A DISAGREEABLE REVELATION
“Certainly, my dear fellow, I will answer your questions if I can do so
with propriety,” said Mr. Fobbington in reply to Louis.
“Was there any truth in those yarns you reeled off to me on the piazza
of the hotel? Probably you could tell me the truths in your story
quicker than you could the falsehoods.”
“You are quite right so far as time is concerned, though I did tell you
some truth; but the proportion to the lies was ridiculously small,”
answered the helmsman with a laugh. “I am a graduate of one of the
colleges of Oxford; I spent a year in Paris; I had a fortune of about
one-twentieth of the sum I mentioned, but I spent it all in ‘riotous
living,’ as the Scripture has it; I never had the least difficulty in
spending my income, and should not have had if it had been ten times as
great.”
“I am much obliged to you for this frank statement. Perhaps you will
allow me to ask a few more questions on other subjects,” continued
Louis, who was becoming somewhat accustomed to the situation, and was
considering how he should get out of the scrape into which he had so
easily tumbled.
“I will permit you to ask any questions you please.”
“Where are my friends who went below?” asked Louis very anxiously.
“I did not expect you would bring a crowd with you when you accepted
my friendly invitation, and your two masculine friends are in the way.
In fact, their presence on board was really embarrassing; and when
they went below to examine the timbers of the vessel, I was under the
painful necessity of confining them in the hold by putting on the lower
hatch,” returned the wheelman.
Louis realized that he was actually alone for the present. If Uncle
Moses had been on board he would have seen that his _protégé_ had an
excellent opportunity to practise his calling as a knight-errant; for
even in the days of chivalry these worthies had to use their skill,
ingenuity, and prowess in getting out of scrapes, as well as in
plunging into them. But “Sir Louis” could have conclusively proved that
he had not sought this adventure. If he achieved any greatness in the
conduct of the affair, it would be “greatness thrust upon him.”
If his mother had not been on board at this moment sick in the cabin,
without a suspicion that she was in the power of her villanous husband,
he would have felt differently, and might have been in the mood for
an adventure. The particular Fate that arranges adventures does not
always adapt them to the pleasure and convenience of the hero; and it
was a gross error in this instance to put Mrs. Belgrave on board of the
vessel. It might have been fun to the knight without her; but it was
positive misery to have her in the trap with him.
“Then Captain Ringgold and Felix have not been drowned, had their
throats cut, or their brains knocked out?” said Louis, when the
disappearance of his friends had been explained.
“That is cruel, my dear Louis, and you shock me. I shall not love you
if you talk like that,” replied Frinks, with an intensely deprecatory
expression on his face. “We are men of brains, but not of blood. Do not
do me the injustice to suppose I would engage in any affair that called
for the shedding of blood, or the shedding of brains, for that matter.
We simply make your friends comfortable in another part of the vessel;
for their presence on deck might lead you to commit some act that would
create unpleasantness on board.”
“Precisely so; and I cannot help seeing how kind and considerate
you are with me,” added Louis, bestowing a sarcastic look upon his
excellent friend. “May I venture to ask where this vessel is bound?”
“She is bound to England, though I cannot now inform you just what port
she will make, for that will depend upon circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“The principal one is the pleasure of the captain.”
“In other words, your own pleasure.”
“Bless you, no, my dear Louis! I am not the captain,” protested the
wheelman, shaking his head.
“May I ask who is the captain?”
“Captain Wade Farrongate,” replied Frinks without hesitation. “Of
course you are aware that he is the husband of the lady in the cabin. I
assure you, Louis, I am telling you the strict truth; for it would be
useless to lie about a matter you understand better than I do.”
“Fobbington and Farrongate are horses of the same color, and both of
them are myths,” said Louis with a palpable sneer.
“Perhaps you can tell me who is the captain of this frisky schooner.”
“I can; one John Scoble is the captain of her.”
“I don’t know him.”
“If you don’t know your commander, I can introduce you to him so far
as his character is concerned, for I know him well. John Scoble was
a deserter from the British army, and he is a robber, a swindler, an
embezzler. There are warrants out for his arrest in New York and New
Jersey at the present moment,” said Louis with a good deal of vim.
“That’s an excellent character you give him,” replied Frinks, shrugging
his shoulders.
“My mother and my two friends in the hold would tell you the same
story, if you wish to examine them.”
“It’s none of my affair, and I shall not trouble myself to look into
the matter. I only obey orders, and it makes no difference to me what
the captain’s name is.”
“I am not to believe that this schooner is the Oxford, I suppose?”
continued the victim.
“Not unless you insist upon it. I took care not to let you see the name
on her stern,” replied Frinks.
“She is the Maud, I have no doubt.”
“You are a Yankee, and you guessed right the first time.”
“I have been on board of her before. She has been painted white since I
saw her.”
“Three coats,” laughed the wheelman.
“If John Scoble is the captain, what are you, devoted lover of the
truth?”
“I am the mate.”
“If you are bound to England, do you intend to take my two male friends
with you, Mr. Frinks?” asked Louis, who had learned to “mister” the
mate on board of the Blanche.
“I must refer you to the captain for an answer to that question, my
dear Louis, for I don’t know what will be done with them. We did not
expect them, and did not provide for their accommodation beforehand.”
“I am very much obliged to you for the information you have given
me, Mr. Frinks. So far as I can see, what you have told me gives me
no advantage if I should desire to make any change in the present
situation,” said Louis as he moved away from the wheel.
“If I had supposed it would, I should not have given it you; for I am
employed by Captain Farrongate, and it is my duty to be loyal to him,”
returned the mate. “But, my little lark, must I remind you that you are
on the broad Atlantic, where you can’t swim ashore? You are caught in
the captain’s fly-trap, and you can’t do a thing to help yourself. As
your true and faithful friend, I advise you not to attempt to squeeze
milk out of a paving-stone, for it can’t be done.”
“Certainly it cannot; but the exercise might strengthen the muscles of
the hand and arm,” replied the victim as he moved forward.
He looked in at the galley as he passed it, rather to measure the size
of the cook than to observe his culinary operations. He was not of
large stature, and did not look at all formidable, for his expression
was mild and meeching. The victim continued his walk forward, where he
found the two seamen seated on the forecastle. They were men of medium
size, who might be serviceable in an affray, but Louis did not regard
them as invincible.
Like a good general, the victim had carefully estimated the force
on the other side, and he went to the open hatch to consider the
approaches to the prison of his friends. The wind was north-north-east,
and the Maud was beating out of the lower bay of New York. As the
schooner tacked, all hands on deck were occupied, and Louis found his
opportunity to look at the lower hatch, as the mate called it. The main
hatch opened into the between-decks, not often found in small crafts.
Directly under it was another, with the hatches on, secured by a broad
iron bar, bent to fit the curve. Beneath this closed hatch, if the mate
had told him the truth, Captain Ringgold and Felix were imprisoned.
Louis examined the iron bar with interest, and discovered that it was
held in place by a large padlock. Of course it was locked, and the
key was probably in the mate’s pocket. If he attempted to release the
prisoners, it would take a long time to break the lock, and Frinks
would sound the alarm if he should jump down the hatch. He would have
at least three men upon him in an instant, and it was not prudent to
undertake any movement in this direction.
If the victim had examined the between-decks, he would have found that
it was fitted up for second-class passengers, with rude berths on the
sides. He wondered if there was any means of getting from the cabin to
the steerage, as the place was called, or sometimes the fore cabin. He
remembered the door he had seen opening from the pantry, and he had a
hope that he might effect an entrance by it.
The motion of the schooner was very uneasy, and the wind seemed to be
increasing to a gale. The Maud was carrying all her principal sails,
and she was making rough weather of it. The sea broke over her at
times, and it must soon be necessary to close the main hatch. But it
was time for Louis to inquire into the condition of his mother, and he
descended the companion-way to the cabin. He looked about him as he
entered, but he saw nothing of Scoble, though he was confident he was
close at hand. He entered the stateroom, and found his mother in just
the position he had left her.
The son wondered if Scoble had been near her; but he could not answer
the question. He bent over the sick lady and listened to her breathing.
It was very seldom that she was ill, and at these times her son was her
only nurse, so that he was not altogether unskilled in the duties of
the sickroom.
“Are we going back to the shore, Louis?” she asked, when she was
conscious of his presence.
“How do you feel, mother?” inquired he, without answering her question.
“I hope you are better.”
“I am a great deal better, my boy; and I should get up if I were not
afraid it would make me worse,” replied Mrs. Belgrave, raising her
head. “Are we going back to Southfield now?”
This was a hard question to answer. He could not tell her a falsehood,
and it would be useless to do so if he could, for she would soon find
out for herself the painful truth. It was worse than folly to lie to
her; he must tell her the actual situation, and he might just as well
do it then as a few hours later. The Maud was bound for England; and
Scoble had no doubt bought the vessel for the sole purpose of taking
her and her son there.
“You don’t answer me, Louis. Why are you silent?” she asked, fixing an
anxious gaze upon him when he hesitated.
“We are not returning to Southfield, mother, I am sorry to say,”
replied he, seating himself by her berth, and taking her hand.
“You must be very strong and brave, mother, for my news is very
disagreeable.”
“What is it, Louis?” she demanded with a gasp.
“This vessel is the Maud; John Scoble is in command of her, and we are
bound to England.”
The poor woman covered her face with her hands and said not a word.