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."
"Ah, yes; it's all well enough for you to talk about boards and
hinges--you, who, if you stand in need of such things, have only to go
and buy them. But, with me, the case is different; although I've seen
the time when I was better off than any of you. Let the door alone, and
go off about your business."
Mr. Harding and his friends paid no attention to the ravings of the old
fisherman. They raised the broken door and leaned it against the wall,
and moved toward the corner from whence the voice proceeded. There, upon
a miserable pallet, lay a gaunt and crippled form, partly concealed by a
ragged blanket which was drawn over his head. Captain Green gently
unclasped the withered fingers that were holding fast to it, and removed
the blanket, revealing first a shock of gray, uncombed hair, and next a
bronzed and weather-beaten face, on which the signs of a reckless and
dissolute life were plainly visible.
"Go away, I tell you," cried the fisherman, striving to draw the blanket
over his head again. "Who asked you to come here? I know who you are,
and I don't want any thing to do with you--I don't want to see you."
Something in the features, or the voice, must have struck Captain Green
as being familiar, for he bent lower over the prostrate form, and when
he straightened up, the face he turned toward his companions expressed
the most intense amazement.
"IT IS TOM NEWCOMBE!" said he.
"Ay, it is Tom Newcombe--or, rather, all there is left of him--starving
to death here in his native village, with no one, among all those who
once pretended to be his friends, to lend him a helping hand. You can't
assist me in my distress, but you can come here to torment me with your
presence--to show me what _you_ are, and what _I might have been_. If I
had only listened to the advice so often offered me, I might have been
the equal of any of you," added the sailor, in a repentant frame of
mind. "But it's too late now. Why can't you go away and let me alone?
I'll never trouble you, and I don't want you to bother me."
He sank back upon the bed exhausted, and turned his face to the wall,
while his visitors gazed down at him in silence. Who could have told
that there ever would have existed so great a difference between these
four men, who were once boys together? Three of them were beloved and
respected by all who knew them, held positions of honor and trust, were
cheerful, happy, and contented, and, better than all, could look back
upon lives well spent; the other was a mere wreck of humanity, a feeble
old man, when he ought to have been in his prime, living in that
miserable hovel, friendless and alone, destitute of all comforts,
dissatisfied with himself and every body, and reaping at last the reward
of a dissipated, wasted existence. His bad habits had grown and
strengthened, and prepared the way for others of a worse character, and
now he did not possess the power, even if he had possessed the
inclination, to shake them off.
A man seldom if ever abandons his settled habits and modes of life at
that age; and the helping hands that were extended to him, and the
encouraging words he heard on every side, from the friends of his
boyhood, could effect no change for the better in Tom's condition. He is
to-day a miserable, indolent, worthless being, subsisting principally
upon the charity of Captain Jennings. His history is well known to the
village boys, who see nothing in it that will induce them to follow in
the footsteps of THE ROLLING STONE.
THE END.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.'S POPULAR JUVENILES.
JACK HAZARD SERIES.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.
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Fast Friends.
Doing His Best.
A Chance for Himself.
Lawrence's Adventures.
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