TOM'S NEW YACHT.
Had a thunderbolt fallen upon the wharf and burst at their very feet,
Tom could not have been more astonished than he was when these words
fell upon his ear. A great lump seemed to be rising up in his throat,
his eyes were blinded with tears he could not choke back, and it was
only after a desperate effort that he recovered the use of his tongue.
"O, now, Bob, you haven't read that letter right," he almost gasped.
"Yes, I have!" replied the fisher-boy, whose amazement and
consternation were fully equal to Tom's. "I read every word of it just
as it is written. Here's the letter; read it yourself!"
"O, now, I won't do it!" drawled Tom, who, suddenly losing all his
self-control, and forgetting, in his excitement, that people were
constantly passing up and down the wharf in plain view, threw himself
spitefully down upon the boards and cried aloud.
"I always was the most unlucky boy in the whole world!" he sobbed, "and
something is always happening to bother me. I never can do any thing
like other fellows. I knew all the time just how it would turn out!"
"You did!" exclaimed Bob. "Then why did you urge me to spend my money
so foolishly?"
"O, now, I don't know!" Tom almost yelled. "I'll jump in the harbor!"
"Don't talk so loud," said the fisher-boy, who, although quite as much
affected as Tom, succeeded in controlling himself. "There are some men
looking at us."
"I don't care!" replied Tom, recklessly. "It will be all over the
village by this time to-morrow. I've been the biggest kind of a dunce!"
"So have I, in more ways than one. I'm ruined now, and I have a good
mind to jump into the harbor myself. Here's your letter!"
"O, I don't want to see it! Take it away! Throw it overboard! Tear
it up!" cried Tom, his tears bursting out afresh. "I wish I had ten
dollars more, to send on for that lucky package."
"It would only be money wasted," said Bob. "The whole thing is a
humbug!"
"I know better," shouted Tom. "You'll never be a rich man so long as
you allow your doubts to stand in your way. What will all the fellows
say when they find out that I ordered that splendid little yacht, and
then couldn't pay for her?"
Tom cried harder than ever as he asked this question, which excited a
serious train of reflections in the mind of the fisher-boy. What would
his mother say to him when she learned that he had squandered five
dollars of his money, and told her a falsehood besides?
"O, get away from me, now, Bob Jennings!" roared Tom, whose
disappointment seemed to have turned his brain. "I don't want you or
any body else near me."
"Good by!" said the fisher-boy. "If you are going to keep up that
howling you had better get away from here yourself. You'll raise the
town in five minutes more!"
As Bob spoke he gave one more glance at the letter which, from the very
pinnacle of hope and joy, had plunged them into the lowest depths of
despair, and then walked slowly away.
Neither of these two boys was in an enviable position just then; but
bad as was Tom's condition, the fisher-boy's was infinitely worse.
Deeply in debt, his boat and money gone, the family entirely destitute
of provisions, it was no wonder that Bob thought his lot in life a
hard one, and that he should feel utterly discouraged. It seemed to
him that the last three weeks of his life had been a dream. It had
certainly been a pleasant one, for he had lived in a little world of
his own creation, and had been free from all cares and troubles. The
loss of his fine skiff--a misfortune which, had he been in his sober
senses, would have alarmed him--he had regarded as something scarcely
worth thinking about. He had been so fully occupied in contemplating
the bright future which his imagination had pictured for him, that
matters to which he should have given his immediate attention were
deemed unworthy of notice. But just when he imagined himself on the
eve of seeing all his glorious anticipations realized, he had been
suddenly and rudely awakened, only to find himself still a fisher-boy,
and, what was worse, the poorest one in the village. He had good reason
for feeling down-hearted. The failure of Tom's splendid scheme was a
serious matter for him, and it was a long time before he could recover
from the shock which the reading of the letter had given him. For two
or three hours he walked listlessly about, scarcely knowing where he
was, or what he was doing, and it was not until it began to grow dark,
and the wharves were deserted, that he was able to muster up courage
enough to think the matter over calmly.
His disappointment, although he thought it a very severe blow, was
just what he needed. It did away with his delusion and his ideas about
acquiring riches without labor, destroyed every one of the foolish
notions Tom had put into his head, and, from that hour, Bob Jennings
was himself again. He knew that, before he made any attempt to get out
of his difficulties, he ought to try to make some amends for what he
had done. He knew, also, right where he ought to begin; and, better
than all, he had the moral courage to do what he believed to be right
in the matter. He went home at a more rapid pace than he had exhibited
for many a day, and found his mother engaged in sewing by the light of
a solitary candle.
While Bob had been idling away his time, and waiting for fortune to
come to him, she had worked early and late to earn the money to buy the
food he ate. She had used very sparingly of his little fortune, never
spending a cent of it unless it was absolutely necessary, while he had,
at one time, deliberately thrown away five dollars of it; or, what was
the same thing, given it to support a couple of professional swindlers
in their idleness.
The fisher-boy did not waste time in thinking how he ought to begin the
conversation, for a single glance at his mother's pale, patient face
made the load on his conscience heavier than ever, and he was anxious
to get rid of it as soon as possible. With tears of genuine repentance,
and repeated promises of amendment, Bob told the story of his mistake,
and of the deception of which he had been guilty. He did not try to
defend himself by making excuses, but was manly enough to make a clean
breast of the whole matter; he freely confessed his fault, and begged
her forgiveness. Then he felt a great deal better; and, for the first
time in three weeks, he was able to look his mother in the face. During
those weeks of inactivity she had had no word of fault to find with
Bob, and she had none now; but she had some good advice to give him,
and the fisher-boy, having been thoroughly convinced by his recent
experience that his mother's knowledge of the world was superior to his
own, listened attentively to every word of it, and mentally resolved
that he would never take a step in any direction without first asking
her permission and advice.
It was midnight before the conversation ceased, and Bob, who did not
feel at all sleepy just then, took a sharp-pointed case-knife from the
cupboard and went out. He walked around behind the house, and by the
light of the moon, which was shining brightly, read over his motto.
"I'll never forget it again," said he. "If I had only been wise enough
to keep it in mind, I never would have been in this miserable scrape."
Having given utterance to this opinion, Bob went to work with his
knife, and at the end of an hour, another motto had been cut in the
boards under the first. He then went to bed, well satisfied with what
he had done, and believing that he had taken the first step toward
extricating himself from his difficulties. The next morning he was up
with the sun, and, shouldering a saw-horse, he set out for Mr. Henry's
store.
"Have you hired a man to saw that wood?" he asked of the grocer.
"No," was the reply, and it sent a thrill of gladness through the heart
of the fisher-boy. "If you want the job, I'll give you seventy-five
cents a cord for sawing and splitting it."
Bob accepted the offer, and in five minutes more, he had begun the work
of retrieving his fortune.
Meanwhile Tom Newcombe was stepping gayly about the office, performing
his duties with more than usual alacrity; and one, to have seen him,
would have little imagined that he had passed the most miserable night
of his existence. He had never once closed his eyes in sleep; for,
while he tossed uneasily about on his bed, he kept his brain busy
trying to study up some plan to get himself out of his troubles. He
could not bear the thought of giving up that splendid little vessel,
after she had been built according to his orders, and he had so
faithfully promised to be on hand with the money as soon as she was
completed. He had so confidently expected to own and sail her himself,
that he was sure that it would be a death-blow to him if he should see
her pass into the possession of any one else. He knew that the matter
could not be kept a secret much longer, for when Mr. Graves found out
that he had no money to pay for the yacht, he would very likely take
the trouble to call upon Mr. Newcombe. That would be a calamity indeed;
for Tom knew that if the facts of the case came to his father's ears,
he might bid good-by to all hopes of ever owning the vessel. He had
believed that his twenty-five hundred dollars would come to hand so
that he could settle with the boat-builder before his father should
hear of what was going on; and, possession being nine points of law,
he hoped that the merchant would raise no objection to his keeping the
Storm King. But he had been disappointed in receiving the prize, and
now he was trying to decide upon some plan to raise the four hundred
dollars, or, at least, to secure possession of the vessel. This was,
by far, the most difficult task he had yet undertaken; and for a long
time it proved to be more than he could manage. But Tom was fruitful
in expedients, and about midnight he suddenly sprung up in his bed and
clapped his hands for joy. He had at last discovered a way out of his
difficulties.
"That's it!" said Tom to himself, after he had thought the matter over.
"I'll have that yacht yet! It takes just me to get up schemes. I'm all
right, and now I'll go to sleep."
But that was easier said than done. He was intensely excited over his
new project, and it kept him as wide-awake as his trouble had done
before. Contrary to his usual custom he answered the breakfast bell
promptly, and, in spite of the sleepless night he had passed, appeared
at the table as bright as a lark. After eating a very light breakfast,
he went down to the office, where he performed his duties in a very
short space of time. Then he caught up his cap and ran out upon the
wharf, where he found the fisher-boy at work at his wood-pile.
"You're just the very man I am looking for!" said Tom. "Quit that job
and come with me!"
"What's up now?" asked Bob. "You seem to be in good spirits this
morning!"
"I should say I was!" replied Tom, snapping his fingers, and stepping
gayly about the wharf; "and why shouldn't I be? We are all right now!"
"Are we?" exclaimed Bob, eagerly. "Has our money come, after all?"
"No, not yet! I'm going to send for it again in a week or two. But I
own the Storm King, Bob! That's one settled fact!"
"You do! Have you raised the four hundred dollars?"
"That's my business! I've got her; she belongs to me, individually; and
now I want to hire a crew. Will you ship as first mate?"
"I think not!" said the fisher-boy, shaking his head, doubtfully.
"What's the reason? I'll give you a dollar a day, and I know that's
more than you can make by sawing wood."
"Has your father bought--"
"O, now, never mind talking about my father!" drawled Tom, impatiently.
"It is enough for you to know that the yacht is mine, and that I am
able to hire you. Will you go?"
"No; I think I had better stay ashore!" said the fisher-boy. "You're
a regular Jonah, Tom, and, to tell the truth, I am afraid of you. I
wonder that they didn't have to throw you overboard from the Savannah
when you made your voyage to Callao."
"O, now, look here, Bob Jennings!" whined Tom, "I want you to quit
calling me a Jonah! If you are afraid to ship with me, I can find some
one else. I have tried to help you along in the world, but I'll never
make you another offer as long as I live."
So saying, he turned angrily on his heel and left the fisher-boy, who
again turned his attention to his wood-pile. Tom bent his steps toward
Mr. Graves's ship-yard, and the first thing he saw, as he entered the
gate, was the Storm King, riding proudly at her moorings in the harbor,
with her sails hoisted, all ready for the start. Three or four men, who
comprised the crew that was to manage her during the trial trip, were
lounging about the decks, and Mr. Graves stood on the beach talking
to a crowd of eager, excited boys, who were examining the yacht with
critical eyes, and begging the boat-builder to reveal to them the name
of the owner. Although Tom could not hear what was said, he had no
difficulty in guessing the subject of the conversation, and his heart
swelled high within him when he thought what a commotion would be
occasioned in that crowd of boys, when it became known that he was the
captain and owner. Drawing himself up to his full height, throwing back
his shoulders, and assuming what he considered to be a very commanding
air, he walked leisurely down to the beach. The boys, seeing him
approach, made way for him, and Mr. Graves called out:
"Good morning, captain! We are all ready, as you see."
Since the vessel was completed and ready for sea, the boat-builder
thought there was no further necessity for keeping the affair a secret.
If Tom wanted to create a sensation what better chance could he have?
"Captain!" chorused all the boys, crowding up around Tom. "Do you own
that beautiful yacht, Newcombe?"
"I do!" was the very dignified reply.
"Well, you're a lucky fellow," exclaimed one.
"You've got the best father in the world!" said another.
"Are you ready, captain?" asked Mr. Graves, stepping into a skiff and
picking up the oars. "If you are, we'll go aboard!"
"Are you going to sea, Newcombe?" eagerly inquired a dozen boys. "Let
us go with you!"
Tom's time for revenge had come at last. There were, perhaps, thirty
or forty boys present, a good portion of whom had belonged to the
Night-hawks, and the remainder were "Spooneys," with whom he never
associated. He had several times run his eye over the group, but he
could not discover a single friend in it. Every one of the boys, at
some time or other, had failed to treat him with the respect due
the son of the wealthiest man in the village, and now Tom had an
opportunity to show them that he had not forgotten it. Without taking
the trouble to reply to their request, he jumped into the skiff, turned
his back to the boys, and said:
"Shove off, Mr. Graves!"
The boat-builder pushed off from the beach, and Tom, whose whole soul
was wrapped up in his beautiful craft, did not even condescend to cast
a parting glance toward the crowd of boys behind him.
A few strokes of the oars brought the skiff alongside the Storm King,
and the men who were lounging about the decks, arose to their feet and
saluted Tom as he clambered over the side.
"Here she is!" exclaimed Mr. Graves, who had followed close behind Tom.
"Now, will you take command?"
"No, I believe not," replied the boy, stroking his chin and gazing
about him with the air of one who considered himself a judge of a good
boat. "She doesn't belong to me yet, so you may just consider me a
visitor."
"All right," replied the boat-builder. "I thought, perhaps you would be
impatient to get control of her. When I was a boy of your age, I never
allowed a chance to play captain pass unimproved."
"Perhaps you were not as reckless as I am," said Tom, who could think
of no other excuse to make for not wishing to take charge of the little
vessel. "I am a great hand to carry sails, and I might lose this mast
overboard!"
"Well, I'll be captain then," said Mr. Graves. "All hands stand by to
get ship under-way."
As the sails were all spread, the work of getting under-way was very
speedily accomplished. One of the crew took his place at the wheel,
another cast off the line with which she was made fast, and in half a
minute's time the Storm King was moving down the harbor.
One thing that not a little astonished Tom was, the perfect cloud of
canvas he saw above him. He had told Mr. Graves that he wanted his
yacht to have all the sail she could carry; and, according to Tom's
idea, she was supplied with a great deal more than could be spread with
safety even in the lightest breeze. But Mr. Graves thought differently.
He had hoisted every inch of the canvas, and Tom's amazement increased
when he witnessed the exhibition of speed the little vessel made. He
was not the only one who was astonished, for the yacht very soon began
to attract the attention of the people on both sides of the harbor, who
shouted and waved their hats as she dashed by. Tom kept watch for the
fisher-boy, and presently discovered him standing upon the top of his
wood-pile, where he had climbed to obtain a better view of the boat.
Tom knew he was astonished, and he wished that he could have been near
enough to hear what he had to say about it; but when Bob waved his hat
to him, he turned and walked over to the other side of the vessel. He
could not forget that the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah.
In a very few minutes the yacht cleared the harbor and entered the bay.
There she felt the full force of the wind, which was blowing briskly,
and, like an unruly horse which takes the bits in his teeth and runs
away, the Storm King seemed determined to escape from the control of
her crew, or, failing in that, to sweep them from her deck by running
entirely under the water. In fact, she went at such a rate that Tom
began to be alarmed, and nervously asked Mr. Graves if he hadn't better
shorten sail.
"No, indeed!" was the reply. "This is delightful. Besides, she is a new
craft, and I want to find out what she can do. I should think an old
sailor like you would enjoy it."
"O, I do!" answered Tom, clinging to the rail for support; "but she
might carry away her mast, or something, you know!"
"I'll risk that! Every thing about her was made at my ship-yard, and I
know it is first-class."
Tom tried hard to bring himself to believe that there was no danger,
but the sloop careened so wildly, and threw the spray about so
recklessly, that it terrified him, and, to save his life, he could not
conceal the fact.
In order to thoroughly test the qualities of the yacht, Mr. Graves put
her through a variety of evolutions, he sailed before the wind, beat up
against, and finally declared that he could make her run square into
the wind's eye. She behaved splendidly in every instance; and Tom was
seaman enough to know that she was a prize, and that the happy owner of
her would be envied by every boy in the village. Her sailing qualities,
however, were not her only attractions, as Tom discovered when Mr.
Graves conducted him down the companion-ladder into the cabin. He was
more amazed then ever at the scene presented to his view; and, indeed,
that was not to be wondered at, for the little cabin was fitted up like
a palace. The bulkheads were finished off with black walnut, the floor
was carpeted, and the furniture was as fine as any in Mr. Newcombe's
parlors. There were two small windows in the stern, and under them was
a sofa where the captain might lie down and take his after-dinner nap.
At the head of the sofa was a desk, which Tom found to be supplied with
writing materials of every description, and on a small table, that
stood in the middle of the cabin, were one or two charts (which would
have been of no possible use to Tom), a spy-glass, and several books
and papers. On each side of the cabin a door opened into the cosiest
little state-rooms that Tom had ever seen. They were both of the same
size, nicely furnished, and supplied with beds, wash-stands, and
looking-glasses.
After Tom had examined every thing in them to his satisfaction, Mr.
Graves conducted him through a door that led from the cabin into
the hold. It was dry and airy, and large enough to contain all the
merchandise that Tom was likely to put into it. From the hold they
went into the galley, which was furnished with a small stove, and with
all the pots, pans, and kettles, that any cook could possibly find
use for. Tom was delighted with every thing he saw, but, after all,
he did not look much like a boy who expected soon to be the owner of
the finest little yacht about the village. Indeed, he was by no means
certain that she would ever belong to him; for, while Mr. Graves was
conducting him about the vessel, and explaining every thing to him, he
kept saying to himself:
"O, now, I wonder if I shall ever be captain of this boat! What shall I
do if my new plan fails?"