John Haynes found the time hang heavily upon his hand after his
withdrawal from the boys' volunteer company. All the boys with whom he
had been accustomed to associate belonged to it, and in their
interest could talk of nothing else. To him, on the contrary, it was a
disagreeable subject. In the pleasant spring days the company came out
twice a week, and went through company drill on the Common, under the
command of Frank, or Captain Frost, as he was now called.
Had Frank shown himself incompetent, and made himself ridiculous by
blunders, it would have afforded John satisfaction. But Frank, thorough
in all things, had so carefully prepared himself for his duties that
he never made a mistake, and always acquitted himself so creditably and
with such entire self-possession, that his praises were in every mouth.
Dick Bumstead, too, manifested an ambition to fill his second
lieutenancy, to which, so much to his own surprise, he had been elected,
in such a manner as to justify the company in their choice. In this he
fully succeeded. He had become quite a different boy from what he was
when we first made his acquaintance. He had learned to respect himself,
and perceived with great satisfaction that he was generally respected by
the boys. He no longer attempted to shirk his work in the shop, and
his father now spoke of him with complacency, instead of complaint as
formerly.
“Yes,” said he one day, “Dick's a good boy. He was always smart, but
rather fly-a-way. I couldn't place any dependence upon him once, but it
is not so now. I couldn't wish for a better boy. I don't know what has
come over him, but I hope it'll last.”
Dick happened to overhear his father speaking thus to a neighbor, and
he only determined, with a commendable feeling of pride, that the change
that had given his father so much pleasure should last. It does a boy
good to know that his efforts are appreciated. In this case it had a
happy effect upon Dick, who, I am glad to say, kept his resolution.
It has been mentioned that John was the possessor of a boat. Finding one
great source of amusement cut off, and being left very much to himself,
he fell back upon this, and nearly every pleasant afternoon he might
be seen rowing on the river above the dam. He was obliged to confine
himself to this part of the river, since, in the part below the dam, the
water was too shallow.
There is one great drawback, however, upon the pleasure of owning a
rowboat. It is tiresome to row single-handed after a time. So John found
it, and, not being overfond of active exertion, he was beginning to
get weary of this kind of amusement when all at once a new plan was
suggested to him. This was, to rig up a mast and sail, and thus obviate
the necessity of rowing.
No sooner had this plan suggested itself than he hastened to put it into
execution. His boat was large enough to bear a small mast, so there was
no difficulty on that head. He engaged the village carpenter to effect
the desired change. He did not choose to consult his father on the
subject, fearing that he might make some objection either on score of
safety or expense, while he had made up his mind to have his own way.
When it was finished, and the boat with its slender mast and white sail
floated gently on the quiet bosom of the stream, John's satisfaction
was unbounded.
“You've got a pretty boat,” said Mr. Plane, the carpenter. “I suppose
you know how to manage it?” he added inquiringly.
“Yes,” answered John carelessly, “I've been in a sailboat before
to-day.”
Mr. Plane's doubts were set at rest by John's confident manner, and he
suppressed the caution which he had intended to give him. It made little
difference, however, for John was headstrong, and would have been pretty
certain to disregard whatever he might say.
It was true that this was not the first time John had been in a
sailboat; but if not the first, it was only the second. The first
occasion had been three years previous, and at that time he had had
nothing to do with the management of the boat--a very important
matter. It was in John's nature to be over-confident, and he thought
he understood merely from observation exactly how a boat ought to be
managed. As we shall see, he found out his mistake.
The first day after his boat was ready John was greatly disappointed
that there was no wind. The next day, as if to make up for it, the wind
was very strong. Had John possessed a particle of prudence he would have
seen that it was no day to venture out in a sailboat. But he was not in
the habit of curbing his impatience, and he determined that he would not
wait till another day. He declared that it was a mere “capful of wind,”
and would be all the better for the purpose.
“It's a tip-top wind. Won't it make my boat scud,” he said to himself
exultantly, as he took his place, and pushed off from shore.
Henry Morton had been out on a walk, and from the summit of a little
hill near the river-bank espied John pushing off in his boat.
“He'll be sure to capsize,” thought the young man in alarm. “Even if he
is used to a sailboat he is very imprudent to put out in such a wind; I
will hurry down and save him if I can.”
He hurried to the bank of the river, reaching it out of breath.
John was by this time some distance out. The wind had carried him along
finely, the boat scudding, as he expressed it. He was congratulating
himself on the success of his trial trip, when all at once a flaw struck
the boat. Not being a skillful boatman he was wholly unprepared for it,
and the boat upset.
Struggling in terror and confusion, John struck out for the shore. But
he was not much of a swimmer, and the suddenness of the accident had
unnerved him, and deprived him of his self-possession. The current of
the river was rapid, and he would inevitably have drowned but for the
opportune assistance of Mr. Morton.
The young man had no sooner seen the boat capsize, than he flung off his
coat and boots, and, plunging into the river, swam vigorously toward the
imperiled boy.
Luckily for John, Mr. Morton was, though of slight frame, muscular,
and an admirable swimmer. He reached him just as John's strokes were
becoming feebler and feebler; he was about to give up his unequal
struggle with the waves.
“Take hold of me,” he said. “Have courage, and I will save you.”
John seized him with the firm grip of a drowning person, and nearly
prevented him from striking out. But Mr. Morton's strength served him
in good stead; and, notwithstanding the heavy burden, he succeeded in
reaching the bank in safety, though with much exhaustion.
John no sooner reached the bank than he fainted away. The great danger
which he had just escaped, added to his own efforts, had proved too much
for him.
Mr. Morton, fortunately knew how to act in such emergencies. By the use
of the proper remedies, he was fortunately brought to himself, and his
preserver offered to accompany him home. John still felt giddy, and
was glad to accept Mr. Morton's offer. He knew that his father would
be angry with him for having the boat fitted up without his knowledge,
especially as he had directed Mr. Plane to charge it to his father's
account. Supposing that Squire Haynes approved, the carpenter made no
objections to doing so. But even the apprehension of his father's anger
was swallowed up by the thought of the great peril from which he had
just escaped, and the discomfort of the wet clothes which he had on.
Mr. Morton, too, was completely wet through, with the exception of his
coat, and but for John's apparent inability to go home alone, would at
once have returned to his boarding-house to exchange his wet clothes for
dry ones.
It so happened that Squire Haynes was sitting at a front window, and saw
Mr. Morton and his son as they entered the gate and came up the graveled
walk. He had never met Mr. Morton, and was surprised now at seeing him
in John's company. He had conceived a feeling of dislike to the young
man, for which he could not account, while at the same time he felt a
strong curiosity to know more of him.
When they came nearer, he perceived the drenched garments, and went to
the door himself to admit them.
“What's the matter, John?” he demanded hastily, with a contraction of
the eyebrows.
“I'm wet!” said John shortly.
“It is easy to see that. But how came you so wet?”
“I've been in the river,” answered John, who did not seem disposed to
volunteer any particulars of his adventure.
“How came you there?”
“Your son's boat capsized,” explained Mr. Morton; “and, as you will
judge from my appearance, I jumped in after him. I should advise him to
change his clothing, or he will be likely to take cold.”
Squire Haynes looked puzzled.
“I don't see how a large rowboat like his could capsize,” he said; “he
must have been very careless.”
“It was a sailboat,” explained John, rather reluctantly.
“A sailboat! Whose?”
“Mine.”
“I don't understand at all.”
“I had a mast put in, and a sail rigged up, two or three days since,”
said John, compelled at last to explain.
“Why did you do this without my permission?” demanded the squire
angrily.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Morton quietly, “it will be better to postpone
inquiries until your son has changed his clothes.”
Squire Haynes, though somewhat irritated by this interference, bethought
himself that it would be churlish not to thank his son's preserver.
“I am indebted to you, sir,” he said, “for your agency in saving the
life of this rash boy. I regret that you should have got wet.”
“I shall probably experience nothing more than temporary inconvenience.”
“You have been some months in the village, I believe, Mr. Morton. I
trust you will call at an early day, and enable me to follow up the
chance which has made us acquainted.”
“I seldom make calls,” said Mr. Morton, in a distant tone. “Yet,” added
he, after a pause, “I may have occasion to accept your invitation some
day. Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” returned the squire, looking after him with an
expression of perplexity.
“He boards at the Frosts', doesn't he, John?” asked Squire Haynes,
turning to his son.
“Yes, sir.”
“There's something in his face that seems familiar,” mused the squire
absently. “He reminds me of somebody, though I can't recall who.”
It was not long before the squire's memory was refreshed, and he
obtained clearer information respecting the young man, and the errand
which had brought him to Rossville. When that information came, it
was so far from pleasing that he would willingly have postponed it
indefinitely.