THE REAL MISSION OF THE JUG.
Ham Morris ate well, when he once got at it; but he did not linger long
at the dinner-table, for his heart was in "The Swallow." Dab would have
given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he
felt so dreadfully charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his
stay at Mrs. Foster's, as "cook" or otherwise. He had not by any means
lost his appetite,--although he seemed disposed to neglect the lobsters;
and when he had taken proper care of it he hurried away "on an errand
for his mother," in the direction of the village. Nearly everybody he
met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was
not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old
acquaintance pass her without a word or so.
Dab answered as well as he could, considering the disturbed state of his
mind; but he wound up with,--
"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."
"What for?"
"Oh! I've got something to show you--something you never saw before."
"Do you mean your new baby? the one you found on the bar?"
"Yes, but that baby, Jenny!"
"What's wonderful about it?"
"Why, it's only two years old, and it can squall in two languages.
That's a good deal more than you can do."
"They say your friend, Miss. Foster, speaks French," retorted Jenny.
"Was she ever shipwrecked?"
"In French? May be so; but not in German."
"Well, Dabney, I don't propose to squall in any thing. Are your folks
going to burn any more of their barns this year?"
"Not unless Samantha gets married. Jenny, do you know what's the latest
fashion in lobsters?"
"Changeable green, I suppose."
"No: I mean after they're boiled. It's to have 'em come on the table in
cuffs and collars. Lace around their necks, you know."
"And gloves?"
"No, not any gloves. We had lobsters to-day, at Mrs. Foster's, and you
ought to have seen 'em."
"Dabney Kinzer, it's time you went to school again."
"I'm going, in a few days."
"Going? Do you mean you're going away somewhere?"
"Ever so far; and Dick Lee's going with me."
"I heard about him, but I didn't know he meant to take you along. That's
very kind of Dick. I s'pose you won't speak to common people when you
get back."
"Now, Jenny"--
"Good-afternoon, Dabney. Perhaps I'll come over before you go, if it's
only to take a look at that shipwrecked baby."
A good many of Mrs. Kinzer's lady friends, young and old, deemed it
their duty to come and do that very thing within the next few days. Then
the sewing-circle took the matter up, and both the baby and its mother
were provided for as they never had been before. It would have taken
more languages than two, to fairly express the gratitude of the poor
Alsatians. As for the rest of them, out there on the bar, they were
speedily taken off, and carried to "the city," none of them being
seriously the worse for their sufferings, after all. Ham Morris declared
that the family he had brought ashore "came just in time to help him out
with his fall work, and he didn't see any charity in it."
Good for Ham!
It was the right way to feel about it, but Dab Kinzer thought he could
see something in it that looked like "charity" when he met his tired-out
brother-in-law on his late return from that second trip across the bay.
Real charity never cares to make an exhibition of itself.
They were pretty thoroughly worn out, both of them; but they carefully
moored "The Swallow" in her usual berth before they left her.
She had effectually "discharged her cargo," over on the sand-island; but
they Had enough of a load to carry home, in the shape of empty baskets
and things of that sort.
"Is every thing out of the locker, Dab?" inquired Ham.
"All but the jug. I say, did you know it was nearly half full? Would it
do any hurt to leave it here?"
"The jug? No, not if you just pour out the rest of the apple-jack over
the side."
"Make the fish drunk."
"Well, it sha'n't do that for anybody else, if I can help it."
"Well, if it's good for water-soaked people, I guess it can't hurt the
fish."
"Empty it, Dab. Empty it, and come along. The doctor wasn't so far
wrong, and I was glad to have it with me. Seemed to do some of 'em a
power of good. But medicine's medicine, and I only wish some people I
know of would remember it."
"Some of 'em do a good deal of that kind of doctoring."
The condemned liquor was already gurgling from the mouth of the demijohn
into the salt water, and neither fish nor eel came forward to get a
share of it. They were probably all feeling pretty well that night. When
the demijohn was empty and the cork replaced, it was set down again in
the "cabin;" and that was left unlocked, for there was no more danger in
it for anybody. Dab and Ham were altogether too tired to take any pains
there was no call for.
Dab's mind must have been tired, as well as his body; for he decided to
postpone until the morrow the report he had to make about the tramp. He
was strongly of the opinion that the latter had not seen him to
recognize him; and, at all events, the matter could wait.
So it came to pass that all the shore, and the road that led away from
it, and the village the road led into, were deserted and silent, an hour
or so later, when a stoutly-built "cat-boat," with her one sail lowered,
was quietly sculled up the inlet.
There were two men on board, a tall one and a shorter one; and they ran
their boat right alongside "The Swallow," as if that were the precise
thing they had come to do.
"Burgin," remarked the tall man, "wot ef we don't find any thin', arter
all this sailin' and rowin' and scullin'? Most likely he's kerried it to
the house. In course he has."
The keenly watchful eyes of Burgin had noted the arrival of that
apple-jack at the island; and they had closely followed its fortunes,
from first to last. He had more than half tried, indeed, to work himself
in among the crowd, as one of the "sufferers," but with no manner of
success.
The officers of the ship knew every face that had any right to a
spoonful, and Burgin's failed to pass him. He had not failed, however,
to note that his coveted "medicine" was by no means exhausted, and to
see Ham stow the demijohn carefully away, at last, under the half-deck
of "The Swallow." That information had given all the inducement required
to get old Peter and his boat across the bay; and the ancient "wrecker"
was as anxious about the result as the tramp himself could be. It was
hard to say, now, which of them was the first on board "The Swallow."
"It ain't locked!"
"Then the jug ain't thar."
"Wall, it is," exclaimed Burgin triumphantly, as he pulled it out; but
his under jaw dropped a little when he felt "how light it lifted."
"Reckon they helped themselves on thar way hum."
It was a good deal worse than that; and an angry and disappointed pair
were they when the cork and the truth came out.
"Thar's jest a good smell!"
That was old Peter's remark; and it sounded as if words failed him to
add to it, but Burgin's wrath exploded in a torrent of bitter abuse of
the man or men who had emptied that demijohn. He gave old Peter a
capital chance to turn upon him morosely with,--
"Look a-yer, my chap, is this 'ere your boat?"
"No: I didn't say it was, did I?"
"Is that there your jug? I don't know if I keer to sit and hear one of
my neighbors--and he's a good feller too, he is--abused all night, jest
bekase I've been and let an entire stranger make a fool of me."
"Do you mean me?"
"Well, ef I didn't I wouldn't say it. Don't you git mad, now. It won't
pay ye. Jest let's take a turn 'round the village."
"You kin go ef you want ter. I'll wait for ye. 'Pears like I didn't feel
much like doin' any trampin' 'round."
"Stay thar, then. But mind you don't try on any runnin' away with my
boat."
"If I want a boat, old man, there's plenty here that's better worth
stealin' than yourn."
"That's so. I didn't know you'd been makin' any kalkilation on it. I
won't be gone any great while."
He was gone some time, however, whatever may have been his errand. Old
Peter was not the man to be at a loss for one, of some sort, even at
that hour of the night; and his present business, perhaps, did not
particularly require company.
When he returned at last, he found his own boat safe enough, and he
really could not tell if any of the others had walked away; but he
looked around in vain for any signs of his late comrade. Not that he
spent much time or wasted any great pains in searching for him; and he
muttered to himself, as he gave it up,--
"Gone, has he? Well, then, it's a good riddance to bad rubbidge. I ain't
no aingil, but that feller's a long ways wuss'n I am."
Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of
Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his "cat-boat," and
was sculling it rapidly out of the crooked inlet.
His search for Burgin had been a careless one, for he had but glanced
over the gunwale of "The Swallow." A second look might have shown him
the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply
and heavily sleeping on the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as
comfortable a bed as he had been used to; and there he was still lying,
long after the sun had looked in upon him, the next morning.
Other eyes than the sun's were to look in upon him before he awakened
from that untimely and imprudent nap.
It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring
again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and
Ham made an opportunity for one by saying,--
"Come on, Dab. Let's go down and have a look at 'The Swallow.'"
Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters, but Dab's first
words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.
"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a
minute."
Dab explained as well as he could; but, before he had finished, Ham
suddenly exclaimed,--
"There's Dick Lee, on board 'The Swallow!' What on earth's he there
for?"
"Dick!" shouted Dabney.
"Cap'n Dab, did yo' set this yer boat to trap somebody?"
"No. Why?"
"'Cause you's done gone an' cotched 'im. Jes' you come an' see."
The sound of Dick's voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of the
slumbering tramp; and as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl, and pushed
along-side the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily lifted
above the rail.
"It's the very man!" excitedly shouted Dabney.
"The tramp?"
"Yes,--the tramp!"
No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his
broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength; but he was on
board "The Swallow" like a flash, and Burgin was "pinned" by his iron
grasp before he could so much as guess what was coming.
"Le' go o' me!"
"I've got you!"
It was too late for any such thing as resistance; and the captive
settled at once into a sullen, dogged silence, after the ordinary custom
of his kind when they find themselves cornered. It is a species of dull,
brute instinct, more than cunning, seemingly; but not a word more did
Ham and Dab obtain from their prisoner,--although they said a good many
to him,--until they delivered him over to the safe-keeping of the lawful
authorities at the village. That done, they went home to breakfast,
feeling that they had made a good morning's work of it, but wondering
what would be the end and result of it all.
"Ten years, I guess," said Ham.
"In State prison?"
"Yes. Breaking stone. He'll get his board free, but it'll be total
abstinence for him. I wonder what took him on board 'The Swallow,'"
"I know,--the jug!"
"That's it, sure's you live. I saw him over on the island. I declare! To
think of an empty demijohn having so much good in it!"