THE ATTACK ON THE YACHT.
Tom Newcombe's feelings had undergone a very great change during the
last ten minutes. He was an officer now, and he no longer thought of
turning traitor to the band, or of releasing the fisher-boy; but he was
willing to use his best endeavors to render the expedition successful.
It was not his intention to long answer to the name of captain; he
preferred to be called governor; and he would use the office Sam had
given him as a stepping-stone to something higher.
Tom had but one object in life. It occupied all his waking thoughts;
he dreamed about it when he was asleep; and from it sprang all these
ridiculous ideas he sometimes got into his head. He wanted to live
at his ease. He desired to engage in some occupation that would run
along smoothly, without any care or exertion on his part, and in which
he would be free from the troubles and perplexities that fell to the
lot of ordinary mortals. He had become greatly interested in Sam
Barton's plan, and he believed that all that was needed to insure him
unbounded happiness for the remainder of his days, was a habitation
on some desert island, in the middle of the ocean, where, in company
with half a dozen congenial spirits, he could while away the hours of
a dreamy existence, with no stern father to demolish his air-castles,
and no merciless village boys to make sport of his grand ideas. Then
there would be nothing to trouble him, and he could pass the time
serenely in hunting goats, squirrels, and quails--he did not intend
to stop until he found an island that abounded in small game of every
description--and when he became weary of the sport, he could lounge
in the shade of his tent, and eat raisins and talk to his parrot.
Although he was not just then on very good terms with Johnny Harding,
Gus Miller, and Harry Green, he would have preferred their society to
the companionship of the ignorant ferry-boys, who were continually
showing the muscles on their arms, and who talked about nothing but the
numerous fights in which they had been engaged.
This, however, was out of the question; and, rather than remain in the
village, to be tormented by his acquaintances, he would go with the
Crusoe band. But, in order to enjoy himself to the fullest extent,
he must be chief of the organization. He had managed societies which
numbered thirty and forty members, and managed them well, too, and he
could not be satisfied with any divided authority. Sam Barton must give
place to his betters--that was a settled fact. There was one point Tom
could not decide just then, and that was how to go to work to induce
the band to break the chief and appoint him in his stead. But in this
he concluded that he would be governed by circumstances, hoping that
when the proper time arrived, something would "turn up" in his favor.
As soon as he became fairly established as chief of the band, Sam must
be disposed of, for he was a dangerous fellow, and might make him a
great deal of trouble. Perhaps the best thing that could be done with
him would be to put him ashore on some island, as he intended to do
with the fisher-boy.
Tom thought these matters over before he went to sleep that night, and
they were the first that came into his mind when he awoke the next
morning. As soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he went down to the
office, and at the door he met two boys, who, he afterward learned,
were the midshipmen belonging to the Storm King. Of course they were
acquainted with the particulars of Tom's business transactions with Mr.
Graves, and, like all the rest of the village boys, they had something
to say about it.
"How are you, Newcombe?" exclaimed one. "We came here to inquire how
much that vessel cost you. She is a beauty, and I am going to build one
exactly like her when I get home."
"Your father is a capital fellow," said the other. "He knows just what
boys want, don't he?"
"O, no, he don't!" drawled Tom. "He don't know what I want; if he did,
he would have given me that yacht. Never mind! You fellows had better
look out."
"We've understood that you have another idea. Why didn't you try to
carry it out last night? You were around there in a yawl."
"O, now, who said I was around there?"
"Why, we heard your voice. We were in hopes you would board us, for we
wanted to see who belonged to your new society. Who are they, Newcombe?
Johnny Harding says he is not a member."
"What's your rank now, Tom? Grand commander, or general, or captain, or
what!"
Tom, too angry to reply, abruptly left the midshipmen, and walked into
the office. They would have followed him, but he slammed the door in
their faces and locked it. As it was early in the morning, none of
the clerks had yet made their appearance, and Tom had the office to
himself. His first duty was to sweep out--a task he never executed
without crying; for his idea was, that every time he performed any
work with his hands, he was disgracing himself. After he left the
midshipmen, he shed a few tears, and grumbled a good deal. "Thank
goodness, this is the last time I shall ever sweep out this office,"
said he to himself. "To-morrow morning, at this time, I shall be within
sight of the ocean, and far away from Johnny Harding, and Harry Green,
and all the rest of the fellows who are continually bothering me about
that yacht. I'll be my own master then, and if I ever touch a broom or
duster again, I'll know the reason why. Of course, the vessel must be
kept clean while we are on our cruise, but I am the captain, and I can
make the others do the work. When we reach our island, somebody will
have to sweep out the cave and tent; but I won't do it, for I'll be
governor of the band by that time. I'll help plant the rice and wheat,
and shoot goats, and keep a lookout for Indians, and have an eye on all
that is going on, for, of course, that is the duty of the governor; but
I'll work when I please, and play when I feel like it; and there'll be
nobody to say to me--? 'Thomas, you'll wear a poor man's clothes the
longest day you live!'"
As was always the case with Tom, when about to engage in any of his
grand schemes, he lived in a state of intense excitement all that
day. He was constantly harassed by the fear, which sometimes almost
amounted to a conviction, that something would happen to defeat the
enterprise. The fisher-boy might succeed in making his escape; or Mr.
Grimes, who, he knew, was closely watching Sam Barton, might discover
something; or the guard of the yacht might be too strong for them, and
he and the rest of the band might be captured, and taken to the academy
as prisoners of war; or the principal, or some of the students, might
call upon Mr. Newcombe and inform him that his son had another idea;
in short, there were a thousand ways in which the affair might get
noised abroad. Tom was especially uneasy whenever any body spoke of Bob
Jennings. No one suspected that he knew any thing about him, but, as
he and the fisher-boy had been seen together a good deal of late, two
or three of the clerks inquired what he had done with his "friend and
partner," and Tom drawled out in reply--
"O, now, is any body paying me for keeping an eye on that fellow?"
The prevailing opinion seemed to be, that Bob, having become
discouraged by the loss of his two boats, and despairing of ever being
able to pay the debt he owed to Mr. Graves, had escaped from his
troubles by running away. Indeed, his mother was the only one in the
village who thought differently. Of course, she could not account for
his disappearance, but she had faith in the good resolutions Bob made
the night he cut his new motto in the boards under the eaves, and she
believed that time would make all things right.
To Tom's relief, the twelve o'clock bell rang at last. He went
home with his father, and, as soon as he had eaten his dinner, he
went up stairs to his room and packed his valise. When this was
accomplished, he went down to the office again, where he lived in a
most uncomfortable frame of mind until six o'clock in the evening.
Then there were two hours more to be passed away in some manner, for
the chief, the night before, had ordered the members of the band to
present themselves on an unfrequented part of the beach, in Fishertown,
at eight o'clock. As the hour approached, Tom felt more and more like
backing out. He was troubled with the most gloomy thoughts, in which
the elements seemed to sympathize with him. About half-past seven,
a furious storm arose. The lightning flashed incessantly, the wind
blew a perfect gale, the rain fell in torrents, the surf roared on the
beach, and the would-be captain of the Storm King, as he stood at his
window and looked out into the darkness, shuddered at the thought of
taking a vessel to sea in the face of such a tempest. It was a wonder
that his courage did not give away altogether; but he recalled to mind
the treatment he had already experienced at the hands of the village
boys, pictured to himself the life of glorious ease he could lead, when
he once became fairly settled on his island, and drawing in a long
breath, he caught up his valise, walked cautiously down stairs and out
into the storm, and, without a single feeling of remorse, turned his
back upon the home he hoped never to see again. Without stopping to
look behind him, he hurried along the streets in the direction of the
beach, being obliged to stop and turn his back to the storm now and
then, to recover his breath. He passed through Fishertown, which seemed
to be entirely deserted, and bent his steps toward a dilapidated cabin
that stood on the beach, so close to the water's edge that the surf
washed over his feet as he approached the door. All was dark within,
but as Tom entered, a voice, which was almost drowned by the whistling
of the wind through the rafters, and the roaring of the waves on the
beach, called out--
"Who comes there?"
"Captain Newcombe," was the response.
The light of a lantern flashed through the darkness, and Tom discovered
the members of the Crusoe band crouching in one corner of the cabin,
drenched to the skin by the rain, which beat in upon them through the
broken roof.
"I am glad to see you, cap'n," said the governor, joyfully. "We were
afraid that you were goin' to back out, but I am satisfied now that you
can be depended on. If the clerk of the weather was a member of our
society, he couldn't have given us a better night. But, cap'n, are you
sure that you can handle the vessel after we get her? It's purty rough
outside, an' many an old sailor would shake his head at the idea of
goin' to sea in such a storm."
"I am not afraid," said Tom. "Just give me one good mate, and I'll take
care of you."
"Well, how will Xury do? He's a good hand with a sail-boat, an' he's
traveled up an' down the bay often enough to know it like a book."
"He's just the man I want," said Tom, who felt that a great
responsibility had been removed from his shoulders.
"Xury," said the chief, "you're first-mate of the yacht, now. Do jest
as the capt'n tells you, an' you won't get us into no trouble. Pick up
your plunder, an' let's make a break; for the quicker we get to work,
the sooner we'll be on our way toward our island."
As the chief spoke, he hid his lantern under his coat, shouldered his
bundle of clothing, and led the way out of the cabin to the yawl, which
was drawn up on the beach, out of reach of the surf. It required the
exercise of considerable perseverance, and the outlay of the united
strength of the band, to launch the boat through the waves, and while
this was being done, Tom began to realize the fact that they had a
most uncomfortable night for their cruise. The wind swept the beach in
fitful gusts, beating the rain and spray furiously into his face; and
when the lightning illuminated the scene, he could see that the sky
was covered with black, angry-looking clouds, and that the waters of
the bay were being tossed about in great commotion, but Tom never once
thought of turning back. Since he received the appointment of captain
of the yacht, a new spirit seemed to have taken possession of him. He
was no longer afraid of facing the bayonets of the guard, and if the
attack on the yacht had proved a failure, he would have been the first
to propose that they should begin their cruise in Sam's yawl.
Regardless of soiling his boots and clothing, he worked as hard as any
of the band to launch the boat, wading in water up to his knees, and
sometimes being almost smothered by the great waves that came rolling
toward the beach. The chief had been thoughtful enough to supply the
yawl with oars, and it was well he did so. Even then, it was a long
time before they succeeded in getting fairly started. Slowly, inch by
inch, they worked their way against the wind and waves, and at last
they reached the harbor, where the water was comparatively quiet. In
ten minutes more they were in their cave, and the governor breathed a
good deal easier when he found that his prisoner had not found means to
effect his escape. Without any unnecessary delay, the band began the
work of carrying the dry goods boxes out of the cave, and stowing them
away in the yawl. This was accomplished in a few minutes, and then the
governor, after putting the volume of Robinson Crusoe carefully away in
the pocket of his pea-jacket, called his followers around him, to give
them their final instructions.
"Now, then," said he, "you fellers must take charge of your we'pons,
an' when we get into the yawl, put them where you can get your hands on
'em at a moment's warnin'. You can depend on these things," he added,
as he distributed the spears he had made the evening before, "'cause
they are as sharp as needles; an' if one of them 'cademy swells gets
punched with 'em, I reckon he'll walk turkey. I don't 'spose we'll
have much chance to use 'em, 'cause it aint no ways likely that them
soldiers are loafin' about the deck in this storm; but, after all,
it's best to be on the safe side. Friday, when we start, you will take
the bow oar. We will come up alongside of the yacht, an' the minute we
stop, you will jump out an' make the yawl's painter fast to something.
While you are doin' that, the rest of us will board her, an' the first
thing them 'cademy fellers know, we'll have 'em fastened up in the
cabin."
"Then, what will we do?" asked Tom; "if we shut the students up in the
cabin, I can't go down there to get to my state-room; and I am not
going to sleep on deck while I am captain. It wouldn't look well."
"Well, then, we'll rush 'em down through the cabin an' into the hold,"
said the chief. "But, whatever we do, we must be lively about it,
'cause it aint best to give 'em a fair show. Now, if we are all ready,
we'll be off. We'll leave your skiff in the cave here, Bobby, an' when
you get back, you'll know where to find it."
"Why can't you let me loose, Sam?" asked the fisher-boy. "I don't like
to go out in this storm with my hands and feet tied. Suppose the yawl
should be capsized, what would become of me?"
"Now, don't you be uneasy," replied the governor. "We'll take care of
you, an' so long as you behave yourself, like a man had oughter do,
we'll see that nothin' don't harm you. Pick him up and take him out,
lads."
In spite of his remonstrances, Friday and Jack Spaniard took Bob up in
their arms, carried him out of the cave, and laid him away in the yawl,
under the thwarts, as if he had been a log of wood. He was far from
being satisfied with the chief's assurance that he would take care of
him. He knew that Sam was a skillful boatman, but the storm was still
raging violently, and in the confusion occasioned by boarding the yawl,
some accident might happen. However, there was no help for it. He was
securely bound, and all he could do was to commend himself to his usual
good luck, and abide the issue.
As soon as he had been disposed of, the band took their places in the
yawl, and the governor once more went into the cave, to make sure that
nothing was left behind. Then, after carefully closing the door, he
sprang into the yawl, and shoved off into the darkness. They went the
entire length of the harbor, and through all the shipping that lay
at the wharves, without accident, and finally, a flash of lightning
revealed to them the Storm King, riding at her anchorage, in the rear
of the academy grounds, which here extended down to the water's edge.
"Give way strong," commanded the chief, in an excited voice. "Friday,
you be ready to jump out with that painter the minute we stop. Bobby
Jennings, one word out of you, an' you go overboard. Remember, lads,
one quick rush, an' she's our'n. Stick together, an' don't be afraid to
punch the first one that shows fight."
The crew bent to their oars with a will, and the yawl skimmed over the
waves like a duck. The governor, who was at the helm, kept the boat
headed up the harbor until he passed the yacht, when he rounded to
under her stern, and ran up alongside of her, without being hailed.
"Way enough," whispered the chief. The oars were taken in and laid upon
the thwarts. Friday sprang up with the painter in one hand, and the
boat-hook in the other. The governor stood in the stern-sheets, holding
his lantern under his coat, and directing the yawl's course through the
darkness, while the rest of the crew caught up their spears and awaited
the further commands of their leader. The yawl continued to approach
the vessel, and presently she was lifted on the crest of a wave, at
the same instant that a flash of lightning showed the Crusoe band
that the sloop's deck was deserted, with the exception of a solitary
sentinel, who, wrapped up in his overcoat, stood sheltering himself
behind the mast.
The next moment, in spite of all the governor's efforts to prevent it,
the yawl was dashed against the side of the vessel with a shock that
would have aroused all the students on board of her, if they had not
been the very soundest of sleepers.
"Boat ahoy!" shouted the sentinel, running to the side, and looking
down into the darkness. "By gracious? corporal of the guard!" he added,
in a louder tone, as another flash of lightning revealed the yawl and
her crew. "Better keep off, if you don't want to get into trouble.
Corporal of the guard!"
"Tumble up lively, lads," exclaimed the governor, and, suiting the
action to the word, he sprang upon the deck of the Storm King, only to
be met by a savage thrust from the bayonet of the guard, who manfully
stood his ground, and shouted for the corporal. Fortunately for the
chief, his man Friday was close at hand. He had made the yawl's painter
fast, and charged upon the sentinel with his boat-hook, just in time to
prevent him from doing the governor a serious injury.
"Forward," shouted the chief, pulling his lantern out from under his
coat. "Drive this yere swell below!"
The rest of the band, having reached the deck almost as soon as their
leader, rushed upon the guard, who, after trying in vain to defend
himself, threw down his gun and retreated into the cabin.
"Foller him up, lads! Foller him up!" shouted the chief, flourishing
his spear in the air. "Cap'n, you an' Friday an' Jack Spaniard look out
for that galley!"
By thus dividing his force, Sam had got the students completely
surrounded. The chief and his squad followed the sentinel down the
companion ladder, while the captain and his men rushed into the galley,
and thence into the forecastle, where they surprised four students,
asleep in the bunks, and a corporal, nodding in his chair. The noise
made by the attacking party, and the bright light that flashed in their
faces, when Tom turned up the lamp that hung suspended from the beams
overhead, aroused the guard, who, upon beholding the intruders, reached
rather hurriedly for their muskets. But they were in the possession
of Friday and Jack Spaniard, who pointed the bayonets at them, and in
savage tones demanded their surrender.
"Tom Newcombe, is that you?" exclaimed the corporal, rubbing his eyes,
and taking a second look at the captain.
"O, yes, it's I," replied Tom, who, excited as he was, could not forget
his usual drawl. "You asked me why I didn't carry out my idea last
night. I am carrying it out now. Get up, and go into the hold. You are
all prisoners!"
"Well, now, I call this a pretty good joke!" exclaimed another, raising
up in his bunk, and looking first at Tom, and then at his ragged
followers. "How did you get by the sentinel on deck?"
"Why, we captured him, that's the way we got by him! And I think you'll
find it's no joke, either, before we are done with you. Get up, and do
as I tell you!" he added, sharply, as he heard the students pouring
into the hold from the cabin.
The guard had no alternative but to obey. They crawled slowly out of
their bunks, and one of them asked, as he gathered up his clothing, and
nodded his head toward Friday and Jack Spaniard--
"Are these gentlemen members of your new society, Newcombe? You must be
running with a delightful crowd, now."
"Go in there, and don't stop to talk!" repeated Tom, stamping his foot
and pointing to the door that led from the galley. The students obeyed
without any further remarks, and as soon as they had disappeared in the
hold, the door was closed and fastened.
Tom was captain of the Storm King at last!