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CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION
Had the eyes that were peering at him over the combings of the hatchway belonged to his father instead of Sanders, Tom could not have been more astounded. His first impulse was to run on deck and report the matter to the governor, but when he had taken a second thought he knew that would be of no use, for, before the crew could be collected, the burglars would have ample time to come out of the store-room, and if they once gained a footing on deck they would soon square accounts with the Crusoe men. The skipper knew that Sanders must be driven back again at once, and that he must do it.
"You young rascal!" said the burglar, placing his hands against the hatch, which he had lifted with his head, "we're going to settle with you now. I wouldn't be in your boots for a shilling."
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when an incident happened that confounded the robber and not a little astonished the prisoners, who lay in their bunks interested witnesses of what was going on. Tom, seeing that Sanders was preparing to ascend into the cabin, took a step forward, sprang into the air like an antelope and alighted with both feet on the hatch, which crashed down upon the burglar's head, knocking him back into the store-room. The captain's heels, at the same time, flew up very suddenly, and he sat down on the hatch, holding it in its place. So unexpected was the movement, and so suddenly was it executed, that it was completely successful. Sanders was stretched at full length on the floor of the store-room, and before he could recover his feet, Tom had thrown the bar over the hatch, and secured it with the padlock, which lay close at hand. There were eight prisoners on board the Sweepstakes now.
"Well, captain," exclaimed Johnny Harding, "if you are a Crusoe man, I must say that was well done. The burglars are safe, and if Mr. Henry was here, I know he would thank you."
The skipper sat on the hatch a long time, listening to the movements of the robbers below, and thinking over what he had done, and finally recovered himself sufficiently to go on deck and report the matter. The governor could scarcely believe his ears. He complimented Tom highly for his promptness and decision, declared that it beat any thing that had happened in the band since he became governor, and ran down into the cabin to satisfy himself that the captain had securely fastened the hatch. The robbers were storming about in their narrow prison like caged hyenas, calling upon Tom to raise the hatch at once, or they would take a terrible revenge upon him when they got out. They threatened to sink the vessel, to set fire to her, to shoot their revolvers through the deck, and to do many other desperate things, but they did not succeed in bringing any response from the Crusoe men. They were thinking about something else. They were asking themselves what they should do with the burglars, now that they had secured them. They could not keep them in their prison forever, and it would be dangerous to let them out. If they were confined during the voyage they would starve to death, and if the Crusoe men raised the hatch to pass provisions and water down to them, the robbers might use their revolvers. Sam could see no way out of this new difficulty, and he heartily wished Sanders and his companion a hundred miles from there. But he could not waste time in thinking about them when business of more importance demanded his attention. After a careful examination of the prisoners' bonds he went on deck with the captain, and found that the schooner was on the point of entering the bay, and that she had left the creek just in time to escape being blockaded. The yacht was in plain sight.
"There's them spooneys again, cap'n," said Xury.
"Let them come," replied Tom, indifferently. "Show them our heels, Mr. Mate."
In obedience to the order Xury turned the Sweepstakes down the bay, the sheets were let out, and then began a race which did not end in one hour, nor two, but continued all night, and was carried on in the face of a tempest, which, although by no means as terrible as the one the Storm King had weathered on another memorable occasion, was still severe enough to test the sea-going qualities of the little vessels, and the skill and judgment of their respective commanders. The cloud that had been hanging in the horizon all the afternoon gradually overspread the sky, shutting out the light of the stars, and shrouding the bay in intense darkness; the lightning flashed, the peals of thunder were almost incessant, the wind blew a gale, and at midnight both pursuers and pursued wished themselves safe in some snug harbor, out of reach of the storm. Captain Steele and his executive knew the bay as well as they knew their Latin grammars, and it made little difference to them whether it was midnight or noon, so long as the wind was fair and the sea smooth. If the first lieutenant had been in command of the yacht, she never would have been caught out in that gale. Harry would have found a safe harbor in the creek, and remained there until the storm was over, but the captain thought he was as skillful a sailor as Tom Newcombe or any other member of the band, and when he saw the Sweepstakes standing boldly out to sea he filled away in pursuit of her. The light canvas was taken in, every thing made snug on board, two trusty men sent to the wheel, and, under a close-reefed jib and mainsail, the yacht dashed over the waves after the pirate. The hatches were battened down, all hands kept on deck, and the young commander, in his pea-jacket and tarpaulin, and with his speaking trumpet in his hand, stood on the quarter-deck, alert and watchful. Every flash of lightning revealed the Sweepstakes laboring heavily, and making but poor headway under the management of her ignorant and unskillful crew.
On board the schooner things looked desolate and discouraging. As the cloud arose and the fierce gusts of wind began to ruffle the waters of the bay, causing the Sweepstakes to careen wildly under her heavy canvas, Captain Newcombe felt his courage gradually oozing out at the ends of his fingers. It was a fine thing to be master of a vessel in calm weather, but, when a storm was brewing, the case was different.
"Skipper,", said the chief, "hadn't we better be doin' something? I think it would be a good plan to take them jibs and top-sails in before they take themselves out."
Tom cast a frightened glance around him – at the sails, the foam-capped waves, the angry clouds, and in a weak voice declared that it was utterly impossible for him to manage the vessel any longer.
"There isn't one man in a hundred who could endure what I have been through since last night," said he, dolefully. "A fellow can't keep up long with no sleep, and nothing but crackers and cheese to eat. I'm sick, Sam, and you or Xury will have to take command."
"Now look a here, cap'n," exclaimed the chief, who became alarmed at the prospect of being obliged to assume so much responsibility, "can't you stand it just fur to-night, or fur an hour or two?"
"No, nor for a single minute," drawled Tom. "I'm awful sick. I turn the command over to you. Carry as much or as little sail as you please, and if any thing serious happens, call me. I'm done for." And Sam thought he was, for he let go the rail and sank down in a heap upon the deck.
"Well, if this yere don't beat all the world," exclaimed the governor, in dismay, hurrying aft to consult with Xury. "Here's the cap'n clean pegged out, a storm comin' up, every rag spread, them spooneys close at our heels, an' only three of us left to make things safe, an' to defend the vessel if we are ketched. What's to be done? Can you be cap'n?"
"I reckon," replied the mate. "If you'll stand at the wheel, an' be ready to spill the sails when I give the word, me an' Friday will take 'em in."
"Be lively about it," said the governor, glancing uneasily toward the yacht, which, being kept in better trim than the schooner, was riding the waves as gracefully as ever, and gaining rapidly. "Them spooneys aint wastin' no time."
In twenty minutes the top-sails and jibs had been taken in and stowed away, the fore and main-sails close reefed, and the Sweepstakes began to make better weather of it, but the work had delayed her considerably, and, when the new captain took his place at the wheel again, the yacht was scarcely two hundred yards distant. During the remainder of the night she kept close behind the schooner, and Sam, watching her movements as the lightning revealed them to him, and noting the skill with which she was handled, told himself more than once that he had been sadly mistaken in the opinions he had formed concerning the students. He had hailed the approach of the storm with delight, believing that the young tars, rather than face it, would turn and run for the village; but there they were, following close in his wake, and showing no disposition to abandon the chase. The governor did not like to see so much perseverance exhibited by the students. It showed that they were determined to capture him.
And how fared it with the prisoners all this while, and how must they have felt, tossed about in their bunks as the schooner labored through the waves? They would have possessed wonderful courage, indeed, if they had not been thoroughly alarmed at their situation. They passed the long, dreary hours in listening to the roar of the wind, the washing of the waves against the sides of the vessel, the despairing cries and appeals that came from the store-room under the deck, the frantic blows that resounded on the hatch, as the robbers made desperate but ineffectual attempts to escape from their prison, and waiting, with all the fortitude they could command, to feel the schooner sinking under them, or to hear the crash that would tell them she had been driven ashore in the darkness. How they struggled to free themselves from their bonds, and how they shouted to attract the attention of the schooner's crew, adding their cries to those of the robbers, and promising, if they were released, to assist in navigating the vessel, and to make no attempt at escape – promises that would have been faithfully kept, if the governor had heard and listened to them. It was a night never to be forgotten.
Daylight came at last, and, when objects in the cabin could be discerned, Johnny Harding with difficulty rolled out of his bunk and hobbled to one of the windows in the stern, and looked out. The waves still ran high, but the storm had passed away, the sky was clear, and the gale had subsided into a capital sailing wind. The headlands at the entrance to Buzzard's Bay had just been passed, and the schooner was in deep water. Close behind her, and in plain view, came the Storm King, lying almost on her side, dipping her huge mainsail into the waves now and then, and dashing the spray furiously about her sharp bows. As Johnny looked at her he saw a couple of young tars mount the ratlines, and a moment afterward the flying-jib was run up, and the gaff-topsail given to the wind. Captain Steele thought he had followed the pirate far enough, and was now going to bring matters to an issue.
"Hurrah for us!" shouted Johnny, in high excitement. "Hurrah for the navy, Captain Steele, Harry Green, and every body, except the Crusoe men! Tumble up, fellows! Come to the window if you can, and you will see a sight that will do your hearts good. Here's the yacht."
"Hurrah!" yelled the students, rolling recklessly out of the bunks, and landing on the deck in one confused heap.
"Well, now, look here! I say! What's the row?" demanded Sam Barton, who at that moment entered the cabin to see that his prisoners were safe.
"Hallo, governor," said Johnny. "How do you feel this fine morning? How are Xury and the Captain? How are your mother and your father? How's your uncle, and all the rest of the Barton family?"
"Eh?" exclaimed Sam, who did not know what to make of this salutation. He looked suspiciously at Johnny, and stepped back and raised the handspike with which he had taken the precaution to arm himself before leaving the deck.
"It's little good that club would do you if my hands and feet were free," said Johnny. "But come here, governor, and tell me if you have seen that nice little vessel out there."
"O, is that what the fuss is about? Yes, I see her, but I won't see her in an hour from now, and neither will you. I can carry as much sail in this sea as she can, an' I've got every rag histed."
"I believe you," said Jackson, from the corner where he had been thrown by a sudden lurch of the vessel. "O dear! Sam, untie my hands, so that I can rub my head."
The governor, who had also been stretched at full length on the floor of the cabin, arose to his feet with an angry exclamation, and disappeared in the hold; and when he came out his arms were filled with provisions. Johnny and his companions looked at him with hungry eyes; but the governor, having no time to waste upon them, and thinking more of himself and men than of the comfort of his prisoners, hurried on deck, and seating himself beside Friday, who was at the wheel, prepared to enjoy his breakfast and watch his enemies at the same time. We ought to say that Tom was again master of the Sweepstakes. His illness passed away with the storm, and he was now so far recovered that he was able to do full justice to the crackers and cheese.
The crew of the Storm King fared as well as if they had been at the academy. During the previous day, they spoke the principal's tug, which supplied them with an abundance of cooked rations. Part of them, too, were in better trim than the Crusoe men; for, when the storm began to abate, about three o'clock, the starboard watch had gone below, and enjoyed two hours refreshing sleep. When the crew had eaten breakfast, and the mess-tables had been cleared away, the port watch were ordered to stand by their hammocks. They obeyed, and went below, but did not stay there long. They were too excited to sleep. They returned to the deck again, one after the other, and the captain raised no objections to it. He was a boy himself; and he knew that he would not turn in, while the pirates were in plain sight, for any body.
All that forenoon the chase continued. The yacht sailed better in a heavy sea than the schooner, and the Crusoe men could not shake her off. She followed them like an avenging spirit; but, as the waves began to subside, the Sweepstakes gradually drew away from her, and might again have succeeded in effecting her escape, had not two tugs, loaded with students, suddenly come into view from behind one of the neighboring islands, where they had been snugly sheltered during the storm. A cheer, which came faintly to the ears of the Storm King's crew, arose from the tugs, as they changed their course and steamed toward the pirate. The young tars growled lustily, and looked toward the captain, who stood with his hands behind his back, dividing his attention between the tugs and the schooner. The army and navy were now fairly matched, and Tom Newcombe was to determine the winning party. If he kept on out to sea, the military would bear off the honors; but if he ran toward the nearest island, which was scarcely a quarter of a mile distant, he would be captured by the navy. If he had never been cornered before, he was now. There was not the smallest chance for escape.
Captain Steele leveled his glass at the schooner, and could see that there was great excitement among her crew. They were gathered about the wheel, flourishing their arms wildly, some apparently advising one thing, and some another; but the matter was finally settled by the skipper, who took his place at the helm and turned the Sweepstakes toward the island. It was plain to them all that their cruise was ended at last. Their vessel had served them faithfully, but she could be of no further use to them now. They must run her ashore and take to the woods.
The Storm King still followed close at the heels of the flying schooner. She seemed to glance over the waves without touching them; but, fast as she went, the tugs, which were following a course at right angles with her own, gained rapidly, rolling the smoke in dense volumes from their chimneys, and lashing the water furiously with their wheels. For a time it seemed that they would cut the schooner off from the island altogether; but Tom gradually changed his course as he approached them, and ran into a little bay in the island, just as the nearest tug, which was scarcely fifty yards distant, stopped and began to use her lead-line.
"Hold on, Tom Newcombe!" yelled the major, as the schooner dashed by the tug. "You're my prisoner. Stop, I tell you! Captain, why don't you go on? Can't you see that yacht coming?"
"Yes, I see her," replied the master of the tug, "and I know she will capture the schooner. But I can't help it, for I can't run my vessel without plenty of water. There's a bar across the mouth of that bay, and I can't pass it."
At this moment Spencer's tug came up, and stopped near the other; and, while the impatient young officers and their men were crowding about the captains, and urging them to go ahead, whether there was water enough to float the tugs or not, the Storm King swept by like the wind. There was no noise or confusion on her deck. The young tars were all at their stations; a party of boarders, under the command of Harry Green, stood on the forecastle; Captain Steele, a little pale with excitement, but quite self-possessed and confident, was perched on the rail, holding fast to the shrouds, and as his vessel bounded past the tugs he lifted his cap to his discomfited rivals. Five minutes afterward the yacht's canvas was lying on her deck; her bowsprit was lashed fast to the schooner's foremast; Harry Green's boarders had released Johnny Harding and the jolly-boat's crew, and made prisoners of Friday and Xury just as they were on the point of leaping overboard; Johnny had secured the valise, snatched an empty pistol from a sailor, opened the hatchway that led into the store-room, and compelled the burglars to pass up their revolvers, threatening to shoot them on the spot if they did not instantly comply with his demands; and a small skiff, which Captain Steele had picked up the day before, to supply the place of the jolly-boat, was in hot pursuit of the governor and Tom Newcombe, who were tossing about in the waves, and swimming lustily for the shore. Sam was overtaken and secured in spite of his desperate struggles; and, during the delay he occasioned, Tom reached the beach and disappeared in the woods. He was the only one of the Crusoe band who escaped.
The next morning, about ten o'clock, Johnny Harding, flushed with triumph and excitement, burst into the store where Mr. Henry was busy at his desk, and, with the air of one who did not think he had done any thing very remarkable, placed the valise containing the seven thousand dollars upon the counter, pulled a pair of navy revolvers from his pockets and laid them beside the valise, and then, seeing that the store had not yet been swept out, seized a broom and went to work. He did not say a word, and neither did Mr. Henry, until he had counted the money, when he came out from behind the counter and shook hands with his clerk so cordially that Johnny dropped the broom and raised one knee almost up to his chin.
"I never expected to see it again," said the grocer. "How shall I ever repay you, Johnny? What do you want?"
"I want something good to eat, and about forty-eight hours' sleep," replied the clerk.
Mr. Henry told him to go home and get it, and Johnny started, but it was an hour before he got out of the store. It soon became known throughout the village that the yacht and two of the tugs had returned with the robbers and some of the Crusoe men, and the people wanted to hear all the particulars. Some questioned the students, others came into the store, and Johnny could not get off until he had recounted his exploits. He concluded by telling how he had come by the revolvers, and said if no one had a better claim to them than he had, he would keep them to remember the robbers by.
It was a long time before the events of that night ceased to be a topic of conversation. Every body was astonished, especially at the daring and vindictive spirit exhibited by Tom Newcombe, and many were the conjectures indulged in as to what had become of him. The trial of the "pirates," as the villagers soon learned to call them, came off in due time, and Sanders and his companion went to the State's prison, and the Crusoe men to the House of Refuge. People wondered what would have been done with Tom if he had been there.
And where was Tom all this while? When the students left the island, after spending the afternoon and a portion of the night in searching for him, the captain of the Crusoe band came out from a hollow log where he had been concealed, and sat down upon it, to think over the past, and speculate upon the future. He was his own master now; he could go and come when he pleased, and there was no one to trouble him even with advice. How he had longed for this freedom, and, now that he had got it, how little he enjoyed it. Homeless, friendless, penniless, a feeling of desolation he had never before experienced came over him, and Tom would have given the universe, had he possessed it, to be able to live over the last three months of his life. How dreary seemed the world, now that he was alone in it, and how he would have appreciated his home could he have gone back there. He was now a wanderer upon the face of the earth, and he continued his life as he had begun it, flying from one thing to another, and searching for something he never found – perfect immunity from care and trouble. His adventures would fill a volume, but with them we have nothing to do. It only remains for us to see whether or not he accomplished any thing in the world.
Thirty-five years have passed since the scenes we have attempted to describe in this story were enacted, and during that time some great changes have taken place in Newport. From a thriving village it has grown into a city of respectable size, and boasts of a mayor and councilmen. Of the boys of our acquaintance some have passed away and been forgotten, others have grown to manhood, and now occupy the positions in business and society once held by their fathers, and another generation of youth has sprung up to take the places of our heroes of thirty-five years ago. The military academy is now the pride of the city, and boasts of a respectable navy. The Storm King, after many a pleasant cruise, gave way to three small schooners, which are now anchored in the rear of the academy grounds. The students of the present day are as proud of them as ever Captain Steele was of his yacht, and their rigging is as faultless, and they are in every respect as well kept as is the saucy revenue cutter, moored a little way from them.
Business in Mr. Newcombe's old office is still carried on, but under a new proprietor, and with a different staff of clerks. The huge machinery in the elevator is rumbling, and a vessel at the wharf is being relieved of her cargo of wheat. A group of gentlemen are standing near, watching the operation, and conversing. One of them is in his shirt-sleeves, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a pencil behind his ear. Over a mass of thick, bushy whiskers peep forth a pair of eyes as sharp as those of a ferret and brim-full of fun and mischief That is Johnny Harding – councilman Harding, with a fair prospect of becoming something more at the next election – a prosperous, hard-working business man, the owner of the largest grocery-store in the city, popular with every body, and as big a torment as ever. Opposite to him stands another of our old acquaintances, a sailor on the face of him, although there is nothing about his dress to indicate his calling. His name is Harry Green, and he is the commander of the revenue cutter, lying at anchor near the academy squadron. At the examination following the famous cruise of the Storm King, Captain Steele, much to his regret, was obliged to take a step backward and give place to Harry, who assumed double honors – those of colonel of the battalion and captain of the yacht, both of which he held until he graduated. It was no easy task to lead a hundred smart, ambitious students, every one of whom cast longing eyes toward the shoulder-straps he wore, but Harry was sensible enough to know that if any thing is worth having it is worth striving for, and he never wasted a minute, either in school or out. When he completed the course at the academy he obtained the appointment of third lieutenant in the revenue service, and slowly worked his way up to captain. He has experienced harder storms than those he weathered in the yacht, and on two occasions he led a party of boarders, when those who opposed him had something more formidable than boat-hooks and handspikes to fight with. He has smelt powder, heard the whistle of hostile bullets, and felt their force, too, but he says that he has seldom been more excited than he was when he stood on the Storm King's rail as she was swinging toward Tom Newcombe's pirate vessel. Harry often speaks of that cruise, and affirms that he shall never cease to be proud of the part he bore in it.
The other gentleman of the group also answers to the title of captain, and no one could recognize in him the ragged, bare-footed fisher-boy of thirty-five years ago. But it is Bob Jennings, and he is to-day the proprietor of the office and elevator that formerly belonged to Mr. Newcombe. Although he is not so large a ship-owner, he is wealthy, and his business is still increasing. The schooner discharging her cargo is named after his benefactor, J. M. Evans, and the ship which is receiving it, and which is to take it to Europe, is the Go Ahead. Strangers think it an odd name for a vessel, but those who are acquainted with the history of her owner do not wonder at it. Those who enter the office see over the captain's desk two mottoes in gilt letters, to the faithful observance of which he says he owes his success in life. We know that at one time Bob lost faith in his first motto, but the experience of a life-time has convinced him that it can be depended upon.
While Captain Jennings and his friends stood on the wharf conversing, a party of half a dozen students, all of them officers belonging to the academy squadron, came up. Among them were the admiral, fleet captain, and the commanders of the vessels. The foremost, a boy about fifteen years of age, who carried in his hand a model of a full-rigged ship, with sails and ropes complete, wore an anchor and gold leaf in his shoulder-strap, and four stripes of gold lace and a star on each arm. He was Bob Jennings, junior, the second lieutenant of the Zephyr. His brother George, two years younger, was the ranking midshipman on board the White Cloud, the flag-ship, and the swiftest vessel in the squadron. The young officers appeared to be excited about something, for they were walking rapidly and talking very earnestly.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Mr. Harding, when the students had come within speaking distance. "What are you going to do with that ship, Bob? Do you intend to enter her at the next regatta to beat the White Cloud?"
"No, sir," replied the lieutenant. "I bought it to put on the mantle in my room. Say, father, do you know there is a man in Fishertown who hasn't had any thing to eat for two days?"
"No," replied Captain Jennings, "I didn't know it. Who is he?"
"Jack Crosstree, that old fisherman."
"He is a man-of-war's man, too," chimed in the midshipman, "and we're not going to stand by and see him suffer."
"Of course not," said Mr. Harding, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "you are old men-of-war's men yourselves, you know, and you must always be ready to assist a shipmate in distress."
"That's our opinion exactly," said the admiral. "We're going up to the academy now to bring down a good dinner for him."
"Who is Jack Crosstree?" asked Captain Green, when the students had passed out of hearing.
"No one around here knows much about him," replied the grocer. "He is a sea-faring man, and, if one might judge by his appearance, he has seen some hard times. He has been all over the world, spent the best part of his life in the navy, lost his leg during the war, and has settled down here in Newport to pass the remainder of his days as a fisherman, but he doesn't seem to be making a paying business of it. Suppose we go down and talk to him."
Jack Crosstree, as he called himself, had been in Newport about six months, and during that time he had shunned every body except the students, who paid frequent visits to his cabin to listen to his stories, when he happened to be in the humor to tell them, and to purchase specimens of his handiwork in the shape of models of yawls, jolly-boats, and full-rigged ships. He was a sullen and morose old fellow, too lazy to work, and had a great deal to say about the cruelty and injustice of the world.
A few minutes walk brought the three friends to a dilapidated cabin on the beach, whose appearance and surroundings testified, in unmistakable language, to the poverty and shiftlessness of its occupant. A broken, leaky scow, that would have borne no comparison to Bob Jennings's old Go Ahead, was drawn up on the beach, a tattered sail leaned against the eaves, one side of the roof of the cabin was gone, and the door was so nearly off its hinges, that, when Captain Green rapped upon it with his cane, it fell down with a loud crash.
"Avast, there!" growled a hoarse voice, from the inside. "You've done it now, haven't you?"
"Beg pardon," said Mr. Harding; "but we had no idea that your door was in so shaky a condition, you know. Why don't you get some hinges for it? And I believe, if you would put a few boards on that roof, you would sleep better of stormy nights."
