never find it. You will discover a great many
things in a farmer’s life that you will not like.”
“O, I know all about that,” said Tom, shaking his head in a very
knowing manner. “I know just what I’ll have to do. I’ll have to drive
horses, and milk cows, and do all that kind of hard work, but I don’t
care. I’ll see Mr. Hayes the very next time he comes to town.”
Mr. Hayes was the man whose fine horses had attracted Tom’s
attention during the previous winter, and whom he had asked if
he “didn’t want to hire a boy.” The farmer had done considerable
business with Mr. Newcombe; and Tom, having often conversed with him,
had finally learned to look upon him as one of the finest men in the
world. His face always wore a good-natured smile, and, when he met
Tom, he always gave his hand a gripe and a shake which he felt for
half an hour afterward. Besides, he always inquired very particularly
into Tom’s affairs, and never forgot to ask--
“When be you goin’ out home with me? You’re jest the chap I want;
an’, if you’ll go, I’ll make a first-class farmer of you in no time.
You look like a smart little feller, an’ I know my boys would be
mighty glad to see you.”
Of course this won Tom’s heart; and when he received his father’s
permission to carry his new idea into execution, he did not feel as
if he were leaving home to go among entire strangers, but as if he
were about to take up his abode with those with whom he had long been
acquainted.
“Very well, then,” said Mr. Newcombe; “it’s settled, I suppose, that
you are to be a farmer. You had better pack your valise, for I expect
Mr. Hayes down in the morning.”
Tom would have been much better pleased had his father informed him
that the farmer was already at the door and waiting for him, so
impatient was he to be off. He could not postpone the packing of his
valise until morning, so he posted off to his room, pulled one of the
drawers out of his bureau, and tumbled its contents upon the floor.
If Tom wanted to find a handkerchief or a collar, this was generally
the way he went about it. From among the numerous articles in the
drawer, he selected three fine shirts, a box of collars, half a dozen
handkerchiefs, a bottle of cologne, several towels, a piece of soap,
and a brush and comb. These he crowded into his valise, without the
least regard for order, and then went into a closet, that opened
off his bed-room, after a pair of boots. But Tom had already been
there once before that day, looking for his fish-basket, in which
he wished to carry his provisions for the trading voyage, and, as a
consequence, the closet presented a scene of the greatest confusion.
Pants and coats had been taken down from their pegs and thrown upon
the floor, so that it was almost an impossibility to distinguish one
garment from another, and, with these, were mixed up fish-poles,
ball-bats, books, and the wreck of his little fire-engine, which, in
his hurry, he had literally smashed to pieces.
“O, now, just look at this,” drawled Tom, as he commenced pulling
over the articles, and throwing them out into his bed-room. “How can
a fellow find a pair of boots in a muss like this, I’d like to know?
Here’s one of them--now where’s the other? I do wish folks would let
my things alone.”
The search was a long and tedious one; for, after every thing in the
closet had been thrown into the bed-room, the missing boot had not
been found. Finally, Tom pulled his bed into the middle of the floor;
and this movement revealed another scene of confusion. Articles of
every description were mixed up in all conceivable shapes, and among
them, Tom at last found his boot.
“It’s lucky that I pulled that bed out,” said he to himself; “for
here are lots of things that I thought I had lost. Here’s one of the
Mystery’s oars, that I accused Bob Jennings of stealing. I’ll put it
right here, behind the door, so that I’ll know just where to find it
the next time I want it. There’s my favorite ball-bat, that I thought
Gus Miller had carried off. Here’s my fish-line, with which I once
knocked off old ’Squire Thompson’s new stove-pipe hat. Wasn’t he mad,
though? And here--well I declare, if here isn’t my jack-knife! I
thought that was gone up, sure. I’ll put it into my pocket, for I may
need it to cut switches, to drive the horses with.”
Thus enumerating the different articles which he discovered, Tom
found the boot of which he was in search, and which he put into his
valise, after wrapping it up in one of his clean shirts. Then the
other boot was missing; he had put it somewhere, and could not find
it.
“Now, just look at that,” whined Tom, as he took his stand in the
middle of the room, and gazed despairingly at the numerous piles of
clothing that lay scattered about the floor. “Something’s always
happening to bother me. I always was the most unlucky boy in the
whole world.”
Tom began to throw the clothing back into the closet, violently
shaking each garment before he did so, and the missing boot was
finally found on the bed. His farming outfit was now complete, with
the exception of a pair of black broadcloth pants, and a jacket,
which were found, after considerable trouble, and crowded into the
valise, which was so full that it could not be closed. Besides, the
key was lost. But Tom did not intend to look for that, for he might
as well have searched for a needle in a hay-stack, as to endeavor to
find so small an article as a key in his room. However, he did not
need it. Placing the valise flat upon the floor, he kneeled upon it,
and, exerting all his strength, succeeded in bringing the handles so
close together that they could be tied with a string.
“There,” said he, with something like a sigh of relief; “that job is
done. And now, I’m all ready to be a farmer. I wish Mr. Hayes would
come to-night, for I don’t like to wait. When I get ready to do a
thing, I want to be at it.”
Tom carried his valise down stairs, and placed it in the hall, near
the door; and then, walking out on the lawn, gave himself up to the
delights of dreaming.
“This is the business for me,” he soliloquized. “I’ll be certain to
succeed; for if I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t attempt it. What is
there to prevent my being a farmer, I’d like to know? I’ll have no
arithmetic or geography lessons to learn; no writing to work at; no
figures to culculate; no trading to do; no second mate to bother me;
no boots to black, or beds to make up; and no wood to saw. Now, hold
on a minute,” he added, shaking his head, doubtfully; “I don’t know
about that. Farmers must have wood, and, perhaps, Mr. Hayes will want
me to keep his galley-stove in fuel. No, sir; I won’t do it. Before I
hire out to him, I’ll be particular to ask him if I shall be obliged
to saw wood; and if he says ‘yes,’ I won’t go. I’ll look around and
find some other farmer that wants a boy. But if he says I needn’t
saw wood, I’m all right. I ought to be able to learn all about this
business in a short time, and then I’ll ask father to buy me a farm
and stock it for me. Then, perhaps, I might be as lucky as that
man in Iowa I heard father talking about the other day. He has six
thousand acres of land, and, in one year, he sold two thousand head
of cattle and twenty-five hundred sheep. He doesn’t do a stitch of
work, but employs all his time in riding about his farm on horseback.
Now, two thousand head of cattle, at--say ten dollars apiece; that
would be--would be--I wish Bob Jennings was here to tell me what it
would amount to, so that I might know how much I would make if I had
a farm like that.”
As these thoughts passed through Tom’s mind, he suddenly paused in
his walk, and then catching up his cap, which he had thrown under one
of the trees, he ran into the house, exclaiming:
“Father, will you please lend me a dollar until tomorrow? I want to
pay Bob Jennings what I owe him, and if I wait until morning, he may
be off to his fishing-grounds before I can see him.”
Tom hesitated as he said this, for he knew that he had not told
his father the real object he had in view; so, after a moment’s
reflection, he added: “I want to talk to Bob on business.”
Mr. Newcombe laid down his paper, produced his pocket-book, and
handed the required amount to Tom, who at once started for the home
of the fisher-boy. He found Bob engaged in bailing out his scow,
preparatory to starting for his pier after the workmen.
“Here’s your dollar,” said Tom, as he approached. “I thought I
wouldn’t wait until morning, for I am going into the country; I’m
going to be a farmer.”
“A farmer!” repeated Bob, as he took the money and put it carefully
away in his pocket. “Do you think you will like that business?”
“Like it! How can I help it? I’ll make plenty of money, too, one of
these days. Now, Bob, sit down here,” continued Tom, as he seated
himself on the gunwale of the scow. “There is a man somewhere out
West, who sold in one year two thousand head of cattle, and two
thousand five hundred sheep.”
“He was a farmer, wasn’t he?” exclaimed Bob.
“Yes, he was, and that’s just the kind of a farmer I am going to be
one of these days.”
“But, Tom,” said the fisher-boy, “have you given up all idea of going
to sea?”
“Of course I have,” was the answer. “I never wanted to go to sea,
only just long enough to make one voyage; but I always did want to be
a farmer. I’d rather follow that business than be captain of the best
man-o’-war afloat. Now, two thousand head of cattle, at ten dollars
each; that would make--let me see.”
“Ten dollars,” repeated Bob. “You wouldn’t sell beef-cattle for
that small price, would you? That man may have shipped them to some
Southern market, and received forty or fifty dollars each for them.”
“That’s more than I thought cattle were worth,” said Tom. “Now, two
thousand head, at fifty dollars each; that makes just--just--”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” said the fisher-boy.
“That’s lots of money, isn’t it?” asked Tom. “Now, twenty-five
hundred sheep, at two dollars a head; I heard father say that was the
market price, but I wouldn’t sell for that, if I owned any. However,
we’ll say two dollars; that would make--let me think--”
“Five thousand dollars,” said Bob.
“And that all makes--makes--”
“One hundred and five thousand dollars.”
Tom whistled long and loud.
“Now, wouldn’t you rather be a farmer than a sailor?” said he. “You
couldn’t make as much money as that by going to sea, if you should
live to be a thousand years old.”
“How did your father get his start in the world?” asked Bob; “wasn’t
it by going to sea, and saving his money?”
“Yes, but that’s too slow work. Besides, we all have different
talents, you know. You were made to be a sailor; so was your father
before you; but I was cut out for a farmer; and I’m going to be one,
too. Goodnight, Bob; I must go.”
“I’ve found the very business at last,” said Tom to himself, as he
walked homeward. “A hundred and five thousand dollars a year, and
nothing to do but ride around on horseback and look at your property.
Isn’t that glorious! Wouldn’t I feel proud if I could see so many
cattle and sheep feeding in one of my fields, and could say: ‘They’re
all mine! They’re worth a hundred and five thousand dollars?’ Whew!
I’m bound to be a farmer.”
CHAPTER XII.
TOM’S NEW HOME.
Tom was so full of his glorious ideas for the future, that he could
scarcely sleep at all that night; and, when he did, he dreamed of
droves of cattle, prancing horses, and sheep without number.
Morning came at length, and, contrary to his usual custom, he was
up at daylight; but he had six long hours to employ in some manner
before he could see Mr. Hayes, for the latter would not reach the
village before ten o’clock. He passed the time until breakfast in
walking about the yard, enjoying the bright prospect before him,
and then he went down to his father’s office, where he impatiently
awaited the arrival of the farmer. The hours seemed lengthened
into weeks; and, so impatient was Tom, that he could neither sit
still, nor stand still, even for a moment. He would walk once or
twice across the office, then run out into the street and closely
scrutinize every wagon within the range of his vision, all the while
saying to himself: “Now, I wonder what keeps that man? He ought to
have been here an hour ago!” Half-past ten came at length, and with
it arrived the farmer, perched upon his heavily-loaded wagon, his
face all wrinkled up with smiles, as if he felt well satisfied with
the world and every body in it, himself in particular. Tom did not
wonder that he was always laughing; when he owned a farm, and four
fine horses, he would laugh too.
The farmer stopped his team in front of the office, and, as he sprang
down from his wagon, he was met by Mr. Newcombe, who, leading him off
on one side, held a long and earnest conversation with him, while
Tom stood by almost bursting with impatience. At length the farmer
approached him, and, as Tom grasped his huge hand, he almost shouted--
“Mr. Hayes, I am going home with you!”
“Human natur’! Be you, though?” exclaimed the farmer. “I’m glad to
hear you say so.”
“But, first,” continued Tom, “I want to ask you one question. Must I
saw wood?”
“O, no,” answered Mr. Hayes, laughing, “I’ve got a strappin’ big boy
to do all that ar’ kind of work.”
“That’s all right!” said Tom, immensely relieved. “That’s one point
settled. Now, I shall charge you eight dollars a month! That’s what I
received when I was a sailor, and I can’t work for a cent less. Will
you pay it?”
“That’s a big price for a chap as don’t know nothin’ ’bout farmin’,”
said Mr. Hayes. “But we won’t quarrel ’bout a few dollars. It’s a
bargain.”
“Then I’ll go with you!” said Tom, delighted that his demands had
been so readily complied with. “I knew I’d suit you. Won’t I have a
jolly time milking cows and driving horses!”
“Sartin!” said the farmer, who seemed as highly elated as Tom
himself.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Newcombe, who had stood by listening to this
conversation, “go home and bid your mother good-by. By that time Mr.
Hayes will have his wagon unloaded.”
Tom at once started for home at the top of his speed; and so eager
was he to return to the farmer as soon as possible, that he took
leave of his mother in a very hurried and unceremonious manner.
Catching up his valise, he ran back to the office, where he arrived
just as Mr. Hayes was returning from the store-house with his empty
wagon.
“Back again so soon,” said he, with one of his good-natured smiles.
“What a mighty good boy you’d be to run errands!”
Tom doubted this; but being too much out of breath to reply, he
put his valise into the wagon, and accompanied the farmer into the
office. As soon as Mr. Newcombe had paid him for the fifty bushels of
potatoes he had just brought in, he was ready to start.
“Good-by, father!” said Tom. “I’m off, now. I’ll know something about
farming when I come back!”
“That’s true as natur’,” said Mr. Hayes. “I’ll take good care on him,
an’ I’ll l’arn him to raise taters as good as ’em I just sold you.”
The farmer climbed into his wagon, gathered up his reins, cracked his
whip, and Tom was whirled off toward his new home.
The boy’s cup of happiness was now full to the brim. After a life of
disappointments, the wheel of fortune had at last made a revolution
in his favor. That something which he had waited for so long, had
finally “turned up,” and from that time forward he would find no
obstacles in his way--there would be nothing to trouble him. He
felt as if he were about entering upon a new existence; and he
regarded his former life as utterly wasted. He forgot the sorrow
and vexation that had been occasioned by his recent failure; and
when he remembered that he had been weak enough to shed tears when
he discovered that his game rooster was a humbug, he could not help
feeling ashamed of himself.
In order to give Mr. Hayes an idea of the object he had in view, Tom
told him the story of the stock raiser in Iowa, which made the farmer
open his eyes wide with astonishment.
“How much would so much stock sell for?” he asked.
Tom settled back in his seat, put on a very thoughtful look, and
answered--
“Two thousand head of cattle at--we’ll say fifty dollars each, for
that is about the price paid now in Southern markets--would amount to
one hundred thousand dollars; and twenty-five hundred sheep, at two
dollars a head, would bring just five thousand dollars, making, in
all, one hundred and five thousand dollars.”
“Human natur’!” exclaimed the farmer, looking at Tom, in amazement.
“You’re a lightnin’ chap on figures, that’s sartin. I couldn’t reckon
up so much in my head if I should try a month. If my boys could do
that, I’d feel ’nation proud of ’em. But, Tommy, it aint every farmer
or stock raiser that can make so much money.”
“O, there’s nothing in the world to prevent it,” said Tom, knowingly.
“Wait until I have been with you long enough to know something about
this business, and I’ll show you how to manage a farm.”
“I never see a chap so anxious and willin’ to learn that didn’t
make a great man!” said the farmer, who little dreamed that Tom was
utterly lacking in some very necessary qualities. “You’re bound to
get through the world all right. Now, if you’ll l’arn my boys to
reckon figures in their heads as fast as you did a minute ago, I’ll
do the right thing by you. Will you do it?”
This question made Tom a little uneasy. He never went into the
company of strangers that he did not endeavor to impress them with
the idea that he was a very smart boy. He had already made a most
favorable beginning with the farmer, who regarded him as a “lightning
calculator;” and, if he had stopped at that, without asking him to
put his knowledge to a practical use, he would have been satisfied.
But Mr. Hayes had hinted that he would like to have him instruct his
boys, and Tom suddenly found himself in a predicament from which he
could then discover no way of extricating himself without injuring
his reputation.
“Well, Tommy,” said the farmer, at length, “we won’t say nothing more
about it just now. I know you could l’arn my boys an amazin’ heap
if you would only try, but I s’pose you feel a leetle funny ’bout
bein’ called on to play school-master. Howsomever, we’ll wait till
we get home, an’ you’re fairly settled in your new quarters. You
mustn’t look on my boys as strangers, ’cause they aint. They have
often heered me speak of you; so you can pitch in an’ be as friendly
as you please. They’ll be glad to see you, an’ when you come to
get acquainted with ’em, I know you’ll like ’em. You’ll find that
things is divided at my house, just as they had oughter be. Sally
Ann--that’s my old woman--she is boss of the kitchen, an’ I’m boss of
the barn-yard. She’s got nothing to say ’bout the way I take care on
my hosses an’ cows, an’ I don’t bother my head ’bout what goes on in
the house, or grumble ’bout the way the butter an’ cheese is made.
You see, when things is divided that way, there aint no quarrelin
an’ fightin’. Every thing goes along smooth an’ easy--just like
clock-work. Now, Tommy, you drive. You needn’t think we’re going to
work you hard just now,” he continued, as Tom took the reins and whip
from his hand, “’cause it aint to be thought on. You’re fresh from
the village, where you never had no hard work to do; so we’ll give
you something easy till you kinder get used to it.”
The more Tom talked with Mr. Hayes, the more delighted he became
with his prospects. He thought that if he could only conjure up some
plan by which he might be able to avoid teaching the farmer’s boys,
he would have nothing to trouble him. Especially was he pleased to
learn that he was not expected to do any hard work. Besides this, he
was already enjoying the “sensation” which he hoped to make in the
farmer’s family, and it was for this reason that he had packed his
valise with his best clothes. According to his idea, his broadcloth
jacket would go a long way toward establishing his claim to respect,
and would have the effect of convincing the country boys that a
village youth was something extraordinary.
After a three hours’ ride, during which the farmer gave his new hand
a long lecture on the manner in which corn and potatoes ought to be
planted and cultivated in order to produce large crops; every word of
which, it is needless to say, was Greek to Tom. He pointed to a house
in the distance, saying: “Now, we’re comin’ to our home. All this
land you see here on this side of the road belongs to me. I’ve got
two hundred acres of just as good ground as ever laid out of doors.”
As the farmer spoke he took the reins from Tom’s hand, cracked his
whip, and, in a few moments, drove through a gate, which was opened
by a barefooted, dirty little urchin, who gazed at Tom with every
expression of wonder and curiosity. If he was a fair specimen of the
farmer’s boys, Tom did not think that he should be very well pleased
with them. Mr. Hayes kept on, and, instead of driving to the barn,
turned up toward the house, and stopped his team in front of the
door. Tom was astonished at the sight that was presented to his gaze.
The door-way was crowded with boys of all ages and sizes, the oldest
apparently about nineteen years of age, and the youngest about three.
They were all hatless and shoeless; the larger ones had their sleeves
rolled up above their elbows, revealing arms as brown as their
faces, while the younger ones carried in their hands huge slices of
bread and butter. Behind them, looking over their shoulders, stood
their mother, evidently as much interested in the new-comer as her
children. She was a tall, muscular woman, with sharp nose, long chin,
and small, piercing eyes; and as Tom looked at her, he began to doubt
the truth of the farmer’s statement--that her authority was bounded
by the four walls of the kitchen. He thought it very probable that
he should discover that her power was exercised over every one on
the farm. Tom took all this in at a glance, for the moment the wagon
stopped the farmer sprang out, exclaiming:
“Now, then, we’re to home. Sally Ann, this is our new hand--Tommy
Newcombe. Get out of the way, boys; where are your manners, that you
stand gapin’ at a feller that way? Let us come in.”
The woman merely nodded to Tom, and after wiping off a chair with her
apron, requested him to “set down.”
“Now, then,” exclaimed the farmer, as the boys crowded up around Tom,
and stared at him as if they meant to look him out of countenance;
“here’s my youngsters--seven on ’em; aint they a fine-lookin’ lot
of fellers? This one,” he continued, pointing to the oldest of the
group, a tall, gaunt, stupid-looking boy, “he’s Roger Williams--Roger
Williams Hayes; you’ve heered of him, hain’t you? Shake hands with
him, Tommy, and be friends.”
Tom arose to his feet and extended his hand, which was accepted by
Roger Williams, whose thoughts seemed to be entirely occupied with
Tom’s clothes. After looking at his coat for a moment, he examined it
with his fingers, and asked, in a slow, drawling voice:
“What’s sich a coat as that ar’ wuth, Tommy?”
“Roger Williams!” shouted the mother; “where’s your manners? Set down
to onct.”
The boy evidently feared to disobey, for he retreated to a chair in
the corner, where he sat, lost in admiration of Tom’s jacket and
well-blacked boots.
“You’ve heard of Roger Williams, haint you?” continued the farmer;
“of course you have. I must get you to tell my boys all about him
some time, ’cause you can do it better’n I can. When I was a
youngster I heered that he was a good man, an’ that he was kicked out
of the country ’cause he didn’t like the Britishers. I don’t like
’em nuther, an’ that’s why I call my boy Roger Williams. This one,”
he added, pointing to another of the group, “he’s George Washington
Hayes. Of course, you know all ’bout the gen’ral he’s named after. If
he only lives to be as great a man as he was, I shall be satisfied.
This one is John Warren, named after the gen’ral that was killed at
the battle of Bunker Hill. My grandfather was in that fight, an’
helped whip the Britishers; that’s why I call him John Warren. This
boy is Franklin Pierce, a good chap to work, and the best l’arnt in
the whole family.”
Franklin Pierce was about Tom’s age, barefooted and dirty like his
brothers; and, as his father pulled him in front of the village boy,
he slowly surveyed him from head to foot, exclaiming: “I’ll bet
a five cent piece that I can throw you down, back hold or square
hold--fair tussle.”
“I don’t fight,” replied Tom, drawing a little closer to Mr. Hayes
for protection.
“Now, sonny, don’t; that’s a good little feller,” said the farmer,
coaxingly.
But the boy evidently prided himself upon his muscle as well as upon
his learning; for he stepped forward, as if to seize Tom, when he was
suddenly checked by the shrill voice of his mother.
“Franklin Pierce!” she shouted; “I’ll take the wagon whip to you,
sure and sartin, if you don’t pay more attention to your manners.”
The boy instantly ceased his hostile demonstrations, and retreated
to the door, where he stood in readiness to seek safety in flight,
should his mother attempt to put her threat into execution.
“Now, this one,” continued the farmer, as if nothing had happened,
“he’s Winfield Scott; an’ there’s Zachary Taylor--both on ’em named
after the two gen’rals that walloped the Mexikins. An’ that little
feller there,” pointing to a child the mother held in her arms,
“he’s Thomas Jefferson. I heered that he was the man that writ the
Declaration of Independence, an’ started the Fourth of July; so I
thought, as he was a great man, I had oughter name one of my boys
after him. My youngsters have all got good names; an’ if they only
do as well in the world as them they are named after, I shall be
satisfied.”
The farmer introduced his boys, one after the other, so rapidly that
it bewildered Tom, who shook each of them by the hand as they were
presented, scarcely comprehending what he was about. The namesakes
of the illustrious heroes of the Mexican war had their hands full of
bread and butter; and, when they were brought forward by the proud
father, Tom just touched their greasy hands with the tips of his
fingers.
After the boys had all been introduced, George Washington and John
Warren were sent out to take care of the horses, while the others
again crowded up around Tom, as if they looked upon him as an object
of great curiosity--all except Franklin Pierce, who still stood
in the door, now and then shaking his head threateningly, as if
challenging the village youth to come out and measure strength with
him.
As the farmer had predicted, the boys proved to be very friendly--in
fact, they were altogether too friendly; for Winfield Scott, after
placing his bread and butter carefully upon the floor, made several
desperate attempts to climb upon Tom’s knee--a proceeding which the
latter successfully resisted by pushing back his chair.
Had Tom been left alone in the room for a few moments, he would
have cried with vexation. He was no longer as confident of success
as he had been but a short time before; for he found his new home
very different from what his imagination had pictured it. He even
thought seriously of returning to the village at once, and of giving
up all hopes of ever becoming a farmer. He did not like to have so
many children, with greasy hands, about him; for he was very neat
in regard to his dress, and the smallest particle of dust upon his
boots or clothes would set him on nettles. He was not at all pleased
with the way Franklin Pierce eyed him; for, if he should happen to
catch him away from the house, he might insist on making good his
wager, that he could throw Tom down. Above all, he did not like the
looks of the “boss of the kitchen.” He already began to fear her, for
he had seen enough to satisfy him that she was not only mistress of
the house, but of the entire farm also; and, if he should happen to
incur her displeasure it was probable that she would not hesitate to
threaten even him with the wagon whip. Beyond a doubt, Tom had again
placed himself in a very unpleasant situation.
CHAPTER XIII.
LIFE ON A FARM.
Tom was allowed very little time for reflection, for the shrill voice
of the mother speedily broke in upon his meditations.
“Now, boys,” said she, “where’s your manners? Get chairs an’ set down
to onct. You, Franklin Pierce, quit shakin’ your head that ar’ way.
You needn’t think that Tommy is goin’ to wrastle with you, an’ be
tumbled round in the dust an’ mud, with his fine clothes on. He’s a
gentleman, he is; an’ I want all you boys to watch him, an’ do just
as he does. I’m so glad you have come,” she added, turning to Tom,
“for maybe our boys’ll learn manners, now. They’re all good boys, but
they’re so wild an’ playful like. I have a heap of trouble to make
’em behave themselves proper, like they had oughter do.”
“Dad, dad!” screamed Zachary Taylor at this moment, scrambling up the
steps into the house; “that John Warren won’t let me ride Dobbin to
water. Make him do it, dad.”
The farmer, however, paid no attention to his son’s complaint, but
sat gazing out at the door, as if he was not aware that he had been
spoken to. The boy then appealed to his mother.
“Now, mam,” he cried, “I want to ride Dobbin.”
“You, John Warren,” screamed the mother, with all the strength of her
lungs, “let your little brother ride that ar’ hoss to onct. I’ll take
the wagon whip to you, sure an’ sartin.”
Zachary, confident that he had gained his point, ran out of the house
again; and, a few moments afterward, Tom saw him ride toward the
barn, triumphantly mounted on Dobbin. The mother, seeing that her
orders had been obeyed, again turned to Tom.
“Mr. Hayes tells me that you’re a high l’arnt boy,” said she; “an’
I’m glad to hear it, ’cause we won’t need to send our boys off to
school now. We lose their work every winter, an’ that’s something
we can’t afford to do. We want you to take ’em in hand, an’ l’arn
’em figures an’ sich. It haint never done George Washington an’ John
Warren no good to go to school; ’cause last winter, they thrashed the
teacher, an’ the deestrict committee turned ’em out doors. They haint
never been to school none since. Somehow them boys never did get
along; but they’re good boys, an’ I can manage ’em easy enough. When
you’re l’arnin’ ’em I’ll allers be ’round; an’ if they don’t behave
themselves proper, I’ll make ’em.”
“Besides,” chimed in Mr. Hayes, “you’re just the chap I want to do my
writin’ an’ figurin’. Whenever I pay out any money, or take any in, I
allers set it down in a book, so that at the eend of the year, I know
jest how much I have made. I’ll have to get you to show me how to do
it proper. I never did have much edication, but I’m bound that my
boys shall all be smart men. They’re all got good names, an’ if they
only do as well as them they are named after, I shall be satisfied.”
Tom listened to this unfolding of the farmer’s plans in utter
bewilderment. His desire to create a sensation in Mr. Hayes’s family
had been fully gratified; but he did not enjoy it as he had expected
he would, for it was more than overbalanced by two most disagreeable
features in his new home, which made him very uneasy. He did not like
the boys, for they were very different from those with whom he had
been in the habit of associating; and he was dismayed to learn that
he was expected to act as school-master. The longer he listened, the
more he became aware of the unpleasant fact, that Mr. Hayes’ object
in bringing him into the country, was not so much to teach him the
science of farming, as to secure a book-keeper for himself, and an
instructor for his boys.
The farmer and his wife, like most country people, thought that a
boy who had always lived in a village, where he had access to the
best schools, ought to be well posted in all the different branches;
but Tom himself knew that they were sadly mistaken in him. However,
he determined not to confess his inability to perform all that was
required of him; but when the time for action came, he would trust to
his wits to help him out.
“Franklin Pierce,” said the farmer, at length, “did you an’ the boys
get all that hay raked up this morning, like I told you?”
“Yes, dad, we did,” answered the boy, seizing the opportunity, when
his mother did not happen to be looking toward him, to shake his head
at Tom.
“Wal, then, Sally Ann,” continued Mr. Hayes, “if you’ll give us some
dinner, we’ll go to work.”
“Franklin Pierce!” shouted the mother, (she seemed to have been so
long in the habit of screaming at the top of her lungs, that it had
become a kind of second nature to her,) “come here an’ ’tend to
Thomas Jefferson, while I get dinner.”
While the meal was being prepared, Tom accompanied the farmer to
the barn, and then to the hay-field, followed by all the boys, who
did not seem to want to lose sight of the new-comer. They appeared
to be intensely interested in him; and Tom carried himself very
stiffly, certain that he had made a profound impression upon his new
acquaintances. But he soon found that he was mistaken in this, for
Franklin Pierce, who had followed them to the field, dragging his
little brother after him, found opportunity to whisper in his ear:
“You think you are some, don’t you? I’ll bet I can throw you
down--square hold or back hold!”
Tom, however, very prudently declined to accept the challenge. He was
opposed to any unnecessary exertion, and it was not his ambition to
be considered the “champion wrestler.”
After Mr. Hayes had satisfied himself that the boys had performed
their work properly, and that the hay was ready to be taken into the
barn, he led the way to the house, where they found dinner waiting
for them. When the meal was finished, the farmer arose from his
chair, saying:
“Now, Sally Ann, where’s Tommy’s carpet-bag? He wants to put on his
workin’ clothes!”
“Why, these are all the working clothes I have with me,” said Tom.
“Those in my valise are better than these I have on.”
“Law sakes!” exclaimed the woman, “you aint goin’ into the hay-field
with them nice trowsers an’ boots on? You’ll ruin ’em, sure an’
sartin.”
“Wal, ’taint no ways likely that the boy knowed any thing ’bout the
work he would have to do,” said the farmer, kindly. “I’ll be goin’
to the village ag’in day after to-morrow, an’ he can go with me, an’
bring out some clothes fit to work in.”
Tom, then, in accordance with the farmer’s suggestion, pulled off his
jacket, tucked his pants into the tops of his boots, and was ready
to begin operations. The two oldest boys went to the barn to harness
the horses, while Tom, imitating the farmer’s example, shouldered
a rake and started for the hay-field. He had always thought that
raking hay was easy work, and, no doubt he would have found it so,
had he been permitted to have his own way. But the farmer and his
boys worked as if they were in a great hurry to get through, and, in
order to keep pace with them, Tom was obliged to exert himself to the
utmost. Animated by a desire to show the country boys that a village
youth could do any thing, he worked hard for fully half an hour; and
when, at the end of that time, he stopped to wipe the big drops of
perspiration from his face, he reluctantly came to the conclusion
that he had again mistaken his calling.
“I know what’s the matter,” said Tom to himself. “I made a mistake in
coming out here with Mr. Hayes. I ought to have hunted up some stock
raiser and gone home with him. I am never going to be this kind of a
farmer; so every day I stay here I am wasting time.”
“Come, Tommy,” said Mr. Hayes, “don’t you see that shower coming up?
It’s goin’ to rain afore long; an’ if this hay gets wet again, it
will be dollars out of my pocket. Handle that rake jest the least bit
faster.”
But the hay did not get wet. The farmer had a strong force, and, when
the shower came up, the last load was safely housed in the barn.
“Wal, sir, we done it, didn’t we?” said Mr. Hayes. “Now, that hay is
worth twelve dollars a ton--I’ve got ’bout thirty ton, an’ that’s
worth how much, Tommy?”
The time for action had arrived much sooner than Tom had expected it
would. He had not decided what he would do when called upon to make
an exhibition of his powers as a “lightning calculator,” and the
farmer’s question was so sudden and unexpected that, for a moment, he
did not know how to act. But it was only for a moment, for happening
to cast his eye toward Franklin Pierce, an idea struck him, and he
seized upon it at once.
“Can you tell how much it would amount to?” he asked, turning to the
“best l’arnt boy in the whole family.”
“I reckon!” replied Franklin Pierce. “But can you?”
“What a question!” answered Tom, evasively. “A two-year old boy ought
to do it. But I don’t believe you can.”
“Wal, now, I’ll mighty soon show you!” said Franklin Pierce, and,
picking up a chip, he marked the figures upon the ground, and
commenced: “Twelve times nothing is nothing,” said he. “Set down
the nothing. None to carry. Twelve times three is thirty-six. Set
down the thirty-six. Dad, your hay is worth three hundred and sixty
dollars.”
“Is that right, Tommy?” asked the farmer, gazing proudly upon his son.
“Yes, that’s correct,” said Tom; but, fearing that he had fallen in
the farmer’s estimation by not working it out himself, he continued:
“He couldn’t possibly have made a mistake in a little thing like
that. But after all, I didn’t suppose he could do it.”
“Wal, I done it all right,” said Franklin Pierce. “I can reckon up
a heap harder figures than them, an’ I haint been to school much,
nuther.”
When the hay had been pitched off upon the scaffold, the farmer and
his boys started toward the house, and, as Tom entered the door, he
discovered something that filled him with astonishment and vexation.
When he took off his jacket before going into the field, he had,
contrary to his usual custom, hung it on a nail in the kitchen;
but what was his surprise to find it in the possession of Thomas
Jefferson, who, having succeeded in putting it on, was running
about the house in high glee, with his fat, greasy arms buried to
the elbows in the pockets. His valise, which he had placed upon a
table beside the door, had been pulled off on the floor, and one of
the young generals was engaged in overhauling its contents, while
the other was endeavoring to pull on one of Tom’s boots. The mother
evidently did not regard this as a violation of “good manners,” for
she was at work in the kitchen, where she could see all that was
going on, but she made no attempt to put a stop to it. She was
even laughing at the comical figure Thomas Jefferson presented in
Tom’s coat, the skirts of which swept the floor as he ran about. The
village boy, however, did not regard it in the light of a good joke;
for he walked up to the youngster, and endeavored to take the jacket
from him, a proceeding which Thomas Jefferson resisted with furious
yells.
“Now, dad,” shouted Franklin Pierce, who seemed ready to take his
brother’s part; “just look at that ar’ Tommy.”
The farmer, however, took no notice of what was going on. He seemed
determined to carry out his part of the contract which, as he had
informed Tom, existed between himself and wife, and leave all
difficulties that arose in the house to be settled by the “boss of
the kitchen.” But the mother, as usual, heard the appeal, and shouted:
“Now, Tommy, let him have it, that’s a good little feller; he won’t
hurt it.”
Thomas Jefferson, finding that his mother espoused his cause, and
probably knowing, by experience, that no one would dare oppose her
authority, again began marching about the house. But Tom, never
having been accustomed to such treatment at home, was not satisfied.
“Now, I want that coat, and I’m going to have it,” said he, savagely.
“Tommy,” said the woman, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door--a
movement which made Tom retreat a step or two, as if he expected to
find the wagon whip brandished over his head. “Now, Tommy, my boys is
all honest; they won’t steal your things, nor hurt ’em nuther. If I
take ’em away from ’em, there’ll be a yellin’ an’ hollerin’ here that
I can’t stand, when my head aches as it does to-day. They’ll soon
get tired of your things, an’ then you can take care on ’em.”
Tom, although he was highly enraged, was obliged to submit to this
arrangement; and, the other boys, finding that their mother was not
inclined to oppose them, joined their brothers in an examination of
the contents of Tom’s valise. The articles, one after the other, were
taken out and thrown upon the floor, and when every thing had been
closely examined and criticised, they were tumbled back again in
quite as good order as Tom had packed them in the first place. This
was certainly an unlooked-for incident in the life of a farmer, and
it served to confirm Tom in the opinion he had long entertained, that
he was the “most unlucky boy in the whole world,” and that “something
was always happening to bother him.”
The shower continued with unabated fury all the remainder of the
afternoon, putting a stop to work in the hay-field, and compelling
the farmer and his boys to remain within doors. Mr. Hayes passed
the time in nodding in his chair, unmindful of the almost deafening
noise occasioned by the boisterous games that were carried on in the
house. Occasionally the sports would be interrupted with quarrels;
and once, a rough-and-tumble fight took place between Franklin Pierce
and John Warren, which was abruptly terminated by the appearance
of the farmer’s wife, when the contestants were obliged to take to
their heels to escape punishment from the wagon whip. This wagon whip
appeared to be the symbol of the mother’s authority. She kept it hung
up behind the kitchen door, where it could be readily seized at a
moment’s warning; and, from what had just transpired, Tom regarded
this precaution as absolutely necessary to the peace of the family.
The exhibition Franklin Pierce had given of his strength and pluck
made Tom stand in awe of him, and sincerely hope that he might never
be left alone with him even for a moment; but when the boys were sent
up to bed that night, what was his dismay to discover that Franklin
Pierce was to be one of his bed-fellows.
“Me an’ you an’ Winfield Scott has got to sleep together,” said he.
“Mind you, now, no crowdin’, or I’ll tell dad.”
Much to his surprise, however, the boy did not renew his overtures
of battle; and Tom, contrary to his expectations, was allowed to
sleep in peace. But after all, he got very little rest, for the bed
was narrow, and Franklin Pierce, with a sharp eye to the comfort
of himself and brother, had compelled Tom to sleep in the middle.
The night was very warm, and when Tom endeavored to find a more
comfortable position, he always succeeded in awaking Winfield Scott,
who shouted:
“Now, dad, just look at that ar’ Tommy; he’s crowdin’ me out of bed.”
This would be followed by the caution from the room below:
“You, Tommy, quit crowdin’.”
The night was a long one to Tom, and he scarcely knew how he lived
through it. He arose the next morning cross and fretful, and, as if
to add to his discomfort, the farmer, in laying out his programme for
the day’s work, assigned Tom a most disagreeable task.
“Me an’ the boys will go to the hay-field,” said he, “an’ you, Tommy,
as you haint never been used to hard work, we’ll give you an easy
job. You may stay in the house an’ help Sally Ann. She’s got a big
day’s washin’ to do, an’ you will be of more use here than in the
field.”
“O, now, I didn’t come to the country to learn to do washing,”
drawled Tom, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment. “I
can’t do such work as that. I came here to--”
“Now, Tommy,” interrupted Mrs. Hayes, “you can stay here just as well
as not. Somebody has to help me, for I can’t wash all them clothes,
an’ pack all the water from the spring, an’ take care of Thomas
Jefferson besides. You can’t mow or spread hay, so you can just stay
here an’ help me.”
Tom raised no more objections to this arrangement, for he knew that
the farmer’s wife sometimes had a very unpleasant way of enforcing
her arguments; so, when Mr. Hayes and his boys started for the field,
he remained at the house.
“Now, then, Tommy,” said the woman, “we haint got no time to waste.
While I am washing up the breakfast dishes, you take them two
buckets, an’ bring water from the spring. Run along lively, now, for
we’ve got lots of work to do.”
Tom, fearing to disobey, reluctantly picked up the pails and left the
house. He walked slowly down the path that led to the spring, and
reaching a spot where some bushes hid him from the house, he seated
himself on the ground to think over the situation, and, if possible,
conjure up some plan by which he might avoid performing the work that
had been laid out for him.
“I might as well hire myself out for a washer-woman at once,” said
he to himself. “What would Gus Miller, and Johnny Harding, and
the other fellows say if they knew I had helped wash clothes and
take care of children? O, I can’t do such work. I’d rather take a
whipping.”
“You, Tommy!” came the shrill voice of the farmer’s wife, breaking in
upon his meditations; “have you gone to Newport after that water?”
Tom jumped up from the ground as if some one had suddenly pricked him
with a pin. He had been gone from the house fully ten minutes, and
the farmer’s wife had begun to grow impatient. He had not yet decided
what he would do; but the sound of the woman’s voice seemed to
quicken his ideas, for he suddenly made a desperate resolve. Hastily
casting his eye back to the house, and then toward the hay-field, to
satisfy himself that no one was observing his movements, he dropped
the buckets as if they had been coals of fire, and started for the
road at the top of his speed. Tom’s playmates had never looked
upon him as a very swift runner, but could they have witnessed the
exhibition of speed he made at that moment, no doubt they would have
thought it something extraordinary. He was but a very few moments in
crossing the field and reaching the fence, over which he bounded as
lightly as a cat; and, finding himself in the road, he started toward
Newport with redoubled speed. He did not waste time in looking back;
neither did he slacken his pace, until he reached the foot of a hill
about half a mile from the house, when he turned off into the woods,
and after concealing himself behind some bushes, sat down on a log to
recover his breath.
“Thank goodness, I’m free once more!” said he, wiping his flushed
face with his handkerchief, and panting hard after his long run. “I
wouldn’t go back there for a hundred dollars a month. Wash clothes
and help take care of children! I don’t want to learn to be that
kind of a farmer. What would the boys say, if they knew that I had
got myself into such a scrape? Now, I wish I had my valise; but I
wouldn’t go back after it if those were all the clothes I had in the
world.”
Tom remained in his concealment but a very few moments, for, so
fearful was he that the farmer, or one of his big boys, would follow
him, and carry him back to the house, that he was anxious to reach
home as soon as possible. It was sixteen miles to the village,
and, under ordinary circumstances, Tom would have hesitated before
attempting to walk such a long distance; but there was no alternative
between that and returning to the house, and, of the two evils, he
thought the task of making the journey to Newport, on foot, was
the least. So, after looking cautiously down the road, to be sure
that no one was following him, he came out of the woods and again
set out. For the next two miles he continued to cast uneasy glances
along the road behind him, holding himself in readiness to take to
his heels again if he should discover any of the farmer’s family
following him, and finally he saw a wagon approaching. A close and
careful examination satisfied him that it did not belong to Mr.
Hayes; so he seated himself beside the road to wait until the team
came up. The driver proved to be a man whom Tom had often seen in
the village, and, as soon as he came within speaking distance, he
asked if he might be allowed to ride. Receiving an answer in the
affirmative, he climbed up on the wagon, and was immediately assailed
with innumerable questions by the farmer, who seemed very anxious
to know what he had been doing, and where he intended to go. But
Tom, although he had no fear that the man would take him back to Mr.
Hayes’, still thought it prudent to keep his own counsel, and gave
evasive answers to all his questions.
The road to Newport seemed to have lengthened considerably since
Tom last traveled over it; but they reached the village about two
o’clock; and Tom, after thanking the farmer for his kindness, sprang
down from the wagon, and made the best of his way homeward. He kept
the back streets as much as possible, for his boots and clothes were
dusty, and he did not wish to meet any of his acquaintances in that
condition. He reached home at last, and, as he entered the hall, he
met his father, who had returned from the office earlier than usual.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE “NIGHT-HAWKS.”
“Ah, Tom!” exclaimed Mr. Newcombe, “I did not expect to see you home
again so soon! How long is your visit to last?”
“Visit!” repeated Tom. “I am not here on a visit. I’m here to stay. I
knew I couldn’t be a farmer.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the merchant.
“O, I wasn’t cut out for the kind of a farmer that Mr. Hayes is!”
drawled Tom. “I didn’t know that I would have to sleep three in a
bed, or play school-master, and I didn’t go out there to help wash
clothes or take care of children. I wasn’t made to be that kind of a
farmer. I wanted to be a stock raiser, like that man in Iowa.”
“Then you do not intend to go back to Mr. Hayes’s,” said his father.
“O, no, sir, I don’t,” replied Tom, emphatically. “I wouldn’t live in
that family a month for all the property Mr. Hayes is worth.”
The merchant did not appear to be at all surprised that his son had
returned so soon, neither did he seem to be interested in the matter,
for he turned and walked into his library, leaving Tom to himself.
The latter ran up to his room, brushed the dust from his clothes,
blacked his boots, and sat down to determine what he should do next.
He did not have another interview with his father until evening, when
the latter called him into the library, and propounded the usual
inquiry:
“Well, what are you going to do now? Do you still think that you
will ever be able to find any business that will run along smoothly
without any labor or exertion on your part?”
“O, no, I don’t,” replied Tom. “I always expect to have plenty of
trouble as long as I live. I am the most unlucky boy in the whole
world. I must either work or go to school.”
“Exactly. Now which do you propose to do?”
“I don’t know. I want time to think it over.”
“Very well, then,” said the merchant; “I’ll give you two days. If, at
the end of that time, you don’t come to some sensible conclusion, I
shall take the matter into my own hands.”
“But, father, can’t you give me some good advice?” asked Tom.
“Certainly I can. I’ll give you the same advice I have given you
a hundred times before. Go to school, study hard, stop saying ‘I
can’t,’ and try to make a man of yourself. That’s my advice; and if
you don’t wake up and do something in earnest very soon, I shall do
more than advise you.”
“O, now, what’s the use of going to school?” drawled Tom. “I never
yet saw any fun there.”
But Mr. Newcombe, as usual, did not seem inclined to argue the point,
for he took some newspapers out of his pocket, thus intimating
that it was not his intention to say more on the subject. Tom was
provoked, as he always was when his father brought these interviews
to a close so abruptly; and, after loitering about the room for a few
moments, in hopes that the merchant would resume the conversation, he
picked up his cap and walked sullenly out of the house.
“I wish father didn’t take any newspapers,” growled Tom, as he seated
himself on the portico; “for then I might have a chance to talk to
him. He wants me to go to school. I can see that plain enough; but I
won’t do it if I can help it. I don’t like to be kept in at recess,
or be told to remain after school every time I miss a hard arithmetic
lesson. I must do something, however, and what shall it be? that’s
the question.”
As Tom said this, he settled back on his elbow, took a rapid survey
of his situation, and tried hard to think of some easy, pleasant
business in which he could engage, that would bring him pleasure and
profit at the same time.
In thus allowing his son to have full swing for awhile, Mr. Newcombe
considered that he was taking the easiest and shortest course to
convince Tom that he was making a great mistake. If the latter was
compelled to attend school, he would still cling obstinately to the
idea that every moment he devoted to his studies was time wasted. The
merchant had tried every plan he could think of to convince him to
the contrary, but without success; and his last idea promised to be
as complete a failure as the others. Some of Tom’s playmates called
him a “bull-headed boy,” and his father thought that, by his conduct,
he was establishing a perfect claim to the title. He had his own
opinions concerning men and things; and, although his failures would
sometimes bring tears to his eyes, they never served to convince him
that he was in the wrong. On the contrary, he always tried to lay
the blame upon somebody else, all the while endeavoring to console
himself with the hope that some fine day something would “turn up” in
his favor, and that after that he would get along through the world
smoothly and easily. He had waited for it long and patiently; but now
his patience was severely tried, for he knew that if that something
did not “turn up” very soon, he would find himself in school again;
for he was well aware that that was what his father meant by “taking
the matter into his own hands.”
Tom was sadly troubled with the “blues” again, and the only way he
could think of to drive them off was to go down to the common and
join the Night-hawks, who, judging by the shouts that now and then
came to his ears, were out in full force. He was still considerably
confused by the shock he had experienced when he discovered that
another of his air castles had tumbled down about his ears--that his
grand idea of farming was not exactly what he had imagined it to
be--and thought an evening spent with the Night-hawks would serve to
relieve his mind, so that on the morrow he would be better able to
think over his troubles, and determine upon some course of action.
The law against going outside of the gate after dark was still in
operation; but this did not turn Tom from his purpose, for he had
evaded it so often without being detected, that the regulation had no
terrors for him. If his father did not happen to want him, (and it
was not at all probable he would, for, looking through the window,
Tom could see that the merchant was still deeply interested in his
papers,) his absence would not be discovered. But, in order to make
himself secure, Tom walked slowly into the library, threw down his
cap, yawned several times, stretching his arms, and acting altogether
as though he was very sleepy, and finally went up stairs to his room.
After locking the door to prevent surprise, he went into his closet
after another cap; the one he generally wore he had purposely left
in the library. As his room had been put in order soon after he left
for the country, the cap was soon found; when, noiselessly opening
his window, Tom crawled out upon the porch, and, after satisfying
himself that the coast was clear, slid down one of the posts and
reached the ground in safety. Here he paused and listened for a
moment, to ascertain if the noise he made had attracted the attention
of any one in the house; but all was quiet, and Tom, congratulating
himself upon the skillful manner in which his escape had been
accomplished, and which, he thought, ought to entitle him to especial
praise from his boon companions, the Night-hawks, moved silently
down the lawn, and presently found himself in the street. There was
now no need of concealment; and Tom, anxious to join his friends as
soon as possible, broke into a run, and, in a few moments, reached
the common. It had become too dark to continue the games, and the
Night-hawks were gathered in a group, in the middle of the common,
engaged in a whispered conversation. At short distances on each side
of the main body were four boys, who walked back and forth, like
sentinels on guard; and, in fact, they were sentries, whose business
it was to notify the Night-hawks of the approach of any “outsiders.”
This made it evident that the boys were debating upon some question
which they did not want every one to know. As the Night-hawks are now
about to assume a somewhat important part in our story, they merit a
more extended description than we have thus far given them.
The society (for it was a society, and a secret one, at that) had
its origin in the fertile brain of Tom Newcombe, and was certainly
an institution. It was customary for the boys in the village to
assemble on the common after school hours, and amuse themselves with
various games; and some of the boys remained until bed-time. After
dark, the game of ball gave way to “Hounds and Deers,” and “Every
Man to his Own Base;” and when these games had been played until
all were tired of them, then came the question, “What shall we do
next?” Among so many boys, of course there were some who were ready
to propose plans for mischief, and others who were just as ready to
assist them. At first, ringing door-bells, throwing down wood-piles,
and removing gates, had been the favorite exploits; but these soon
became “played out,” and something more exciting was demanded, such
as robbing orchards and melon patches, and the like. They did not
care a cent for the fruit, they said, but it was “such fun.” On
several occasions the young rogues had been discovered, and some of
their number fell into the hands of the enemy. The captured ones
proved themselves to be utterly unworthy of the confidence of their
fellows, by revealing the names of all those who were engaged in the
mischief. This made all the boys, and especially Tom, very angry; but
it never occurred to him to consider what he would have done had he
been in the same predicament. It suggested an idea to him, and gave
him something upon which to think and plan when he should have been
studying his lessons. But if his geography and arithmetic suffered,
the interests of his companions did not; for one day, after he had
got his plans all matured, he startled some of his particular friends
by proposing that a secret society be organized, under the name of
the “Gentlemen’s Club,” of which he (Tom) was to be president. The
idea was hailed with delight by the boys, who, having been given
an insight into the objects of the society, set about hunting up
recruits. None but those who were deemed trustworthy were admitted to
membership, and the secret was closely guarded from all “Spooneys,”
who, for a long time, were not aware that there was such a thing as a
Gentlemen’s Club in existence.
In a few days the society was ready to begin work, and, the way it
went about it, proved that Tom had not chosen a very appropriate
name for his organization, for the conduct of its members bespoke
them any thing but gentlemen. They commenced operations by marching,
one night, in a body, to the residence of the doctor, where they
proceeded to amuse themselves by carrying off the wood which was
piled in front of his office. When their work was about half done,
they were surprised, and their ranks thrown into confusion, by the
sudden appearance of the owner of the wood, who flourished a heavy
cane above his head, and, collaring one of the boys, pulled him
into his office a prisoner. The doctor then demanded the names of
all the boys who had engaged in the mischief but, for a long time,
the discomfited member of the Gentlemen’s Club refused to comply.
But when the physician threatened to lock him up in the cellar, and
keep him there all night, the culprit changed his tactics, and even
endeavored to convince his captor that he alone was to blame for all
that had happened--that it was merely a “little joke” which he wished
to play upon the doctor, and that no one had assisted him in carrying
off the wood. The doctor, however, declared that he “couldn’t swallow
any such nonsense as that;” and, striking his cane upon the table,
fiercely repeated the demand, when the prisoner, to save himself from
bodily harm, astonished the physician with a complete description of
the society, its signs and pass-words, and the object for which it
had been organized. After a good deal of cross-questioning, in a very
savage tone of voice, the doctor released his captive; not, however,
without obliging him to promise, over and over again, that he would
always endeavor to be a good boy, and that he would be particularly
careful to let people’s wood-piles alone in future.
The doctor was highly amused at what he had heard, and, although,
while in the presence of his prisoner, he had appeared to be very
much enraged, shaking his gray head, and thumping his cane violently
on the floor, the moment the boy had gone, he threw himself into a
chair and laughed until his fat sides ached. Considering the joke
as too good to be kept, he repeated it to every one he met, and the
Gentlemen’s Club was “knocked higher than a kite.” Tom, especially,
had cause to regret that his companion had forgotten the solemn
promises he had made, for almost every boy that passed him on
the street would touch his cap and salute him with, “How are you,
President Newcombe?” But Tom, and several other prominent members
of the club, were not discouraged. They soon organized another
society--from which the faithless member of the Gentlemen’s Club
was, of course, excluded--with a new name, and different signs and
pass-words. But this was also broken up by a member, who exposed the
whole thing to revenge himself on Tom for something the latter had
done. From the ruins of this society sprang the Night-hawks, which,
being composed of those who, on more than one occasion, had proved
themselves to be entirely reliable, had been in existence nearly a
year, and, in spite of the efforts of “outsiders,” its secrets had
been faithfully kept.
It was understood by the Night-hawks, that the society had been
organized for “mutual protection;” and a clause in their constitution
declared, that when any member was known to be in trouble, it was
the duty of all to hasten to his assistance. This clause had been
introduced by Tom, who, at the time, could not have told exactly
what he meant by it; but, perhaps, we shall see how the law, which
was framed by accident, proved to be of great use to some of the
Night-hawks.
The operations of the society were conducted with great skill; but
it had not been long in existence, before some of the village people
began to believe that the boys were bent on mischief, and nothing
else; and when the knowledge of this fact got abroad, it threatened,
for a time, to annihilate the society. Many of its members received
orders to remain at home after dark, which some of them did; while
others found means to evade the law. Disobedience was considered
an honor rather than a disgrace; and when a boy performed a feat
like that which Tom had just accomplished, he was held up to his
companions as an object worthy of emulation. This created a spirit
of rivalry among the members, and, when any one performed an exploit
worthy of especial notice, some one else always tried to outdo him.
The government of the society was purely democratic, the majority
ruling; and another noticeable feature of the institution was, that
there was not a single private in it, every boy being an officer of
some kind. This idea had also originated with Tom, who thought that
the general harmony and good feeling of the society might be best
preserved by giving every member some authority. The highest office
was that of grand commander of the council, which was the position
Tom held, and the lowest was fifth corporal. The other officers
were--commander, first colonel, second colonel, first and second
major, captain, and so on down. Although Tom had the name of being
the leader of the Night hawks, he was not so in reality, for the
society was managed by Johnny Harding, who was nothing but a fifth
captain. However, as Johnny was Tom’s particular friend, there was
seldom any trouble in the council. But the grand commander was, after
all, a very important personage, for, as we have before hinted, he
did all the work, and without him the exploits of the society would
scarcely have been worth bragging about. In his case, at least,
“ignorance was bliss;” for had he been aware of the fact, that he was
merely a tool in the hands of his cunning playmates, he might not
have been so proud of the position he held.
As Tom approached the group on the common, he increased his pace,
for he saw that a council was being held, and that some question was
being warmly discussed, for now and then some boy would speak in an
angry, excited tone, which would be followed by a command to “silence
that loud talking” from some officer of high rank.
“Who comes there?” called out one of the sentinels, when he
discovered Tom approaching.
“Grand commander of the council!” replied Tom, with as much dignity
as though he was answering to the challenge of some soldier,
Major-General Newcombe!
The Night-hawks heard the answer, and the debate was adjourned
without ceremony, while all the boys advanced in a body to meet Tom.
“Here you are at last!” said Johnny Harding. “You are just the very
fellow we want. But what’s the reason you haven’t been here to help
us before? Have you been in the hands of the Philistines?”
(All “outsiders,” such as parents, guardians, and all others who
could exercise authority over the members of the society, were called
Philistines.)
As it was several months since Tom had joined in any of the exploits
of the Night-hawks, he had a long explanation to make, to which all
the members listened attentively; and then he described the manner
in which he had effected his escape from home, which, of course,
interested the boys more than any thing else. When he had finished
his story, the commander (the officer next in rank below Tom) said:
“You can’t imagine how glad we are to see you, Newcombe. I believe
that your appearance here to-night has saved our society. We came
very near breaking up in a row, because I proposed something which I
thought was nothing more than fair. The question is: Has an officer
of high rank--a colonel, for instance--any authority to command one
lower than he--say a captain?”
This was a point upon which Tom had often debated, although he had
never dared to propose it to the society; and, for his own part, he
hoped that the question would be decided in the affirmative; for then
their democratic form of government would be abolished, and he, being
the grand commander of the council, would become supreme ruler. He
could manage the society as he pleased, and whenever there was any
dangerous work to be done, he could keep out of harm’s way.
“I think it ought to be so,” said he, after thinking a moment; “for
what’s the use of having any officers at all, if some are not allowed
more authority than others? Let’s put it to a vote.”
This suggestion was at once acted upon, and the Night-hawks decided
that one officer had no business to order another about; that such a
course would certainly establish an aristocracy or a despotism, and
that was something to which they would not submit.
“You are all wrong, boys,” said the commander, who did not seem to be
very well pleased with the result of the vote. “In carrying out our
plans, some one must run a little risk; but now, how shall we decide
who it is to be?”
“Newcombe is the man!” said Johnny Harding. “He’s the strongest and
bravest fellow in the society He is not afraid of anything. You’ll
do it, won’t you, Tom?”
“Certainly I will,” replied the grand commander, who never could
withstand such an appeal. “What is it?”
“Let us walk over this way, a little more out of sight,” said one of
the boys, “and then we can discuss the matter without fear of being
overheard.”
The Night-hawks moved off to the edge of the common, and, after the
sentries had again been posted, they seated themselves on the grass
to talk over their plans.
CHAPTER XV.
THE NIGHT-HAWKS IN ACTION.
Before Tom’s arrival on the common, the Night-hawks had been debating
a knotty question. For nearly three weeks, the society had been
inactive, not a single exploit having been performed to add to their
glory; and one of the members, becoming weary of the monotony, had
studied up a plan to “put a little life into the boys.” The scheme he
proposed rendered it necessary that some one should run considerable
risk; and the trouble among the Night-hawks had been occasioned by
the effort to decide who that some one should be.
It was proposed to present ’Squire Thompson--a crusty, nervous old
gentleman, whom all the boys delighted in teasing--with some of his
own fruit and vegetables. The ’squire lived in the village, but he
owned a farm about two miles back in the country, and it was there
the vegetables grew. In order to convey their present from the farm
to the village, it had been proposed to “borrow” the ’squire’s horse
and wagon; and it was when the question arose, who shall be the one
to go into the stable and harness the horse that the trouble began.
The Night-hawks were all delighted with the idea; but the difficulty
was to find a boy courageous enough to do the dangerous part of
the work. They were quite willing, and even eager, to engage in the
sport, but they did not like the idea of going into a man’s stable
after night, and “borrowing” his horse and wagon. It was a common
saying among the members of the society, that “’Squire Thompson slept
with one eye and both ears open;” besides, he kept two fierce dogs,
and the chances were not one in ten that they could harness the
horse, hitch him to the wagon, and escape without disturbing either
the dogs or some member of the ’squire’s family. It had at first been
suggested that the commander should appoint some one to do the work;
but the boys would not agree to this, neither would they allow the
“forlorn hope” to be selected by ballot. In short, the scheme was in
danger of being abandoned, when Tom’s arrival showed the Night-hawks
a way out of their difficulty. He was “just the man they wanted;” for
he was “the strongest and bravest fellow in the party, and wasn’t
afraid of any thing.”
“Well, Tom, what do you think of it?” asked Johnny Harding, after he
had explained the scheme, and described, in glowing language, the
astonishment and vexation ’Squire Thompson would experience when he
awoke the next morning and found his wagon before his door, loaded
with onions, cabbage, peaches, and green pumpkins. “Wouldn’t it be
gay?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, “it would be glorious. But who is to get the
horse and wagon?”
“Why, you are, of course!” answered Johnny. “If you refuse, it will
be the first time since we organized our society. You see, it’s
rather a difficult job, and no one but a very brave, strong, and
skillful fellow should be allowed to undertake it; for it isn’t
every boy that can go into a man’s stable, harness a horse, and bring
him out, without awakening some one. I acknowledge that I can’t do
it, but I know you can.”
“Yes, Newcombe,” chimed in several of the Night-hawks, “you’re the
only man in the party that we can trust. You know just how it ought
to be done.”
But Tom, just then, thought differently. He did not believe that he
was the bravest and most skillful member of the society, neither
did he like the idea of being obliged to secure the horse and wagon
for the expedition, for he knew there was danger in it. But still,
the thought of refusing to attempt it, never once entered into
his head--that would injure his reputation, for it would show the
Night-hawks that their grand commander was not half as brave as
they had imagined him to be. So, summoning up courage, he replied,
desperately:
“Well, I’ll do it! I am not afraid of ’Squire Thompson, nor his big
bull dogs either. But, before we go any further, I want one thing
understood. If I succeed in getting the horse and wagon, I am going
to do all the driving, and you mustn’t expect me to help load the
vegetables when we get to the farm.”
The Night-hawks, without hesitation, agreed to this arrangement, for
they knew, that in order to succeed in their undertaking, they must
allow Tom to have his own way in some things. They were delighted
that he had so readily yielded to their demands, and, in high glee,
they set out for ’Squire Thompson’s house. They did not all go
together, for, as it was only about half past eight o’clock, the
streets were not yet deserted, and the Night-hawks did not wish to
attract attention by marching through the village in a body.
Tom, accompanied by Johnny Harding and two more of his particular
friends, stopped to hold a consultation, when they arrived within a
short distance of the house, while the others kept on up the road
and sat down by the fence, to wait until Tom should bring out the
horse and wagon. After a few moments’ whispered conversation, Tom
and Johnny decided that their first care must be to reconnoiter the
premises, and ascertain exactly where the ’squire’s team was kept.
The coast was not altogether clear, for a light shone from the
windows of the house, showing that the ’squire’s family had not yet
retired; and, as Tom and his companions approached, a loud, fierce
bark told them that the dogs were on the watch. The stable was but
a short distance from the house, and in the same yard, and Tom knew
that his only chance for success was to devise some plan to occupy
the attention of the dogs until he could perform the work allotted to
him. The dogs evidently suspected that something unusual was going
on, for they followed the Night-hawks as they moved down the fence,
barking fierce and loud, as if to warn them that they intended to
keep a close watch on all their movements. Tom appeared perfectly
unconcerned, but the truth was, he was very glad indeed that there
was a high fence between him and the savage brutes.
“To tell what’s a fact, boys,” said he; “I don’t feel much like
taking a hand in this business to-night. I have walked a long way
through the hot sun to-day, and I’ve got a little touch of the
headache. I believe I have sprained my ankle, too,” he added,
suddenly beginning to limp, as if he found it exceedingly difficult
to walk. “I can hardly move.”
“That’s too bad,” said Johnny, offering his arm to support Tom. “But,
Newcombe, I know you are too spunky to allow a sprained ankle or a
little headache to stand between you and such fun as we are going to
have to-night.”
“It will soon wear off,” said the others.
The Night-hawks understood the motives of their chief as well as
he did himself, and it was plain that they did not intend to give
him an opportunity to back out. Tom, being well aware of this,
and seeing no possible chance for escape, again formed a reckless
determination to go through with his part of the work, if within
the bounds of possibility. They kept on down the fence until they
reached the stable, and, as they walked slowly along, Tom made a
close but rapid examination of the premises, and, to his delight,
found the two principal obstacles which he had imagined would stand
in his way removed. The horse had not been confined in the stable,
but was quietly grazing in a small pasture adjoining the barn-yard.
The wagon stood just inside the gate, and the harness lay upon the
seat, where the ’squire had thrown it before turning out his horse.
If the Night-hawks had had a faithful friend in the ’squire’s family,
who had been instructed to have every thing in readiness for the
expedition, he could not have arranged matters more to Tom’s liking.
“That’s lucky, isn’t it, fellows?” whispered Johnny, when he had
noticed these two points. “It’s just as we want it.”
“O, it’s all the same to me!” replied Tom, carelessly. “If the horse
and the wagon were both in the barn and locked up, I know I could get
them out!”
Tom’s courage always arose or fell in proportion to the number
of obstacles he found in his way. Up to this moment he had been
impatiently asking himself the question, how should he shirk his part
of the work if he found the horse and wagon locked up in the stable?
Had they been safe under lock and key, it is probable that Tom would
have refused to proceed further on account of his lame ankle and
severe headache; but when he found that they were in a position to be
secured with very little difficulty, he forgot to limp, his headache
left him as suddenly as it had come, and he became very courageous.
“Now, Newcombe,” said one of the boys, when they had walked entirely
around the ’squire’s yard, and had thoroughly reconnoitered the
situation, “how are you going to work it?”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Johnny, who was always ready for
any emergency; “we’ll keep the dogs here, while Newcombe goes and
gets the horse.”
“But how are you going to do it?” asked Tom.
“With this!” replied Johnny, showing a stick, which he carried in his
hand. “Every time the dogs start to go away, I’ll pound on the fence
with this cane. That will make them mad, and they won’t leave here as
long as we are in sight.”
“I’d like to see that plan tried before I risk it,” said Tom,
doubtfully. “Perhaps it won’t work.”
As he spoke, he walked off toward the barn. The dogs followed him;
but when Johnny rattled his stick between the pickets, they bounded
back, and the larger of the dogs made a desperate attempt to leap
the fence to get at Johnny.
“They’re savage, aint they?” whispered the latter.
“I should say they were!” replied Tom, his courage gradually melting
away again. “Boys, my head aches awfully, and my ankle grows worse
every minute.”
“Never mind that!” said Johnny. “It’ll soon wear off. My plan works
first rate, don’t it, boys? Go on, Newcombe; we’ll agree to keep the
dogs here.”
“But, fellows,” said Tom, who did not like to be required to do all
the work alone, “one of you ought to go with me and help me pull that
wagon out of the yard. It’s too heavy for me!”
“O, nonsense!” exclaimed Johnny. “You’re the strongest fellow in the
party, and you could pull that wagon from here to the farm and back
again, with all the boys in it. Go ahead, Newcombe! We’ll keep the
dogs here!”
“But suppose I can’t catch the horse?” persisted Tom. “Perhaps he
kicks or bites strangers.”
“O, no, he don’t. He’s as gentle as an old cow. You’ll have no
trouble. Go on, Newcombe! We haven’t got much more time to waste.”
Tom, finding that the boys were determined that he should do all the
work, at length succeeded in mustering up courage enough to start off
alone. As he walked by the house, he glanced in at the window, the
curtain of which was raised, and saw the ’squire, sitting in his easy
chair, and the other members of his family gathered about a table,
engaged in various evening occupations. The ’squire had, of course,
heard the noise made by his dogs, but, thinking that they were
barking at persons who every evening passed by his house on the way
to their own homes, he did not trouble himself about the matter.
After satisfying himself that none of the family had been alarmed,
Tom again started off. Reaching the stable, he carefully unlatched
the gate, and placed a stick of wood against it to keep it open;
then, seizing the thills of the wagon, he prepared to make an
exhibition of that tremendous strength which had won for him from the
Night-hawks the name of being the “strongest fellow in the party.”
The wagon was not a heavy one, but it must have been rooted to the
ground; for Tom, for a long time, exerted his muscles in vain. The
grand commander, however, always worked harder and more perseveringly
in a bad cause than he did in a good one, and at last the wagon
moved; and after considerable pulling and grunting, Tom succeeded in
drawing it through the gate into the road. After listening again, to
be sure that no one in the house had heard what was going on, and
that Johnny was still successful in occupying the attention of the
dogs, Tom closed and fastened the gate; and again taking hold of the
wagon, pulled it down the road toward the place where the main body
of the Night-hawks were hidden behind the fence, impatiently waiting
for him. Tom’s spirits rose considerably when he found that he had
successfully accomplished part of his work; and when the Night-hawks
sprang from their concealments, and took hold to help him along with
the wagon, he did not ask any of them to assist him in catching the
horse. The numerous congratulations he received from his friends,
who called him a “jolly old brick,” and a “spunky boy,” accompanied
by repeated assurances that they had always known that he was the
“strongest and bravest fellow in the society,” greatly encouraged
him; and had the horse been locked up in the stable, he would not
have hesitated to make the attempt to bring him out.
When they had pulled the wagon as far as the fence which bounded the
lower end of the pasture, Tom ordered a halt, and taking the bridle
out of the wagon, climbed over into the inclosure to catch the horse.
This was a signal to the Night-hawks, who, thinking that there was
still a chance for discovery, hid themselves behind the fence, or
stood in readiness to run off, should the ’squire’s dogs make their
appearance. As for Tom, he had suddenly become very reckless, and he
did not trouble his head about the dogs, or the ’squire either. The
horse proved to be very gentle, as Johnny had said he would, and the
grand commander had no difficulty in catching him and slipping the
bridle over his head. He then led him up to the fence, a portion of
which--it being built of rails--was thrown down by the Night-hawks,
who again made their appearance; and, after the horse had been led
into the road, some built up the fence again, others began to harness
the horse, and two of the members, in obedience to Tom’s orders, ran
off to inform Johnny that every thing was ready for the start. By the
time Harding and his friends arrived, the horse had been hitched to
the wagon, and Tom sat on the seat, with a whip in one hand and the
reins in the other.
“All aboard, fellows!” whispered the grand commander, and the
Night-hawks, thirteen in number, tumbled into the wagon, which moved
off on the road to ’Squire Thompson’s farm. Tom had conducted all
his operations in a very cautious manner, and no one in the house had
been alarmed.
“Newcombe,” whispered Johnny, as Tom drove off, “if there was no
danger of being overheard, we’d give you nine rousing cheers. You’re
a genuine brick.”
The congratulations the chief received for the skill and bravery he
had exhibited, were much more numerous than refined. The Night-hawks
said and did every thing they could to convince him that they held
his services in high appreciation; and Tom listened eagerly to all
their compliments.
It was two miles to the farm; but Tom, being anxious to reach home
again as soon as possible, put whip to the horse, which whirled his
wagon load of mischievous Night-hawks rapidly over the road; and,
at the end of half an hour, Tom drew up before the gate of ’Squire
Thompson’s farm and stopped. Johnny Harding sprang out of the wagon
and opened the gate; after which Tom drove on, until he reached a
barn, which was situated near the middle of the farm. Here he stopped
again, and the Night-hawks, springing out of the wagon, started
off in different directions to hunt up the vegetables--all except
the grand commander, who, according to the agreement made before
starting, was not required to assist in loading the cargo. There was
now no danger of discovery. There was a house on the farm, but no one
lived in it, and it was an easy matter to conduct their operations
without making noise enough to alarm any of the neighbors.
The Night-hawks were not at all particular as to the nature of their
“present,” for whatever articles came first to their hands--such
as shovels, rakes, hoes, sticks of wood and chips--were seized and
thrown into the wagon. But still there was room for a few vegetables,
and presently a boy appeared with his arms filled with onions,
followed by two or three loaded with green pumpkins, and Johnny
Harding brought up the rear, bringing a goose, which he had captured
after a long race.
“O, now, let him go!” exclaimed Tom. “Don’t bring him here. He’ll
arouse every body within a mile around.”
“No fear of that,” replied Johnny, confidently. “I’ll carry him in my
arms, and every time he tries to make a noise I’ll choke him.”
This suggested a slight change in the original programme, for all the
Night-hawks now turned their attention to the ’squire’s live stock.
Some climbed over the fence into the barn-yard, and endeavored to
capture one of the calves, others attempted to run down the remainder
of the geese, and the result was that, in a very few moments, all
the dogs in the neighborhood had been aroused, and were barking
vociferously.
“Our game is up now, boys,” said Johnny. “Let’s be off, or we’ll have
the Philistines down on us. I wish we could have caught two or three
of those calves, and the rest of the geese. However, we have got as
large a load already as this old horse can pull. All aboard, fellows!
Drive on, Tom.”
The retreat from the farm was easily accomplished, and as soon as the
Night-hawks were satisfied that they were out of danger, they began
to indulge in speculations as to what ’Squire Thompson would say
when he found what a present they had brought him; and Tom declared
that he would like to be “hidden behind a tree somewhere, so that he
might hear all the ’squire had to say about it.” Had he known what
was to happen before he got through with his night’s work, it is
probable that he never would have given utterance to this wish. But
Tom was not as happy as he pretended to be. He was thinking of a most
unpleasant task he had yet to perform, and that was to put the horse
and wagon where he had found them. This was a particularly dangerous
piece of work, and he would have been glad, indeed, could he have
thought of some plan to shift the responsibility upon the shoulders
of some body else.
“Boys,” said he, after thinking the matter over, “I propose that we
don’t put the wagon back in the yard. Let’s leave it outside the
gate.”
“O, no, Newcombe,” replied Johnny, quickly, “that would spoil it all.
In order to do the business up nicely, we must put every thing back
where we found it.”
“But just look at the risk I shall run,” said Tom. “You must remember
that the wagon is loaded, and that I can’t pull it from the pasture
to the barn. It’s too heavy.”
“Of course it is. You will have to drive right into the stable-yard.”
“It’s dangerous!” repeated Tom.
“I know it is,” said Johnny; “but I know also that you are not afraid
to do it.”
“Of course he isn’t,” chimed in another. “I don’t believe that
Newcombe knows what fear is.”
The long and short of the matter was, that, by the time the
Night-hawks reached the fence that bounded the lower end of ’Squire
Thompson’s pasture, Tom had been so skillfully handled by his
companions, that he promised to put the wagon where he had found
it, no matter if the ’squire and both his dogs were there to oppose
him. But still he thought it best to be cautious, and, when they had
arrived within a short distance of the house, Tom told Johnny to go
round to the front of the lot and occupy the attention of the dogs as
he had done before.
“All right, I’ll do it,” replied Johnny. “Here, Harry Green, hold my
goose till I come back.”
“Now, boys, I’m afraid of that goose,” said Tom. “You had better let
him go.”
“O, no,” replied Harry, “I’ll watch him.”
Tom was not satisfied with this arrangement, but he was obliged to
submit to it; and Johnny, after cautioning the grand commander to be
very careful, set off to find the dogs, accompanied by two or three
of his friends. The dogs, being on the alert, soon became aware of
the presence of the Night-hawks, and Johnny had no difficulty in
inducing them to follow him to the lower end of the lot, where he
stopped, and sent one of the boys back to inform Tom that the coast
was clear. The grand commander reluctantly mounted to his seat in
the wagon, and drove toward the barn. He drove very slowly, but the
wagon, being heavily loaded, made a great deal of noise, and Tom was
more than once on the point of going back to his companions, and
informing them that, if they wished the wagon left in the barn-yard,
they must send some one besides himself to put it there. But he knew
just what would happen if he backed out, and, fearing ridicule more
than the wrath of the ’squire, he kept on, resolved to make the
attempt, and, if he failed, to effect his escape as best he could. He
was followed by several of the Night-hawks, one of whom opened the
gate when he reached the stable, and Tom drove into the yard. At this
moment the goose, which Harry Green held in his arms, and which he
intended to tie with his handkerchief and put into the wagon as soon
as the horse was unharnessed, escaped from its captor and flew over
the fence into the yard, making noise enough to awaken the soundest
sleeper in the ’squire’s family.
“There,” exclaimed Tom; “I told you just how it would be.”
“Hurry up, Newcombe,” whispered several of the boys. “It’s getting
unhealthy about here.”
Before Tom could jump down from the wagon, however, a low whistle
from Johnny Harding told him that something was wrong in that quarter
also. This was followed by a commotion in the house, the door opened,
and ’Squire Thompson, with a lantern in one hand and a huge cane in
the other, sprang down the steps, shouting:
“Here they are! Take ’em dogs, take ’em!”
All this happened in less time than it takes to write it, but the
angry ’squire had scarcely made his appearance when the nimble
Night-hawks, who had held themselves in readiness for this emergency,
closed the gate and took to their heels, leaving the grand commander
to fight his enemies, or to escape if he could. Tom saw, at a glance,
that he had got himself into trouble, and that his chances for flight
were very slim indeed. But he could not surrender without making
an attempt to save himself; so he sprang down from the wagon and
started for the gate; but a loud, fierce bark, accompanied by an
encouraging yell from the ’squire, told him that his pursuers were
not far behind, and that his escape in that direction was cut off.
Even if he succeeded in opening the gate before the dogs arrived,
they would follow him down the road, and overtake him before he
had gone twenty yards. Tom gave himself up for lost, and his only
desire was to get out of reach of the dogs. He feared them more than
the ’squire. There was a cherry-tree close at hand, and the grand
commander sprang into its branches with the agility of a cat; but
scarcely had he climbed out of reach, when the dogs arrived. To
Tom’s surprise and delight, they did not stop under the tree, but
ran straight to the gate, where they stood, and kept up a furious
barking, until the ’squire appeared on the scene.
“Catch ’em, dogs--catch the young scoundrels,” he exclaimed, opening
the gate.
The dogs bounded out into the road, and disappeared in the direction
taken by the Night-hawks. But the latter had made good use of their
time, and presently the dogs returned without having overtaken any
of them. They were all safe except the grand commander, who sat in
his tree and awaited the issue of events in a most unpleasant frame
of mind. He had assured his friends that he would like to be in a
position to “hear what the ’squire had to say about it;” and he
seemed in a fair way to have his wish gratified.
“The young scoundrels!” exclaimed the ’squire, as he closed the gate.
“Those boys ought all to be taken care of. I wonder what they were
prowling about here for? Hallo, what’s this?”
[Illustration: TOM CAPTURED BY THE SQUIRE.--Page 205.]
He had, for the first time, discovered that his horse and wagon had
been used; and when he walked up and examined the contents of the
wagon, his rage knew no bounds.
“I wish I had the rascals here,” he exclaimed, in a voice that made
Tom tremble; “I’d teach ’em. Here are hoes, rakes, onions, pumpkins,
and--what’s this? My two-horse plow, that I took out to the farm day
before yesterday. The young rascals! What is it, Tiger? Look to him,
old fellow.”
While the ’squire had been examining the articles in the wagon, Tom
was indulging in the hope that he might not be discovered. The dogs
had not seen him climb into the tree, but they had sharp noses, and
the ’squire’s exclamation had been called forth by the actions of
one of the dogs, which ran to the foot of the tree, and growled and
barked furiously.
“What’s up there, I say?” continued the ’squire, elevating his
lantern, and peering up into the branches. “Ah, I’ve got you, you
rascal! Come down from there! Who are you?”
“O, it’s me; don’t you know me, Mr. Thompson?” whined Tom, who saw
that he was discovered, and that further concealment was useless.
“No, I don’t know me,” shouted the ’squire, in a most savage tone of
voice; “come down from there!”
“Call your dogs off, then!” drawled Tom, “and I’ll come down.”
“Who are you?” demanded the ’squire again, for he did not recognize
Tom, hidden as he was among the branches of the tree. “What’s your
name?”
“O, now, I’m Tom Newcombe! Don’t you know me, Mr. Thompson?”
answered the grand commander in a most pitiful voice.
“Tom Newcombe!” repeated the ’squire, in astonishment. “Why, I am
surprised at you, Tom; I always thought you were a good boy, and I
never imagined that you would disgrace yourself by stealing a man’s
horse and wagon, and--come down from there, you young scoundrel.”
The ’squire was very much astonished when he learned the name of his
prisoner; for Tom, although he had often engaged with the Night-hawks
in expeditions of this kind, had never before been detected in them;
he had been so sly about it, that no one in the village ever thought
he had a hand in their affairs. Those who were not very intimately
acquainted with Tom, looked upon him as a lazy, do-nothing sort of
boy, who could not muster up energy enough to engage in any mischief;
and so the ’squire, little dreaming that he had captured the one
to whose charge could be laid the most of the mischief done within
three miles of the village, was inclined to regard Tom as an innocent
boy, who had got himself into trouble by associating with some of
the young rogues of the village. For this reason he was disposed to
be very easy with him; but when he remembered that Tom had made one
of the number of boys who had taken his horse and wagon without his
permission, it made him angry again.
“I say, come down from there, you young villain!” repeated the
’squire, shaking his cane at the culprit, as if he intended to use it
on him the moment he reached the ground. “Do you hear me?”
“O, yes, I hear you!” drawled Tom; “but I sha’n’t come down till you
send those dogs off.”
Seeing that Tom was resolved not to leave his perch so long as the
dogs remained there, the ’squire called them into the barn and shut
them up, after which he again ordered Tom to come down.
The grand commander obeyed this order very reluctantly, for he had
not yet been able to decide what treatment he would receive from the
’squire. That gentleman had addressed him in the kindest possible
language, and then, almost in the same breath, had called him a young
scoundrel, and had shaken his cane at him, as if impatient to get an
opportunity to lay it over his shoulders. He did not feel altogether
safe; but now, that the dogs were gone, he could offer no excuse for
remaining in the tree; so he slowly descended, and finally stood
before the ’squire, who lifted his lantern and allowed its rays to
fall full in his face.
“You look mean, Tommy,” said he; “don’t you feel so?”
“O, yes, I do,” drawled the grand commander.
The ’squire stood looking at his prisoner for a moment, as if
undecided how to act, and finally continued:
“Go home, and remember to steer clear of bad company in future.”
Tom did not wait for a second bidding, but quickly opened the gate,
and started down the road with all the speed he could command.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MILITARY SCHOOL.
Tom was astonished as well as delighted that he had escaped so
easily; for, understanding the ’squire’s disposition as well as he
did, he had expected to be severely dealt with. The ’squire had said
that he “looked mean,” and Tom had told him that he felt so; but one,
to have seen him at that moment, would have had cause to doubt it,
for he looked, and indeed felt, as if he had done a very smart thing.
He had been a prisoner in the hands of the Philistines, and had
escaped without a whipping, and, more than that, without divulging
the names of any of his accomplices. But, after all, he had no cause
to pride himself upon this point, for the ’squire had not asked him
who his companions were. Had that gentleman taken the trouble to
inquire into the matter, Tom, in order to screen himself, would have
told him every thing he wanted to know.
When the grand commander reached the common, he suddenly found
himself surrounded by his friends, who, after placing a safe distance
between themselves and the ’squire’s dogs, had waited for Tom to come
up.
“What did he do to you?” asked Johnny, eagerly.
“O, nothing,” replied Tom. “If some of you had been in my place, you
would not have escaped as easily as I did.”
“Did he ask you who were with you?” inquired another.
“It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had,” answered the grand
commander, indignantly. “Do you suppose that I would split on you? We
are safe out of the scrape, and that’s the end of it.”
But in this, Tom was very much mistaken; it was by no means the end
of it, as he found the next day. In fact, he did not believe that
the ’squire would allow the matter to drop there. He fully expected
that his father would soon hear the full particulars of his night’s
work, and he was anxious to know what he would do about it. However,
Tom kept all his fears to himself, and when he left the Night-hawks,
he walked off whistling, as if he felt perfectly at his ease. He
reached home in safety, succeeded in climbing up the porch into his
room without disturbing any one in the house, and when he appeared at
the breakfast table in the morning, he had the satisfaction of seeing
that not one of the family knew any thing of his conduct over night.
When he had eaten his breakfast, he walked out on the lawn, and
sat down to think over the question that had occupied his mind the
day before, namely: What should he do next? But, contrary to his
expectations, his evening with the Night-hawks had not quickened his
ideas, for he was still unable to decide upon the business he ought
to follow. He might, however, have spared himself the trouble of
debating upon this question; for when he went down to the office,
about ten o’clock, he found that his father had at last “taken the
matter into his own hands,” as he had often threatened to do, and
decided the matter for him.
“Tom,” said Mr. Newcombe, as the boy entered the office, “I was just
on the point of starting in search of you. I want you to take a walk
with me.”
So saying, the merchant picked up his hat and cane, and left the
office, followed by Tom, who was lost in wonder. He would have given
every thing he possessed to know what was the matter; but, fearing
that his father had heard of what had been going on at the ’squire’s
farm, he could not muster up courage enough to ask any questions. Mr.
Newcombe walked through the village without making any remark, and
finally stopped in front of the military school, a large building
that stood on a hill, about a quarter of a mile from Newport, in
the midst of extensive grounds, which were tastefully laid out, the
whole being inclosed with a high picket fence, which pointed out the
boundary of the students’ little world.
“Why, father,” exclaimed Tom, as Mr. Newcombe knocked at the gate, “I
haven’t told you that I wanted to come here!”
“I know you haven’t,” replied the merchant; “at least you haven’t
said so in words; but you have said, by your actions, that you can’t
be trusted, so I have concluded to put you where you will be closely
watched.”
This made it evident to Tom that his father knew all about what had
happened the night before.
“I think this is just the place for you,” continued Mr. Newcombe.
“O, I always was an unlucky boy,” drawled Tom. “I never can do any
thing like other fellows. I had almost made up my mind to go into
the office as errand boy--”
“It’s too late now!” replied his father. “Besides, I don’t want a boy
in my office that I can’t trust.”
During the two minutes that they stood at the gate waiting for some
one to open it, Tom raised all sorts of objections to his father’s
arrangement, but could not induce him to change his mind. Mr.
Newcombe never acted without mature deliberation, and when he had
once decided upon his course, it was a hard matter to turn him from
it. So Tom, in spite of himself, became a member of the military
academy. He listened to the reading of the rules and regulations,
reluctantly promised to obey them all, and, in the presence of his
father, signed the muster-rolls; after which, Mr. Newcombe took leave
of the principal, promising to return with Tom as soon as his uniform
could be procured.
For two days after that Tom was a most miserable boy. He still
entertained some hopes that he might be able to turn his father from
his purpose, and, to accomplish his object, he invented all sorts of
excuses and promises; but his efforts were unsuccessful. The merchant
had decided that the military school was the best place for Tom, and
the latter finally came to the conclusion that he would bear his
punishment like a man.
One afternoon, for want of something better to do, Tom saddled his
pony and took a short ride about the village. As he was returning
home, he passed by the academy, and saw a company of boys engaged
in drilling in the bayonet exercise. He dismounted, tied his pony
to the fence, and watched the drill as long as it continued; and,
when he rode toward home, his opinion concerning the military school
had changed materially. He was astonished at the ease and skill with
which the young soldiers handled their muskets, and, more than all,
he admired and envied the captain--a youth about his own age.
“Perhaps it isn’t so bad, after all,” he soliloquized. “I always
thought that I’d like to go to that academy. If a fellow like that
can get a commission, I’d like to know what’s the reason I can’t get
one also. I don’t intend to remain a private long. I shall work for
shoulder-straps, and, the first thing some of those officers know,
I’ll make them take back seats. I’ll certainly be captain of one of
the companies in two or three weeks, and, after that, I shall have
an easy time of it. Won’t I feel gay, sporting my shoulder-straps
about the village? Then, after I get through here, I’ll go to West
Point, and from there to the army; and then I’ll soon be promoted to
general. I am all right now. I have decided to be a soldier.”
Tom was now as impatient to get into the military school as he had
before been anxious to keep out of it; and, on the way home, he
stopped at the tailor’s where his uniforms were being made, and
requested that the work might be completed as soon as possible, as
he was losing valuable time. At the supper table, that night, he
surprised his father by informing him that he also had decided that
the “military school was the place for him;” that he had always
thought that he was “cut out for a general;” and that if Mr. Newcombe
would visit the camp the coming fall, he would see his son wearing a
captain’s uniform.
“You must remember that you have been disappointed a good many
times,” said the merchant.
“I know it,” replied Tom; “but I am all right this time. I know I
shall succeed. I’ll be captain of one of the academy companies in
less than three weeks.”
“You’ll have to work hard for it,” said his father, “for you’ll find
some smart boys there.”
“I don’t care!” said Tom, confidently. “I’ll beat them all. I’m bound
to be the highest officer in the academy.”
That week was a long one to Tom, but, to his immense relief, the
arrangements were all completed at last, and one afternoon, about
half-past three o’clock, the new student, dressed in his uniform,
found himself standing in the presence of the principal. Mr. Newcombe
had accompanied him to the academy, and, after urging him to make the
best possible use of his time, and to strictly obey all the rules
and regulations, he bade him good-by, and returned to his office,
satisfied that he had left his son in safe hands for a few months, at
least.
“Now, Newcombe,” said the principal--a tall, dignified,
military-looking man--“you are a member of the Newport Military
Academy. I shall expect to hear a good account of you.”
“I shall do my best, sir,” replied Tom. “I want to be an officer, and
I would like to know how to go to work to get a commission.”
“There is but one way,” replied the principal, with a smile, “and
that is very simple. If you strictly obey the rules and regulations,
you will be entitled to your shoulder-straps.”
“How long before I can get them?” asked Tom.
“Not until the first of next quarter. That will give you two months
in which to prepare for the examination. Remember, now, that you are
expected to read the rules and regulations until you know just what
to do, and how to do it. You will find several copies of them hung
up in your dormitory, so that you can have them close at hand for
reference.”
The professor then faced to the right, with as much precision as if
he had been standing in the ranks, with a musket on his shoulder;
going to his desk, he opened a large book, which Tom thought looked
like the ledger in his father’s office; and, after turning over the
leaves for a moment, rang a bell, which was presently answered by a
servant belonging to the academy.
“Thomas Newcombe, dormitory H, number thirteen,” said the principal.
“Now, you may go with this man, and he will show you where you
belong. I hope that I shall soon be able to assign you new quarters,
for the students in that dormitory belong to the lowest class in
school.”
Tom’s trunk, which contained his clothing, each article of which was
marked with his name, stood in the hall, just outside the principal’s
door. This the man raised to his shoulder; and, after conducting Tom
up a flight of stairs, ushered him into a large, airy room. This was
dormitory H, which was destined to be the new student’s quarters,
not for a short time, as the principal fondly hoped, but during
his entire stay at the academy. On both sides of the room, and at
one end, were arranged the beds belonging to the students. At the
left of the entrance, were two rooms, one of which belonged to the
assistant teacher, who had charge of the dormitory, and the other to
the officers commanding that company. The dormitory was filled with
students, all of whom appeared to be busily engaged with their books.
The man conducted Tom between the two rows of beds, until he arrived
at the further end of the room, where he stopped and pointed to a
number painted on a piece of tin, which was hung against the wall.
“There’s number thirteen,” said he. “This bed belongs to you.”
As soon as the man had left the dormitory, some of the students,
who had been closely watching Tom, gathered about him, as if they
were impatient to make his acquaintance. The latter felt somewhat
embarrassed when he found himself surrounded by so many strangers;
but, wishing to make a favorable impression upon them, he tried
hard to look unconcerned, and prepared to receive their advances as
graciously as possible.
“How are you, my son?” began one of the boys.
“My son!” repeated Tom, in astonishment.
“Well, then, tell us what your name is? You are a greeny, are you
not?”
“Now, see here,” drawled Tom, “I want you to quit calling me greeny.
I’ll tell the teacher if you don’t look out.”
This speech showed another trait in Tom’s character. He was a
“tell-tale;” and when he became involved in trouble with any of his
school-mates, he never undertook to defend himself, but hurried off
to lay the matter before the teacher. It was evident that he intended
to continue the practice at the academy.
“You’ll tell the teacher, will you!” exclaimed the boy who had first
addressed him. “Then we have seen enough of you. Let him alone,
fellows; he’s a Spooney and working for a commission.”
At this moment, two boys entered the dormitory; and, seeing the
crowd gathered about Tom’s bed, they approached, and worked their
way through the students, to obtain a view of the new-comer; and the
latter was delighted when he recognized Eugene Rich and Augustus
Miller, two of his very intimate friends, and members of the society
of Night-hawks. They expressed much joy at meeting Tom. After they
had shaken hands with him, Rich turned to the boy who had called the
new student a “greeny,” exclaiming:
“See here, Dick Martin, you had better mind what you are about!
Newcombe is an old friend of mine, and if you know when you are well
off, you won’t fool with him much.”
“That’s a fact,” said Miller. “Better apologize.”
This put an entirely new aspect on the case. Tom had already seen
that he had made a blunder when he threatened to “tell the teacher,”
and he was wondering how he could restore himself to favor. This
could only be done by a proper exhibition of “spunk,” which would
show the students that, although he had threatened to appeal to the
principal for protection, he still had the ability to defend himself,
and that he was one who could not be tormented with impunity. Had he
been left to himself, he would not have known how to act; but when he
found that his two friends were ready to stand by him, he suddenly
became very courageous.
“I certainly didn’t mean to insult him,” said Martin. “When I
inquired if he was a greeny, I only wanted to know if he had ever
attended a military school before. I take it all back.”
“Better look out,” said Tom, shaking his head, threateningly. “I
don’t stand much nonsense.”
“I always knew you were a spunky chap, Tom,” said Miller. “But Martin
didn’t mean anything. He’s an old chum of mine; so shake hands and be
friends.”
Martin, accordingly extended his hand, which was accepted by Tom, who
drew himself up to his full height, and thrust out his chest, to make
himself appear as much like a soldier as possible, at the same time
favoring his new friend with a glance which was intended to prove the
truth of what he had said but a moment before--that he was a boy that
“wouldn’t stand much nonsense.”
“That’s right,” said Rich, who appeared to be a sort of leader among
his companions. “Now, sit down here, Newcombe. You don’t know how
often I have wished for you,” he continued, as Tom seated himself on
the bed. “It’s lonesome here, and we want some brave, strong fellow
to propose some fun for us, and to help us out in it. (Here Tom
straightened himself up again, and assumed what he considered to be
a very reckless look, as if to assure the students standing about
that he was the very fellow they wanted.) By the way, what are the
Night-hawks doing now?”
Rich had been a member of the academy ever since the commencement of
the session (five months), and during this time had never once been
granted a furlough for a single hour. He was a lazy, good-for-nothing
boy, more fond of mischief than of his books, and, as a consequence,
he was always behindhand in his lessons; and, from being the fifth
in the highest class in school, he had been “promoted backward,”
until he found himself in the lowest class but one in the academy.
He was too lazy to exert himself to regain his lost position; he
was up before a court-martial nearly every month for some violation
of the rules, and spent more than half his time in working out the
punishments to which he was sentenced. His friend and right-hand man,
Miller, was often in the same predicament; and this was the reason
why they had never been allowed any privileges. Miller had been a
shining light among the Night-hawks, holding the office of fourth
colonel, while Rich was a second lieutenant, in good standing; and,
having been confined so long, it was natural that they should wish to
hear from the young rogues about the village.
Tom, being well posted in the movements of the Night-hawks,
proceeded to give a glowing description of their recent exploit.
The students listened eagerly; and Tom, finding himself surrounded
by an appreciative audience, “spread” himself to the best of his
ability. He was not mean enough to stoop to actual falsehood, but
he so exaggerated the achievements of the Night-hawks, especially
that portion of them in which he had been engaged, that it left the
impression on the minds of his hearers that Tom had been the daring
leader of a very daring lot of fellows. After he had finished his
story, he expressed a desire to learn something about the life before
him, the duties that would be required of him, the nature of his
studies, and the extent of his privileges. Rich volunteered to give
him the information, but, just as he was about to begin, some one
near the door called out, in a low tone:
“Attention, company!”
The effect of these words not a little surprised Tom, for the boys
all hurriedly left him, and running to their beds, picked up their
books, and in a moment all appeared to be deeply interested in their
studies. Rich and Miller, who did not belong in that dormitory, and
who were disobeying the rules by being in there during study hours,
hastily retreated into the hall, and made the best of their way to
their own quarters. As Tom sat on his bed, wondering at the strange
behavior of the students, a step was heard in the hall, and presently
one of the assistant teachers entered the dormitory. After looking
about the room a moment, to satisfy himself that the boys were all at
work, he called out--
“Newcombe!”
Tom, wondering what he was wanted for, arose from his seat and looked
at the teacher without answering.
“Newcombe!” said the professor, in a louder tone.
“Well, here I am!” exclaimed Tom--a reply that caused a suppressed
laughing among all the students in the room.
“Come here, Newcombe!” said the teacher; “and hereafter, when you are
called,” he continued, as Tom approached him, “you will answer ‘Here,
sir.’ Come down into the school-room with me, and I will show you
your lessons.”
The principal of the academy had learned something of Tom’s past
history from his father, and had also been made acquainted with the
fact that the boy had accomplished absolutely nothing in his studies.
This had been communicated to the assistant teacher, Mr. Hudson,
under whose charge Tom was placed, so that he had no difficulty in
determining to which class he ought to assign the new student. His
lessons for the morrow, in all the different branches, were duly
pointed out to him; and Tom was again directed to carefully read the
rules and regulations, so that he might know what hours of the day
were devoted to study, and what to recreation.
“Now, Newcombe,” said the teacher, “you will begin work to-morrow
morning. Captain, Captain Preston!” he added, in a louder tone,
calling to a boy who at that moment happened to pass through the
hall, “step here a moment, if you please.”
The young officer entered the room, and the teacher continued--
“Here’s another raw recruit for you, captain. His name is Newcombe,
and he belongs to dormitory H, number thirteen.”
Captain Preston pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, and, after
writing down Tom’s name and number, he turned to the new student and
said:
“To-morrow afternoon, at three o’clock, I shall expect to see you in
the armory.”
This was all the captain thought it was then necessary to say; but it
was enough to make Tom his enemy. The officer was at least two years
younger than the new student, and the latter did not like the idea of
being obliged to obey his orders. Tom also noticed that the teacher
had addressed him in the most respectful language; that he had said,
“Step this way, _if you please_,” and that was another thing that
made him angry. It also had the effect of making him more determined
than ever to get out of the ranks, if there was any possible way for
him to do it.
As Tom started to return to his quarters, he heard the roll of a drum
calling the students to dress parade--an exercise in which all the
scholars who had learned the manual of arms were required to engage.
The young soldiers came out of their rooms, and, after taking their
muskets from the armory, each company was formed by its officers
in front of the building, and marched to the parade ground. The
principal stood on the porch watching these movements, and, when the
battalion was marched away, he followed it, accompanied by Tom and a
few more raw recruits, who were not expected to join in the review.
The students kept step admirably to the music of drum and fife; every
order was executed promptly and without the least confusion; and Tom
was delighted with all he saw. When they reached the parade ground,
and the battalion had been drawn up in line, Tom was astonished to
discover that a boy about his own age suddenly appeared and assumed
the command. After seeing that the line was properly formed, he
walked toward the principal, who stood a short distance in front
of the students, then faced about, executing the movement with as
much grace and precision as if he had been a soldier all his life,
and ordered the battalion to “Present arms.” When the command had
been obeyed, he faced about again, and, after saluting the principal
with his sword, advanced and took a position behind him. Tom closely
watched all his movements, and was finally obliged to confess to
himself that he had a great deal to learn before he could become an
officer.
“Who is that fellow?” he asked, turning to one of the raw recruits
who stood beside him.
“That’s Bill Steele, the adjutant,” was the answer. “Isn’t he gay?
He handles that sword like an old cavalry man. He understands the
broadsword exercise to a dot. He’s our drill-master.”
“Humph!” sneered the new student. “He isn’t much.”
The raw recruit had spoken in the highest terms of the adjutant,
and that was something Tom could not endure, for it seemed to widen
the gulf which he saw lay between him and the coveted commission.
Although he had said that the officer “wasn’t much,” Tom really
thought he was a great deal. He admired his graceful movements
and his soldierly bearing--two things which he knew that it was
impossible for him to imitate. Being entirely unacquainted with the
relative rank of the officers, he thought no more about his captain’s
shoulder-straps just then. He wanted to be the officer that had the
most authority; consequently he envied the adjutant, and he made up
his mind that, in a very short time, Bill Steele would be obliged to
take a lower position, while he would assume the honors himself. But,
as the parade progressed, Tom again began to doubt his ability to
obtain any office, for he heard so many orders issued that it did not
seem possible that he could ever learn them all.
“How long does it take a fellow to get the hang of this business?” he
asked, turning to the raw recruit.
“Not long,” was the answer. “I’ve been here only three weeks, and
I’ll go on dress parade next Monday. There are not many in the
academy that can beat me handling a musket or a broadsword.”
This, in some measure, reassured Tom, who again turned his attention
to the parade. When it was concluded, the companies were marched
back to the armory, and the work for the day was over until seven
o’clock that evening. As soon as the students had taken care of their
weapons, some of them started toward the gymnasium, some went back to
the parade-ground to engage in a game of ball, a few studious ones
resumed their books, while others prepared to idle away the time
under the trees. Among the latter was Tom Newcombe, who had been
joined by Martin, Rich, and Miller.
“Well, old fellow, what do you think of the academy?” asked the
latter, as he threw himself on the grass beside Tom.
“It’s splendid,” replied the new student.
“Yes,” said Martin, with a laugh, “it is splendid, if you have
nothing to do but stand by, with your hands in your pockets, and
look on. You forget the two hours’ daily drill, with muskets and
broadswords.”
“And our long, difficult lessons, with six hours’ hard study,” chimed
in Rich.
“And the guard-house,” said Miller, who had once spent two weeks in
that pleasant abode, for attempting to desert the academy.
“The guard-house!” repeated Tom.
“Yes, sir; the prison,” said Miller, “with nothing but
bread-and-water diet.”
“But I’m going to be an officer!” said the new student.
“Now, now, Newcombe; none of that!” exclaimed all the boys in a
breath.
“Don’t be a Spooney,” said Martin.
“O, now, look here,” drawled Tom, “I want you to quit calling me
Spooney.”
“He didn’t say you were a Spooney,” interposed Rich; “he told you
not to be one. You are too honorable to want to be an officer, when
I tell you that the last one of them is a Spooney. The only way
they get their positions is by toadying to the colonel--that’s the
principal, you know. They are regular tell-tales; and if you don’t
want to be punished, you must be careful what you say before them,
for every word you utter will go straight to the colonel’s ears. In
fact, there are but a very few boys in the academy that a decent
fellow can trust. I was an officer once--I was second lieutenant of
Company A; and, as I have been behind the curtain, I know just how
affairs are conducted. If I wanted a commission, I would loaf about
the grounds until I heard some fellow complaining about something,
and then I would go and tell the colonel of it. I could easily
exchange my musket for a sword by doing that; but wouldn’t you call
it a mean trick?”
“Yes I would,” replied Tom, emphatically. But the truth was, he
thought if he could earn a shoulder-strap as easily as that, he would
not hesitate to do it; and he treasured up this last remark of Rich’s
for future consideration.
“But I thought a fellow couldn’t be an officer unless he obeyed all
the rules and regulations,” said Tom, at length.
“O, that’s all in your eye,” replied Martin. “The colonel stuffs
every new student, and he has been trying his hand on you; I can see
that without specs. Now, there’s Jim Williams, the captain of our
company. I’ve known him to fail in his lessons day after day; and
yet, at the end of the quarter, he has more extras than any other
fellow in the class. I’ve seen him come on the parade-ground with
dust on his boots, and his belt soiled; but I never knew him to lose
any thing by it. If Rich, or Miller, or I, had been in his place,
we would have had two hours’ guard duty at night with bricks in our
knapsacks. The amount of the matter is, that the colonel has his
favorites, and they can do as they please; but the others must stand
from under.”
“Well, now, this beats me,” drawled Tom, after he had thought the
matter over. “I always was the unluckiest boy in the whole world. I
never can do any thing like other fellows, for something is always
happening to bother me.”
“Why, what’s the matter now?” asked Rich.
“O, I wanted to be an officer; but I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t,” was the answer. “As I said before, you are too
honorable to be an officer, and the sooner you get that ridiculous
idea out of your head, the better it will be for you. But, boys,
let’s take a walk about the grounds. I want to introduce Newcombe to
the fellows in our set.”
So saying, Rich arose from the ground and led the way toward the
gymnasium, where some of the students were exercising their muscles,
under the direction of one of the teachers.
CHAPTER XVII.
TOM WANTS TO BE COLONEL.
Had Tom been allowed to have his own way, he would have packed his
trunk and left the academy with the least possible delay. He was
already very much disappointed in it, for he had found it widely
different from what he imagined it to be. He had hoped that he should
find the students far below him in their studies, (although he
himself did not know how that could be possible,) so that he could,
without the least trouble or exertion, take his shoulder-straps and
assume the honors of an officer, without having any one to oppose
him. But the parade he had just witnessed had discouraged him, and
had also convinced him that if he expected to take a high position
among those sharp, lively students, he must work hard for it. He was
quite willing to believe what his friends had told him--that the
officers owed their positions not to the number of merit marks they
obtained, but to favoritism; and, after thinking the matter over, he
was induced to make a slight change in his programme. He had assured
his father that he would work hard for a commission, but that was
entirely unnecessary now, for his great object must be to secure
the good-will of the principal. Without that his efforts would be
utterly useless. But how should he accomplish this? The remark his
friend Rich had made, clearly pointed out the way, and he determined
to win the favor of the principal by playing the contemptible part
of tale-bearer. In order to further his designs, he desired to make
the acquaintance of the adjutant. He resolved to be with him as much
as possible, to listen to every word that fell from his lips, and,
if he could detect him in making any disrespectful remark about the
teachers or the academy, he would carry it straight to the colonel.
By this means, he was confident that he should be able to disgrace
the adjutant; and the principal, to reward him for keeping so close a
watch upon the interests of the academy, would certainly appoint him
in his stead.
“That will be the way to do it,” said Tom, delighted with the idea.
“Push yourself up in the world, even if you have to pull somebody
down in doing it. That’s my motto.”
A few moments serious consideration ought to have shown the new
student that his plan never could succeed. Suppose the principal did
break the adjutant! What chance was there for Tom to receive the
appointment, when he did not even understand the manual of arms? But
Tom did not stop to think of this. He wanted to be an officer, the
highest in rank in the academy; and, having decided upon the course
he ought to pursue in order to accomplish his object, he held to it
with the tenacity of a bull-dog.
Tom walked with his companions toward the gymnasium, and, as they
entered the building, the first object that attracted his attention
was the adjutant, who, having performed some evolutions on the
parallel bars, stood leaning against a post with his arms folded,
waiting to recover his breath after his violent exercise.
“Rich,” whispered Tom, “give me an introduction to that officer!”
“What, that Spooney?” exclaimed Rich, in surprise. “If that’s your
game, Newcombe, we might as well break ranks first as last. If you
are going to be friends with those fellows, we don’t want any thing
more to do with you. The set won’t like it.”
Under almost any other circumstances, Tom would have hesitated before
incurring the displeasure of Rich and his companions; but if he
accomplished the object he had in view, it would, he thought, more
than make amends for the loss of their friendship. So he replied:
“I don’t belong to the set yet, and I don’t care whether they like it
or not. I know what I am about.”
“So do I,” said Miller. “You’re going back on us; that’s what you are
about. I didn’t think that of you, Newcombe.”
“Better keep away from every one that wears a shoulder-strap,” said
Martin; “you’ll only get yourself into trouble if you do not.”
Tom, seeing that they were not disposed to assist him in making
the acquaintance of the adjutant, walked off, leaving his three
friends vexed and disappointed. They disliked the idea of his
becoming intimate with the young officer, for he was one whose
influence and example had won more than one student from the “set;”
and knowing that Tom could be easily led in any direction, besides
being unacquainted with the object he had in view, they feared that
they were about to lose him forever. It was too late to recall him,
however, for Tom walked straight up to the adjutant, who extended
his hand, saying:
“Your name is Newcombe, isn’t it? I thought so. I have heard of you,”
he continued, as he led the new student to a seat; “and a few moments
ago the colonel ordered me to take charge of you. I am to drill you
in the broadsword exercise. I know it isn’t exactly my place to act
the part of a drill-master, but I am comparatively a new student
here; and, as I am working for something higher, I want to improve
every opportunity to learn my duties.”
“You are working for something higher!” repeated Tom, in surprise.
“Why, I thought you were the highest officer in the academy.”
“O, no!” replied the adjutant, with a laugh. “A captain ranks me.
Look here!” he added, taking his coat down from a nail over his head,
“I have only one bar in my shoulder-strap, you see, while a captain
has two. I am only a first lieutenant.”
Upon hearing this, Tom thought that he had no desire to become
better acquainted with the adjutant. If he was nothing but a first
lieutenant, he might keep his position, and welcome. He did not want
it; he must have something higher. His next step must be to scrape an
acquaintance with some captain, and try his designs upon him. As he
arose to his feet, intending to act upon his resolve without delay,
an idea struck him; and, turning to the adjutant, who was somewhat
surprised at his strange behavior, he asked if the rank of captain
was the highest in the academy.
“O, no, not by a long way!” was the answer. “First comes the
colonel--that’s the principal, you know. If he wore a uniform, he
would have eagles in his shoulder-straps. But, as he never wears
any thing but citizen’s clothes, he allows the lieutenant-colonel
to sport the eagles. The lieutenant-colonel is the best scholar in
school, and the highest in rank. I tell you, it takes merit-marks,
and the hardest kind of study, to get that position. Every body is
working for it, but George Smith holds the honors and the eagles in
spite of us. Next comes the major. He’s the second best scholar, and
wears a silver leaf. Here comes the colonel now!” he continued, as a
tall, pale-looking youth advanced toward them. “He’s a fine fellow,
and I know you’ll like him.”
When the colonel came up, the new student was introduced to him; and,
when Tom saw the silver eagles he wore on his shoulders, he made up
his mind that he had got hold of the right man at last. The young
colonel appeared to be a very jovial fellow, and talked and laughed
at such a rate that Tom soon began to feel perfectly at home in his
company.
The hours from four until six in the afternoon were devoted to
recreation, and all the students were then off duty. No respect was
shown to rank during “play-time,” but the boys all met on a footing
of perfect equality. To the officers, especially, this was a season
of relief; for, being free from military restraint, they were at
liberty to throw off their assumed dignity, and mingle freely with
their companions. Tom, however, had not been at the academy long
enough to understand this, and he was astonished that one so high in
authority as was the colonel, should condescend to laugh and joke
with his inferiors. He thought that when he should be entitled to
wear the eagles, he would stand more on his dignity.
Tom could be a very pleasant companion if he chose, and, having
now laid his plans against the colonel, he exerted himself to the
utmost to work his way into his good graces. He resolved to carry
out his ideas immediately, and commenced by requesting the officer
to give him some instructions in his duties, hoping that he would
accidentally let fall some word derogatory to the character of the
academy or of the teachers. He watched him as closely as ever a cat
watched a mouse, but all in vain. The colonel uttered no expression
that could be used against him; but, on the contrary, he appeared to
be perfectly contented, and satisfied with every thing in and about
the academy. Finally, becoming weary of exercise in the gymnasium,
the colonel put on his coat and strolled about the grounds with Tom,
who, thinking that if any thing was said that would be of use to him,
it would be necessary to have a witness to prove the fact, managed to
keep the adjutant with him. The two officers, who, of course, never
imagined what was passing in Tom’s mind, good naturedly answered his
questions, gave him all necessary instructions, and not a little good
advice. While thus engaged, the ringing of a bell called them in to
supper.
“Now go to your dormitory and march down into the dining-room with
your company!” said the colonel. “Don’t forget what we have told you.
Study hard, obey all the rules and regulations, and go in strong for
a commission. I would like to see you an officer.”
“So would I,” said Tom to himself, as he ran up the stairs toward his
dormitory. “But I’ll bet I don’t study very hard for it. I know an
easier way to get it; and, if you don’t look out, Colonel Smith, I’ll
have those silver eagles on my shoulders in less than a month.”
When the students belonging to dormitory H had all assembled, they
were formed in line by a sergeant, and marched two abreast down
into the dining hall--a large room, in which there were spread a
sufficient number of tables to accommodate all the boys at once. When
Tom had been shown to the seat he was to occupy, he looked about him,
and discovered that his mess-table was but a short distance from the
one occupied by the officers. The lieutenant-colonel sat at the head
of the table, the major on his right hand, the ranking captain on
his left, and so on down to the foot. Tom thought that matters could
not have been arranged to suit him better, for, after listening a
moment, he found that, in spite of the clatter of knives and forks,
and the conversation going on all around him, he could distinctly
hear every word uttered by the lieutenant-colonel. The latter,
little dreaming how closely he was watched, talked and laughed with
the officers, but, to Tom’s disappointment and disgust, said not a
single word against either the teachers or the academy. This was very
discouraging, for Tom, having decided to be a colonel, wished to
assume the honors as soon as possible.
At length there was a lull in the conversation, and the major, who
had been closely examining his glass of milk, set it down before the
colonel, saying:
“Smith, don’t you believe there’s water in that milk? Just see how
blue it looks.”
The colonel took the glass, and holding it up to the light, slowly
turned it about, and finally, set it down on the table again, Tom all
the while closely watching his motions, and impatiently waiting for
his reply. It came at length, and the new student almost jumped from
his chair with delight.
“I know there is water in it,” said the colonel. “That milk-man is
swindling us. Let’s catch him some day, and duck him in the harbor.”
“That would be unofficer-like conduct,” said the major, “and a
court-martial would be the result.”
“O, hang your courts-martial,” said the colonel, who had engaged in
so many that he was really tired of them. “I wish such a thing wasn’t
known in this academy.”
Here the subject of the conversation was changed; but Tom, who had
listened almost breathlessly to every word of it, had, he conceived,
heard enough to warrant him in making an effort to dislodge the
colonel from his high position. The officer had said that there
was water in the milk, had proposed to duck the milk-man, and
had exclaimed, “Hang your courts-martial!” and, if that was not
speaking ill of the academy, Tom thought he would like to know what
was. Improbable as it may seem, he was highly elated, and he fully
expected that he would soon be occupying the chair at the head of
the officers’ table. If he was foolish, he was but a type of a large
class of boys--and men, too--who, upon equally insignificant grounds,
have reared just such great expectations.
Tom was hungry when he sat down to the table, but that had all
passed away now, for he had something better to occupy his mind. He
resolved to seek the principal immediately, and lay the matter before
him. So, pushing his chair back from the table, he was about to walk
out of the room, when a sergeant, belonging to his company, exclaimed:
“Newcombe, where are you going? Sit down!”
“I have business with the principal,” answered Tom, “and I am in a
great hurry to see him.”
“Well, it is not customary for students to go out in that
unceremonious manner,” said the sergeant. “We’ll all go before
long; but, if you want to go now, you’ll have to ask the
lieutenant-colonel’s permission.”
“I won’t do that!” said Tom to himself, as he reluctantly returned
to his seat at the table. “If I don’t request favors of him now,
he can’t ask them of me when I become colonel. I’ll fix you,” he
muttered, looking toward the sergeant, who, he thought, had addressed
him rather too abruptly. “I’ll take those stripes off your arm the
very first thing I do. You are not fit to be an officer.”
Tom was very indignant at being obliged to remain in his seat until
all the students had finished their suppers. It was a regulation
he did not like, neither could he see that it was of any use. As
soon as the colonel’s straps were on his shoulders, he would ask
the principal to abolish the rule. This, he thought, would serve
to render him very popular with the students, several of whom, he
noticed, having satisfied their appetites, were impatient at being
required to wait for their companions. They were not compelled
to wait long, however, for presently the order was given for the
students to return to their quarters. Tom’s company was the last
that marched out; and, as soon as they reached the dormitory, and
the command had been given to break ranks, Tom started below, to see
the principal.
“Newcombe!” shouted the sergeant, from the head of the stairs, “where
are you going?”
“I told you once before to-night that I wanted to see the principal,”
said Tom, impatient at being delayed.
“It is time to begin study, now,” said the sergeant. “Is your
business important?”
“Yes!” answered the new student; “it is very important.”
“Go ahead, then; but return as soon as you can, for I am responsible
for you now until you make your appearance in the school-room.”
“I’ll break that fellow the minute I am colonel,” said Tom, as he
hurried along the hall. “He sha’n’t be an officer any longer.”
Arriving at the principal’s apartment, he pounded loudly upon the
door; and, after a few moments’ delay, a voice from the inside bade
him enter. The new student opened the door, and found himself in the
presence of the principal, who greeted him with:
“Newcombe, this is a very unusual hour for a student to visit me. You
ought to be at work at your lessons.”
“I know it, sir,” replied Tom; “but I have something very important
to say to you.”
The principal did not exhibit the curiosity that the new student had
imagined he would, for he answered:
“I will listen to you this time, but hereafter, when you wish to see
me on business, you must do so when I visit your dormitory in the
morning. But what were you going to say?”
Tom’s expectations were considerable dampened by the stern, dignified
demeanor of the principal, and, for a moment, he wished that he
had never envied the colonel, for he began to fear that, perhaps,
his success was rather doubtful after all. But it was too late to
retreat; and, summing up all his courage, Tom replied:
“I have been informed, sir--the fact is, the lieutenant-colonel says
your milk-man puts water in the milk.”
The principal was evidently very much astonished at this revelation,
for he settled back in his chair, and looked at the new student
without speaking.
“Yes, sir; he said it!” continued Tom, who fancied that he saw
something encouraging in the principal’s look. “I heard him, and I
can bring plenty of witnesses to prove it. He also proposed to catch
the milk-man and duck him in the harbor; and when one of the boys
told him that he would be court-martialed if he did, he said, ‘Hang
your courts-martial.’ I don’t like to hear any body run down the
school; and if you will give me those eagles, I’ll make the boys stop
talking that way.”
Tom had reached the point at last. In so many words, he had requested
that the lieutenant-colonel might be broken, and the eagles given
to him. He imagined that he had done the principal a great kindness
in thus exposing an unworthy officer, and he hoped that the zeal he
had manifested in watching over the interests of the academy, would
insure him the coveted eagles. He fully expected that such would be
the result, for he did not see how it could be otherwise. If the
colonel wished to reward honest, well-meaning pupils, that was the
time to show it.
“Newcombe!” said the principal, sternly, “you have made a very bad
beginning. You have been in the academy scarcely three hours, and yet
you begin to carry tales. If you hoped to gain any thing by it, you
will be sadly disappointed. I will see you again tomorrow morning.
That will do, sir.”
Tom was utterly confounded. He had staked all his hopes on the result
of this interview with the colonel, and he had, indeed, been most
sadly disappointed. Choking back a great lump that seemed to be
rising in his throat, he picked up his cap, walked slowly out of the
principal’s room, and ascended to his quarters.
CHAPTER XVIII.
TOM HAS AN IDEA.
Tom had made a desperate effort to raise himself from the ranks to
the position of an officer, but he had signally failed. He did not
feel angry, but he was astonished to discover that his magnificent
plan, which, at the beginning, had held out such bright promises of
success, had so completely miscarried. He could not understand it.
He repeatedly assured himself that he had used his best endeavors to
uphold the honor and dignity of the academy; but, as was invariably
the case with him, he had been unsuccessful; and it was all owing to
the fact that his efforts had not been appreciated. In fact, nobody
ever appreciated any thing he tried to accomplish. Do what he would,
some one was always ready to scold and find fault with him; and, with
Tom’s amazement, there was mingled not a little disappointment. The
eagles, which he so confidently expected would soon adorn his own
shoulders, was still the property of one, who, in his estimation, was
most unworthy of them, and, at present, he could discover no means of
securing their possession. This, he imagined, afforded him abundant
proof that what Rich had told him was true--that the officers held
their positions through favoritism. The lieutenant-colonel was
undoubtedly the principal’s favorite; and all attempts to wrest the
eagles from him, especially while he could rely upon the assistance
of so powerful a friend as the professor, would be useless. This
discouraged Tom, who now began to realize the fact that his chances
for obtaining a shoulder-strap were very slim indeed.
As these thoughts passed through the new student’s mind, he entered
his dormitory, where he was again confronted by the sergeant, who
informed him that he was wanted down stairs. Scarcely comprehending
what was said to him, Tom retraced his steps to the hall, and finally
found his way into the school-room, where all the students were
congregated, engaged in studying their lessons for the morrow. Tom
took the seat pointed out to him, and listlessly picking up his
arithmetic, he fastened his eyes on the page, (although, in his
bewilderment, he did not notice that he held the book upside down,)
and again pondered upon what had transpired during his interview with
the principal.
“Now, what shall I do?” he soliloquized. “I have tried, many a time
during my life, to do a teacher a kindness, but I’ll never do it
again as long as I live. The academy may go to ruin for all I care.
This isn’t the first time I have been called a tale-bearer for trying
to follow the ‘golden rule’--doing as I would be done by. If any one
should speak ill of me, in the presence of a friend, wouldn’t I want
that friend to come and tell me of it? Of course I would, and I would
reward him for it if I could. But the principal don’t look at it in
that light. He has his favorites, and he is determined that he won’t
hear any thing said against them. He has no honor about him. He’s
the meanest man I ever saw and I’ll never try to help him again. And
I’ve got to stay here almost five months! O, I can’t be a soldier!”
During the entire hour and a half that the students were required
to remain at their books, Tom’s mind was so fully occupied with
such thoughts as these, that, when he returned to his dormitory, he
knew no more about his lessons than he did when he first entered
the school-room. But he was not at all concerned about that, for
a more important matter was demanding his attention, and that was
the interview that the principal had promised him in the morning.
What would the colonel do with him? Tom almost gasped as he asked
himself this question, for he thought of the guard-house, with
“bread-and-water diet,” and the “two hours extra duty at night, with
bricks in his knapsack.” But there was no escaping his punishment,
whatever it might be, and Tom, at last, resolved to “stand and take
it like a man.” When he awoke in the morning, he repeated this
determination, which was accompanied by a wish that the colonel would
“be in a hurry about it, and not keep him waiting.” He was not kept
long in suspense, however, for just as he finished his breakfast, an
orderly informed him that the principal desired his presence in the
school-room.
“Aha, Newcombe!” whispered Rich, who at that moment happened to pass
through the hall, and who saw, by Tom’s looks, that something was
wrong, “you are going to be hauled over the coals, are you? I knew
just how it would be when I saw you talking with those Spooneys last
night. I guess you’ll pay more attention to a friend’s advice in the
future.”
Tom tried hard to muster up courage enough to enable him to pass
through the interview in an easy, unconcerned manner, but the attempt
was a complete failure; for, when he found himself in the presence
of the principal, he trembled and turned pale in spite of himself.
To his surprise, however, he was not sentenced to the guard-house,
neither was he obliged to perform extra duty, but he listened to a
lecture on tale-bearing that made him ashamed of himself. It was a
difficult matter, however, to convince Tom that he was in the wrong;
and when he left the school-room, he repeated the conclusion at which
he had arrived the night before, that the principal was “the meanest
man he ever saw.” He congratulated himself on escaping so easily,
but it was not long before he almost wished that he had been shut
up in the guard-house, so that he might have avoided what followed.
First came half an hour’s drill, with muskets, which disgusted Tom,
and made him wonder why he had ever been so foolish as to think of
becoming a soldier. Then came an hour’s hard study, and, after that,
his arithmetic lesson, in which, as was to be expected, he failed
completely. This was followed by exercise with the broadswords,
during which Tom whispered to the boy who stood next to him, that
“Bill Steele threw on a heap of style for one who was nothing but
a first lieutenant.” This brought him a caution from the adjutant,
who desired Tom to pay more attention to what was going on, and
postpone his talking until after drill hours. Taking all things into
consideration, Tom thought that he had never before passed such a
long and disagreeable day. The discipline was very strict; and, on
more than one occasion, Tom was sent to his dormitory to read the
rules and regulations, in order that he might know that he had
violated some of them. The lessons were long and difficult, the
drills tedious and uninteresting; and long before play-time arrived
he had repeatedly assured some of his class-mates that he had “seen
enough of the military school.” When dress-parade was over, Tom, in
no amiable frame of mind, took his seat under one of the trees, where
he was soon joined by his three friends.
“Well, Newcombe!” said Rich, “what did the old colonel say to you?
Did he give you a blowing up?”
“O, yes he did!” replied the new student. Then, fearing that his
companions might inquire into the matter, he added: “Boys, you had
better look out! There’s an awful story-teller in the school!”
“Now, that’s just what we told you!” said Miller, who, of course,
little imagined that Tom himself was the tale-bearer. “We warned
you to keep away from every one wearing a shoulder-strap, but you
wouldn’t pay any attention to us. You always were a bull-headed
rascal, and I don’t pity you in the least.”
“But we haven’t got any thing against you!” chimed in Rich. “If you
will fall in with us, we’ll keep you out of all such difficulties.
You see we have been here long enough to know all the ropes, and you
won’t lose any thing by taking our advice.”
“I am the unluckiest boy in the whole world,” said Tom. “I’m always
getting into trouble. I may as well stick to you now, because I never
can be an officer.”
“Of course you can’t. We told you that before. But, Newcombe, we’ve
got something to propose to you. Martin, just excuse us a moment.”
So saying, Rich and Miller took Tom by the arm, and, after leading
him to an unfrequented part of the ground, the latter continued:
“Newcombe, we have been thinking of admitting some new members to our
society. There are eleven good fellows here, and we should like to
see them brought in. Our constitution provides that any two officers,
higher than the rank of captain, may admit as many as they please.
You, being grand commander, and I a fourth colonel, the job can be
easily done. I know there is not much prospect now that it will ever
be of any use to them, but there is no knowing what may happen.”
“Bring them in!” said Tom, who was ready to join in any thing that
would occupy his mind, and drive out the remembrance of his day’s
experience. “Go and get them Rich--one at a time.”
The latter at once started off to hunt up the boys belonging to the
“set,” and presently Martin approached the place where Tom and Miller
were standing, and made known his desire to be admitted as a member
of the society.
“Take off your cap,” said Tom, who, by virtue of his high rank,
conducted the proceedings. “Now, Richard Martin, do you solemnly
promise that, if you are admitted to this society, you will obey its
rules and regulations?”
“I do!” answered Martin.
“Well, then,” continued the grand commander, “listen to the
constitution by which you will be governed.”
So saying, Tom, after having removed his own cap, and cast his eye
about the grounds to see that no one was within hearing, drew a
paper from his pocket, and read, in a whisper, as follows:
We, the boys of the village of Newport, in order to form a more
perfect union, protect ourselves from all outsiders, promote
harmony and good feeling, provide for our defense against those who
have proved themselves unworthy of our friendship, do ordain and
establish this constitution for the Night-hawks.
ARTICLE I. Believing, as we firmly do, that all monarchies and
aristocracies are bound to be overthrown, the government of this
society shall be democratic. The majority shall always rule.
ARTICLE II. No boy shall be admitted as a member of this society,
who has once proved unfaithful to his promise, or who shall not
bind himself to obey all its rules and regulations, strive to
promote peace and harmony among the members, and carefully guard
all its secrets from outsiders.
ARTICLE III. In order to fully carry out the objects of this
society, every member, upon admittance, shall receive the
appointment of corporal. All Night-hawks shall be officers in
the line of promotion, and daring exploits shall not be passed
unnoticed.
ARTICLE IV. New members may be admitted by any two officers of
higher rank than captain, upon recommendation of at least two
members in good standing.
ARTICLE V. When any member is known to be in trouble, it shall
be the duty of all to hasten to his relief. As prosperity makes
friends, and adversity tries them, all good Night-hawks will stick
to each other through thick and thin. No member, who refuses to
render prompt assistance to a companion in adversity shall be
considered a good Night-hawk.
ARTICLE VI. This constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote
of all the members of the society.
“There!” said Tom, when he had finished reading the document, “do you
again promise to faithfully obey this constitution?”
“Yes,” replied Martin, “I’ll stick to what I said in the first place.
But I don’t see what good such a society will do us here.”
“There’s no knowing what may turn up,” said Tom. “You may see the
use of it before you are many weeks older. Now I will give you a
certificate. As you are a stranger here, you won’t know the village
boys when you meet them; so, besides the signs and pass-words which
we shall teach you presently, it will be necessary for you to have
something to show.”
As Tom spoke, he drew his memorandum-book from his pocket, and,
tearing out a leaf, handed it to Miller, who drew up the following
certificate of membership:
“This certifies that Corporal Richard Martin has, this day
(Tuesday, August 14th) been admitted as a member of our society,
and that he is entitled to all the rights and privileges of a
Night-hawk. Members are instructed to treat him with the usual
respect.”
When Tom and Miller had affixed their signatures to the document, the
former handed it to Martin, saying: “Now, then, whenever you come
across a Night-hawk, give him that paper, and he’ll use you like a
gentleman. Bring on the next.”
One by one the boys belonging to the “set” came forward, and were
admitted with all due solemnity. In half an hour they had all been
initiated; and, after drawing them up in a line, Tom began to teach
them the signs and pass-words. Some of the boys were pleased with
the society, while others, like Martin, declared that they “couldn’t
see the use of it.” However, they all promised to obey the rules
and regulations; and, when the business had been transacted, the
Night-hawks were dismissed.
For three weeks Tom led a most unhappy life at the academy. His
lessons were long and difficult; but he really tried to master them,
and to obey all the rules, for he feared the punishment that would
be inflicted upon him in case of failure. He had so long given way
to his careless habits, however, that it was almost an impossibility
for him to conform to all the regulations. Just at the moment when he
conceived that he was making rapid progress, he would suddenly find
himself in some difficulty. One afternoon, after he had learned the
manual of arms, and was ordered to attend dress parade, he could not
find his musket. He was certain that he had put it carefully in its
proper place; and, when brought up before the principal, he informed
that gentleman that it had been taken by some of the students,
who wished to play a joke upon him. But, when the matter was
investigated, it was found that the missing musket had been picked up
in the yard by one of the teachers. Then Tom remembered that, while
engaged in cleaning the weapon, he had been summoned to his class,
and that he had thrown the musket down, intending to return for it as
soon as he had recited his lesson. But he had forgotten all about
it, and the musket was put into what the boys called the “lucky
bag.” Of course there was more than one careless student in the
academy; and, to teach them to pay more attention to their duties,
any articles that were found lying about the building or grounds,
were taken care of by the teachers, and the owner was obliged to
undergo some slight punishment as a penalty. Such articles as knives,
foot-balls, and bats were often mislaid, but no one had ever before
heard of a musket being lost, and the colonel thought the offense
called for some extra punishment. So that night Tom was put on guard
duty, and was obliged to walk his beat for two hours, with his musket
on his shoulder, and a heavy knapsack on his back. This was the first
time he had been punished while at the academy, and his rage knew no
bounds. When he came off guard he went to bed, resolved that he would
stay in the school no longer. If his offense had been a serious one,
he would not have cared any thing about it; but compelling a boy to
stand two hours’ extra guard duty just because he lost his musket,
was carrying matters altogether too far. He wouldn’t stand it.
But there was another thing that was a source of great trouble to Tom
just then, and that was the examination that was fast approaching,
and of which he had that day received a vivid and glowing description
from his two friends, Rich and Miller. These reviews were held
twice each year, and, when they were ended, the students went
into camp--or, rather, that part of them who passed the required
examination. The others remained at the academy “under arrest.” While
the successful scholars were enjoying themselves, they were deprived
of all liberty, and required to continue the regular routine of study
and drill.
To have their names placed on the list with those who were to be
permitted to go into camp, was the highest ambition of all the
scholars in the academy. They worked harder for it than they did for
shoulder-straps. The camping-grounds were situated about nine miles
from the village, in a beautiful valley, through which ran a clear,
dancing trout brook. In going to and from these grounds the students
were commanded by their own officers, had their baggage-train,
which contained their knapsacks, provisions, and camp equipage,
and conducted themselves in all respects like an army on a march.
Skirmishers were occasionally thrown out, as if “feeling” an enemy’s
position; invisible foes were charged and routed, and imaginary
breastworks were carried at the point of the bayonet. While in camp
all study was suspended, and no work, except guard duty was required
of the students. Those off duty were allowed furloughs, and trout
fishing was the order of the day. In short, even the laziest students
acknowledged that two weeks’ liberty among the hills more than made
amends for three months hard study. All this, we repeat, had been
described to Tom, and it was no wonder that he looked forward to the
examination with rather an anxious eye. He had assured his father
that he would appear at the next camp wearing an officer’s uniform;
but he had given up all hopes of being able to fulfill his promise.
Instead of resolving to go earnestly to work to win the coveted
shoulder-straps, and, acting upon his resolution, he began to look
about to discover some way by which he might be able to avoid the
examination, which he knew would result in his being obliged to
remain at the academy.
For the next two days, Tom was in a fever of excitement. He took no
interest whatever in his duties, but spent all his time in thinking
and planning. One day, during play-hours, he paid a visit to Miller
and Rich; and while in their dormitory, he picked up an old newspaper
that happened to be lying on the latter’s bed, and, while glancing
listlessly over its columns, his eye fell upon a paragraph that
instantly arrested his attention.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, after reading it over and over several times, in
order to fully comprehend its meaning. “I say, Rich, do you care if I
tear a piece out of this paper?”
“No!” replied the latter, looking up in surprise. “But what’s in the
wind now?”
“O, nothing!” answered Tom, hastily tearing out the article that had
interested him, and placing it in his pocket-book for safe keeping.
“Here’s something I want to save for future reference. I’ve got an
idea!”
“What is it, Newcombe?” asked Miller, eagerly. “Let us see that
paper!”
“O no, I can’t! I just say that I’ve got a splendid idea, and as soon
as I follow it out, I’ll tell you what it is. It will astonish you!”
“Will it? Then tell us what it is now!” said Rich, impatiently.
“Perhaps we can help you.”
“I don’t need any of your help. I can get along very well by myself.”
So saying, Tom turned on his heel and walked out of the dormitory,
leaving his two friends at a loss how to account for his strange
behavior.
Tom was now in his element. He had a “splendid idea” that he wanted
to “follow out.” He was generally very expert at such business, but,
in the present instance, he could not help acknowledging to himself
that his success was doubtful. He walked about among his companions
with his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the ground; and, although he
would occasionally chuckle to himself when he thought over his grand
idea, his face more frequently wore a disappointed look, as if he
found innumerable obstacles in his way. It was a more difficult task
than he had ever undertaken before, and it was two days before he
had thought the matter over and arrived at a conclusion. His was an
enterprise that demanded an unusual amount of attention, for it was
one that no other boy in the academy would have thought seriously
of attempting. But Tom, who had at last been led to realize the
fact that he could never be an officer, and being determined not to
remain at the academy under arrest while the students were enjoying
themselves, had resolved to do something desperate. In spite of the
entreaties of his friends, which were renewed at every opportunity,
Tom kept his own counsel, and, it was not until he had decided upon
his course, that he intimated to Rich, Miller, and Martin, that he
was ready to reveal his secret. So, one night, when dress parade was
over, Tom conducted his companions to a remote corner of the grounds,
where he gave them an insight into the “splendid idea” which had so
long occupied all his thoughts.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CONSPIRATORS.
“Now, then, Newcombe,” said Miller, as he seated himself on the
grass, under one of the trees, “let us hear what you have to say.”
“Before I begin,” said Tom, “I want you to promise, that if you don’t
see fit to join my enterprise, you won’t split on me.”
“Split on you!” echoed Miller. “Don’t we know, as well as you do,
that it is against the laws of our society to divulge secrets? There
are no tell-tales among us.”
Tom turned away his head as his companion said this, for he knew, if
no one else did, that there was one tale-bearer, at least, in the
society. What would Rich, and Miller, and all the other faithful
Night-hawks have thought, had they known that the one who held the
highest office in the gift of the organization, had been trying to
better his condition by carrying tales to the principal?
“No, sir; I don’t think there is a single fellow among us who would
be mean enough to split on you,” continued Miller. “If there is, I
know I am not the one, for I have shown, more than once, that I can
be trusted.”
“Speak it out, Newcombe,” said Rich. “We have all made solemn
promises to stand by each other through thick and thin, and we are
all true blue.”
“Well, to begin with,” said Tom; “I know very well that I can’t pass
a decent examination, and I don’t want to be confined in the academy
building, while all the other fellows are having a jolly time in
camp.”
“Neither do I,” said Rich. “But we can’t help ourselves.”
“Perhaps we can,” said Tom, shaking his head knowingly; “perhaps we
can. If I haven’t succeeded in my arithmetic and geography lessons,
I’ve got something better worked out. You have been to sea on three
or four voyages, haven’t you, Rich?”
“Yes,” answered that worthy, “and I am a good sailor--better than any
other boy in the academy.”
“But could you take command of a vessel--say of the size of the
Swallow?”
“Command a sloop like that! Yes, of course I could. If I knew that
she was sea-worthy, I wouldn’t be afraid to take her to Europe.”
“That’s all right!” said Tom, evidently very much relieved. “That’s
one difficulty out of the way. I knew I would be certain to succeed.”
“But, Newcombe, what’s all this got to do with your grand idea?”
asked Miller, impatiently. “Why don’t you tell us what you intend to
do?”
“Well, I am going to tell you now,” replied Tom. “I propose that we
escape the examination, by taking the Swallow and going to sea in
her.”
The boys were all very much astonished at this proposition; but,
without allowing them time to raise any objections, Tom pulled out
his pocket-book, and, producing the piece of newspaper which had
so excited the curiosity of his companions, he handed it to Miller,
saying, “Read that.”
The latter took the paper, looked at it a moment, and then, springing
to his feet, seized Tom’s hand, shouting:
“Newcombe, you’re a brick! Your idea is a glorious one! I see it all,
now!”
“Read it! Read it!” exclaimed Rich and Martin. “Let us hear it.”
Thus appealed to, Miller again seated himself, and read aloud as
follows:
“PLUCKY SAILOR BOYS.--Two lads, each about fourteen years of age,
living in Marblehead, Mass., undertook a daring exploit about
three weeks ago. They, by some means or other, got possession of
a small yacht in the harbor, and after laying in a good supply
of provisions, which took them three days, they set sail and put
out to sea. They were picked up, five miles outside, by a revenue
cutter, and, after being taken on board, stated that they had laid
their plans to go to Europe. They were taken back to the city and
restored to their parents.”
“There! what do you think of that?” asked Tom, when Miller had
finished reading the article.
“It’s gay,” said Rich. “They were plucky chaps indeed.”
“Why don’t you say something?” inquired Miller, turning to Martin,
who sat gazing thoughtfully at the ground. “Don’t you see through the
thing yet?”
“Yes,” replied the latter; “what you intend to do is as plain as
daylight. But I don’t think the idea is so very gay, after all.”
“Why not?” asked Tom.
“Because those ‘plucky sailor boys’ did not get very far on their
way toward Europe before they were overtaken and carried back. Their
scheme failed.”
“That’s because they didn’t know any thing,” said Rich, promptly.
“They ought to have looked out for that.”
“And there’s one thing the paper forgot to speak about,” continued
Martin. “It doesn’t say whether or not those two fellows were
punished when they got home. If we should be caught in a scrape like
that, we never would be released from the lock-up, or get through
standing guard, and performing the extra duties that would be imposed
upon us.”
“Now, don’t squeal before you are hurt,” said Miller. “If I had known
that you were so chicken-hearted, I never would have proposed you as
a member of our society.”
“I am no coward!” replied Martin, angrily; “but I have common sense
enough to know that we had better look before we leap. Before we
attempt to carry out Tom’s idea, we must see exactly how the land
lays. In the first place, we have no boat, and, in the next place, it
would be of no use to us if we had; for we are not the ones who get
furloughs whenever we ask for them.”
“O, Newcombe has got that all worked out,” said Miller, who was
impatient to hear the details of the plan. “Give us all the
particulars, Tom.”
“I can do that in a very few words,” said the latter. “We will get
together all the members of our society who are willing to go with
us, escape from the academy some night, take the Swallow, or some
other little trading vessel, and go on a cruise. We’ll stay out until
the examination is over, and then come back.”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Miller. “I’m in for it. But suppose we should
be captured and brought back?”
“We don’t intend to come back to the academy until we get ready!”
said Rich. “We’ll look out for that. But, boys, don’t begin to raise
objections now. We must get rid of that examination, if possible, and
Tom is just the chap to show us how to do it.”
“Go on, Newcombe--what next?”
“I have but one thing more to say,” continued Tom, “and that is, I
will engineer this thing through if you want me to. You know that I
can call upon any member of the society for assistance.”
“But how will we get the boat?” asked Rich.
“That’s my business. There are fourteen fellows in the academy whom
we can trust, and I want to know how many of them are willing to
go with us; and then I must have authority to do as I please, or I
won’t budge an inch. I’ll go on my own hook. I have a boat of my own,
and I am bound to get away from here before that examination comes
off. What would my father say if he should happen to visit the camp,
and the colonel should tell him that I was at the academy, ‘under
arrest?’”
“Well, Tom,” said Martin, after thinking a moment, “I, for one, am
perfectly willing that you should boss this job, but you know the
government of our society is democratic, and we all have a hand in
whatever is going on. I shall do just as the majority say. If they
think the scheme can be successfully carried out, I am in for it;
and, in order to get the most of the boys on your side, you ought to
tell us exactly what you are going to do, and how you intend to do
it.”
Tom could not very well resist the force of this reasoning. The
scheme he had proposed was rather different from any thing the
Night-hawks had ever before thought of; and, knowing that if it
proved successful it would throw all their former exploits into
the shade, Tom wanted the honor of carrying it through alone and
unaided. He had not the least idea of going off by himself in the
Mystery, but he thought that, by threatening to leave his companions
to themselves, he might frighten them into allowing him to have his
own way. But it was plain that the boys were not in favor of “buying
a cat in a bag;” they did not intend to give their consent to Tom’s
scheme until they understood all about it.
“Now, Newcombe,” said Rich, “tell us how we are to get the Swallow.
We want to know all the particulars.”
“We must have help,” replied Tom. “It was my intention to write to
some of the boys in the village.”
“Then it’s lucky that we didn’t give you authority to do as you
pleased, for you would have knocked the whole thing into a cocked
hat in no time,” said Miller, decidedly. “Suppose the letter should
fall into the hands of the Philistines? That would be the end of your
cruise, and you would find a boy about your size in the guard-house,
living on bread and water. I’ve got an idea,” he continued. “I
propose that we all study hard, and behave ourselves this week, and,
perhaps, some of us can manage to get a furlough next Saturday. If
one fails, another may succeed, you know, and we’ll give the lucky
ones authority to call on the boys in the village and talk the matter
over with them. And now about the Swallow! Do you propose to hire
her?”
“Of course not!” replied Tom. “We’ll take her and welcome.”
“Steal her!” ejaculated Rich. “That plan won’t work, either. If we
should do that, old ’Squire Thompson would have his hands on us the
moment we got back. I propose that we charter her. We’ve all got some
money.”
“Let us speak to the other fellows, and see what they have to say on
the subject,” said Martin, who, for some time, had remained silent.
“That’s a sensible idea!” exclaimed Tom, who was obliged to confess
to himself that he had made two great mistakes in his calculations.
“But go about it easy. Be careful that no one overhears you. Tell
them to meet us here in a quarter of an hour.”
The others agreeing to this proposal, the four conspirators returned
to the building to hunt up all the members of their society. The
Night-hawks were scattered about over the grounds, some engaged in
a game of ball; some lying in the shade of the trees; others were
in the gymnasium, and two of their number, for some violation of
the rules of the academy, had received orders to remain in their
dormitories. The schemers worked to such good advantage that, at the
end of a quarter of an hour, ten boys belonging to the society were
gathered in a remote corner of the grounds, awaiting the appearance
of Tom and Miller, who had been commissioned to obtain the opinions
of the culprits in the dormitories. Thus far every thing appeared to
be working smoothly, for all the members had, without hesitation,
agreed to join the expedition.
“Hold on a minute!” said Miller, suddenly, as he and Tom started to
join their companions. “Don’t you see the colonel looking out of his
window? That old fellow is as sharp as a steel-trap; and, if he sees
so many of us talking in an out-of-the-way place, he’ll certainly
snuff something. Go and get your foot-ball, and we’ll fool him
nicely.”
Tom ran up to his dormitory, took the ball from his trunk, and,
kicking it along the ground before them, they walked toward the
place where their companions were gathered, leading the principal
to infer that they were simply going out there to amuse themselves.
In order to keep up the deception, a game of foot-ball was started,
but continued only for a short time, when the Night-hawks seated
themselves on the ground to discuss the question in hand. Tom, in
a few words, explained the object of the proposed expedition, as
well as the manner in which it ought to be conducted to make it
successful. So delighted were the boys with the idea, that not a
single objection was raised, and, in ten minutes, the business was
finished, and the meeting was adjourned. It was decided that the
first step should be to obtain the help of the Night-hawks in the
village; and, in order to accomplish this, it was resolved that
each member of the society in the academy should endeavor to behave
himself properly during the remainder of the week, so that, on
Saturday, he might be granted a furlough. It was not expected that
all would succeed in this, but those who did were to be appointed
“commissioners,” to state the matter to the village boys, and
request their assistance in chartering a vessel, laying in a stock
of provisions for the cruise (which would last at least two weeks),
and, in fact, completing all the out-door business. The much-dreaded
examination was still three weeks distant; so they would have
plenty of time in which to complete all their arrangements. When
the eventful night arrived, they would make their escape from the
academy through the dormitory windows; and, in order to accomplish
this, it was necessary for them to have a rope long enough to reach
from the third story of the building to the ground, and strong enough
to bear their weights. This rope would be furnished by the boys in
the village. When Tom made this suggestion, it created something
of an uproar among the Night-hawks, several of whom declared that
if they were expected to risk their necks by crawling out of a
second or third story window, they would have nothing to do with the
expedition. But Tom insisted that the rope be procured, saying that
“there was no knowing what might happen,” and that it was “always
well enough to be prepared for any emergency;” and he finally carried
his point.
“Now, Martin,” said Tom, after the meeting broke up, and the
Night-hawks were walking about the grounds in groups of twos and
threes, talking over their plans, in excited whispers, “you said you
didn’t see any use in joining our society. What do you think of it
now?”
“If those fellows in the village will help us, I shall say it is a
good thing,” replied Martin.
“Help us! Of course they will. They dare not refuse. You know that it
is one of our laws, that when any member is in trouble, the others
must assist him if they can. Now, we are in trouble--or we shall be,
if we don’t get away from here before that examination comes off--and
they must help us.”
During the remainder of the week, the Night-hawks, as they imagined,
conducted themselves with the utmost propriety. Each of them had
secretly determined that he would obtain a furlough, if within the
bounds of possibility, for that would insure him the appointment
of “commissioner”--an honor which they all regarded as well worth
working for. Tom, with the others, had resolved that he would not
waste a single moment; that he would study constantly; pay strict
attention to all his duties, and use his best endeavors to have his
name placed on the list with those who were to be allowed liberty.
He held manfully to his resolution, and surprised his teacher by
coming in to his recitations with perfect lessons. But the rules of
the academy were very strict, and Tom was an unlucky boy. Although he
made improvements in one respect, he fell behind in others; and when
Saturday came, and the names of those who were to receive furloughs
were posted in the hall, Tom, to his disappointment and indignation,
found that his name was not among them.
“Mr. Hudson!” said he, entering the school-room, where his teacher
was busy at his desk, “I would like to know what I have done, sir,
that I can’t have a furlough, like the rest of the boys? I understood
you to say that I had made twenty-four extras this week by perfect
lessons.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Hudson, “you have made excellent progress, as
far as your lessons are concerned, and I assure you I am very
glad to be able to say so. But you must remember that, in order
to receive liberty, you must strictly conform to _all_ the rules
and regulations. Didn’t you know that it was contrary to law for
you to play marbles in your dormitory? and who was it that knocked
that picket off the fence, and went outside the grounds without
permission?”
“I did, sir,” answered Tom. “But I went after my ball.”
“That’s no excuse; and, more than that, can you tell me the name of
the student who went on dress parade with a rusty musket; who left
his trunk open, and his clothing scattered about over the floor of
his dormitory, and who lost his broadsword besides? The rules do
not recognize any mistakes, you know. They call all such things
‘disobedience of orders.’ But don’t be discouraged; try it again,
Newcombe.”
“O, now, I won’t do it,” said Tom to himself, as he walked out of
the school-room. “There’s no use in crying. The more I try to behave
myself, the more I fall behind. I knew I never could be a soldier,
and I don’t see what father wanted to send me to this school for.”
When Tom reached the end of the hall, he found the Night-hawks
gathered on the porch. They were all disappointed, not one of them
having received a furlough. Some had fallen behind in their lessons,
while the majority, like Tom, had disobeyed some “little” rule.
“What shall we do now, Newcombe?” asked Miller, in a gloomy voice.
“We’re up stump, easy enough.”
“And all on account of those useless rules,” said Rich. “What good
does it do to bind a fellow down so tight? If they are so strict now,
what will they be during the examination, when we receive visitors?”
“There is but one way out now, that I can see,” replied Tom, “and
that is, to write a letter to our friends in the village.”
“But suppose it should fall into the hands of the Philistines?” said
Miller. “What, then?”
“Just leave that to me,” said Tom; “I’ll not put the letter in the
mail-box; I’ll send it through in some other way.”
There were a good many objections raised to this arrangement, for the
Night-hawks all knew that there was danger in it; but, after a little
argument, they concluded that Tom’s plan was the only one left them,
and he and Miller being the oldest members of the society, as well
as the highest in rank in the academy, were instructed to write the
letter. So, that afternoon, during play-hours, Miller visited Tom in
his dormitory, and, after the latter had produced writing materials,
they sat down to study up the important document.
“Now, Newcombe,” said Miller, “you ought to write that letter. You
understand the business better than I do, and, besides, you are the
highest officer in the society.”
But this was not the reason why the fourth colonel wanted Tom to do
the work. He doubted the latter’s ability to get the letter safely
into the hands of the village boys; and, if it should happen to fall
into the possession of the principal, the handwriting would tell him
where to look to find the guilty one. Thus, Tom was again used as a
“cat’s paw.”
“That’s one point settled,” continued Miller. “Now, to whom shall we
send it?”
“Johnny Harding is the best fellow,” answered Tom. “I know he’ll help
us. But how shall we address him?”
“Why, as it is an official letter from you, as the grand commander of
the council, you ought to address him according to his rank. Is he
still second corporal?”
“O, no, he made a big jump; one night, when his mother told him to
stay in the house, he crawled out of his window and came down the
lightning-rod. As his room was in the second story of the building,
it was something of a job, I tell you. When he told us about it, we
offered to make him a lieutenant, but Johnny said the reward wasn’t
big enough; and he told us that if we didn’t give him something
better than that, he would stay in the house the next time his mother
ordered him to do so. Well, we couldn’t afford to lose Johnny, you
know; so the next evening, after school, we all went up to look at
the house and the lightning-rod, and we came to the conclusion that
there was not another fellow in the society who would dare to attempt
a thing like that; so we created the office of fifth captain, and
gave it to him.”
“Well, he earned it,” said Miller. “But if he carries this thing
through for us, he will want something higher.”
“He ought to have it,” replied Tom. “I’ll be willing to promise
anything, if he’ll only help us.”
The Night-hawks then turned their attention to the letter, and at
the end of half an hour it was finished. Miller proved to be an
invaluable assistant, and Tom got along much better than he would,
had he been left to himself.
The letter ran as follows:
MILITARY ACADEMY, }
NEWPORT, August 28, 18--. }
_Fifth Captain John W. Harding_--
SIR: I have been instructed to ask your assistance, according to
article fifth of our laws. We are in trouble, and you are in duty
bound to help us out. When we tell you that in two weeks from this
date we shall be called upon to stand an examination, for which we
are totally unprepared, we know that you will sympathize with us.
We have decided upon a plan to escape from our troubles, and, with
the assistance you can easily render us, it can be successfully
carried out.
We intend to desert the academy and go to sea; and, in order to
do that, it is, of course, necessary that we should have a vessel
large enough to accommodate all the members of our society who
may desire to go with us. We wish you to visit the captain of the
Swallow, and ask him on what terms he will let us have his sloop
for three weeks. Get it as cheap as possible, for we are not very
flush of money just at present. We are perfectly willing to pay
him in advance, and will promise to take the very best care of his
boat. When you hire it, give him to understand that you want it for
yourself, to go off on a fishing excursion or something of that
kind (which, by the way, will be the truth), and that you don’t
want any of his crew on board. We can manage her ourselves. After
this has been done, ascertain how many of your boys will accompany
us (and we hereby extend an invitation to them all), and then make
an estimate of the amount of provisions we shall require. Each boy
is expected to furnish an equal share of money with which to foot
all our bills.
Please answer as soon as possible, and bring or send your letter to
the south side of the grounds, outside the fence; but don’t speak
to any one unless he proves himself to be a friend. We have lately
admitted some new members to our society; and, as you fellows in
the village are not acquainted with them, it is necessary that you
should be very careful.
We also need a long rope, strong enough to bear one’s weight, to
assist us in making our escape from the building.
Now, captain, look alive. Remember, we want the boat and provisions
ready two weeks from next Monday. Also bear in mind that the
success of our expedition depends upon you alone.
Very respectfully,
THOMAS NEWCOMBE,
_Grand Commander of the Council_.
“There!” said Tom, with a long breath of relief, “it’s finished at
last. That’s a splendid letter, and it covers all the ground. Now,”
he continued, as he folded it up and placed it in an envelope, “the
next thing is to get it safely to the post-office.”
“Yes; and that’s the most dangerous part of the undertaking,” said
Miller. “That’s a useless rule the colonel made, about putting all
letters in the mail-box. Now, Newcombe, mind what you are about,
or you’ll be brought up with a round turn. Then look out for the
guard-house.”
“Never mind me,” said Tom, as he put a stamp on the envelope. “I’ll
fix that all right.”
After the letter had been sealed and addressed, the two conspirators
left the dormitory, and Miller walked off toward the ball-ground,
while Tom loitered about in the hall. The students whose names were
on the “liberty list,” were leaving the academy to visit the village,
and, among them were several who had but recently been admitted to
the school. Presently a new scholar, who belonged to dormitory H,
came out of the principal’s room with a pass in his hand; and Tom,
walking carelessly toward him, accosted him with:
“Hallo, Simmonds! Off for the village, I suppose?”
“Yes,” replied the new student. “I am one of the lucky ones this
week.”
“You are fortunate, that’s a fact,” said Tom. “But Simmonds,” he
continued, as he accompanied the new scholar toward the gate, “will
you do a favor for me?”
“I will,” replied the other, readily.
“Then mail this letter for me,” said Tom, producing it.
“Isn’t that against the rules?” asked Simmonds, hesitatingly.
“What! mailing a letter? Now, Bill, who’s been stuffing you? Here,
take it, and don’t be a greeny!”
The new student evidently did not like to be considered a “greeny,”
for, without further hesitation, he took the letter and put it into
his pocket. Tom stood watching him until he had closed the gate, and
was well on his way toward the village; and then, congratulating
himself on the success of his plans, walked toward the ball-ground
and joined his companions.
CHAPTER XX.
PLANS AND ARRANGEMENTS.
“Well, how is it now?” inquired Rich, as Tom approached the spot
where all the Night-hawks were standing, listening to Miller’s
description of the letter that had just been written. “Have you
succeeded?”
“Of course,” replied the grand commander. “We are all right, so far.
The document is half-way to the post-office by this time.”
“That makes me feel a little easier,” said Miller. “But I shall shake
in my boots until we get an answer to it.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Tom, contemptuously. “I guess I know what I am
about. If you don’t think that I am able to manage this business, you
had better give it into the hands of some one else.”
“O, we are not afraid to trust you,” said one of the new members;
“but you don’t know the old colonel as well as we do. He knows a
thing or two, and if he don’t find out something about this business,
I shall be most agreeably surprised. So mind what you are about.”
“Now, never mind me,” replied Tom, confidently. “I tell you I know
just what I am doing. We’ll have an answer within forty-eight hours.
That’s not long to wait.”
But, on this point, Tom soon changed his mind. Two days, he found,
was a long time to wait, especially for one so impatient as he was.
The hours seemed lengthened into weeks; and, as if to make the time
hang more heavily on his hands, he failed in all his lessons, was
obliged to stand guard at night, and, on the second day, received
orders to remain in his dormitory during play-hours. This was very
provoking. He fully expected Johnny Harding would be on hand that
evening with an answer to his letter, and he wanted to meet him, in
order that he might have a long talk with him, and learn exactly what
the boys in the village thought of their scheme. But he had faithful
friends upon whom he could depend, and when dress-parade was over,
and he was about to ascend to his quarters, he found opportunity to
whisper to several of the Night-hawks to “keep an eye open,” which
they all readily promised to do.
Tom had not been mistaken in his calculations when he had selected
Johnny Harding as the most reliable member of the society, for,
about half-past four o’clock, the fifth captain, in obedience to the
instructions he had received from his chief, made his appearance on
the south side of the grounds. He walked rapidly along the road,
watching the games that were going on inside the inclosure, when a
ball, propelled by some vigorous striker, bounded over the fence and
fell into the road before him.
“I say, my friend!” shouted one of the students.
“Say it yourself!” replied Johnny, good-naturedly.
“Will you be kind enough to throw that ball back here? You were just
in time to be of assistance to us,” continued the student, as Johnny
pitched the ball back into the grounds. “We are not allowed to go
over this fence.”
“That’s all right,” said Johnny. “I don’t need any thanks. Perhaps
some of you can do as much for me now. Have any of you seen a large
bow-kite over this way?”
“No,” answered several of the students. “Have you lost one?”
“If you find one,” continued the messenger, “with the word Nantucket
painted on it in large capital letters, you may know that it is mine;
and I would be greatly obliged if you would keep it safe until I call
for it.”
“All right,” answered the students. “If we find it, we’ll return it
to you in good order.”
“That fellow must have been hard up for names to call his kite
Nantucket,” said one of the boys, as soon as Johnny was out of
hearing. “Nobody but a country chap would ever have thought of
calling a kite by that name.”
“No success thus far,” soliloquized Johnny, as he continued his walk.
“Not a Night-hawk among those fellows. I hope they won’t waste much
valuable time in looking for that kite. Hallo! here’s one of ’em, or
I am greatly mistaken.”
He had discovered a boy seated under one of the trees in the school
grounds, apparently deeply interested in a book which he held in his
hand.
“Ahem!” said Johnny, looking straight down the road, and hurrying
along faster than ever.
“Ahem,” answered the student.
Johnny stopped as suddenly as if the boy had called him by name, and,
walking up to the fence, inquired:
“Have you seen any thing of a large bow-kite over this way--”
And here the fifth captain stopped and looked at the student, as if
he expected him to finish the sentence. He had found the right man at
last, for the academy boy continued:
“With the word Nantucket painted on it in large capital letters?”
“That’s the one!” said Johnny, eagerly. “Have you seen it?”
“Yes, it’s safe,” replied the student, who arose to his feet, and,
after glancing about the grounds, to satisfy himself that no one
was observing his movements, he walked carelessly to the fence,
and handed Johnny a slip of paper. It was his “certificate of
membership,” and, when the fifth captain read it, he knew that he had
found a friend.
“That’s all right!” said Johnny. “Here’s a letter for Newcombe. I
haven’t done as well as I expected to do, and, unless I get new
orders, the whole expedition is hard and fast aground. Here’s the
rope?” he continued, pulling a bundle, tied up in a newspaper, from
under his coat. “So Tom has brought in new members? We’re glad of
it--the more the merrier, you know. Good-by! If you ever visit the
village, don’t fail to call on me.”
So saying, Johnny walked off, while the Night-hawk, after putting the
letter into his pocket, and concealing the rope under his coat, bent
his steps toward the academy, and presently entered the dormitory,
where the grand commander was confined. When the new member entered
the room, he gave his chief a significant wink, which told Tom as
plainly as words that the long-wished-for letter had at last arrived.
The latter could scarcely restrain himself, so impatient was he to
examine its contents. But it was necessary to be very careful, for
there were several students in the room, some, like Tom, confined for
misdemeanors, while others, having grown tired of play, were busy
with their books; and, to give any of these a hint of what was going
on, would endanger not only the success of the expedition, but the
liberties of all engaged in it.
Tom, however, played his part to perfection. Without appearing to
take any notice of the Night-hawks, he walked to the further end of
the room; and the new member, after loitering about, and conversing
with some of the students, found an opportunity to put the letter
and rope under the pillow on Tom’s bed. The movement was skillfully
executed, and no one but the grand commander noticed it. There was
now but little danger of discovery; but Tom, who still thought it
necessary to be very cautious, did not go near his bed for half
an hour. Then, after a little maneuvering, he managed to hide the
rope in his trunk and to read Johnny’s letter, which, brief and to
the point, told how the fifth captain had performed the business
intrusted to him. In the first place, he informed his chief that
he had been unable to charter a vessel; for, as the fifth captain
expressed it, “there was not a single ship-owner in the village who
would be foolish enough to allow a parcel of green boys to go off
alone in his vessel;” so, unless the boys at the academy changed
their programme, they might as well abandon the idea of escaping
their examination. Johnny wound up his letter by telling his chief
that the surest way to get a boat was to capture her; and by
informing him that he would be at the south side of the grounds on
the following afternoon, at five o’clock, to receive his answer.
On the whole, Tom was very well pleased with the letter. He had, in
the beginning, proposed to capture a vessel, or to “take her and
welcome,” which was the same thing, but his friends had opposed it.
Now they would be obliged to fall in with his plans, which would be
another feather in his cap, for it would, perhaps, serve to convince
the Night-hawks that they ought to pay more attention to what he said
to them. He was very anxious to escape the examination, but he did
not want any one to assist him in making the necessary arrangements.
He wanted the boys to obey all his orders, and he would rather the
enterprise should be defeated under his own management, than prove a
success under the control of any one else.
After a few moments’ consideration, Tom decided that he would not
write an answer to Johnny’s letter, but that he would behave himself
the next day so that he would be granted liberty with the others
during play-time. He could then see the fifth captain, and talk
the matter over with him. He felt greatly encouraged. If he had
entertained any doubts as to the ultimate success of the undertaking,
they were all gone now, for Johnny had shown that he could be
depended upon--that he would faithfully carry out all instructions he
might receive, which would render failure impossible.
When Miller and Rich marched down to supper that evening, Tom
succeeded in slipping the letter into their hands, and the wink which
they gave the chief, when they met in the school-room, told Tom that
his friends had read the letter and pondered upon its contents.
The next day Tom began work in earnest. He studied hard, although
that was a most difficult task, for his thoughts would sometimes
wander away from his books in spite of all he could do to prevent
it. He paid strict attention to all his duties, and was, of course,
allowed liberty at play-time. Then he could not help thinking how
much better he always felt, when he behaved himself so that he could
be allowed privileges with the others, than he did when he was
scolded and punished for his offenses.
“Now, boys,” said he, as the Night-hawks met on the ball-ground, “I
suppose you have all read that letter I gave to Miller last night; so
let’s hear from you. What have you got to say about it?”
A long and somewhat stormy debate followed Tom’s question, and the
point of difference was, the manner in which they ought to go to work
to secure a vessel. Among the Night-hawks there was scarcely one who
would hesitate to appropriate such small articles as apples, peaches,
or water-melons, “just for the fun of the thing;” but they were all
afraid to risk the serious matter of making off with a boat that did
not belong to them, no matter how much fun and excitement there might
be in it. Tom, however, had thought the matter over, and was ready
with an answer to this argument. Although they should take a vessel
without asking the owner’s permission, they would not steal her, for
it was their intention to return the boat in just as good order as
they found it. A sloop wasn’t worth more than a dollar a day; and
just before they got ready to start, they would mail a letter to the
owner of the boat, enclosing twelve or fourteen dollars; and, when
he found that his boat came back safe and sound, and that he had
received good pay for her, he wouldn’t grumble. This plan silenced
the fears of the timid members of the society, who finally agreed to
act according to Tom’s suggestion.
The next question that arose was in regard to the expenses of the
cruise. The chief demanded two dollars from each boy present, which
astonished the Night-hawks, who declared that Tom was altogether too
extravagant. But the latter again carried his point, and the sum of
twenty-eight dollars was collected, and placed in his hands, to be
given to Johnny Harding as their share of the expenses, and Tom was
instructed to meet the fifth captain, and make all the necessary
arrangements with him. All these questions being satisfactorily
settled, the boys separated, and, while the majority of them joined
in various games about the grounds, Tom seated himself under a tree,
near the fence, to await the arrival of Johnny Harding. Punctually
at the time appointed the latter was on hand, and, at the end
of a quarter of an hour, Tom returned to his companions, highly
elated with the result of the interview, while Johnny slowly and
thoughtfully retraced his steps toward the village.
With the exception of the escape from the academy building, which
the Night-hawks would be obliged to accomplish without assistance
from outsiders, Johnny now had the most difficult and dangerous task
to perform. His orders were to provision the Sweepstakes--a little
schooner that lay in the creek in front of the village--and get her
in readiness for the cruise; and, to accomplish this, without giving
the Philistines a hint of what was going on, was a feat requiring
all the skill and judgment the fifth captain could command. It was
rather out of his line of business; but Johnny, who had decided to
accompany the expedition, and who delighted in such exploits, was not
discouraged by the difficulties he found in his path. That there was
a way to successfully carry out his instructions, he did not, for a
moment, doubt; and, if any body could ascertain how it ought to be
done, he was the one.
Half an hour’s walk brought him to the village, through which he
passed to the creek where the Sweepstakes lay at her anchorage; and
here Johnny sat down on a pile of lumber, to take a view of the
situation, and to determine upon some course of action. His first
business must be to buy the provisions. Tom had told him to lay in
enough for twenty boys, and he had already made an estimate of the
amount that would be required. What would the grocer think when he
ordered two barrels of soda crackers, a kit of mackerel, a dozen
codfish, and a whole cheese? Then, after the provisions had been
purchased, how was he to get them on board of the schooner, which lay
in the creek, about fifty yards from the shore? This must be done
during the night, and, perhaps, they might be observed by some one
who would ask very disagreeable questions.
“Well, well!” said Johnny, taking off his hat and scratching his
curly head, “this is a bigger job than I bargained for. Nobody in the
world but Tom Newcombe would ever have thought of such a desperate
enterprise. I believe I would rather stand the examination, for there
wouldn’t be half so much danger in it. But if the others are willing
to risk it, I know I am. I’ll go on board the schooner, and see if
she is all ready for use!”
There were several skiffs in the creek, and Johnny, knowing that he
could carry out his resolution without exciting suspicion, walked
down the bank, stepped into one of the boats, and pushed off toward
the Sweepstakes. A few strokes of the oars brought him along-side,
and, after making the skiff fast to the fore-chains, he clambered
over the side, and began the examination. He had expected to find
that the little vessel had been partly dismantled, and that some
repairs would be necessary; but, to his delight, he found that
nothing had been removed. The sails were all there, neatly stowed
away, the handspikes were in their places, so that the anchor could
be hove-up with very little trouble, the hold was empty, and in a
condition to receive the provisions, and there were two large casks,
that would hold an ample supply of water. The cabin was in order, and
had bunks enough to accommodate six or eight boys. Of course there
were no beds in the bunks, but Johnny scarcely gave that a moment’s
thought. If want of beds was the only obstacle in his way, that could
have been easily overcome.
As the fifth captain walked about the vessel, several interesting
questions, which he had not before thought of, arose in his mind,
such as, Who would sleep in the cabin, and who in the forecastle?
Who would cook their meals, and what boys would be willing to act
as the crew? Was Rich, who, it was understood, was to be captain of
the vessel, seaman enough to take the schooner down the creek, and
through all the shipping that lay at the wharves, without accident?
Was he navigator enough to take them where they wished to go, or to
bring them back to the village, when their cruise was ended? Could
he manage the Sweepstakes if they should happen to be caught out
in a storm? Johnny, at first, had serious misgivings on all these
important points, and, for a time, he pondered upon the propriety
of suggesting to the academy boys that a “board of examiners” be
appointed, to inquire into Rich’s knowledge of seamanship and
navigation, and to decide whether or not he was the one that ought to
be the captain of the vessel. Had Johnny held to this resolution, it
might have saved the Night-hawks some trouble; but, after thinking
it over, the fifth captain came to the conclusion that he would say
nothing about the matter. If Captain Rich proved to be a humbug, it
was no business of his. He would faithfully attend to his part of the
work, and leave all disputes to be settled when they arose.
Johnny slept but little that night. Various plans, by which he
might carry out the instructions he had received from the grand
commander, suggested themselves to him, but in every one of them he
found numerous difficulties to be overcome. His great desire was to
accomplish his part of the business without being obliged to answer
any questions. At last he concluded that the best way was to go
about it openly and above board; for the more he tried to cover it
up, and to keep the affair a profound secret, the more certain he
became that it would “leak out somewhere.” About two miles outside
the harbor was Block Island, where the village boys often went to
fish and hunt, and Johnny thought he could buy his provisions, and
take them out there, without exciting the suspicion of any one.
The Sweepstakes could stop there and take them on board as she
went out, and it would not delay her a quarter of an hour. On the
following morning, he communicated this plan to some of the village
Night-hawks, (four of whom had agreed to accompany the students on
their cruise,) who readily agreed that it was the best, and promised
to lend all the assistance in their power in carrying it out.
When Saturday morning came, Johnny was up bright and early; and as
soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he borrowed a large yawl, and,
accompanied by half a dozen boys, sailed down the creek, until they
arrived at Mr. Newcombe’s wharf, which, they thought, would be the
most convenient place to load their provisions. They then went in a
body to Mr. Henry’s store, and, as Johnny had expected, the grocer
opened his eyes in astonishment when he received the order for the
provisions; but, thinking that the boys were about to start on one of
their hunting and fishing expeditions, he merely said:
“I suppose you don’t intend to shoot many squirrels, or catch many
fish, since you are laying in so large a stock of something to eat.”
Johnny replied that they did not intend to suffer for want of food,
if they could help it; and after he had paid for the provisions, they
were placed upon a dray and taken to the yawl, where they were soon
loaded by the boys, who set sail for Block Island. In due time they
arrived at their destination, and, after a short consultation with a
farmer who lived on the island, their cargo was stowed in his barn
for safe keeping.
“Now,” said Johnny, when they were ready to return to the village,
“if nothing happens, we shall be here after those goods next Monday
night. I suppose it doesn’t make any difference to you what time we
come?”
“O, none at all,” replied the farmer. “If you will call me when you
come, I’ll lend you a hand. I hope you will be successful.”
“Thank you, sir!” answered Johnny, with a sly wink at his companions;
“so do we.”
The man did not mean that he hoped the boys would be successful in
running away from the academy, or in making off with a boat that did
not belong to them, but that they might be fortunate in catching
fish, and shooting squirrels and quails; for he thought it was their
intention to camp somewhere on the island.
The Night-hawks then returned to the village, and Johnny, to his
delight, was not called upon to answer any unpleasant questions. The
very boldness of his plan had removed suspicion. His part of the work
was now done; it only remained for Tom and his companions to effect
their escape from the academy.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE ESCAPE.
“I am happy to inform you that I have done all my part of the work,
according to orders. The provisions have been purchased, and are
now safely stowed away in a farmer’s barn, on Block Island. The
Sweepstakes is ready for the cruise; and I will see that every thing
is kept in order, so that when you are ready to start, we can put to
sea with the least possible trouble. No one in the village has the
slightest suspicion that any thing is in the wind. I hope you will be
as fortunate as I have been.”
So ran a note which Tom received from Johnny Harding, on Tuesday
afternoon, and which he showed to his friends on the ball-ground.
It is needless to say that the Night-hawks were delighted with the
success of their plans; and the new members looked upon Tom and
Johnny as the two smartest boys in existence.
Attempts to desert the academy were very uncommon, and, as all the
boys well knew, had failed more frequently than they had proved
successful; and so great an undertaking as Tom had suggested, had
never before entered into the head of the most reckless student.
The conspirators, with but very few exceptions, had never imagined
that the grand commander’s scheme could be successfully carried
out. They had given their consent to it, not because they hoped to
be able to escape the examination, but because they wanted something
exciting with which to occupy their minds; and even Rich and Miller,
who had long been acquainted with Tom, and who knew pretty nearly
what he could do, had often predicted that the grand commander’s plan
would prove to be but a sure way of bringing every member of the
society to certain and speedy punishment. The colonel, they said,
would certainly “snuff something,” and the first thing they knew,
they would all find themselves in the guard-house, living on bread
and water. This was the reason why they had kept in the background
as much as possible, and allowed Tom to do all the work. If they
were discovered, he, being the leader, would be the most severely
punished. But when Tom showed these two worthies the note he had
just received from the fifth captain, they found that they had been
mistaken. The outside work had all been accomplished without giving
any one a hint of what was going on, and they began to believe that
Tom was in earnest, and that, perhaps, he might, after all, manage
affairs so that they could avoid the examination, and have a “jolly
time on their own hook.” But still there was chance for failure;
and, although they took a prominent part in all the “business
meetings”--which were held as often as the Night-hawks could get
together--they always endeavored to have it understood that Tom was
the leader of the conspiracy.
Monday, the day on which the examination was to commence, was still a
long way off. Five days of lessons and drills must be endured before
the time for action arrived, and the excited Night-hawks hardly
believed that they should be able to live through them. Time moved on
laggard wings; but the boys survived, in spite of hard lessons and
extra guard-duty at night, and, finally, the eventful day arrived.
The examination commenced that morning, and, as the Night-hawks had
made no preparation for it, they fell sadly behindhand in all their
lessons. The result had shown them exactly what they might have
expected; and, when dress parade was over, and the members of the
society met in an unfrequented part of the grounds, to hold their
last council at the academy, they were very much excited, and they
were ready to risk almost any thing to escape the remaining six days
of examination.
“I tell you what it is, fellows,” said one of the new members, “I
never did like this business; but I’m in for it now. I couldn’t live
through a week’s work such as we had to-day.”
“We’re in a bad fix,” chimed in another. “If we stay here, we are
certain to be placed under arrest, while the other fellows are in
camp enjoying themselves; and if we are caught in our attempt to take
French leave, of course we shall be put into the guard-house.”
“Are you going to back out?” asked Rich.
“O, no; I’m going to stick to you. But I can’t help thinking that we
are in a very unpleasant situation.”
“We can’t help it,” said Tom. “We are not going to stay here, and be
put under arrest; that’s settled. Of course, we run something of a
risk in trying to escape; but we can’t help that, either. I hope you
didn’t think that, when we got ready to go, the colonel would give us
all a furlough for two or three weeks? At any rate it’s too late to
back out. Now for business! I hope that you have all concluded that
my plan is the best.”
Tom’s plan for escape was by making use of the rope--a
clothes’-line--which, with the assistance of some of his friends, he
had doubled and twisted; but it was still long enough to reach from
the third story of the building to the ground. After the rope had
been procured, it was a long time before any of the conspirators,
except Rich and Miller, would consent to use it. The thought of
lowering themselves down, from a second or third story window, with a
clothes’-line, even though it was doubled and twisted, was enough to
make them shudder. One of the new members had proposed to file a key
to fit one of the outside doors, which were locked by the teachers,
every night at nine o’clock; but this plan was at once voted down
by the others, who argued that, even if they possessed a key that
would open the door, they could not pass the sentries in the hall.
Another desperate fellow, who had been reading a story of a mutiny
at sea, proposed that they should knock the sentinels down, and
tie them hand and foot. A third suggested that the Night-hawks be
instructed to conceal themselves in different parts of the building,
until the other students and the teachers had all gone to bed, when
they would make their escape through the school-room windows. These
and many other plans had been proposed and discussed; but, at last,
the conspirators were compelled to acknowledge that Tom’s idea
was the best. True, it was rather dangerous and even Tom himself
hardly expected that it would be successful; but still, it promised
better than any that had been proposed, and the grand commander was
determined to attempt it.
The dormitory to which Miller and Rich belonged was in the third
story of the academy, and directly over that occupied by Tom, Martin,
and three or four other members of the society. Miller was to take
possession of the rope, and, at midnight, open the third window from
the front of the building, fasten one end of the rope securely to
his bedstead, and throw the other to the ground. The boys in the
upper dormitory were to make their descent first, and then those who
belonged to dormitory H. Just as these plans had been determined
upon, the ringing of the supper-bell broke up the council.
“Now, boys,” said Tom, “be very careful. Don’t go to sleep to-night;
and, whatever you do, don’t make noise enough to disturb any
outsiders.”
The Night-hawks separated, and, although many of them felt like
criminals, no one who met them, as they entered the academy, had
reason for supposing that any thing unusual was going on. Of course
they were intensely excited, and more than one held his breath
when he thought of hanging by a clothes’-line from a third story
window. Tom, Rich, and Miller were the only ones who appeared to
be unconcerned. They did not stop to think of the risk they were
about to run; they thought only of the fine time they expected to
have during the cruise, and how astonished the principal and all the
teachers would be when they discovered that fourteen students had
“taken French.”
At nine o’clock the conspirators marched, with the others, from the
school-room to their dormitories, and, half an hour later, were
all in bed, and, apparently, fast asleep. At eleven o’clock Mr.
Hudson passed through dormitory H, and saw the grand commander
lying with his head covered up in the quilts; but he did not notice
that he snored louder than usual. Tom’s snoring, however, was not
genuine. He was wide-awake, and, when Mr. Hudson entered his room
and closed his door, the chief conspirator cautiously raised the
quilts from his head and looked about. The lights in the dormitory
burned dimly, and nothing disturbed the stillness save the gentle
breathing of the sleepers, and the measured tread of the sentinels
in the hall. After satisfying himself that all “outsiders” were
sound asleep, Tom arose from the bed and pulled on his trowsers.
He then wrapped his boots up in his coat, and, after casting a
suspicious glance about the room, he cautiously raised the window
at the head of his bed, and threw the bundle to the ground. After
carefully closing the window, he again got into bed, no one but
the wide-awake Night-hawks having witnessed his movements. Tom was
greatly encouraged. If he could raise the window once without awaking
any of his forty-eight sleeping room-mates, he could certainly do
it again. From that moment he looked upon his escape as a settled
thing, and he began to be impatient for Rich and Miller to begin
operations. The latter, however, remembering their instructions,
made no move until midnight, and the grand commander began to fear
that they had disgracefully “backed out.” But presently he heard a
noise that caused him to chuckle to himself, and to look toward the
beds of the apparently sleeping Night-hawks, who, in fact, were as
wide-awake as himself, and listening with all their ears. It was a
grating, hissing sound, as if some heavy body was being lowered
slowly, cautiously, down the side of the building. The Night-hawks
in the upper dormitory were beginning to make their escape. There
could be no mistake about it, and Tom began to be really excited now,
his heart thumping against his ribs with a noise that frightened
him. Slowly and steadily the body descended, and, in a few moments,
Tom heard the rope tapping against the wall, showing that the boy,
whoever he was, had reached the ground in safety. For five minutes
all was silent, and then the same grating noise told the grand
commander that a second boy was descending the rope. During the half
hour that followed, the operation was repeated eight times, and Tom,
who knew just how many boys there were in the dormitory above him
who belonged to the Night-hawks, prepared to take his turn. After
glancing cautiously about the room, in order to make sure that
no “outsiders” in his dormitory had been alarmed, he arose from
his bed, and, with trembling hands, arranged the quilts so that a
careless observer would not have noticed that it was empty; then he
stepped to the window, which he raised without making noise enough
to disturb a cricket. Thrusting his arm out into the darkness, he
clutched the rope, which was still suspended from the room above, and
crawled carefully out of the window. The next moment he found himself
dangling in the air thirty feet from the ground. His position was now
a trying one. The clothes’-line cut into his hands, every thing below
him was concealed by Egyptian darkness, and it is natural to suppose
that the boy who was afraid to ascend the mast of a schooner felt his
courage giving away when he found himself hanging from a second-story
window. But Tom, remembering that ten boys had already made the
descent in safety, and knowing that there were three more Night-hawks
in the building waiting to make their escape, and that the least
awkwardness on his part might alarm the sentries, clung to the rope
with a death-gripe, and manfully choked back the cry for help that
involuntarily arose to his lips. Slowly, cautiously, he worked his
way downward, and presently an encouraging whisper came up through
the darkness--“That’s the way to do it, Newcombe. You’re a brick.
Go easy!” and the next moment the grand commander slid down the
rope into the arms of his friends, receiving their congratulations
apparently as unconcerned as if he had never in his life experienced
the sentiment of fear.
[Illustration: THE ESCAPE FROM THE ACADEMY.--Page 286]
Tom’s first care, upon finding himself safe on the ground, was to
hunt up his coat and boots. By the time this was done, another boy
had made his escape, and, in a quarter of an hour more, the last
member of the society had been seized and embraced by his exultant
friends.
“Who would have thought it, boys?” whispered Rich. “I tell you we
have done something now worth bragging about. Won’t the old colonel
open his eyes?”
“No time to talk, fellows!” whispered Tom. “Don’t laugh till you are
out of the woods. Come on, let’s be off.”
So saying, the grand commander, now as proud of his position as if he
had been a brigadier-general, led the way toward the south side of
the grounds, where a picket had been knocked off the fence the day
before, to assist them in making their escape.
The Night-hawks were all astonished at their success, as well
they might be. Not only had they thrown all their former exploits
completely into the shade, but they had accomplished a feat that
would be an interesting passage in the history of the Newport
Military Academy, as long as that institution should stand. They
pressed one another’s hands in silence as they walked along through
the grounds, and more than one gave Tom a complimentary slap on the
back, accompanied by the whispered exclamation:
“Newcombe, you are a jolly old brick! It takes you to manage such
business as this!”
Tom easily found the place where the picket had been removed, and one
after another of the boys squeezed themselves through the opening
until they all stood in the road.
“Now, then,” said Tom; “I know we’re all right, but the faster we go,
the more time we shall gain. Forward, double-quick.”
So elated were the deserters, that they could scarcely refrain
from shouting; but, knowing that they were not yet safe, they gave
vent to their exultant feelings by cutting astonishing capers as
they ran along the road. Just before they arrived at the village,
they separated into a half a dozen little parties, and, following
different roads, bent their steps toward the creek where the
Sweepstakes lay at her anchorage. In half an hour they were all
assembled at the lumber-pile, where they were met by Johnny Harding
and his four friends, in a state of considerable excitement.
“O, fellows,” whispered the fifth captain, wildly throwing his arms
about, “we’re aground, and a thousand miles from water!”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed all the boys at once.
“Yes, I do say it!” answered Johnny. “The whole thing is knocked into
a cocked hat; the expedition is as dead as a herring. Go back to the
academy, take your punishment like men, and say no more about it.”
“But what’s the matter?” asked Tom, impatiently.
“Just look out there!” said Johnny, pointing toward the creek. “Do
you see the Sweepstakes anywhere? No, you don’t! Squire Thompson
suddenly took it into his head that he would like to go on a fishing
excursion, and he’s gone; he won’t be back for a week.”
The Night-hawks were astounded at this intelligence. After
congratulating themselves on the gallant and skillful manner in which
they had made their escape from the academy, and looking forward so
eagerly and confidently to the consummation of all their plans, this
disheartening piece of news came upon them like a thunder clap from a
clear sky. They had placed themselves in danger all for nothing; for,
if their boat was gone, they might as well be at the academy.
“O, now, I’m the most unlucky boy in the whole world!” drawled Tom.
“Something is always happening to bother me. I never can do any
thing! But I knew all the time just how it would turn out!”
“You did?” exclaimed Rich, angrily. “Then what did you get us in this
miserable scrape for? We are all a parcel of blockheads. We ought to
have had sense enough to know that such a scheme as this never could
succeed. I throw up my appointment as commander of the vessel.”
“No doubt you do,” said Miller, who seemed to take the matter more
coolly than any one else. “It’s very easy to throw up your command
after our vessel is gone. But, Johnny, why didn’t you send us word of
this? You’ve got us into a pretty mess.”
“I didn’t know that the Sweepstakes was gone until seven o’clock
to-night,” replied the fifth captain, “and it was too late to send
you word then.”
“Well, somebody suggest something!” said Miller. “Come, Newcombe,
have your wits all left you? We are in a bad scrape, and we must get
out, if possible. Let’s hear from you!”
“O, now, I’ve got nothing to say!” drawled Tom, who was walking
thoughtfully up and down the lumber-pile. “We’re booked for the
guard-house, easy enough. I always was an unlucky boy.”
He was thinking, not what plan he ought to adopt to extricate himself
and companions from their unpleasant situation, but how he might
avoid punishment when he returned to the academy.
“We are not in the guard-house yet,” replied Miller; “and I, for one,
don’t intend to go there until we have had our cruise. Johnny, did
you mail that letter to ’Squire Thompson, as you intended?”
“Of course not; what was the use of paying for his boat until we were
certain that we could get her? I’ve got the letter in my pocket now,
with fourteen dollars in it. By the way, you academy fellows owe us a
quarter of a dollar apiece. You didn’t give us money enough to settle
all the bills.”
“We’ll pay you, Johnny,” said Tom, who, from some cause or another,
seemed in a fair way to recover his usual spirits. “But do you know
where the Swallow is?”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Johnny, excitedly. “Where is she? She’s at
your father’s wharf, that’s where she is. I saw her there this
evening. I have been so upset by losing the Sweepstakes that I didn’t
think we could capture some other vessel just as well.”
“The captain of the Swallow doesn’t generally leave a watch on board
his vessel when he’s in port, does he?” inquired Tom.
“No, he don’t; we’re all right yet. All hands stand by to get ship
under way. Come ahead, boys.”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Tom, who, now that he saw a way out of the
difficulty, was quite willing to resume the management of affairs;
“we must separate. No more than two of us ought to go together, for
we may be seen, you know, even at this hour. Pair off, and meet again
on my father’s wharf as soon as possible.”
In obedience to these orders, the boys separated, and in a few
moments Tom, accompanied by Johnny Harding, arrived at the wharf,
where the Night-hawks were all assembled. The Swallow was moored at
the wharf, and the boys were encouraged when they saw that her deck
was deserted.
“Now, then,” said Miller, in a low whisper, “how do we know but there
are men on board that vessel?”
“Some one ought to go and see,” said Rich. “You do it, Newcombe.
You are the strongest and bravest fellow in the party, and we would
rather trust you than any other fellow.”
Tom would have been much better pleased if some one else had been
selected to perform this rather dangerous piece of business. What if
there was a watch on board the Swallow, and he should be discovered?
What excuse could he make for being away from the academy at such
an unusual hour, and for prowling about where he had no business?
Tom asked himself these questions, but still he could not refuse to
play the part of spy, for not only was he utterly unable to resist
flattery, but he did not dare to make an exhibition of cowardice
before the new members of the society, for he was anxious to
establish a reputation among them. In as steady a voice as he could
command, he replied:
“If you fellows will go behind the office, out of sight, I’ll do it.”
As soon as the Night-hawks had concealed themselves, Tom walked
across the wharf on tip-toe, climbed over the rail of the sloop, and
looked about him. He took two things in at a glance. The cabin doors
were closed, which was good evidence that she was deserted, and there
were no other vessels lying at his father’s wharf. This was a very
favorable circumstance for the runaways. All the large vessels in the
harbor, of course, kept a night-watch; and, if the boys should be
discovered making off with the sloop, there might be some trouble.
Having noted these two points, Tom crossed the deck, opened the
cabin-doors, and disappeared from the view of the Night-hawks, who,
closely watching all his movements, held themselves in readiness to
take to their heels and leave their grand commander to his fate, if
he should be discovered. But the cabin was found to be empty; for the
captain, not dreaming that any one would disturb his vessel, had not
thought it necessary to leave a watch on board.
“We are all right now, boys,” whispered Tom, when he had reported the
result of his investigations to his companions; “and I propose that
Rich be allowed to assume authority as captain of the vessel.”
“Agreed,” said all the boys.
“Now, Rich,” continued Tom, “we are ready to hear your orders. Be
lively.”
“Well, then,” said the captain, hurriedly, “all you landlubbers go
on board that vessel, and remain in the cabin, out of sight, until
we get out of the harbor; and all you fellows, who have been to sea,
stay with me.”
When the “landlubbers” had obeyed the order, Rich found that he had a
crew of eight boys.
“Johnny,” said Tom, “address that letter you have in your pocket to
the captain of the Swallow, and put it in the post-office.”
“I’ve got no pen,” replied Johnny; “and how can I see to address the
letter without a light?”
“Go aboard the ship,” commanded Captain Rich, “and no doubt you will
find writing materials there. The next thing,” he continued, as
Johnny ran off to obey the order, “is to appoint my officers. As you
have managed this thing so far, Newcombe, I’ll reward you by making
you my first mate. Miller, you will be second; and Johnny Harding,
when he comes back, shall be third.”
Some of the boys were a good deal disappointed by this arrangement,
for all those who had been to sea, had made calculations on receiving
some office. But it had been decided beforehand, that the captain
should be allowed to select his own officers; and, as all the boys
were impatient to get to sea, they did not raise any objections.
“So far, so good,” said Rich, as he walked up and took a survey of
the vessel he was to command. “The next step is to get her out to
the end of the pier. Miller, jump aboard and get out a stern-line.
Newcombe, find something that will do for a tow-line; make one end
fast on board, and lead the other round the starboard side of the
vessel back to the wharf.”
“What’s that for?” exclaimed Tom. “That isn’t the best way to turn
her around.”
“Newcombe!” said Rich, angrily, “I am the captain of this vessel, and
you must do as you are ordered, without stopping to ask questions.”
“O, now, see here!” drawled Tom, “I want you to understand that the
government of this society is democratic, and I have a right to have
my say.”
“And I also want you to understand that I have been ordered to take
this vessel to sea, and that I’m going to do it,” said Captain Rich.
“If you don’t get a tow-line out very soon, I’ll appoint another
first mate.”
This threat alarmed Tom, who, without further parley, sprang on board
the sloop and hastened to carry out his orders.
“All ready for’ard,” said he, when he had got out the tow-line.
“All ready aft,” repeated Miller.
“Man the tow-line,” said Captain Rich.
In obedience to this order, the crew, now numbering five boys, who
were still on the wharf, took hold of the rope.
“Cast off for’ard,” continued the captain, “and shore off. Run away
with the tow-line.”
As these commands were obeyed, the bow of the sloop swung around,
and, when the stern-line was cast off, she came about, and her bow
pointed out to sea. The boys who held the tow-line, pulled her to the
end of the pier, where she was again made fast.
“Hasn’t Johnny got back yet?” asked Rich.
“Yes, here I am,” answered the fifth captain, who had run all the way
from the wharf to the post-office and back. “I’ve mailed the letter,
and the old captain will get his fourteen dollars in the morning.
It’s all right; he won’t grumble.”
“What did you say in the letter?” asked Tom.
“I said: Sir--Inclosed herewith please find fourteen dollars, to pay
for the use of your boat for two weeks. Yours, truly--blank. I didn’t
sign any name to it.”
“All aboard!” said Rich. “Newcombe, stand by to get under way.”
At this stage of the proceedings, it became evident that the first
mate of the Swallow was either sadly ignorant of ship discipline, or
else that he was determined to set it aside altogether, and establish
a routine of his own; for, when the captain gave the order, “Stand by
to get under way,” Tom, instead of stationing his crew and awaiting
further commands, gave the order--
“Unloose the sails--all of ’em--hoist away lively.”
But his object was to get to sea as soon as possible, and these
orders, no doubt, answered his purpose as well as any others, for
the crew understood them. In a few moments the mainsail and jib were
spread, and the Swallow began to careen as she caught the wind, as if
impatient to be off.
“Harry Green!” said Rich, calling to one of his crew. “Go to the
wheel. Cast off.”
Slowly the sloop swung away from the pier, the wind filled the sails,
and she began to move toward the blue water.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PURSUIT COMMENCED.
Never before had the gallant little sloop been manned by such an
excited and delighted crew as the runaways were at that moment. They
had escaped the examination, and instead of remaining at the academy,
under arrest, while their companions were enjoying themselves in
camp, they would soon be miles at sea, and beyond the control of
the principal. The danger, they imagined, was over, at least until
morning, when their absence would be discovered, and the pursuit
commenced. That they would be followed, none of them, for a moment,
doubted; for they knew that the principal was not the man to permit
his authority to be set at defiance with impunity. He would make
every effort to capture them, and his former exploits in this line
had shown that he was very expert at catching deserters. Besides,
although they had paid the captain of the Swallow for the use of his
boat for two weeks, they did not expect that he would be altogether
satisfied with the arrangement. Tom and Johnny had assured their
companions that he “wouldn’t grumble,” but they had said that merely
to silence the fears of the timid members of the society, for they
knew that the captain, unless he was different from most men, would
be very angry when he discovered that a “lot of green boys” had run
away with his sloop; and he, also, would leave no stone unturned to
insure their speedy capture. In addition to this, there were seven
boys on board who lived in the village; and, when their parents
learned that they were among the runaways, it was very probable that
they, too, would make every exertion to bring the cruise to an end as
soon as possible. In short, as soon as their escape became known, the
whole village would be aroused, and Captain Rich would be given ample
opportunity to prove himself worthy of the confidence his friends had
reposed in him. The deserters realized the fact that their chances
for continuing their cruise for two weeks, were very slim indeed;
but there were very few among them who were troubled with any gloomy
forebodings. True, some of them thought of the guard-house, with
extra duty at night, but the majority of them did not look so far
into the future. They thought only of the fine time they expected
to enjoy during their cruise, and laughed when they pictured to
themselves the consternation that would prevail at the academy when
their absence was first discovered. Tom, especially, was in the best
of spirits. He had been the projector and manager of the most daring
exploit ever attempted by the village boys, and he felt proud of
it. There was one thing that was beginning to trouble him, however,
and that was, he was sorry that he had used his influence to make
Rich the captain of the vessel. He ought to have had that position
himself. He had done most of the work, run all the risk, and he
certainly ought to have been given a higher office than that of first
mate. But it was too late to remedy the matter, and Tom was obliged
to be satisfied with the glory he had already won.
When the sloop had cleared the harbor, and got well out into the bay,
the first mate walked to the head of the companion-way and called
out, “All right, now, fellows. You may come on deck;” whereupon,
the boys who had been sent into the cabin, clambered up the ladder,
and, unable longer to restrain their enthusiasm, gave vent to their
jubilant feelings in terrific whoops and yells.
“Silence!” commanded Johnny. “Are you tired of your cruise already?
Wait until you know that we are safe from pursuit before you begin
your dancing and shouting.”
“Why, I thought that if we once got outside the harbor, we were all
right,” said one of the “landlubbers.”
The boys who had never been to sea were called “landlubbers,” and
this name clung to them during the voyage.
“That’s by no means certain,” replied the third mate. “The
Philistines will be after us as soon as our escape is discovered, and
our only chance is to get well out to sea before daylight. If we are
followed by sailing vessels, we can show a clean pair of heels; but
if our pursuers come in a steamer, you academy fellows may begin to
prepare yourselves for the guard-house. So you see--”
“Swallow, ahoy!” came a hail, in stentorian tones, interrupting
Johnny’s speech, and filling the runaways with dismay.
The astonished deserters looked toward the light-house, which they
were at that moment passing, and whence the hail came, and saw a man
standing on the pier, waving his hat to them, while two others were
hoisting the sails of a small schooner, evidently with the intention
of following them. A third had got into a skiff, and was pulling
toward the village with all possible speed. In the excitement of
getting safely out of the harbor, they had not thought of looking for
enemies on the light-house pier, and a hasty glance at the men in the
schooner showed them that the pursuit was to commence much sooner
than they had expected.
“O, now, we’re caught already!” drawled Tom. “It’s all up with us. I
knew all the while just how it would turn out.”
“What shall we do, fellows?” asked Captain Rich, coming aft, rather
hurriedly, to consult his officers.
“Do nothing!” replied the third mate, who did not seem to be at all
concerned. “They don’t know that any thing is wrong yet. No doubt it
is one of the crew of the Swallow, who thinks his captain is going to
sea without him.”
“If that’s so, then what is that man pulling back to the village
for?” asked Miller. “He handles those oars as if he is in a great
hurry. And, then, what are those two men doing with that schooner?”
“Why, one of them probably belongs on board here,” answered Johnny.
“If they hail us again, I’ll answer them. Keep out of sight as much
as possible, fellows.”
“Swallow ahoy!” came the hail, in louder tones.
“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the third mate.
“Hold on!” shouted one of the men in the schooner, which was now
starting out from the pier, “I want to come on board.”
This served to convince some of the runaways that Johnny’s idea of
the situation was the correct one. One of the men in the schooner
belonged to the Swallow, and was afraid his captain was going to sea
without him.
“I can’t stop!” shouted the third mate, in reply. “Wait at the
village until I come back.”
The runaways were astonished at this answer, and they all held their
breath in suspense, wondering what would be the result. The men in
the schooner evidently did not understand it, for one of them, after
a moment’s hesitation, called out--
“Do what?”
“I’m in a great hurry, and I can’t wait for you!” repeated Johnny.
“Stay at the village till I come back.”
“Hold on with that sloop, I say!” shouted the man, “or it will be
worse for you.”
“There!” exclaimed Miller; “that shows that I was right. We’re
discovered, and we must run for it now. Crowd her, Harry!”
The second mate was right in his suspicions. One of the men in the
schooner was the lawful captain of the Swallow. He had been visiting
his brother, the keeper of the light-house, and was on the point of
returning to the village, when he discovered his vessel putting out
to sea. Of course he did not know who had taken her; but, being well
aware of the fact that she was in the hands of some one who had no
business with her, he had got the schooner under-way, and commenced
the pursuit.
“Swallow ahoy!” came the hail again. “Hold on with that boat!”
The deserters made no reply, and, in fact, they scarcely heard the
hail, for their attention was wholly occupied with something else.
They had not imagined that they were in any danger; but now they
noticed that the schooner was following in their wake at a rate of
speed that would soon bring her along-side. She had the advantage
of being under the control of men who understood their business.
The third mate, being now fully satisfied that the Philistines were
really after them, and that there was nothing left them now but
to “run for it,” sprang down from the sail, and, seeing that the
schooner was gaining rapidly, took the wheel into his own hands.
Johnny, although he was the lowest officer, was the best sailor
on board, and he had not been long at the helm, before it became
apparent to the Swallow’s crew that their pursuers were gradually
falling behind. This reassured the boys, some of whom had begun to
fear that the sloop was not as swift a sailor as Johnny had led them
to believe. A few of them had made up their minds that a fight for
their liberties was not far distant, for not one of the deserters
had any idea of allowing their cruise to be brought to an end so
speedily. They had started out with the intention of enjoying a
two-weeks’ cruise, and they did not propose to return to the village
until they got ready, or were taken back by a superior force. Some
of the more determined ones had secured handspikes, which they
flourished above their heads, and shook at their pursuers, to warn
them that, if overtaken, it was their intention to make a desperate
resistance.
“Slack up a little, Rich, and let them come along-side,” said one of
the crew--the same who had proposed to knock down the sentinels at
the academy, and who went by the name of the fighting member--“two
men can’t capture eighteen fellows.”
But Captain Rich didn’t believe in “slacking up;” his only desire was
to leave their pursuers as far behind as possible; and, just then,
there was no probability that the deserters would be called upon to
use their handspikes; for, under Johnny’s skillful management, the
swift little sloop was running away from the schooner as rapidly as
though the latter had been at anchor. The deserters were for a long
time interested in the race, and some of them even expressed their
regret that the schooner was not a faster boat, it would have made
the chase so much more exciting. But the novelty at last wore off,
and they began to hope that the rightful captain of the Swallow would
soon become discouraged, and abandon the pursuit. Block Island was
now near at hand; but, while the schooner was so close to them, it
was, of course, out of the question to think of landing for their
cargo, and they might as well surrender at once as to attempt to
continue the voyage without a supply of provisions. The captain,
however, seemed to have no idea of giving up the chase. He held
steadily after the Swallow, thinking, no doubt, that the man who had
gone to the village would soon return with assistance; and, in the
meantime, he was resolved not to lose sight of his vessel.
“This won’t do, fellows,” exclaimed Captain Rich. “Crowd her heavy,
Johnny.”
“She’s doing her very best now,” was the reply. “If you’ll make the
breeze blow stronger, I’ll agree to make the sloop go faster.”
“We’re beating them badly,” continued the captain “but that don’t
help us much, for as long as they are in sight, we can’t stop for our
provisions.”
“Two men can’t capture us,” said the fighting member, who seemed to
think that the only thing wanting to make their expedition a complete
success, was a conflict with the schooner’s crew. “If you want to
land on the island, why do it! Half a dozen of us will guard the
vessel, while the others bring the cargo on board.”
“O, now, I’m not going to fight!” drawled Tom. “I never had a fight
in my life.”
“You fellows ought to remember that we must go back to the village
again, some time or another,” said Miller. “I don’t go in for a
fight; for we have done mischief enough already, and much more than
we shall want to stand punishment for. But, perhaps, we can fool
those fellows some way.”
“That’s just what I was thinking of,” said Johnny. “The moon is going
down, and it will be as dark as pitch in fifteen minutes; then we’ll
see what we can do. Just leave this business to me, and I’ll insure
our escape for a sixpence.”
Captain Rich had no objections to make to this arrangement, for
he was quite willing that Johnny should assume the management of
affairs. In fact, the third mate was the only one who seemed to know
what ought to be done under the circumstances. Rich, Miller, and Tom,
were officers only in name.
Thus far, the deserters had been congratulating themselves on having
a bright moonlight night for their expedition; but now they were
impatient for the moon to go down, and for darkness to hide them from
their pursuers. In order to deceive the schooner’s crew, Johnny
held on toward the island, gradually veering round as the sloop
approached it, as if it was his intention to keep on out to sea; but,
as soon as the darkness concealed their movements, he put the sloop
about, and shaped her course toward the village. As the third mate
had predicted, it was “pitch dark,” the only thing visible being the
light which was now hoisted at the mast-head of the schooner, by
which the deserters were enabled to judge pretty nearly what their
pursuers were doing. Believing that the runaways had kept on around
the island, they held on their course, and, in a few moments, the
Swallow met and passed the schooner, going so close to her, that the
runaways could hear the two men talking to each other. The deserters
held their breath in suspense as they glided by, fearful that the
noise of the waves washing against the Swallow’s sides would betray
them. But their pursuers did not hear it, for they kept on around the
island, and, when the light at the schooner’s mast-head disappeared
in the darkness, every boy on board drew a long breath of relief.
Their pursuers had been completely deceived as to their intended
movements, and the coast was clear, so that they could land for their
provisions.
“Hurrah for Harding!” exclaimed one of the crew. “If he hadn’t been
here, we should have been in a nice fix.”
This opened the eyes of Captain Rich, who began to be suspicious that
the deserters had more confidence in the third mate than they had in
himself--a state of affairs that troubled him exceedingly. He saw
that he had made a mistake in permitting Johnny to manage the vessel
during the pursuit, and he resolved that thereafter he would, under
all circumstances, assert his authority as commander of the vessel.
“Now, Harding,” said he, “take us to the place where you stowed our
provisions.”
In obedience to the order, the third mate turned the sloop’s bow in
the direction he imagined the island to be, and Tom stationed one
of the crew on the forecastle, to act as lookout. The Swallow moved
silently through the water, every boy on board straining his eyes
to catch the first glimpse of the island; and presently the lookout
exclaimed:
“Land ho!”
“Where away?” asked Captain Rich.
“Dead ahead,” was the answer.
Upon hearing this, Johnny called a boy to take his place at the
wheel; and after stationing Tom, with two others, in the mast, to
attend to any orders he might find it necessary to give, he took his
stand on the forecastle, to watch for the landing place. The island
could be dimly seen looming up through the darkness, and, shortly
afterward, the Swallow passed a long, high point, that stretched out
into the bay. Then Johnny knew where they were. The farmer’s house
was just behind that point.
“Helm hard a port!” said the third mate. “Stand by to let go that
main sheet. Let go all!”
These orders being obeyed, the sloop rounded the point, and, in
five minutes more, was made fast at the farmer’s wharf. Johnny then
conducted the crew toward the barn, where their provisions were
stowed; and, on the way there, he stopped at the house to arouse
the farmer, who, after a delay that seemed an age to the impatient
runaways, appeared at the door, with a lantern in his hand. He seemed
surprised to see so many boys in the party, but, still believing that
they were about to start off on a hunting and fishing excursion, he
assisted them in getting their provisions on board the sloop, and
amused the deserters by expressing the wish that they might enjoy
themselves, and have the best of luck.
“Thank you, sir,” said Captain Rich; “we hope so, too. All aboard,
fellows.”
The deserters sprang over the rail, the line was cast off, the third
mate took his stand at the wheel, and the Swallow again began her
voyage. As she rounded the point, the runaways strained their eyes
in every direction, and were delighted to discover that the schooner
was not in sight. But their joy was of short duration, for Tom
pointed out something in the direction of the village, that instantly
destroyed all their hopes of a long and pleasant cruise, and caused
Johnny Harding to say, “Now, fellows, the chase begins in earnest.”
Away off in the direction of the light-house pier, they saw a red
light dancing over the little waves, and heard the loud puffing of a
steamer. The man who had gone to the village had procured assistance
in the shape of one of Mr. Newcombe’s fast tugs.
“What shall we do now, Johnny?” asked the deserters, crowding around
the third mate. “Do you suppose she is after us?”
“Of course she is!” said one of the “landlubbers.” “We might as well
surrender. We can’t beat that tug; and, besides, I don’t much like
the idea of going to sea in this little boat. I am far enough from
shore already.”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Johnny. “We won’t talk of surrender yet, for
there may be a chance for escape. As for this ‘little boat,’ she is
perfectly safe; I wouldn’t be afraid to cross the Atlantic in her.
Now, keep still, and let us see what those fellows intend to do.”
As the lights on the tug showed that she was going toward the upper
end of the island, Johnny, without waiting to consult Captain Rich,
brought the sloop about, and shaped her course toward the village
again, in hopes they might pass her as they had passed the schooner.
For ten minutes the excitement on board the sloop was intense.
The tug, going at a rate of speed that would have rendered escape
impossible had the deserters been discovered, kept on toward the head
of the island; and, although the runaways sometimes thought she was
coming directly toward them, finally passed the sloop, which was now
moving slowly down the island, as close to the beach as the third
mate dared to go. Their pursuers had been evaded, and the runaways
were free to continue their cruise.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CRUISE OF THE SWALLOW.
“Now, fellows, what shall we do?” asked Captain Rich, as soon as the
lights on the tug had disappeared around the head of the island. “It
is my intention,” he added, by way of apology, fearful that some of
his crew might think he did not know what course he ought to pursue,
“to consult my officers every time we are in trouble. I think a
captain always ought to do that. So, let’s hear from you.”
“I propose that we hold over toward the mainland,” said Johnny.
“We’re safe from pursuit now until morning; but we want to keep as
far away from that tug as possible.”
As Captain Rich raised no objections to this proposition, the third
mate brought the sloop about, and headed her away from the island.
The breeze was freshening, and, when the swallow felt its full force,
she began to fly over the waves like a duck. The runaways were
delighted with the exhibition of speed she made, and some of the
reckless ones wished that the schooner would again come in sight, so
that they might show her how badly they could beat her.
While Tom had been carrying out his plans, and arranging matters for
the cruise, it had never occurred to him to decide where they would
go, should their attempt at escape prove successful. In fact, none of
the deserters had ever broached this subject, believing, no doubt,
that it was of secondary importance, and could be easily settled at
any time. But now this question was brought up by the third mate,
who, after calling a boy to take his place at the wheel, asked the
captain to give out the course.
“That’s something I can’t do,” replied Rich, “until you tell me where
you want to go.”
“Let’s visit New Bedford,” said one of the “landlubbers,” as the
deserters crowded around their officers; “it’s not far out of our
way, and some of us want to go there to look at the whale ships.”
“No, no!” shouted several of the boys.
“I object to visiting any city or town,” said Johnny, “for there’s
danger in it. It isn’t often that a crowd of fellows are seen
cruising about in a vessel like this, and some one might ask
unpleasant questions.”
As the debate progressed, and votes were taken on the places
proposed, it became evident that none of the boys had neglected
to give some thought to this important question. One suggested
that it would be a good opportunity to visit the fishing banks off
Newfoundland; another thought it would be a cheap way of getting to
New York; while a third, who had never seen a sheet of water larger
than Newport Bay, was in favor of camping on some island close to the
village. Each boy brought forward a host of arguments to convince
the rest of the deserters that his plan for their amusement was the
best; but it was finally discovered that those who wanted to visit
Nantucket were in the majority; and, after a strong opposition from
some of the timid “landlubbers,” who did not want to trust themselves
very far from shore in so small a vessel, this point was settled.
“Now, captain, what’s the course?” asked Johnny, again.
“We don’t need any course yet,” replied Rich. “As long as the land
is in plain view, we’ll use that for our compass. We will follow the
shores of Newport Bay until we get into Buzzard’s Bay, and then we’ll
steer exactly south.”
“But, perhaps, that won’t take us where we want to go!” said the
third mate.
“I’d like to know what’s the reason!” exclaimed Captain Rich.
“Haven’t you learned enough about geography to know that Nantucket is
south of Massachusetts? Now, Newcombe, set the watch.”
So saying, the captain turned on his heel and walked down into the
cabin, leaving his third mate standing silent and thoughtful.
“I expected this,” said he, unconsciously giving utterance to the
thoughts that passed through his mind.
“Expected what?” asked one of the crew, who happened to overhear the
remark.
“O, nothing!” replied Johnny, quickly.
“Now, see here, Harding,” said the boy, whose confidence in the
captain had been considerably shaken by the latter’s conduct during
the pursuit, “if you don’t believe that Rich is all right, you ought
to say so before we get much farther from shore.”
“Who said he wasn’t all right?” asked Johnny. “He has made three or
four voyages across the Atlantic, and he ought to know what he is
about.”
But Captain Rich did not “know what he was about,” and the third mate
was very well aware of the fact. Rich had been sent to sea because
he could not be controlled at home, and, during his voyages, he had
conducted himself exactly as Tom had behaved on his cruise on the
Savannah. Being a lazy, good-for-nothing boy, he had allowed his
opportunities to slip by him unimproved; and, when he was appointed
captain of the Swallow, he knew but very little more about seamanship
and navigation than he did when he first began his career as a
sailor. Johnny knew this, and he was confident that, before long,
there would be trouble on board the Swallow. Even the “landlubbers”
would soon discover that Rich could not be depended upon, and then
there would be a change of commanders. He, however, had “stood up”
for the captain because he did not wish to be the first one to find
fault.
In the meantime, Tom had gone below to execute the order Captain Rich
had given him. He found pens and paper in the captain’s desk; and,
after writing down the names of all the boys on board, he divided
them into two watches, being careful to have in each watch an equal
number of boys who had “been to sea.” His own name, with that of
Johnny Harding, Tom put down with the port watch, and those of Rich
and Miller with the starboard watch. Then, after showing the “watch
bill” to the captain, who expressed himself satisfied with what
had been done, he went on deck to read it to the crew. He lighted
the lamp in the binnacle, and, calling the boys around him, read
their names, after which he ordered the starboard watch to remain
on deck, and the port to “go below and turn in until six o’clock in
the morning.” Captain Rich came on deck a few moments afterward, a
boy belonging to the starboard watch was sent to the wheel, and Tom
and Johnny went below. They found the cabin crowded with boys in
their watch. Every one of the bunks was filled with as many of the
deserters as could get into it, and the others were stretched out on
the floor of the cabin, with their uniform coats under their heads to
serve as pillows. Tom was not very well pleased with this state of
affairs, for he thought that, being the second in authority on board
the vessel, he ought to be allowed a bunk to himself.
“O, now, see here, fellows,” whined the first mate, “where am I to
sleep?”
“Look around and hunt up a place,” replied a voice from one of the
bunks. “There’s plenty of room.”
“O, I can’t see any!” replied Tom. “I am the first mate of this
vessel, and I want one of those bunks.”
“Rather a rough chance there, Newcombe,” said one of the boys on the
floor.
Tom began to think so too. The discipline of the ship had not yet
been established, and none of the crew seemed disposed to treat the
first mate with the respect his high position demanded, for not one
of them made him the offer of a bunk.
His only chance was to find a sleeping place on the floor, for he
knew that an attempt, on his part, to compel any of the crew to give
up one of the beds would be met with stubborn resistance. While Tom,
after divesting himself of his coat, was trying to find a place to
lie down, the third mate was causing a good deal of grumbling among
the boys on the floor, by moving about and searching every nook and
corner of the cabin. He was not satisfied with the course the captain
had given out, and he wanted to find a chart of the coast. He knew
that the island of Nantucket was “exactly south” of some parts of
Massachusetts, but he did not believe that it lay in that direction
from Buzzard’s Bay. He was as well posted in geography as any boy on
board. He knew a great deal more about it than captain Rich, but he
had never claimed to be a navigator. He was seaman enough to handle
the sloop in all kinds of weather, but he could not take her where
the crew might decide to go, and, more than that, he did not believe
that the skipper was any better off in this respect than he was. By
following the captain’s course, he believed that they would leave
Nantucket away to the eastward, and it was to satisfy himself on
this point that he wanted a chart. But, if there was one on board,
he could not find it; and, finally becoming weary of the search, the
third mate lay down among his companions, and slept as soundly as he
would have done had he entertained no fears of the captain’s ability
to take the sloop to her destination. The runaways all slept soundly
until six o’clock, when they were aroused by the second mate. Some of
them yielded prompt obedience to the call, while others refused to
move until Miller descended the ladder and shook them roughly by the
shoulder. Tom and Johnny were the first ones on deck. They found that
the Swallow had left Newport far behind them, and was bounding along
through Buzzard’s Bay before a fine breeze. The headlands at the
entrance of the harbor were in plain view, and beyond them, was the
ocean--its water flashing and sparkling in the sunlight like diamonds.
“What’s the course, captain?” asked Tom, who was now to take charge
of the deck.
“I don’t know,” replied Rich. “I haven’t looked at the compass for
two hours. I don’t need a course as long as the land is in sight. I
know that we are in Buzzard’s Bay, and that if this breeze holds out,
we will be in deep water in an hour. When you pass that cape,” he
continued, pointing to the nearest headland, “hold her exactly south.”
“All the starboard watch below!” shouted Miller.
The boys belonging to this watch made a rush for the cabin, and the
second mate was on the point of following them, when Tom inquired:
“How about breakfast, Miller? I’m hungry.”
“Well, then, go into the hold and help yourself,” was the answer.
“That’s the way we did. We couldn’t find any one in our watch willing
to act as cook, so we made our breakfast on crackers, codfish, and
cheese; and, fellows,” continued the second mate, “do you know that
we forgot to take on a supply of water?”
“Is there none on board?” asked Johnny.
“Only about half a barrel, and that won’t last eighteen thirsty
fellows long. The captain says we’ll take on a supply when we reach
Nantucket.”
“Have you seen any thing more of the Philistines?” inquired Tom.
“No. They probably think we are concealed among the islands in
Newport Bay; and, as soon as they discover their mistake, they’ll be
after us again.”
Miller then went down into the cabin, and Tom followed the third
mate to the hold. One of the barrels of crackers had been broken
open, and, judging by the quantity that was gone out of it, the boys
in the starboard watch must have been very hungry. Johnny had not
calculated on such ravenous appetites when he made his estimate of
the provisions that would be required for the voyage, and it was
evident to him that the supply would soon be exhausted.
The port watch grumbled a good deal over their breakfast, for they
were not accustomed to such plain fare. The codfish made them
thirsty, and the water was hardly fit to drink. But, nevertheless,
they made a hearty meal, and returned to the deck in the best of
spirits, unanimously voting the expedition a decided success, and
declaring that it was much pleasanter than remaining at the academy
under arrest, even though they had nothing but codfish and crackers
to eat.
It was no wonder that the boys felt cheerful. It was a beautiful
morning; there was breeze enough stirring to send the Swallow
along at a lively pace, the motion was exhilarating, and even the
“landlubbers” forgot their fears, and really enjoyed the sail. Tom,
especially, was in his element. He walked up and down the deck, with
his hands in his pockets, now and then looking up at the sails, to
see that the boy at the wheel kept them full; and, more to show his
authority than any thing else, he finally set two of the watch at
work cleaning lamps, others he sent into the hold to sweep up the
crumbs that had been scattered about, and the rest he ordered to wash
down the deck. Some of the boys grumbled at this but the majority,
including Johnny Harding, lent prompt and willing obedience to all
his commands; and, in a short time, the sloop’s deck presented a
scene of neatness and order that would have surprised her lawful
captain, could he have seen her at that moment. Of course, such a
state of affairs had its effect upon Tom. Every thing was going on
smoothly, and gradually his old idea, of one day becoming a trader,
took possession of his mind, and, just then, the first mate thought
it was the “very business he had always wanted to go into.” He never
had cared a cent about becoming a farmer, or a general in the regular
army, for he had always known that he was “cut out” for a trader; and
he resolved that, as soon as the cruise was ended, and he could get
out of the military academy, he would go to work at something, and
earn money enough to buy a sloop like the Swallow.
After the crew had performed the work assigned them, they assembled
on deck; and now, for the first time, some of them began to believe
that the voyage, if it should be a long one, would prove to be rather
tiresome. They were too far from shore to see what was going on
there, and, although some of them were, for a time, interested in the
novelty of their situation, they soon grew tired of having nothing
to do, and, stretching themselves out on deck, they prepared to make
up for the sleep they had lost the night before, leaving their two
officers and the boy at the wheel to take care of the vessel. During
Tom’s watch, nothing occurred to relieve the monotony of the voyage.
About ten o’clock, the Swallow passed the headlands at the entrance
of Buzzard’s Bay, and the first mate, in obedience to the captain’s
command, ordered the boy at the wheel to “hold her exactly south.”
At noon, the port watch made another meal on codfish and crackers,
after which the captain and second mate were called up to take charge
of the deck. At one o’clock, they passed the Elizabeth Islands, and
then Johnny, who had remained on deck, thought it high time to speak.
“Captain,” said he, “how long do you intend to hold this course?”
“Until we reach Nantucket!” answered Rich, in a tone of voice which
implied that he thought his third mate very inquisitive.
“Well, if that is the case,” continued Johnny, “you had better put
the crew on half-rations. The voyage will be a long one, and our
provisions won’t hold out.”
“I’d like to know what’s the reason!” exclaimed Captain Rich,
angrily. “Now, Harding, if you know so much about navigation, perhaps
you will be kind enough to tell me where we will bring up.”
“According to my way of thinking,” replied Johnny, his good nature
not in the least ruffled by the other’s sneering tones, “if you hold
this course long enough, you will find yourself somewhere in the West
Indies; and, after you lose sight of that shore there,” pointing to
one of the islands they had just passed, “you won’t see land again
until you get there, either.”
“That’s just all you know about it. But you needn’t talk to me, for,
as long as I am master of this vessel, I intend to do as I please.”
“All right,” replied the third mate, as he turned to go below; “if
the others can stand it, I know I can.”
This conversation had been carried on in a low tone, and none of
the crew had overheard it. No doubt this was fortunate for Rich,
for, had any of the deserters been aware that they were sailing
as straight out to sea as they could go, the captain might have
discovered that he could not “do as he pleased,” even though he was
the commander of the vessel. During the whole of that afternoon,
Rich kept a sharp lookout for the shores of Nantucket, but the only
land to be seen was the island they had passed soon after dinner,
and which was gradually sinking below the horizon, as the sloop left
it farther and farther behind. When the port watch was called that
night, the island was shut out from their view by a dense fog, and a
hasty glance at the binnacle showed the third mate that the captain
had not changed his course.
“Now, see here, fellows!” exclaimed one of the watch, “where’s the
land?”
“There’s the captain,” answered Johnny. “Ask him.”
“Land isn’t far off,” said Rich, who had overheard the question.
“We’ll reach it long before daylight.”
If the captain expected that this assurance would silence the fears
of his crew, if they had any, he was mistaken; for, no sooner had
he disappeared below, than the port watch gathered in a group on
the forecastle, where they held a consultation. Johnny saw what was
going on, but he kept aloof from them, determined to carry out the
resolution he had made at the beginning of the voyage, that he would
not be the first one to complain. Tom, as usual, paced the deck
in deep mental abstraction, and he did not notice what was taking
place on the forecastle. Contrary to the third mate’s expectations,
however, no demonstration was made, for, after a few moment’s
whispering among themselves, the watch, with the exception of two
lookouts, stretched themselves on deck. Johnny, and the rest of the
watch, turned in at midnight, and, when they came on deck again in
the morning, there was no land in sight--nothing but the clear blue
sky above them, and the ocean beneath. The third mate looked at
the captain as if to say, “What do you think of it now?” But Rich,
although he well knew what was passing in Johnny’s mind, walked down
into the cabin without making any reply. He could not help seeing
that he had made a mistake in his calculations, but he was determined
that he would not acknowledge it, for that would be equivalent to
confessing that he did not understand his business. After kicking
off his boots, and divesting himself of his coat, Captain Rich lay
down on the floor, for, as usual, the bunks were all occupied by the
“foremast hands,” and, in a few moments, was fast asleep. He slept
soundly for two hours, in spite of an animated discussion that was
carried on over his head, and then he was awakened by one of the port
watch, who informed him that he was wanted on deck.
“Is it twelve o’clock already?” he drowsily asked.
“No, but we want to see you on deck at once!”
Rich easily divined, by the boy’s excited manner, that something
unusual was going on. Rising from the floor, he picked up his coat
and boots, and slowly ascended to the deck.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A CHANGE OF COMMANDERS.
When Captain Rich and the starboard watch had gone below, the third
mate went aloft and seated himself on the cross-trees, to watch for
the shores of Nantucket. For two hours he remained on his perch,
straining his eyes in every direction, but without discovering the
wished-for land; and finally, becoming weary of his watch, and being
fully satisfied that Captain Rich would never reach his destination
as long as he held that course, he descended to the deck and joined
Tom, who was walking about, with his hands in his pockets. At this
moment, he became aware that some exciting question was being
discussed by the boys in the forecastle, and presently the watch came
aft in a body, with Harry Green at their head.
“See here, fellows,” said Harry; “if you can tell us where we are
going, we’d like to have you do it?”
“Why, we’re bound for Nantucket,” said Tom.
“Well, when will we get there?” asked Harry. “The amount of it is,
fellows, we believe that Rich doesn’t understand his business. He has
made a great mistake. If our calculations are correct, Nantucket is a
long way behind us. What do you think about it, Johnny?”
The third mate had never hinted his suspicions to any of the crew,
for he thought that if their skipper was really out of his reckoning,
some of the “old sailors” would not be long in finding it out.
Besides, he was well enough acquainted with Rich to know that he
would be angry when he learned that his crew doubted his ability as a
navigator; and that, being commander of the vessel, he would insist
that he had a right to do as he pleased. This, Johnny knew, would
bring on a mutiny, Captain Rich would be relieved of the command,
and thus the object of the cruise would be defeated. Rich had his
friends, who would sympathize with him, and, as long as one half of
the crew cherished unkind feelings toward the other half, no one on
board could enjoy himself. The third mate had thought the matter
over, and it had been his desire to keep out of trouble as long as
possible.
“Come, now, Harding,” said Harry; “let’s hear what you have to say
about this matter. Isn’t there something wrong?”
“I think there is,” replied Johnny. “As near as I can judge, we are
at least two hundred miles from land.”
“Two hundred miles!” repeated one of the crew, turning as pale as
a sheet; “and in this small vessel. Let’s turn round and go back,
fellows!”
“And more than that,” continued the third mate, “we are bound, not
for Nantucket, but for Hayti, or some other outlandish port.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed several of the crew, in alarm.
“O, now, we don’t want to go to Hayti,” drawled Tom, though, to
save his life, he could not have told in what part of the world that
island was situated.
“Of course I am not positive of it,” said Johnny; “but I am certain
of one thing, and that is, we are leaving Nantucket behind as fast as
we can.”
“Now, fellows,” said Harry, turning to the watch, who were intensely
excited, “that shows that I was right when I said Rich didn’t know
what he was about.”
Every one of the crew had great confidence in Johnny; and there were
some among them who believed that, had the officers been selected
according to their merits, the third mate would have held the
position of captain, while Rich would have been nothing more than a
foremast hand. The “landlubbers,” especially, looked upon Johnny as
one of the best sailors in existence, for he had managed the sloop
during the pursuit; and when they found that he, too, believed that
their ignorant skipper was taking them straight out to sea, they were
greatly frightened. No doubt, like the mariners of old, they imagined
that a multitude of dangers brooded over the great waters, and that
all who ventured out of sight of land were doomed to destruction. But
the uneasiness was not confined to these alone, for even the “old
sailors” were very far from being pleased with their situation. The
simple fact of being out of sight of land, however, had no terrors
for them. So long as there was a clear sky above them, a smooth sea
beneath, plenty of water and provisions on board, and the captain
could tell exactly where they were, it made little difference to
them how far they were from land. They had joined the expedition
on purpose to enjoy themselves, and they could do that at sea as
well as on shore. But, under the existing circumstances, having no
confidence in their captain, they did not feel altogether safe.
“Well,” said Harry Green, at length, “we ought to call up the other
fellows, and talk this matter over with them. I am in favor of
relieving Rich, and giving the command to some one who understands
his business.”
“That’s my idea exactly,” exclaimed Tom. “I never did believe that
Rich was the man for that place. Now, tell me where you want to go,
and I’ll take care of you.”
“You!” exclaimed several of the boys; “who asked you to take care of
us?”
“Why, if Rich is relieved, the command falls on the next highest
officer, don’t it?” demanded Tom.
“Not always,” said Harry. “You will do very well for a mate,
Newcombe; but I, for one, don’t think we should gain any thing
by making you captain. It’s my opinion that Johnny will get that
position.”
“O, now, I won’t stand that!” drawled Tom, who had suddenly made up
his mind that he was just the one to take command of the sloop. “I
like Johnny well enough, but it isn’t right that he should be put
over me. I ought to be master of this ship.”
“I don’t want the position,” said Johnny. “I came here to have some
fun; and as long as I can enjoy myself, and know that I am safe, it
makes no difference to me whether I am a foremast hand or an officer.”
“Then you pass the command to me, don’t you, Harding?” asked Tom,
eagerly.
“No he don’t!” shouted several of the boys. “We have something to say
about that!”
“We don’t want to raise any fuss now,” said Harry; “but the majority
always rules, and Newcombe would give in if he wasn’t such a
bull-headed rascal.”
“O, now, look here!” whined the first mate. “I want you to stop
calling me a bull-headed rascal. I won’t give in an inch. I ought to
be captain of this vessel. I have friends in the starboard watch who
will stand by me.”
“Let’s call the other watch up, and hear what they have to say about
it,” said Johnny.
“I am in for that,” said another, who was one of Rich’s friends. “I
call it a mean trick to run a man down behind his back. You ought to
give him a chance to defend himself.”
Some of the boys, accordingly, went into the cabin to arouse their
slumbering companions, and presently the watch came on deck, rubbing
their eyes and yawning, and acting altogether as if they were very
sleepy.
“What’s the matter?” asked captain Rich, appearing at the head of the
companion way with his boots in his hand. “Any thing wrong?”
Harry Green, who acted as spokesman for the malcontents, stated
the cause of the trouble, and ended by informing Rich that it was
the opinion of the majority of the boys in the port watch that the
safety of the sloop, and all on board, demanded that there should be
a change of commanders. The boys in the starboard watch were greatly
excited and alarmed by the intelligence that they had already passed
Nantucket, and were steering toward the West Indies; and some of
them declared that Rich ought to have known better than to accept so
responsible a situation, when he knew that he was not able to fill
it. This was instantly resisted by Rich’s friends, who affirmed,
that if their favorite could not be trusted, there was not a boy on
board who could be depended upon.
“It’s easy enough to find fault, fellows,” said Rich; “but if you
know so much more than I do, why don’t you take this business off my
hands?”
“That’s just what we are going to do,” replied Harry, bluntly. “We
intend to appoint another captain. Boys, I propose that Johnny
Harding be--”
“Hold on,” interrupted Johnny. “I move that Rich be allowed to retain
his office, on condition that he puts the Swallow about, and takes us
back to Nantucket.”
“We’re going there now,” said the captain, decidedly. “And I won’t
put the sloop about. As long as I am master of the Swallow, I shall
do as I please; and, whenever you get tired of me, you can appoint
another captain very easily. But I tell you beforehand, that you
won’t make any thing by it. You ought to try and keep on good terms
with every one on board.”
While this conversation was going on, Miller and two or three of his
friends had been busy with the crew, urging them to make Tom captain;
and, when Rich ceased speaking, one of them proposed the name of the
first mate, which was received with such long cries of--“Hurrah for
Newcombe! he’s the man!” that it made Johnny’s friends look rather
blank. But when Harry Green requested all the boys who voted for Tom
to walk over to the port side of the sloop, it was found that there
were but six of them.
“Now,” exclaimed Harry, “all who are in favor of Johnny Harding being
captain of this vessel, step over to the starboard side.”
Nine boys obeyed the order, and Tom was beaten.
“O, now, I won’t stand it!” drawled Tom, who was so vexed and
disappointed that it was all he could do to choke back his tears. “I
am the highest officer in our society, and the first mate of this
vessel, and you ought to make me captain. If you don’t give me that
position, I’ll refuse to do duty.”
“It’s too late now!” replied one of the boys. “Harding is elected.”
“Then you may appoint another first mate,” said Tom, who was
determined to “rule or ruin;” “and you needn’t ask me to perform any
work, for I won’t do it.”
“You might as well appoint a second mate also, while you are about
it,” said Miller, who thought it best to follow Tom’s example. “Rich
and Newcombe are my friends, and I don’t care about serving under any
one else. If you can’t trust them, you can’t trust any boy on board.”
“Do as you please, fellows,” said Harry. “We don’t want you to have
any hard feelings about what we have done; but, if you don’t want any
thing more to do with us, we can get along without you.”
“Can you?” exclaimed Tom, suddenly. “We’ll see whether you can or
not. I’ve got an idea, and I’ll show you--”
Here Tom was interrupted by a significant look from Miller. He was
about to say, “I’ll show you a trick you never thought of,” but
he understood the look Miller gave him, and he left the sentence
unfinished.
“What will you show us, Newcombe?” asked one of the crew.
“O, nothing,” was the answer. “I didn’t mean any thing.”
But a good many of the boys doubted this. Some of them were well
enough acquainted with Tom to be well aware that the simple fact of
his having an “idea,” was a sufficient reason why they should keep a
close watch on all his movements; and this they resolved to do.
“Look out for Newcombe, now,” whispered Harry Green. “He’s got an
idea, and, when he gets that way, he’s dangerous.”
“Fellows,” said the new captain, “I don’t like this business. We came
out on this cruise to enjoy ourselves, and what has just happened has
caused unkind feelings, and will spoil all our sport.”
To the astonishment of all, Rich, who had been seated on the combings
of a hatch, whistling to himself, as if he had no interest in what
was going on, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming:
“I take back what I said a few moments ago. I am willing that the
majority should rule, and, if you want Harding for captain, I have
no fault to find. I’ll take my place as a foremast hand; and you,
Newcombe and Miller, I want you to do your work just as you did while
I was captain.”
The boys listened to this speech in utter amazement. It was not
Rich’s disposition to forget a real or an imagined injury, and they
could not understand it. They were, however, very much relieved to
learn that he was willing to do his duty in any capacity, and there
was such apparent sincerity in what he said, that they could not but
believe that he was in earnest.
“Well,” drawled Tom, after thinking the matter over, “I’ll obey
orders.”
“So will I,” said Miller.
“That’s sensible,” said Harry. “Now we will get along smoothly, as we
did before.”
The new captain, believing that every one on board was satisfied
with the change, now took charge of the vessel; and, after a short
consultation with some of his friends, he surprised Rich by offering
him the position of third mate. He did this, not because he believed
the late captain to be more worthy of it than any other boy on board,
but because he wanted to show him that he appreciated the manner in
which Rich had accepted the verdict of his companions.
“I’ll take it,” said the latter, “on the condition that if, at any
time, you get tired of me, you will tell me so. I want some fun
before I go back to the academy to be put into the guard-house, and I
don’t care who is captain.”
This made Johnny hope that, if Rich had ever cherished any ill-will
toward any of the crew, he had forgotten it.
But the truth of the matter was, the old captain and his friends
were not as well satisfied as they pretended to be. Rich’s pride had
been sorely wounded, and he could not bear the thought of taking a
subordinate position after once serving as captain. He believed that
he was as competent to fill the position as any boy on board, and
he determined to make an effort to regain it. Tom was angry because
he could not forget that the votes of a majority of the crew had
defeated his aspirations for the captaincy; and he hoped that he
might find an opportunity to revenge himself on them. Miller, and
a few of the foremast hands, were displeased because the claims of
their favorites had been disregarded, and they, too, set themselves
at work to study up some plan to “get even” with those who had voted
to relieve Rich of the command, and make Johnny captain. But the
discontented ones were all “deep.” They knew that if they refused
to do duty, they would be so closely watched that they could have
no opportunity of talking the matter over among themselves; so they
concluded that it was best to appear to give way to the majority.
This would allay suspicion, and Johnny’s friends, believing that
they were satisfied with the change, would take no notice of their
movements. This was the way Rich and his friends looked at the
matter, and subsequent events proved that they had not been mistaken.
As soon as Captain Harding took command of the Swallow, he put
her about, and give out a course which, he imagined, would take
them much nearer to Nantucket than the one Rich had given. Every
thing appeared to be going on smoothly, the boys all seemed to be
enjoying themselves; and when any of them laughed at the idea of
finding Nantucket by sailing exactly south from Buzzard’s Bay, Rich
always made some good-natured reply, that was very far from being an
index of his feelings. The port watch went on at six o’clock in the
evening, (the routine on the Swallow was six hours on duty and six
hours off,) and when all the starboard watch had gone below, Rich and
Tom met in the waist to talk over their plans.
“This is a good joke on me, isn’t it?” asked Rich. “They gave me the
captaincy without my asking them for it, and now they kick me out,
giving the office to Harding, who knows no more about navigation than
I do, and making me third mate. I wonder if they suppose that I am
going to stand any such work as that? Not if I know it.”
“I’ve got an idea!” said Tom.
“Out with, it then! I’m listening with all my ears.”
“It is this,” continued the first mate: “I propose that when we get
into port, we think up some plan to get Harding and all his friends
to leave the boat, and then we’ll take her and go to sea on our own
hook.”
“Newcombe, you’re a brick!” exclaimed Rich. “That’s a capital idea.
I told them they wouldn’t make any thing by putting Harding in my
place, and I think they will find that I told the truth. I hope that
we shall reach port soon, for I am anxious to pay these fellows off
in their own coin. But, Newcombe, I’ll make a prediction. In less
than two days you’ll see trouble on this vessel. I was right, and
Johnny is wrong. He is holding her straight out to sea. Before long
the provision and water will all be gone, and then we’ll be in a nice
fix. They’ll see then who knows the most about navigation.”
The two conspirators spent an hour in discussing the details of their
plan; but there was one point they could not decide, and that was,
how to manage to induce Johnny and his friends to leave the vessel,
in case they succeeded in reaching some port. However, they finally
concluded that, in this, they would be governed by circumstances--Tom
assuring Rich that when the time for action arrived, he could “make
things work all right.” They then separated to explain their plan of
operations to their friends.
CHAPTER XXV.
CONCLUSION.
Notwithstanding his prediction that Captain Harding never would
succeed in taking the vessel safely into port, Rich thought it best
to prepare for action; and he lost no time in revealing to his
friends the plan that had just been determined upon. There were six
boys on board, including Tom, who agreed to “stand by” him, and among
them was the “fighting member,” who urged Rich to take the sloop
that very night. If Johnny refused to give up possession, it would,
he thought, be a good opportunity to reënact the scenes in the story
of the mutiny at sea, which seemed to occupy all his thoughts. But
Rich knew that Johnny’s friends were numerous, and spunky, and that
if an attempt was made to take the vessel by force, the mutineers
would, in all probability, get the worst of it. By following out the
first mate’s idea, they could accomplish their object without danger
to themselves, and so this plan was finally adopted. The malcontents
were all delighted to receive their leader’s assurance that he
intended to “get even” with the new captain; but they were very
careful to do all their talking and planning when none of Johnny’s
friends were in hearing, so that no one except those whom Rich and
Tom had taken into their confidence knew what was going on.
On the second morning after Harding took command of the sloop, Rich
found that his prediction would not be verified. Land was in plain
view at sunrise; and, at noon, the Swallow, after coasting along
the shore to find a suitable harbor, entered a little bay, and was
made fast at a wharf, in front of a farm-house. Johnny’s friends
all insisted that the new captain had brought them safely to their
destination, while Rich and his followers affirmed that if that was
Nantucket they would agree to “eat the sloop,” and perform several
other impossible feats.
“What island is this?” asked Johnny, of a man who appeared at the
door of the house, while the sloop was being made fast.
“Martha’s Vineyard,” was the reply.
“How far are we from Edgartown?”
“About fifteen miles by the coast, and six miles by land. But I say,
boys,” continued the man, coming down to the wharf, “what boat is
that?”
“The Dreadnought, from New Bedford,” answered Rich, with a wink at
his companions.
“What are you doing so far from home?”
“O, just taking a sail, for the fun of the thing.”
The man, looking at the deserters with a comical expression on his
face, continued:
“Perhaps that’s the truth, and then, perhaps, it isn’t. That sloop
is the Swallow, and there was a tug here this morning after you. O,
you can’t fool me,” he added, with a laugh, noticing that some of the
boys opened their eyes, as if very much astonished. “I know all about
it.”
“Jump ashore and cast off that line,” said Captain Harding, turning
to one of his crew. “We had better get away from here.”
“O, you needn’t be afraid of me,” said the man. “I’m not going
to trouble you. Besides, I would advise you to remain here until
evening, for if you go to Edgartown now, you’ll certainly be
captured.”
Some of the deserters were rather suspicious of the farmer, while
others thought he looked like an “honest old chap,” and that he had
no idea of attempting to detain them. However, they had nothing to
fear from him, even if he proved himself to be an enemy; so, after
a short consultation, they decided to remain at his wharf, at least
long enough to take on board a supply of fresh water. Rich and his
friends were strongly in favor of this, for they were impatient for
an opportunity to put their plans into execution. After the deserters
had got ashore, and talked a few moments longer with the farmer,
they discovered that he was disposed to be friendly toward them, for
he told them all about the intended movements of their pursuers,
as far as he had been able to learn them. He said that there were
no less than three steamers after them, and that the one which had
left his wharf at daylight that morning, was loaded with students,
who had authority from the principal of the academy to arrest the
deserters wherever they found them. Some of the young soldiers had
expressed the hope that they wouldn’t catch the runaways for two
weeks, as they were having a jolly cruise on the tug, and wished to
continue it as long as possible. The rightful captain of the Swallow
was also on the tug, and, unlike the students, he was impatient to
capture the deserters as soon as possible. He was astonished at the
recklessness displayed by a “lot of green boys,” in putting to sea
in a boat, without “knowing the first thing about seamanship or
navigation,” and predicted that nothing more would ever be seen of
the sloop or of her crew. The farmer then went on to say that the
last exploit of the Night-hawks had caused great excitement among
the citizens of Newport. The manner in which they had effected their
escape from the academy astonished every one, and was the general
topic of conversation. Mr. Newcombe, not being satisfied with what
he had already done, was to send out two more tugs that morning;
and, in all probability, the deserters would soon find the islands
about Buzzard’s Bay very unsafe. After telling them this much, the
farmer thought it a good opportunity to give the boys some advice.
He assured the deserters that what they had done would win them no
honor, and urged them to return to Newport immediately, and endeavor
to make some amends for their misconduct by renewed attention to
their duties.
“O, that’s played out!” exclaimed one of the boys. “If you had ever
attended the military academy, you wouldn’t talk that way. We’re on
the black list now, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we
can.”
This seemed to be the opinion of all the boys; and the farmer, seeing
that they were determined to have their own way, made no further
attempts to induce them to return to the village.
The first mate, becoming impatient at this delay, now urged Captain
Harding to set the crew at work. The farmer showed them a spring,
behind the house, and, armed with buckets, pans, and cups, the
deserters began the work of filling the water-barrels. It was a
tedious task, and while it was going on, Tom had ample time to mature
his plans. He soon decided upon his course, which was communicated to
Rich; and, although they were by no means certain that it would prove
successful, it was the best they could think of, and, after some
discussion, was adopted.
Tom soon becoming tired of carrying water, set his bucket down, and
amused himself in walking about the farm. At the end of half an hour,
after the casks had been filled, and the crew had returned on board
the vessel--while Johnny’s friends were lounging about the deck,
resting after their work, and Rich’s followers were busy in the hold,
setting things in order--the third mate went aloft and took his stand
on the cross-trees, to watch for the Philistines, he said, but, in
reality, to signal to Tom that the time for action had arrived. In a
few moments, the latter made his appearance, carrying in each hand a
huge slice of water-melon, which he was devouring with great avidity.
As he had expected, this instantly attracted the attention of the
boys, several of whom eagerly inquired:
“Where did you get that, Newcombe?”
“Bought it off that farmer,” was the reply. “He’s got plenty more,
and sells them cheap, too. You can get one as big as a bushel basket
for five cents.”
“Give us a piece, Tom,” shouted one of the boys from the hold.
“O, no; I can’t,” drawled the first mate. “Go and get some for
yourself.”
“Come back with us, and show us where you got it,” said another.
“O, you can find the place without me. It’s just on the other side
of that corn-field. The farmer is there now. I told him that I would
send you down.”
The deserters who were lounging about the deck waited to hear no
more, but, springing ashore, started at the top of their speed
for the farmer’s melon-patch. Rich descended to the deck with all
possible speed, the boys clambered up out of the hold, and some of
them even jumped upon the wharf and followed the others a short
distance; but as soon as the main body of the crew had disappeared
behind the house, they hastily returned to the vessel, where Tom and
two of his friends were already engaged in hoisting the sails. Rich
cast off the line with which the Swallow was made fast, and just
as he sprang on board, the sloop moved slowly away from the wharf.
Tom’s plan had worked to perfection. Johnny Harding and every one of
his friends were on shore, and the seven mutineers had the vessel to
themselves.
Rich took the wheel, and, as soon as the sloop had gained
steerage-way, he put her about and stood out of the harbor. Of
course, it required considerable time to execute all these movements,
and scarcely was the Swallow fairly under way, when Johnny and
several of his friends appeared, loaded with water-melons. A single
glance at the vessel, standing out of the bay, under a full press
of canvass, was all that was needed to convince them that they were
in a very unpleasant situation. They knew that Rich, Tom, and their
friends were about to desert them, and they had no difficulty in
divining their motives for so doing. They gathered around their
captain for a moment, as if in consultation, and then walked slowly
toward the wharf. There was no shouting, no begging to be taken on
board, as the mutineers had expected; but they stood looking at the
sloop, as if the course her crew might see fit to follow did not
interest them in the least.
“Ah ha, Harding!” shouted Rich, as the Swallow dashed by the wharf.
“Who’s captain now? I told you that you wouldn’t make any thing by
acting mean toward me. You may stay there now until you are captured,
or get a chance to go back to Newport.”
“Good-by, fellows,” shouted Miller, waving his hat to the boys on the
wharf. “You were afraid to trust Captain Rich, so we thought it best
to leave you on shore, where you would be safe.”
None of Johnny’s friends made any reply, for they were well aware
that remonstrance would be useless. They knew that Rich always took
a fiendish pleasure in revenging an injury, and, knowing that he
deemed himself insulted, as well as abused, by being relieved of the
command, they did not think it at all probable that he would allow
so good an opportunity to punish them for what they had done slip
by unimproved. They were not at all surprised at the action he had
taken. Their only wonder was, that they had been foolish enough to
trust him.
At this moment, the sloop rounded a point at the entrance of the
harbor, and a sight met the gaze of her crew that astonished and
alarmed them. Coming straight into the bay, at full speed, was one
of Mr. Newcombe’s fast tugs, and so close was she to the runaways,
that all attempts at escape seemed useless. The Swallow was caught at
last. So thought Captain Rich, and so thought the boys on the wharf,
who could not refrain from shouting with delight when they discovered
that the voyage, which their treacherous companions had expected
to enjoy, was likely to be brought to a speedy termination. The
forecastle of the tug was crowded with students, and, among them, the
deserters saw the lieutenant-colonel. The captain of the tug was at
the wheel, and, as soon as he discovered the sloop, he rang the bell
to “stop,” and then to “back,” at the same time turning the steamer’s
bow toward the Swallow, as if it was his intention to run along-side
of her.
“How are you, Newcombe?” exclaimed the colonel, flourishing a paper
which was, doubtless, his “warrant” for the apprehension of the
deserters. “You, and the rest of your party, may consider yourselves
prisoners.”
Rich was desperate. The Swallow’s capture seemed inevitable; and,
had all the deserters been on board, it is probable that he would
not have thought of escape. But he and his friends had seized the
sloop with the intention of having a cruise on their own hook; and he
thought how all the boys they had left behind would laugh at them if
they failed! They would consider it conclusive evidence that Rich was
not fit to be captain. While the latter was wondering what he should
do, the tug continued to approach the sloop slowly, and presently a
man stepped upon her bow and began to use a lead-line. This suggested
an idea to Rich, and he was prompt to act upon it. When he first
discovered the tug, he had thrown the sloop up into the wind, but now
he filled away again, and, putting the helm down, ran across the
steamer’s bows, almost grazing her as the Swallow went by.
“How are you now, Colonel Smith?” shouted Rich, as he shaped the
sloop’s course toward the beach, where he knew the tug could not
follow her. “We’ll not consider ourselves prisoners just yet, if you
please.”
“Hold on with that boat, Rich!” exclaimed the colonel, who began to
be afraid that his prisoners might escape him after all. “We’ve got
orders to take you back to the academy, and we intend to do it.”
“All right!” replied Miller; “but it is always a good plan to catch
your man before you hang him. Come on with your steamboat. We’re
ready for a race.”
But the tug could not “come on.” She followed the sloop as close to
the shore as her captain dared to go, and then backed out into the
middle of the bay. Here she stopped, and the Swallow’s crew could
see that her captain and the colonel were holding a council of war.
Finally the bell rang again, and the tug went along-side the wharf,
to take on the boys who had been left behind, and who, knowing that
their cruise was at an end, surrendered at discretion.
“Didn’t I fool them nicely?” exclaimed Captain Rich. “That was a
sharp trick, I take it!”
“O, yes it was,” drawled Tom; “but it won’t do us any good. We’re
caught easy enough.”
“Not yet,” replied Miller. “We’ll keep in close to the beach until
night, and then we can give them the slip. We are not foolish enough
to think of giving them a fair race; so we’ll stay in shoal water,
where they can’t reach us.”
Captain Rich approved this plan, and, undoubtedly, it was the only
one that could have been adopted under the circumstances. Tom then
proposed that, in case they were successful in their attempts to
evade their pursuers, they should return to Newport without waiting
to be taken back; but the others would not listen to this. They were
resolved that they would not go back to the village voluntarily,
until they had had a two-weeks’ cruise. If the principal desired
their presence at the academy before that time, he must capture them.
“There comes the tug again!” said one of the crew, suddenly.
“And she’s got three boats with her,” drawled Tom. “I know it’s all
up with us now!”
When Captain Rich saw the boats that dragged at the stern of the
tug, he was obliged to confess to himself that affairs looked rather
dubious again. The Swallow was under the lee of the island, where
she had just breeze enough to keep her moving through the water, but
not enough to enable her to run away from the boats. He had been in
hopes that the tug would blockade them until night, or that she might
attempt to run in nearer to the beach and get aground, in which case
he could easily effect his escape. He found, however, that he had to
deal with those who were as smart as himself.
When the tug came abreast of the sloop, she stopped. The students
manned the boats, and commenced pulling toward the Swallow, evidently
with the intention of boarding her. The runaways watched these
movements in alarm, and finally gathered about their captain,
advising him to go along-side the tug and surrender, without any
farther delay. The lieutenant-colonel, they said, had authority from
the principal to arrest them, and they would only get themselves into
trouble by opposing him.
“I won’t do it,” said Rich, decidedly. “We can’t be in any worse fix
than we are now, and, as long as I see the least chance for escape,
I’m going to hold out. When the colonel comes on board, we’ll tell
him that if he wants the ship, he can take her. He can’t manage her,
and I don’t believe there’s a boy on board who can. If we can only
delay them until dark, we shall be all right.”
But the runaways did not have an opportunity to put this plan into
execution, for, as the boats approached, they discovered that one of
them was under the charge of Mr. Hudson. This took all the backbone
out of them, for, however much they might have felt disposed to
refuse to yield obedience to the commands of the lieutenant-colonel,
they did not dare to resist the teacher. So, when the boats came
within speaking distance, and Mr. Hudson sternly ordered Rich to
take the Swallow along-side the tug, he promptly obeyed. At this
moment there was not one among the deserters who did not heartily
wish that he had never had any thing to do with Tom Newcombe or his
“grand idea.” If they had all remained at the academy, even though
they had failed in their examination, they would simply have been
denied the privilege of going into camp with the others, but now they
would be obliged to endure some terrible punishment. And it was the
uncertainty of what that punishment would be, that troubled them more
than any thing else. Had they been sure of a whipping, they would
have braced up their nerves, prepared to “take it like men,” and
congratulated themselves that it would soon be over with. But that
was not the principal’s way of dealing with such characters. He had a
faculty of making a student, who had been guilty of misconduct, feel
indescribably mean and little; and the runaways were certain that,
theirs being an extraordinary case, something new would be invented
for their express benefit.
“Newcombe, I wish I had never seen you, or heard of your society!”
exclaimed Martin. “It’s all your fault.”
“O, now, it isn’t, either,” drawled Tom. “You are all just as much to
blame as I am.”
“I can’t see it,” said another. “If we once get out of this scrape,
we’ll steer clear of you in future.”
By this time the runaways had been marched on board the tug, the
sloop was manned by some of the crew of the steamer, who were
detailed for that duty, and both vessels shaped their course toward
Newport. Rich and his companions felt particularly sheepish. They
could not look Johnny or his friends in the face, for they knew they
had treated them in a way they would not like to have been treated
themselves. Johnny, however, did not seem to feel very badly about
it, for, as Rich stepped on board the tug, he said, with a laugh:
“Well, captain, your cruise didn’t last long!”
“You deserters are not half the sailors I thought you were,” said one
of the students. “I hoped that you would lead us a long race. We have
had a splendid time following you, and I had much rather spend my
vacation at sea than in camp.”
The students asked the runaways innumerable questions about the
manner in which they had effected their escape from the academy;
inquired how they had enjoyed themselves, and what had been the cause
of the mutiny, (for Johnny had explained why he and his friends had
been left on the wharf,) to all of which the deserters replied in as
few words as possible. They were thinking of the court-martial, the
guard-house, and extra duty, and did not feel at all inclined to talk.
On the following morning, the tug arrived at Newport. As soon as
it became know that the runaways had been captured, the wharf was
crowded with people, and the culprits found themselves the “observed
of all observers.” Tom saw his father standing on the wharf, but he
felt so ashamed of what he had done, that he could not raise his
eyes to his face. As soon as the tug had landed, Johnny Harding and
his three friends made the best of their way homeward, while those
that belonged to the institute were placed under arrest and marched
through the village, like prisoners of war. When they arrived at the
academy, they were met by the principal, who ordered them, not to
the guard-house, but into the school-room, where the lessons of the
day were pointed out to them, and in five minutes more the runaways
were at work at their books, as if nothing had happened. On the
second day, all the students who had been in pursuit of the deserters
returned and the work at the academy was resumed and carried on as
usual. Three days after that, the examination was completed, and,
when the result was announced, Tom had the satisfaction of seeing
the eagles he had coveted placed on the shoulders of Bill Steele,
the adjutant Colonel Smith, and a few of the older students, had
finished the course at the academy, and were to enter college. As
for Tom and his fellow-conspirators, they were left so far behind
that they were heartily ashamed of themselves. The next day, the
much-dreaded court-martial was convened. During the process of
the examination, the part each of the students had borne in the
conspiracy was brought to light, and the secret workings of the
society of Night-hawks were developed. Then came the sentence. Tom,
being the prime mover in the affair, was ordered to do “extra duty”
for two months, and the others for one month. The grand commander
drew a long breath of relief, for he was prepared for something
terrible; but the others all looked blank, for they understood the
meaning of the sentence.
When the business of the court had been concluded, the successful
students made preparations for going into camp; and, in order
that the runaways might know how much they had lost by their
misconduct, they were permitted to witness their departure. The
lieutenant-colonel, major, and adjutant had been provided with
horses; and when the battalion, accompanied by its baggage-train,
moved out of the grounds, it looked like a little army on the march.
As soon as it was out of sight, the runaways, and a few others who
had failed in their examinations, were ordered into the school-room,
and Tom soon found that “extra duty” was something not to be
despised. He was kept busy at work all the time; he was constantly
under the eye of his teacher, who promptly took him to task for the
least violation of the rules, and before a week had passed, he had
been fully convinced that “the way of the transgressor is hard,” and
had made repeated resolutions, that as long as he remained at the
academy, the principal would never again have occasion to put him on
“extra duty.”
Here we will leave him for the present, working out the punishment
brought on by his own misdeeds, and repenting, at his leisure, the
folly of which he had been guilty, and go back to our old friend Bob
Jennings, the fisher-boy, of whom we have for some time lost sight,
but whom we have not forgotten. Of Bob’s life and character, his
trials, disappointments, and final success, we shall have something
to say in “GO AHEAD; OR, THE FISHER-BOY’S MOTTO.”
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Notes
The List of Illustrations at the beginning of the book was created by
the transcriber.
Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation such as
“bulkhead”/“bulk-head” and “doorway”/“door-way” have been maintained.
Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected
and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the
text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Page 213: “expect to bear a good account” changed to “expect to hear
a good account”.
Page 262: “Miller visited Tom in his domitory” changed to “Miller
visited Tom in his dormitory”.
Page 300: “waiving his hat to them” changed to “waving his hat to
them”.
Page 341: “affairs looked rather dubius again” changed to “affairs
looked rather dubious again”.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Tom Newcombe" ***
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