IN WHICH PHIL FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER, AND FINDS SOMETHING ELSE.
My men had given up the contest, but I had not. A single glance at Mr.
Ben Waterford was enough to nerve my arm for anything. But really there
was nothing that I could do, except to fight an insane battle with the
certainty of defeat.
"Well, Farringford, I didn't think you were such a chicken," said
Captain Farraday, with an obvious sneer on his face.
"I have concluded not to go in the Michigan," I replied, very much
crestfallen.
"Have you? Well, as you have signed the papers, I have concluded that
you shall go in the Michigan. I don't back out myself, and don't mean
to let others do so."
"Won't you let me off?" I asked, willing to try what fair words could
do.
"Can't do it, my hearty. The fact is, I took a fancy to you when we
first met, and I can't afford to part company with you so soon."
"Nor I, either," added Ben Waterford. "I have sailed with Phil before,
and I know he will make a good sailor. He has the regular sea swash
about him. Come, Phil, come into this boat, and don't waste time."
"I shall never go to sea with you, if I can help it," I replied,
looking about me for the means of doing something to redeem myself from
my fate.
"That's just the point; you can't help it. You have signed the
articles, and you are sold to the Michigan for this voyage," added Ben.
"Come along, Farringford. I find the new mate is a man after my own
heart," said the captain.
"He is not a man after my own heart, and I would rather be excused from
serving under him. I don't think we shall agree."
"You may not agree, but he will," laughed the captain, who did not
appear to be half so amiable as before I had signed the shipping papers.
"I don't think you know him. In my opinion, the police commissioners
of St. Louis would like to see him very much indeed," I answered.
This was a very imprudent remark on my part, though it was only the
simple truth. Ben Waterford's face turned red, and he leaped into the
boat where I was.
"We have carried this farce just far enough," said he, angrily. "I'm
not going to fool all day with any one. Now get into that boat. Tumble
his trunk in."
The men with me obeyed the order, and my valuable trunk was placed
in the stern sheets of the shipping master's boat. I could not hope
successfully to resist the captain and mate of the Michigan, and calmer
reflection than I had at first given the subject cooled my desperate
ardor. But I still hoped that some lucky event would save me from my
fate.
"Tumble into the boat, Phil," repeated the mate.
"I want you to tell the police of New York, as soon as possible," I
continued, turning to my boatman, "that the mate of the Michigan is--"
I had not time to say any more before Ben Waterford seized me by the
throat, and pitched me into the other boat.
[Illustration: PHIL MADE PRISONER BY WATERFORD.]
"Is a forger," I shouted.
"Shove off," said Captain Farraday; and the two boats separated.
"I'll tell them," replied the boatman, who was evidently vexed at the
loss of the promised sovereign, though he had done his best to earn it.
"I want you to come alongside the bark, and carry the papers to the
custom-house," said Captain Farraday. "I will give you five dollars if
you will."
"I'll give you five more," added Ben Waterford.
I saw that those who were likely to be my friends were to be bought
off. Ten dollars would effectually silence them, and I had nothing more
to hope for, though it occurred to me that I might communicate with the
pilot, whose canoe had come alongside just as I left the bark. I had
exhausted my own resources, and I prayed to God for help. I was driven
up the accommodation ladder, and reached the deck, utterly defeated and
cast down. The men hoisted up my trunk, but I felt as though that and
myself might as well be at the bottom of the bay. I had neglected, both
in the letter and the spirit, the advice of my father, and I was in a
fair way to suffer severely for it. If Ben Waterford had not been the
mate of the bark, my future would have seemed more tolerable.
"What shall we do with him?" asked Captain Farraday. "Send him forward
with the rest of the crew?"
"Not yet; he is turbulent, and may make trouble there. We will keep him
aft till we are in blue water. Come with me, Phil," he continued, in
savage tones, which were a foretaste of what I might reasonably expect
from him.
I followed him into the cabin, where he ordered me to wait his further
pleasure. He looked into several state-rooms, and finally entered
one of them, closing the door behind him. I had an opportunity for
reflection; but I had nothing to think of but the misery which the
future had in store for me. I sat down on a stool, and it was the
literal stool of repentance to me. If I could only get on shore once
more, I should be willing to give my word never to go to sea as a
sailor again. Captain Farraday came below while I was there, but he
said nothing to me. He enclosed some papers in an envelope, and soon
left me alone.
He had hardly gone before Ben Waterford came out of the state-room. He
had changed his clothes, and looked more like a sailor than before.
When I first saw him, I recognized him as the "Mr. A. McGregor" I had
seen on board of the steamer. Of course I had no more doubt that he had
robbed me of my money. I concluded that he had in some manner learned
that I had it before he left St. Louis, and had probably come on board
of the boat to obtain it. He had shaved off his whiskers, and taken
other precautions to avoid recognition.
"Go in there, Phil," said he, pointing to the state-room he had just
left. "You and I have berthed together before, and we can do it again."
"I don't care about going on this voyage now, Mr. Waterford."
"Perhaps not; but you have shipped, and you are bound to go now."
"If you will let me off--"
"I have no time to talk now. Go in there. I shall know where to find
you when I want you."
"I was only going to say--"
"In there," said he, savagely; and he made a demonstration towards me.
I concluded that it would be the safest way for me to obey, and I
entered the state-room. He closed the door behind me, and I heard the
bolt of the lock spring upon me. I was a prisoner, and Ben Waterford
intended that I should remain where I was till the bark was in blue
water. In a short time I heard the voice of the captain, giving orders
on the quarter-deck to get the vessel under way. I had nothing to do
but bewail my sad fate.
The state-room belonged to the chief mate. On a desk in the corner
was a volume lettered "Log-book." On the floor was Ben Waterford's
trunk, and I was almost sure I had seen it on board of the steamer on
the Ohio. I stooped down to look at it, in order to satisfy myself,
for I had nothing else to do. The key was in the key-hole. This was
certainly a great oversight on the part of the mate. He could not have
intended to leave his trunk open while I was a prisoner in his room;
but villains are always making blunders and mistakes.
I am willing to acknowledge that it is not right to retaliate for
an injury; but I at once decided to explore the trunk of Mr. Ben
Waterford. I did not intend to do so from motives of revenge, but
simply in the interests of justice, and with the hope that I might find
my lost money. I had been trying for years to be a Christian young man.
I had been in earnest, and every day I had read the New Testament, and
endeavored to follow its precepts and principles. I honestly believe,
if I could have performed a good service to the new mate, I should not
have hesitated to do it.
I opened the trunk, and lifted up the various articles which it
contained. Among other things, I found several bags of money--gold, I
concluded by the weight of them. I untied the strings of several of
them, and found that they contained English sovereigns and Spanish
doubloons. They were not mine, and I restored them. If I had known
then to what use they were to be applied, I should have felt justified
in throwing them all into the sea. I concluded that Waterford had
exchanged the money he had obtained by forgery in St. Louis for this
gold. I tied up each bag as I found it, and put it back in its place.
While I was thus engaged, I heard the creaking of the rigging, and the
bark had careened over so that I understood she was now going to sea.
But I had not examined all the bags, and I continued my investigation.
Among them I found a quantity of coin tied up in a white linen
handkerchief. I removed the string, and was pleased to find that
the money consisted of American gold. I had counted my own coin
times enough to know exactly of what it consisted. There were sixty
twenty-dollar pieces and thirty ten-dollar pieces. It did not take
me long to count them, and the number corresponded to my own. I was
satisfied that this money was mine, though of course I could not
identify all the pieces. I should not have been willing to swear to any
one of them, though some had a very familiar look.
I claimed this gold, and being my own judge and jury, my claim was
allowed. It was possible that it was not mine; but the probabilities
were all in my favor. I decided to take possession, though it occurred
to me that I might as well take possession of the vessel, since I was
in the power of my enemy, and he could take it from me at his own
pleasure. I proceeded to tie up the handkerchief as I had found it,
when upon one corner of it I found the initials "P. F." These letters
certainly belonged to me, whether the gold did or not. They had been
worked in the linen by Mrs. Greenough, my excellent St. Louis landlady.
It was the counterpart of the others in my wardrobe; and it was
perfectly evident that Mr. Ben Waterford had stolen the handkerchief
from my trunk when he opened it to take out the gold. I had not missed
the handkerchief, but I identified it to my own satisfaction. I thought
that a less partial judge and jury would have given me the verdict on
this evidence, added to that I had before obtained.
I put the gold into my coat pocket, hoping that my wits would enable
me to retain it through the vicissitudes which were before me. I had
recovered my money, but I cannot say that I felt much better than
before. It was like the yellow dross upon the desert island; I had no
opportunity to use it; but I felt that I was in better condition to
escape whenever an occasion should be presented. I put everything in
the trunk just as I had found it, except the portion that belonged to
me. I locked it, and then, having unscrewed the bull's eye, I opened
it, and dropped the key overboard.
By this time the bark was pitching in the billows, and I concluded that
we must soon be in "blue water." It grew dark in the state-room; but at
last the door opened, and the mate summoned me to appear on deck.