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CHAPTER II.
SAM BARTON'S HARBORING PLACE
Tom Newcombe seemed to possess, in a remarkable degree, the faculty of creating a disturbance wherever he went, and his re-appearance in the village was the signal for a general commotion. Johnny Harding came in for a share of the trouble, and was the hero of an adventure that gained him an enviable reputation in Newport. In order that the reader may understand how it came about, we must go back and describe some events with which he is not acquainted.
For two weeks after the Spartan sailed with the fisher-boy on board, Tom Newcombe led a most miserable life. His father took especial care that every moment of his time, from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, should be occupied with some business or another, and, in Tom's estimation, this was the very worst punishment that could be inflicted upon him. In addition to that, the law against going outside the gate after dark was rigidly enforced; and thus Tom was thrown upon his own resources for recreation.
There were few boys in the village he cared to associate with now. He avoided the students, and Johnny Harding and his set, as he would a pestilence; but he was not always successful in his efforts to keep out of their way, for he had a good many errands to do about the village, and at almost every corner he met somebody he did not want to see. Besides, Johnny had taken up his position behind Mr. Henry's counter; and, although he had become a steady, well-behaved boy in other respects, he was as full of mischief as ever, and seemed to take unbounded delight in tormenting Tom. Mr. Henry's store was but a short distance from the office; and as Johnny was constantly running up and down the wharf on business, he met Tom frequently, and never failed to make particular inquiries concerning the welfare of the young ruffians who had composed the Crusoe band.
"Ah, good morning, captain!" he would say, raising his hand to his cap with a military flourish, "how's the governor? and how does the society come on?"
Tom sometimes made an angry reply; but generally he would take to his heels, and as soon as possible get out of hearing of his tormentor. Nine times in ten he did not better himself any; for, while he was running away from Johnny, he would encounter some one else who had something to say about the yacht or the Crusoe band. He was thus kept continually in hot water, and he knew that such would be his condition as long as he remained in the village. There was one way of escape, and that was to do as Johnny Harding had done, when he came home from the memorable expedition of the Night-Hawks. He saw his folly, acknowledged it, and resolved that his future life should make some amends for it. He held to this determination; and was now in a fair way to make a man of himself. Tom, however, did not possess the moral courage to do this. He was one of those boys who are always in the right, and he did not believe that the troubles he had got into were the results of his own misdeeds. He laid the blame upon somebody else – principally upon his father, at whom he was highly enraged. He wanted to get out of the village, and he set his wits at work to conjure up some plan to induce the merchant to send him to sea, or permit him to make another contract with Mr. Hayes; but Mr. Newcombe thought the office was the best place for Tom, and told him so in a manner so decided, that the boy knew that argument was useless.
All this while he had been busy with his plan for the organization of a new secret society, but he was obliged to confess that, under the circumstances, it was not likely to amount to any thing. He needed the assistance of the old members of the Crusoe band; but his father had ordered him to have nothing further to do with them, and, more than that, he took care to see that the order was obeyed. Tom, knowing that he was closely watched, kept aloof from the ferry-boys, and when his work for the day was over, he found relief from his troubles by sailing about the bay in the Mystery. One evening he extended his cruise around Block Island; and it was then an incident happened that brought about the events we have yet to describe. He was sailing around a high rocky promontory which formed the southern part of the island, his mind, as usual, busy with his new scheme, when he was aroused by hearing his name pronounced. He looked toward the shore, and was frightened nearly out of his senses when he discovered a boy, who bore a strong resemblance to Sam Barton, standing on a rock at the foot of the bluff, waving his hat to him. Tom was not superstitious, but he believed, with every one else in Newport, that the governor had deliberately put an end to his existence by jumping into the harbor on that stormy night, and his sudden appearance in that lonely spot was enough to startle him.
"Come ashore, Muley; I want to talk to you."
The voice certainly sounded like Sam Barton's, and Tom, astonished and perplexed, brought the Mystery up into the wind, and sat gazing at the bluffs as if he hardly knew whether or not it was safe to venture any nearer to it.
"Don't you know me, Muley?" asked the boy on shore. "I'm Sam Barton."
"Why, you were drowned," returned Tom.
"Drowned! Not much, I wasn't. I ketched hold of a spar that happened to be in the water near me, an' here I am all right."
Tom, being now convinced that the boy on shore was really the long-lost governor of the Crusoe band, filled away, and, when the Mystery had approached within a few feet of the rock, Sam said:
"Now, Muley, you're close enough. I want to ask you one question before you come ashore. Have you gone back on me?"
"No, I haven't," replied Tom, who had already told himself that the meeting with Sam was most fortunate, and that, with his assistance, his new idea could be successfully carried out, "but I have a small account against you. You made me captain of the yacht, without my asking you for the position, and then refused to obey my orders, and broke me without one word of excuse or apology. I didn't like that very well, but as our expedition proved a failure, I don't care so much about it. What are you doing, governor? and how came you here?"
"Are you sure you won't tell any body in the village that you saw me?" demanded Sam. "You see, I am afraid of Bobby Jennings and Mr. Grimes, an' I don't care about tellin' you too much till I know how fur you can be trusted."
"I won't say a word to any body – honor bright," replied Tom.
"Wall, then, come ashore, and let me get into your boat, an' I'll show you where I live."
Tom complied with the request; and the governor, after shaking him cordially by the hand, and compelling him to promise, over and over again, that he would keep every thing that passed between them a profound secret, seated himself at the helm, and turned the Mystery's head down the shore. The wind was blowing briskly; and at the end of the promontory was a chain of sunken rocks, that extended a considerable distance below the foot of the island, and over which the waves dashed and foamed, throwing the spray higher than the Mystery's mast-head. These rocks were quite as dangerous as they looked; for more than one vessel, in attempting to enter Newport harbor during a gale, had gone to pieces there. They presented an insurmountable obstacle to the young navigators of the village, who had explored every little bay and inlet on the island, except those in the vicinity of "The Shoals," as these rocks were called. The slightest breeze would there raise a sea that threatened destruction to any thing that came within its reach; and when the weather was calm, the rocks could be seen above the water in all directions, standing so close together that the bravest of the boys dared not risk their boats among them. Tom knew the place well; and we can imagine his astonishment when he saw that Sam was shaping his course as if he intended to pass between the rocks and the bluffs on the island.
"Keep out, governor!" he shouted, in alarm. "You'll smash us all to pieces if you go in there."
"Now, you just trust me, Muley, an' I'll see that no harm don't come to you or your boat," replied Sam, confidently. "I've got a safe harborin' place here, and this is the way to get to it."
Tom had seen the time that he would have positively refused to trust his fine boat among those rocks. He was naturally a very timid boy, and, although he had been accustomed to the water and to sail-boats from the time he was large enough to handle a tiller, a fresh breeze and a few waves always made him extremely nervous. But the events of the last few months had developed in him at least one quality which his companions had never supposed him to possess. He was getting to be a very reckless sort of fellow; and, although he clutched his seat and held his breath when the Mystery dashed in among the waves off the point, he looked quite unconcerned. He was really frightened, however, and that was not to be wondered at. Sam was attempting something that no one had ever had the courage to try before; and no doubt Tom felt a good deal as did the mariners of old when approaching the terrible Cape Bojador, which they believed marked the boundaries of navigation. But the governor knew just what he was doing. He proved himself an excellent pilot, and in a few moments he rounded the point, and, entering a little bay where the water was comparatively quiet, he directed the boat's course toward what appeared to be a solid wall of rock. A nearer approach to it, revealed a narrow creek that led into the island. Sam steered into it, skillfully avoiding the rocks on either side; and when the Mystery's bow was run upon the sand, Tom jumped ashore and looked about him.
"Well, Muley, what do you think of me for a sailor?" asked Sam, looking at his companion with a smile of triumph. "Aint that something worth braggin' on? I wouldn't be afraid to take your father's biggest vessel through there."
"But how would you get her out again?" asked Tom. "You couldn't beat up against the wind, for the channel isn't wide enough."
"Of course not; I couldn't take the Mystery out that way, much less a big ship. Did you see them high rocks at the lower end of the shoals? Well, when you want to go home, I shall take you right past them."
"O, now, I won't go," drawled Tom, looking at Sam in great amazement. "I did notice them, and I know the waves must be ten or fifteen feet high there."
"That's nothing. The channel runs close alongside them rocks, an' is wide an' deep enough to float a frigate. If you want to go home in your boat, that's your only chance."
While this conversation was going on, Tom had made a hurried examination of the governor's harboring-place, which was far ahead of the cave in the village, and must have been expressly intended to serve as a refuge for some person, who, like Sam, thought it necessary to keep aloof from his fellow-men. The creek was simply an arm of the bay, which did not extend more than twenty yards into the land, where it formed a cove large enough to shelter half a dozen sail-boats. It was surrounded by precipitous cliffs, which hung threateningly over the water and whose sides were so thickly covered with bushes and trees that the rays of the sun could not penetrate through them. The entrance was effectually concealed by rocks which had fallen from the bluffs above, and a fleet might have coasted along the shore without discovering it. On one side of the cove was a little grass plat, which sloped gently down to the water's edge, and here Sam had erected a rude cabin, which was furnished with a bed, fire-place, cooking utensils, and other articles of comfort and convenience. A skiff was drawn up on the bank in front of the cabin, a sail and a pair of oars rested against the eaves, and in a frying-pan, which stood on a bench beside the door, were several fish which Sam had caught for his supper.
"Well, Muley, what do you think of it?" asked the governor, when his visitor had examined every thing to his satisfaction. "I'm livin' Crusoe life now, aint I? I'd like it a heap better than ferryin', if I only had something besides fish and water-melons to eat."
"Water-melons!" repeated Tom: "where do you get them?"
"O, I hooks 'em. There's plenty on the island, an' I was just goin' out after some when I saw you. I've got one left, an' it's in the spring, behind the cabin, coolin' off."
"How did you get out without your boat?" asked Tom, looking up at the overhanging cliffs. "You can't climb those rocks."
"You couldn't, but I can, 'cause I know where the path is. You see, I am an old fox, an' I've got two holes to my burrow. If Mr. Grimes an' Bobby Jennings find out where I am, an' come here with a boat to ketch me, they'll see me goin' up them rocks like a goat; an' if they come down the path – which they aint no ways likely to do – I'll take to my boat. Come with me now, Muley, an' I'll show you something."
Tom followed the governor around the cabin, past the spring in which was the water-melon Sam had spoken of, and which he said they would eat when they came down, and presently found himself standing at the foot of a narrow, winding fissure, that led to the top of the cliff. This was one of the holes to Sam's "burrow" – the path of which he had spoken. It proved to be very steep and slippery, and, before they had accomplished half the distance to the summit, Tom was obliged to sit down and recover his breath. The second time he stopped, he found before him a yawning chasm which extended across the path, and seemed to check their farther progress.
"Can you jump it, Muley?" asked the governor.
Now, as the chasm was fully ten feet wide, and Tom could see no chance for a running start, he thought this question entirely unnecessary. No boy who had any desire to live would have thought of attempting to jump it; for, if he missed his footing when he landed on the opposite side, he would fall about forty feet. That was what Tom thought, and that was what he told the governor.
"Well, I have done it many a time," said Sam, "an' I can do it again."
As he spoke, he stepped to a tree beside the path, and began to unfasten a rope which led down from some place above – Tom could not see where, for the bushes that covered the side of the cliff were too thick. Grasping the rope with both hands, the governor stepped back a few feet, then ran swiftly to the brink, and, springing into the air, alighted safely on the other side of the chasm.
"I don't like that way of getting over," said Tom, looking down at the rocks beneath him; "that rope might break."
"I'll risk that," was the reply. "It's strong enough to hold half a dozen fellers like us, an' it is made fast up there to a tree as big around as your body. Ketch it, Muley, an' come on."
The governor let go the rope, which swung back to Tom's side of the chasm, and the latter, with a good deal of trembling and hesitation, prepared to take his turn. He made two or three false starts – stepping back for a short run, as he had seen the governor do, and then suddenly stopping when he reached the brink of the chasm, and thought what would become of him if the rope should break loose from the tree above; but his fear of being laughed at was stronger than his dread of the rocks, and finally he drew in a long breath, and launched himself into the air. Somewhat to his astonishment, he accomplished the feat very easily; and when he found himself safe on the opposite side, he straightened up and looked at the governor as if he had done something wonderful.
Sam fastened the rope to a bush, and once more led the way up the path, which grew steeper and more difficult the nearer they approached the summit. In some places the cliff was quite perpendicular, and the only way they could advance at all was by drawing themselves up by the bushes that grew out of the crevices of the rocks. They reached the top at last, however, and then Sam stopped, and, pointing through the leaves, showed Tom several men at work in a field, and a farm-house in the distance.
"I hooks them fellers' water-melons," observed the governor.
"What if they should discover us now, and come after us?" said Tom.
"Let 'em come. They wouldn't find us, I reckon; an', even if they did, they couldn't ketch us, fur they couldn't get across that gully. But they don't dream of any body's livin' down here, in this dark hole. If they miss their water-melons, they lay the blame on some of the village boys."
Tom did not care to remain long on the cliff, for he was afraid that something might happen to direct the attention of the farmers toward him and his companion, and he had no desire to run a race with any body down that steep path. He might make a misstep, and that would be a calamity, for he would bring up among the rocks at the bottom of the chasm, and there would not be enough left of him to carry out his new idea by the time he got there. But, although it was quite as difficult and tedious a task to go down the cliff as to ascend it, no accident happened to them. They reached the chasm in safety, crossed it with the aid of the rope – this time without any hesitation on Tom's part – and were soon stretched on the grass in front of the cabin, refreshing themselves with the water-melon.
CHAPTER III.
A NEW PLAN
Tom was no less delighted than astonished at what he had seen in the governor's harboring place. The cove was so romantic, and it was so cool and pleasant down there among the rocks and trees! It was a famous place for reflection, and, as Tom stretched himself out on the grass, and looked up at the bluffs above him, he told himself that he would be perfectly willing to pass the remainder of his existence there. What could be more glorious than the life of ease Sam was leading? He had no business to bother him, no father to keep an eye on all his movements, and no merciless village boys to torment him; but he was free from all care and trouble, was his own master, and passed his time serenely in doing nothing. That was just the life that suited Tom. If other boys were foolish enough to allow themselves to be shut up in an academy for ten months in the year, or were willing to drag out a miserable existence within the dingy walls of a store or office, that was their lookout, and not his. He would not do it for any body. He would leave the village before he was twenty-four hours older; and if he ever placed his foot inside its limits again, it would be because he could not help himself.
"Governor," said he, "you always were a lucky fellow. Here you have been during the last two weeks, enjoying yourself to the utmost, and free to go and come when you please, while I have been cooped up in the village, scarcely daring to stir out of my father's sight, compelled to work like a slave for eight hours in the day, and have been badgered and tormented until I have sometimes wished that the earth would open and swallow up Newport and everybody in it, myself included. You must be happy here."
"Well, I should be," replied the governor, "if I only had something good to eat, an' was sartin that Bobby Jennings an' Mr. Grimes would never trouble me."
"You may make yourself easy on that score," said Tom. "Bob Jennings is a thousand miles from here by this time. He has gone to China, and will not be back for three years."
As Tom said this he settled back on his elbow, and proceeded to give the governor a history of all that had happened in the village since the night the Crusoe men made the attack on the Storm King. He told how Harry Green had taken him and the rest of the band to the academy as prisoners of war; repeated what the principal had said to them; explained how Bob had lost his boat, and found a friend in the man who had paid him the forty dollars in gold by mistake; and how he had obtained a berth on board the Spartan, and gone to sea, leaving his mother well provided for. He wound up by dwelling with a good deal of emphasis upon the resolve he had made to pay off Harry Green for what he had done, and hinted, mysteriously, that the first lieutenant would live to regret that he had ever presumed to act contrary to the wishes of Tom Newcombe. Sam could scarcely believe some portions of the story that related to Bob Jennings. He was sure that the fisher-boy had given one of the gold pieces for the Go Ahead No. 2; and, even if he had not, the governor could not understand how a boy so hard pressed as Bob had been – who had more than once been at a loss to know where his next meal was coming from – could resist the temptation to use a portion of the money, especially when he knew that the man who had paid it to him would never be the wiser for it. Sam acknowledged to himself that the truth of the old adage he had so often heard Bob repeat – that "honesty is the best policy" – had been fully exemplified.
"Now, that's what comes of bein' born lucky," said he, after he had thought the matter over. "That ar' Bobby Jennings is a gentleman, now, an' goes about holden' up his head like he was somebody; while I am a rascal an' an outlaw, not darin' to show my face outside this yere cove, an' livin' in constant fear of Mr. Grimes, an' the State's prison. This is a hard world, Tommy."
"O, now, have you just found it out?" drawled Tom. "If you had seen as much trouble as I have, you would have come to that conclusion long ago. I heard Harry Green say, one day, that it was the very best world he ever saw, and that it could not possibly be any better. If I was as lucky as he is, I would say so too. He holds high positions among those Spooneys at the academy, every body in the village speaks well of him, and he gets along through the world without the least difficulty; while I – just look at me! I won't stand it; now, that's all about it! I'll raise a breeze in that village one of these fine days, that will make the people there think they have never known any thing about Tom Newcombe."
Tom always worked himself into a passion when he talked about the wrongs he imagined the world had done him; and as he dwelt upon Harry Green's success – which he foolishly attributed to luck, instead of downright earnest labor – and drew a contrast between their stations in life, he got angrier with every sentence he uttered; and when he declared that he "wouldn't stand it," he jumped up and stamped his foot furiously upon the ground, to emphasize his words.
"Well, now, Muley, I can't see the use of talkin' on that ar' way," said the governor. "The world has been mighty mean to us, but it might have used us a heap worse."
"O, now, I can't see it!" drawled Tom. "I'd like to know if I wasn't used just as badly as I could be when I lost that yacht?"
"Of course not. You might have been put in jail, like the rest of the fellers."
"What fellows?"
"Why, Friday, Will Atkins, an' all our crowd."
"They are not in jail. They are ferrying on the harbor every day, and nobody troubles them. If you were to go back to the village, no one would say a word to you."
The governor shut one eye, and looked at Tom through, the half-closed lids of the other. "Do you see any thing green about me?" he asked. "We stole the skiff – every body knows that – an' it wasn't no fault of our'n that Bobby Jennings got her agin. That's contrary to law, an' Mr. Grimes, bein' an officer, is bound to put us through for it. He thinks that by lettin' them fellers alone he will get me to go back to the village, and then he'll arrest the whole of us, an' pack us off to jail. But I'm too sharp fur him. He said I couldn't pull no wool over his eyes, an' he'll find that he can't pull none over mine, neither."
"But I tell you that every body thinks you are drowned," said Tom.
"That's all mighty nice, but it don't fool Governor Barton. I just aint going back to Newport, 'cause I know it aint safe. I jumped overboard from the yacht 'cause I didn't want to let Mr. Grimes get his hands on me, an' I'd be the biggest kind of a dunce to put myself in his way ag'in. But I say, Muley, don't it beat all the world how them 'cademy swells got out of the hold that night?"
"It doesn't beat me; I know all about it. You broke me, didn't you?"
"I did; but I am sorry fur it now."
"It is rather late in the day to make apologies, governor. If you had treated me like a gentleman, those students wouldn't have got out."
"I don't understand you, Muley."
"Well, I let them out. You understand me now, don't you?"
Sam, upon hearing this, started up from the ground and glared at Tom so savagely that the latter began to be alarmed.
"I couldn't help it, governor," said he. "It's my plan to get even with any fellow who imposes upon me. You played me a mean trick, and I paid you off in your own coin."
"Well, the thing is done now," said Sam, settling back on his elbow, "an' it can't be undone. Perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to us, fur, since I have had time to think the matter over, I have come to the conclusion that our cruise would not have been a long one. That was a terrible storm, Muley, an' the waves were uncommon high. I found that out the minute I got into 'em. I never expected to come out alive, an' I hadn't any more than touched the water, till I'd been willin' to give something nice to get back on board the yacht. But luck was on my side for once, an' throwed a spar in my way. Where it come from I don't know; but it was there, an' it saved me. It drifted into the harbor, carryin' me with it; an' when I come to a place where I thought I could swim, I struck out for the wharf. It was then almost daylight, an', as I didn't care about bein' seen, I found a safe hidin'-place an' stayed there durin' the day, thinkin' an' layin' my plans. When night come, I stole this skiff an' started for the island. The next day I found this cove; an', seein' in a minute that it was just the place for me, I brought my boat around, an' I've been here ever since. I've made three visits to the village – that's the way I come to learn the channels – and I've got my bed, all my clothes, an' several other handy little articles I found layin' around. I wanted to see you an' find out what was goin' on, but I didn't dare to show myself, fur I didn't know but you had gone back on me. Rats desert a sinkin' ship, you know, an' when a feller's in disgrace, everybody gets down on him. I'm glad to hear that the other fellers are all right, 'cause I've done a heap of thinkin' since I've been here. Have you given up all idea of findin' Crusoe's island?"
"No, I haven't," replied Tom. "I'd start to-morrow, if I could find any one to go with me. What have you been thinking about, governor?"
"About gettin' away from here. I can't stay on this island much longer, 'cause it's too near the village; an' another thing, grub's scarce. I'm going over to Newport this very night to see them fellers; an' if they'll stick to us, we'll see some fun yet. Will you go?"
"I will," answered Tom, readily; "that is, if you will help me square yards with the principal of the academy."
"I'll do it; there's my hand on it. I always knowed you were a brick, Muley, an' now I'll tell you what I have been thinkin' about since we've been sittin' here. In the first place," continued the governor, helping himself to another slice of the water-melon, "I take it fur granted that Friday, Will Atkins, Xury, an' Jack Spaniard will go with us, an' help us carry out our idea. I know them fellers, an' I am sure they can be depended on. We'll start the Crusoe band ag'in. I will be the head man, as I was before; an' if you'll promise, honor bright, not to try any tricks on us, we'll call you cap'n, an' we'll give you command of the vessel, when we get her."
"All right," said Tom, "I'll not play any tricks on you as long as you obey orders and behave yourselves; but if you get up a mutiny, and try to make me a foremast hand, as you did before, I'll knock the whole thing higher than a kite. You must bear two things in mind, governor: I know more about managing these matters than you do, and I am a better sailor. I was president of the Gentlemen's Club, and grand commander of the Night-Hawks. That runaway expedition from the academy, that made such a stir in the village, originated with me, and I carried it out successfully; and that's more than any other boy in Newport could have done. I was second in command of the Swallow during that cruise, and, if I had had one or two more friends, I would have been made master of her when the fellows put Rich out. If I go with you, I must be captain of the vessel; and, more than that, you must promise, in the presence of the band, to stand by me, and see that my orders are obeyed to the very letter."
"I'll agree to that, Muley," said Sam.
"Call me captain," interrupted Tom; "I never did like that other name. The second thing you must remember is, that, if you and I are friends, the expedition will be successful; but, if you make an enemy of me, I'll ruin it in some way or another. Let's hear the rest of your plan."
"I can tell it in few words," replied Sam: "If the fellers promise to go with us, we must find a vessel somewhere. We want a good one, fur there's no knowin' how many storms we may get into before we reach our island. I'd like to have that yacht, 'cause she's a good sea-boat, an' sails like lightnin'; but them 'cademy swells will always be on the watch now, an' when you see Governor Barton within reach of them bayonets ag'in, you'll see a weasel asleep. Our best plan would be to take the Sweepstakes. 'Squire Thompson leaves her in the harbor, with no one to watch her, an' it'll be the easiest thing in the world to board her, some dark night, an' make off with her. That part of the business don't trouble me none, but the grub does. I s'pose the few crackers we had on hand when we made the attack on the yacht are lost, or eat up; an' Atkins said there was not much more'n twenty dollars in the treasury. That wouldn't be enough to buy grub fur us six fellers, even if we had it; but I know it's been fooled away fur peanuts an' candy long before this time. Of course, we can't go to sea without something to eat, an' the only way we can get it is to hook it."
