BOB FIGHTS FOR HIS LIBERTY.
To say that the fisher-boy was astonished at what had taken place,
would not half express his feelings. He had never imagined Sam to be
so desperate a character, and never, until then, had he felt in the
least afraid of him. He had always believed himself to be able to beat
the bully at any of his games; but he now had learned that he had to
deal with one who was quite as smart as himself. Being taken prisoner,
and confined like a felon, were new chapters in his experience. There
was no playing about it; it was a reality; and Sam and his band were
in earnest. What would they do with him? was a question that the
fisher-boy more than once asked himself, but without arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion. In fact, he did not intend that the governor
should have a chance to do any thing to him; for it was his intention
to make some desperate attempts to effect his escape.
There was another thing that surprised Bob quite as much as his
captors, and that was, that Tom Newcombe should condescend to become
a member of the organization, especially as he was obliged to take
a position in the ranks. But, after thinking the matter over, the
fisher-boy saw through it all; and he imagined that he was quite as
well posted in regard to the object Tom had in view as was the new
member himself. The latter had repeatedly said that if he did not own
and sail that yacht, no one about Newport should long enjoy it, and,
finding that his father had no intention of giving it to him, he had
resolved to do something desperate. He at first decided to sink the
Storm King in the harbor; and afterward he determined to go to sea in
her. She was the most beautiful little vessel that had ever been seen
about the village, and he could not bear the thought of destroying her;
and besides, by capturing her, and running her out to sea, he would
"get even" with both his father and the principal at the same time.
He would take revenge upon the professor by depriving him of his fine
yacht; and upon his father, by never again showing his face in Newport
as long as he lived. But Tom could not do this by himself; he must
have help; for he knew that a guard-post would be established upon the
vessel, which was to be kept in the bay, back of the academy, and that
any attempt to capture her would be met with stubborn resistance. He
knew, also, that there were a good many "old sailors" at the academy,
who would very soon fall in love with their new boat, if they hadn't
done so already, and that they would not hesitate to thrash any boy who
might be caught prowling around her at night, especially if they had
the slightest reason for supposing that he intended to do the yacht an
injury. If the society of Night-hawks had still been in existence, Tom
would have applied to its members for the help he needed, and, very
likely, he would have got it; but the village boys having all deserted
him, he was obliged to look elsewhere for friends. The first boy he
thought of was Sam Barton. He knew him to be a very reckless fellow,
and he believed that an expedition organized for the purpose of seizing
the Storm King would suit him exactly. More than that, Sam had a great
deal of influence with the ferry-boys, every one of whom would rush to
his standard, and Tom would again find himself the honored leader of
a secret organization. Tom and the governor talked this matter over
while they were under the pier, and, although the bully was at first
inclined to be suspicious of his visitor, who, he thought, was too
much of a "swell" to associate with poor ferry-boys, he finally became
convinced that he was in earnest, and entered heartily into all his
plans, with one exception. He promised to raise a crew large enough to
seize the yacht, and to take her to sea after they had captured her;
but, as for getting up a new society, and making Tom captain of it,
that was another thing. He was the leader of a band of fellows, who,
for bravery and discipline, had never been equaled in the village, and
if Tom would promise to keep every thing secret, and to obey all the
laws, he would take him in as a member. This proposition, of course,
did not exactly suit one who imagined that he was born to command,
but it was his only chance to obtain the assistance he needed, and he
finally consented; believing that, after he had become fairly settled
as a member, he could induce the boys to break the chief, and appoint
him in his stead. So Tom became one of the Crusoe band; and while Will
Atkins was following up the fisher-boy to see that he went home, Sam
and the rest of his friends were seated in the yawl, under the pier,
initiating the new member into the mysteries of the society. As we have
seen, he soon became heartily sick of the band. He had never before
associated with such a rough, quarrelsome set of boys, and if he could
have thought of any other plan to secure possession of the yacht,
he never would have put his foot inside the cave again. Moreover,
the bully, with an impudence and a disregard for truth that utterly
confounded the new member, had accused him of theft. The fisher-boy,
angry as he was, could not help laughing when he recalled to mind the
expression of astonishment that passed over Tom's face, when the chief
informed him that if Bob escaped he would be in danger of being sent to
jail. Although he was not in very comfortable circumstances just then,
he could not help thinking that Tom's situation was worse than his.
Bob, however, did not waste a great deal of time in thinking about Tom
Newcombe. He was too much interested in his own affairs just then;
and scarcely had Sam disappeared, when he straightened up, and began
to test the strength of the rope with which his hands were bound. It
proved to be much too strong for him to break, but the knot, having
been loosely tied, slipped a little, and that gave him encouragement.
The dog seemed to understand that he was placed at the door for the
purpose of keeping an eye on the prisoner, for every time Bob moved,
he would give him notice that he was still wide-awake, by growling
savagely. The fisher-boy, however, was not very much afraid of him.
Before the light was put out, he had taken pains to examine the chain,
which he noticed was sufficiently large and heavy to hold a good sized
vessel; and, until the dog became strong enough to break that chain, he
was safe. He paid no heed to the warning growls, but devoted all his
attention to the work of freeing his arms, which, for a long time, he
had hopes of being able to accomplish. But the governor had tied the
rope himself, and, although the knot slipped a little at every exertion
of strength, he could not loosen it sufficiently to enable him to free
his hands. Had he been fresh he might have succeeded; but, besides
having done a hard day's work at his wood-pile, he was nearly exhausted
by the efforts he had made to escape from the bully, and he began to
feel the need of rest. Stretching himself out on the sail, he settled
into as comfortable a position as it was possible for him to assume
with his hands and feet securely bound, wondered whether his mother was
waiting for him at home, and how long the governor intended to keep him
a prisoner, and in a moment more was fast asleep. How long he slept he
was unable to tell. He was aroused by the growling of the dog, and,
after listening a moment, he heard a slight noise outside the cave.
Then the board was removed, and he recognized the voice of Sam Barton,
ordering the dog to keep silent.
"Bobby Jennings!" said he, as soon as he had succeeded in quieting the
brute, "be you there, all safe an' sound?"
"Of course I am!" replied the fisher-boy. "How do you suppose I could
be anywhere else after you have tied me hand and foot, and put a dog at
the door to guard me?"
"That's all right," said the chief, who seemed to be greatly relieved
to learn that his prisoner had not found means to effect his escape.
"Come in, Friday, an' strike a light."
Bob heard the two boys stumbling about in the darkness; for, although
it was broad daylight, the cave was as dark as it had been at midnight,
and when the lantern was lighted, he saw that Sam carried a huge slice
of meat in one hand, and a tin dinner pail in the other.
"Here's your share," said he, throwing the meat to the dog; "an' now,
Bobby, if you'll promise, honor bright an' no jokin', not to try any
tricks on us, we'll untie your arms an' give you a chance to eat the
grub we've brought you."
The fisher-boy readily promised to behave himself, for he was tired
of sitting with his hands bound behind him. "How do you suppose that
I could get away?" he asked, as Sam began to remove the rope from his
arms. "You are both as large as I am, and besides, you've got a dog to
help you."
"That's nothin'," said Friday. "We aint a goin' to trust you too fur,
an' that's jest all about it. No tricks, now."
After Bob had stretched his cramped arms he felt so much better that
he asked Sam to untie his feet, a request which the latter positively
refused to grant. "You don't need your legs to eat breakfast with,"
said he; "so pitch into that bread an' taters, an' don't keep us
waitin'."
Whatever else Bob had to say about the governor of the Crusoe band, he
could not accuse him of wishing to starve him, for Sam had filled the
bucket with all kinds of eatables that he had been able to procure.
Never had a better breakfast been served up to him, and never had he
eaten a meal in so romantic a spot as the cave appeared to be at that
moment. Bob could not help feeling amused, and he thought that the
scene there presented, was well worth the pencil of an artist. The
fisher-boy sat on the piece of sail which had served him for a bed, his
back against his skiff, his legs, which were stretched out straight
before him, almost wrapped up in ropes, the dinner bucket at his side,
and a slice of bread in one hand and a piece of cold meat in the other.
On one side of him stood the chief of the Crusoe band, his sleeves
rolled up to his elbows, his hat pushed back on his head, one hand
resting on the flour barrel, and the other holding the boat-hook which
had done him such good service the night before. In front of him stood
the governor's man, Friday, leaning carelessly against the wall, with
his arms folded; but within easy reach of him was a heavy oar, which
could be seized, in case the prisoner made any attempts at escape.
The space on the other side of him was occupied by the dog, which,
having finished his breakfast, sat with his head turned on one side,
watching the bread and meat as it disappeared down Bob's hungry throat,
no doubt envying him his enjoyment. The lantern, which stood on the
flour barrel, beside the copy of Robinson Crusoe, threw a dim, ghostly
light over the scene, and the fisher-boy could almost bring himself to
imagine that the old feudal times--stories of which he had read and
wondered at--had returned, and that he was taking part in them; that
the cave represented the dungeon of some ancient castle, and that the
governor and his man were the retainers of some cruel nobleman, into
whose hands he had fallen.
While Bob was eating his breakfast, neither he nor his jailers spoke
a word. The latter evidently had nothing to talk about, and the
fisher-boy, knowing that he could not say much that was complimentary
to Sam and his band, thought it best to keep silent. The governor
seemed to be in excellent spirits since he captured his rival, and
Bob knew that it was policy to keep him so if he could. He had not
forgotten that Sam was the boy who had caused him a great deal of
trouble by sinking his scow, and stealing his fine skiff, but he could
not afford to show that he cherished revengeful feelings about it.
"Have you had enough?" asked the chief, when the fisher-boy had
finished the last mouthful of his breakfast. "If you haint, say the
word, an' we'll fetch you more."
"I have had a great plenty," replied Bob; "and now, Sam, I would like
to know how long you intend to keep me a prisoner here?"
"Well, that depends!" answered the governor; "you see, Bobby, it
wouldn't be a very smart trick fur us to let you out till we get ready
to leave Newport. You know too much, an' you might be mean enough to
make us a great deal of trouble."
"Very likely I should," replied the fisher-boy, bluntly. "But I would
rather be kept here six months than to be in your boots when Mr. Grimes
gets his hands on you."
"You needn't lose no sleep worryin' about us," returned Sam. "If we
don't know enough to take care of ourselves we ought to get into
trouble. Now, we must bid you good-by, Bobby," he continued, as he
coolly proceeded to fasten his prisoner's arms behind him, "an' we hope
you'll have a jolly time till we get back. Two is company, you know, so
you an' the dog can talk over your secrets without bein' afraid that
somebody will hear you. It aint no ways likely that we shall call on
you agin afore night, 'cause it aint exactly safe fur us to come here
often durin' the day-time. If we hear any body askin' fur you, we'll
tell 'em that the last time we seed you, you were in good health and
spirits."
The fisher-boy listened in silence to this insulting speech, and
scarcely had the door closed behind the governor, when, in spite of
the angry growls of the dog, he renewed his efforts to free himself
from his bonds. He met with no better success than before; for Sam had
taken a great deal of pains in fastening the rope, and he was finally
obliged to give it up as a bad job. For want of some better way to
pass the time, he stretched himself out on his hard bed, and tried in
vain to go to sleep. The rope had been drawn so tightly that his arms
began to swell, and this caused him so much pain that sometimes he
found it exceedingly difficult to keep back his tears. How he lived
through the day, he scarcely knew. Time moved on laggard wings, and
all he had to divert his attention, during the fourteen hours that
elapsed between the visits of his jailers, were the rattling of the
wagons on the pavement over his head, and the angry growls of the dog,
which were kept up at short intervals, during the day. How Bob wished
that his hands were free! That brute, large and savage as he was, would
not long stand between him and his freedom. Then, for a long time, the
fisher-boy lay with his face downward--that being the most comfortable
position he could assume--and pondered upon the chances of vanquishing
the dog, in case he should get into a fight with him.
Eight o'clock came at last, and with it arrived Sam Barton and his
band, including Tom Newcombe, who brought a splendid double-barrel
shot-gun, two jointed fish-poles, a quantity of hooks and lines, and
also his game chickens, all of which he offered to increase the
general stock. Every thing was accepted, in spite of the objections
raised by Will Atkins, who argued that not only did the book fail to
mention whether or not Crusoe's gun was a double-barrel, but it was
also silent on the subject of game chickens. It said nothing about
fish-poles either, especially jointed ones; and to show that his
objection was well founded, Atkins picked up the book, and turned to a
picture which represented Robinson catching a dolphin with a hand-line.
The governor listened patiently to all he had to say, but he failed to
discover any reason why he should not adhere to his decision.
"Any body with half sense could see that a double-barrel gun is a handy
thing to have about," said the chief. "'Spose Tommy should happen to
get into a fight with two Injuns, while he was out alone on the island,
hunting for goats! couldn't he easy kill 'em both? Fish-poles, too, are
sometimes worth more'n they cost. Mebbe our island, when we find it,
will be different from Crusoe's. Mebbe there'll be creeks on it, with
sunfish an' perch in 'em; an' whoever heared of ketchin' them kind of
fish with hand-lines? An' as fur them game chickens, they will be jest
the things we need. We may get tired of livin' on turtle's eggs, you
know."
"That makes no odds," replied the dissatisfied member. "You wouldn't
take that ar watch of mine, an' I aint a goin' to let them things of
Tommy's go, neither."
In short, Will Atkins stubbornly stuck out for what he believed to
be his rights, and the result was, that he very soon succeeded in
exhausting all the patience of the chief, who backed him into a corner,
and was about to reduce him to subjection, when Tom, who did not like
to see any fighting, began to beg for him. The governor hesitated a
moment, undecided whether to listen to the appeals of humanity or to
follow the stern mandate of duty, and then released the culprit; not,
however, without solemnly promising him that the very next time he
dared oppose his chief, he would certainly suffer.
While the band remained in the cave, the fisher-boy's arms were left
unbound, so that he could eat his supper; but as soon as the general
business of the society had been transacted, the governor ordered Bob
to get ready to be tied up again, and the band to adjourn to the yawl
for the purpose of talking over some of their plans.
They did not want their prisoner to overhear them, and, as they were
afraid to trust him outside of the cave, they were obliged to go out
themselves. The chief appeared to be very much concerned about the
comfort of the fisher-boy, for, when he saw how badly his arms were
swollen, he tried a new way of confining them. He cut off about two
feet of the rope, each end of which he made fast to the prisoner's
arms, above the elbows, with a "round turn and two half hitches." This
left Bob's hands and the lower part of his arms free--an advantage
that he was quick to perceive, and which he determined to use, if an
opportunity was offered. As soon as this operation was performed, Sam
and his band left the cave, and for the next half hour an animated
discussion was carried on outside the door. The fisher-boy, believing
that some important plan was being talked over, listened with all his
ears; but, to his disappointment, he could not catch a word of what was
said, for the boys talked in whispers. Finally, the chief re-entered
the cave, and, after examining the prisoner's bonds, he extinguished
the lantern, and went out again. Bob heard a slight splashing in the
water as the yawl moved away, and when he was sure that the band had
left the vicinity of the cave, he straightened up and prepared to put
into execution a plan for escape which he had thought over while the
debate was going on at the door. Putting his hand into his pocket he
pulled out a large jack-knife which he opened with his teeth, and in
less time than it takes to write it, his arms were free. The work of
releasing his legs was quite as quickly accomplished. A few rapid blows
with the knife severed the rope with which they were confined, and then
Bob slowly, and with great difficulty, raised himself to his feet.
"Hold on there," said he to himself, as a loud growl from the dog gave
him notice that every move he made was being closely watched, "I'll be
ready for you in a very few minutes!"
But in this the fisher-boy was mistaken. His "few minutes" proved to be
nearly half an hour; and even at the end of that time he had scarcely
recovered the use of his legs. But delays were dangerous--perhaps he
had already wasted too much time--and as soon as he could walk without
leaning against the wall, he was ready to attend to the dog, which
must be put out of the way before he could leave his prison. Bob did
not intend to fight him in the dark, however, for that would give the
animal too much advantage. He knew there was a box of matches on one of
the shelves at the left hand of the door, for he had heard his jailers
feeling around for it every time they came in, and his first hard work
must be to find it. There was no danger of stumbling upon the dog in
the darkness, for the animal kept up an incessant barking and growling,
and thus Bob was able to keep out of his reach. He had no difficulty
in finding the shelves, and after a few moments search, during which
he several times stopped and listened, almost imagining that he heard
his enemies returning, he placed his hand upon the box of matches. The
next thing was the lantern. Securing that was a more difficult and
dangerous task, for the chief had left it on the flour barrel, where he
could not get at it without placing himself within reach of the dog.
Bob lit one of the matches, and took a hurried survey of the cave.
Directly in front of him was the dog, which was standing upon his hind
legs, and jumping the full length of his chain in his efforts to reach
the prisoner. Behind the dog was the flour barrel, on which stood the
lantern. In one corner of the cave, opposite the door, was a pair of
oars, either one of which was long enough to reach from where he stood
to the flour barrel. By the time Bob made these observations the match
was consumed. He lit another, and picked up one of the oars, which
he extended toward the lantern, when the dog seized the blade in his
teeth and literally smashed it in pieces. In return for the damage he
had done, he received a blow over the head from the handle of the oar,
which knocked him down. The fisher-boy hoped he had finished him; but
before he had time to make any observations his match went out. A third
was struck, and the dog was discovered upon his feet again, apparently
as full of fight as ever; but when Bob stretched the oar out toward the
lantern, he backed over against the door.
His first attempt to catch the handle of the lantern upon the end of
the oar was a failure; so were the second and third, on account of the
interference of the dog. The fourth, however, was successful; and after
he had picked up the wick so that the lamp would give a strong light,
he began to look about the cave for some more suitable weapon than the
stump of the oar. A small hatchet, which was stowed away on one of the
shelves caught his eye. That was just the thing he needed; and, after
placing the lantern upon the shelf where it could not get knocked over
during the struggle, Bob took the hatchet in his hand, rolled up his
sleeves, and began the fight without ceremony. There was a little more
barking and growling, a few desperate springs, a savage blow with the
hatchet, then one or two convulsive kicks, and that was the end of it.
It was the end of Sam Barton's favorite, too. It had all been done
in a moment, and the fisher-boy was glad indeed that it was so. Had
the struggle been a protracted one, as he had expected it would be,
the result might have been different. Not only was he totally unfit
to sustain a lengthened contest, but he knew the necessity there was
of getting out of the cave as soon as possible. He was unable to tell
where the governor and his band had gone, or how soon they would
return, and the quicker he left his prison the better would be his
chances for escape; for, although the dog was out of the way, his
freedom was by no means assured. Hastily extinguishing the lantern, the
fisher-boy crept up close to the door and listened. All was still, and
believing that the coast was clear, he removed the board and crawled
cautiously out of the cave; but, just as his feet touched the ground,
a pair of strong arms were thrown around his neck, and before he could
think twice, he found himself flat on his back, with the governor, his
man Friday, and Jack Spaniard on top of him.