LITTLE BOBTAIL.
"What have you done with it, Robert?" demanded Ezekiel Taylor, a coarse,
rough man of forty, who was partially intoxicated and very angry. "You
and your mother've hid that jug of rum."
Robert looked at Mrs. Taylor, who was making bread at the table, but he
did not deem it prudent to make any reply. That jug was the evil genius
of the little household. It had transformed Ezekiel Taylor from an
honest, industrious, and thriving man, into a mean, lazy, and thriftless
drunkard. It had brought misery and contention into the little house
which he had bought and paid for before his marriage. He was a cooper by
trade, and had set up in business for himself; but his dissolute habit
had robbed him of his shop, and reduced him first to a journeyman and
then to a vagabond. He earned hardly enough to pay for the liquor he
consumed; but, somehow,--and how was the mystery which perplexed
everybody who knew the Taylors,--the family always had enough to eat and
good clothes to wear. Years before, he had, under the pretence of buying
a shop in which to set up in business again, mortgaged his house for
five hundred dollars, and his wife had signed away her right of dower in
the premises, without a suspicion of anything wrong. But the money was
quickly squandered, and Squire Gilfilian, who had the mortgage,
threatened to take the place, though the interest was paid with
tolerable regularity by the wife.
Ezekiel worked a little when he was sober; but a day of industry was
sure to be followed by a spree. He could procure a few drinks at the
saloons; but as soon as he began to be tipsy, even the saloon keepers
refused to furnish him more, for the public sentiment of the place
fiercely condemned them. The cooper had worked a day and obtained a jug
of rum. After breakfast he had gone into the village and drank two or
three times, and when he could procure no more liquor there, he came
home to continue his spree on the stock he had before laid in. The jug
had been concealed in the wood-shed, where Robert had discovered it. It
suggested evil to himself and his mother, abuse and even personal
violence. As he afterwards explained it, he saw a storm brewing, and,
like a prudent sailor, he had prepared for it, or prepared to avert it,
by taking the jug down to the steamboat wharf and dropping it upon the
rocks below, where the rising tide soon covered the pieces, and for a
time concealed the evidences of the deed.
"What have you done with it, you villain?" repeated the angry head of
the family, looking first at the boy and then at his wife.
"I haven't seen it, and didn't know you had any jug," replied Mrs.
Taylor.
"Don't lie to me about it," stormed Ezekiel. "You can't fool me. I left
that jug in the wood-shed, and 'tain't there now. It couldn't have gone
off without any help."
"I haven't touched it," repeated Mrs. Taylor.
"Yes, you have; you know you have," added the tippler, demonstrating
with a clinched fist towards her.
"I tell you I haven't seen it."
"I say you have," said Ezekiel, shaking his fist in her face; "you know
you have; and if you don't tell me what you've done with it, it'll go
hard with you."
"She hasn't seen it, and don't know anything at all about it,"
interposed Robert, in order to turn the wrath of the inebriate from his
mother.
"Then _you_ do, you villain," said Ezekiel, turning sharply upon the
youth.
The boy did not make any reply.
"What have you done with it?" cried the angry cooper.
"Mother knows nothing at all about it; she hasn't touched it, and didn't
know there was any jug there."
Mrs. Taylor suspended work and looked earnestly at the boy. She
understood by his manner that he had removed the jug, and she dreaded
the consequences of her husband's wrath. Ezekiel continued to repeat his
question in his drunken frenzy, and to demonstrate violently with his
fist at the youth. He turned again upon his wife, and accused her of
being a party to the removal of the jug; but Robert's only object seemed
to be to shield her from his wrath.
"I tell you again she don't know anything at all about it," said he, at
last. "I did the business myself; and that jug has gone up. It won't
hold any more rum."
"What did you do with it, you villain?" gasped Ezekiel.
"I dropped it off the railroad wharf upon the rocks; and there isn't a
piece left of it big enough to stop a mouse hole."
"You did--did you?"
"I did," added Robert, desperately, as he braced himself to brave the
consequences of his bold deed.
"What business had you to meddle with my property?" demanded Ezekiel,
furiously.
"It was a kind of property that don't make any man the richer," replied
the youth.
"Who told you to do it?" asked the inebriate, glancing at his wife.
"No one told me, and no one knew anything about it."
"Then I'll teach you to steal my property! I'll take it out of your
hide, you rascal."
"There isn't any of it in my hide, and I don't mean there ever shall
be."
Ezekiel took down a clothes-stick which was hanging against the wall,
and with it he made a dive and a plunge at Robert. The boy was too
active to be caught by a man whose footing was none too steady. He
easily dodged the blows which were aimed at him, till the tippler, out
of breath from his exertions, placed himself before the door to prevent
the escape of the culprit, and there rested himself from the fatigue of
the onslaught.
"Don't you strike that boy," said Mrs. Taylor, warmly; and she had
before essayed to suspend the strife.
"Yes I will! I'll flog him within an inch of his life. I'll teach him to
meddle with my property," gasped Ezekiel.
"If you do, I'll leave this house, and never come into it again. I won't
have no such goings on where I am," said the woman, warmly and
energetically.
"That's right, mother; you leave," added Robert, who had remained in the
room only to turn the wrath of the husband from her to himself.
"He shan't hurt you, Robert. I'll stand up for you to the end," added
Mrs. Taylor, as she passed into her chamber, which was next to the
"living-room."
"I don't care who goes, nor who stays. I ain't a going to have any such
works as this," continued Ezekiel, as he gathered himself up for another
attack. "I ain't a going to have my property, that cost money,
destroyed, and you won't want to do such a thing again, I can tell you."
The angry man rushed towards Robert, who stood near the door which
opened into the front entry; but he knew that it was locked, and so he
did not attempt to escape in that direction. Being in the corner, his
furious assailant attempted to pin him there; but Robert, by a flank
movement, reached the door which led to the wood-shed, and passed out.
He was closely pursued by Ezekiel; but the tipsy man might as well have
attempted to catch a wild antelope. The boy dodged around the wood-shed
and other buildings till he had thrown his pursuer off the track; then
he went to the back window of his mother's chamber to assure himself
that she was still safe. She was putting on her bonnet and shawl, with
the evident intention of leaving the house.
"Did he strike you, Robert?" she asked, through the open window, with
more of indignation than terror in her manner.
"Not he," replied Robert. "I can keep out of his way easy enough."
"Don't go near him again--that's a good boy. There's no knowing what he
may do. He's as ugly as sin when he has had two or three glasses and
wants more."
"But where are you going, mother?" asked the boy.
"I don't know where to go yet; but I'm not going to stay here to-day. I
can't bear it any longer. You will keep out of his way--won't you,
Robert?"
"I'm not afraid of him; but I'm going out a fishing as soon as the tide
makes enough to get the boat off."
"Well, I'll go up and spend the day with Mrs. Paine," added Mrs. Taylor.
"I hope your father will get over it before night."
"I've got about enough of this, mother; and if it wasn't for you, I'd
clear out this very day."
"Don't leave me yet, Robert," pleaded the poor woman. "I mean to leave
him myself if he don't behave better. He shan't abuse you."
"I don't mean he shall. But I think I can take care of myself better
than you can of yourself."
Mrs. Taylor did not think so; but she did not dispute the point. The
approach of Ezekiel caused the youth to beat another retreat; but, from
the other side of the street, he saw his mother leave the house and walk
towards the village. Satisfied that she was safe from the wrath of her
brutal husband, he soon followed her, though he did not overtake her,
for his course, after a short distance, led him in another direction.
"I'm glad that man is not my father," muttered Robert to himself, as he
walked towards the village.
A knowledge of this fact had come to him only a few days before, and it
was a great relief to him, for certainly there was no meaner man in
Camden than Ezekiel Taylor. He was sorry that he had ever been permitted
even to bear his name. He was sixteen years old, though, for his age, he
was rather short. But he was a stout, wiry, athletic little fellow. He
was just as much puzzled as the rest of the town's people to know how
his mother contrived to feed and clothe herself and him, when it was
patent to everybody that her husband spent all that he earned for rum.
She always had money enough to buy a beefsteak and to pay her store
bill. When everything seemed to have "gone to the dogs," and his last
suit of clothes was out at the elbows, she astonished him by getting a
new suit. The coat had very brief skirts, after the fashion then
prevailing. On his short, stubbed form, it gave him a peculiar
appearance, which promptly attracted the attention of his companions,
when he went to church and Sunday school, after a long absence caused by
the want of suitable clothing. The boys called him "Bob Taylor;" but
when this coat appeared, they cut off one syllable, and made his
cognomen "Bobtail," which soon became "Little Bobtail," for he was often
called little Bob Taylor before, by the larger boys.
Robert was disposed to resent all these liberties with his name; but as
Squire Gilfilian, the hotel keeper, and the deputy collector of the
port, good-naturedly adopted the fashion of the youngsters, he was
compelled to acquiesce. After all, there was not much difference between
Little Bobtail and little Bob Taylor, certainly not enough to quarrel
about.
Robert went to the post-office, not because he expected any
letters,--for he had no correspondence,--but because a great many people
went there when the mail arrived. He was always ready to make a quarter
when an opportunity presented. He spent half his time on the water in
the summer, and knew all about a boat. Sometimes the strangers at the
hotel wanted him to go out with them, and indicate the best places to
catch cod, haddock, and mackerel, and sometimes there was an errand to
be done.
"Little Bobtail!" shouted the post-master through his window, as Robert
entered the office.
He went up to the window, and asked what was wanted.
"Here is a letter for Squire Gilfilian, who was in a desperate hurry to
get it, if one came," added the post-master. "Will you carry it up to
his office?"
"Yes, sir," replied Little Bobtail, promptly.
"Here is another for Captain Chinks. I think he is at the squire's
office, for they just went up the street together. You may as well take
it along."
Robert took the two letters, and hastened to the squire's office. As he
entered, Captain Chinks came out of the rear apartment, where the lawyer
held his private conferences with his clients.
"Here's a letter for you, sir," said Robert, as he handed one of them to
the captain, who immediately tore it open.
"Thank you, Little Bobtail," said Captain Chinks, taking a quarter in
scrip from his vest pocket, and giving it to him.
"I am very much obliged to you, Captain Chinks," replied Robert, glad to
earn a quarter so easily. "Is Squire Gilfilian in that room?"
"Yes; but he's busy."
"I have a letter for him."
"Put it on the table, and he will find it when he comes out; on his
writing desk there."
Little Bobtail tossed the letter on the desk, and left the office,
thinking only of the quarter he had just made, and how he should invest
it to the best advantage in provisioning the old boat with which he
intended to go a fishing that day. A sheet of gingerbread and a "hunk of
cheese," as he expressed it, seemed to suit the emergencies of the
occasion; and after purchasing these articles, he walked down the road
leading to the Portland steamboat wharf. He had gone but a short
distance before he overtook Captain Chinks, who was reading the letter
he just received as he walked along the plank sidewalk.
Captain Chinks, who was, possibly, a distant relative of him of the
horse-marines, though his name had become corrupted, was a man of
doubtful reputation. The officials of the custom-house kept a sharp eye
upon him, and endeavored to connect him with certain irregular
transactions, whereby sundry cases of brandy and sundry boxes of cigars
had come into Camden without paying tribute to the majesty of the
custom-house. The goods were seized, and duly confiscated; but there was
a link wanting in the chain of testimony which connected Captain Chinks
with the affair. Robert supposed he had been consulting Squire Gilfilian
about the matter; and the youth judged from the angry look of the
captain that the lawyer had not been able to afford him any
satisfaction.
Captain Chinks read his letter, and made his way down to the steamboat
wharf. As Bobtail ran his old boat by the end of the pier, he saw the
man of doubtful reputation go on board of the steamer, and noticed him
on her deck when she started.
That afternoon Robert sold a good mess of fish at the market, and went
home to the cottage, which was on the road leading to the steamboat
wharf. Ezekiel was not there, but his mother was. As the tippler could
not obtain the liquor for a spree, he had become sober. He went to work
the next day, and a temporary peace was patched up. He offered no
violence to the boy while he was sober, but this was only for a brief
period. In a few days he obtained another jug of rum, and Robert and his
mother were obliged to abandon the house to him.
On this afternoon Robert went to the post-office as usual. He had not
been on the water since the day he had carried the letters to Squire
Gilfilian's office, for the reason that he could not obtain a boat, for
he was not the owner of the old craft in which he generally sailed. She
belonged to a boatman by the name of Prince, who managed a larger
Newport boat, in which he conveyed passengers from the hotel, and
others, upon excursions on the bay. Anybody who wanted the old boat took
her, without the formality of asking the owner's leave, though Robert,
being a boy, was not quite so independent as others; but Prince was a
good fellow, and allowed him to use her whenever she was not taken by
somebody else. But Robert had borrowed her for the day, and secured her
near the cottage the night before, so that she could not be used till
the tide served.
"Little Bobtail!" shouted the post-master.
"What, sir?"
"Didn't I give you a letter for Squire Gilfilian, about a week ago?"
"Yes, sir, you did."
"What did you do with it?"
"Laid it on the desk in his office," replied Robert, wondering what all
these questions could mean.
"He never got it."
"Didn't he? Well, I put it on his desk," added the boy, startled and
annoyed at the situation.
Just then the squire himself entered the office, and confirmed the
statement of the post-master. The lawyer questioned Little Bobtail
sharply, perhaps rather from his professional habit than because he
suspected the youth of anything wrong.
"I put it on your desk, sir; and that is all I know about it. Captain
Chinks was in your office at the time, and he told me to put it on the
desk," said Robert, stoutly.
"Now I remember, I gave Bobtail a letter for Captain Chinks at the same
time," added the post-master.
"Yes, sir; and I gave it to him in the squire's office."
"Well, we will look the matter up when Captain Chinks comes back. He has
been away a week now," added the lawyer.
Robert was vexed. He was not directly accused of stealing the letter,
but he did not like the sharp questions which the squire asked him. He
left the office, and, after buying a sheet of gingerbread and some
cheese, he hastened down to the old boat, which was now afloat. He had
put a bucket of clams into her the night before, for bait, and otherwise
prepared the boat for a cruise. The wind was pretty fresh from the
westward, and he went off wing-and-wing before it. He tried the usual
places, but the fish did not bite, and he kept sailing farther and
farther out from the shore; but he caught hardly any fish. He was in no
hurry to go home, for Ezekiel was in his tantrums, and his mother had
gone to Rockport to spend two or three days. The wind, instead of
subsiding as the day advanced, increased in force. The sea was heavy out
in the bay, and it was utterly impossible to beat the old boat up to
windward, for she made more leeway than headway.
"No matter; I'll make a night of it," said he to himself, when he
realized that it was impossible for him to beat back to Camden.
The bay is full of islands, and Little Bobtail concluded to get under
the lee of one of them, and wait for better weather. He took in his jib
and mainsail, and the old boat went along very well, taking in very
little water. The sun went down, and it was dark before he had made a
harbor. He was approaching Blank Island, where he knew a good place to
anchor for the night, when he discovered a large sail-boat, drifting
down the bay. Her sails were all lowered, but had not been secured, and
were flapping about in the wind.
"Boat, ahoy!" shouted Little Bobtail.
No answer came to his repeated hails; and, throwing the old craft up
into the wind, he awaited the approach of the abandoned boat. Placing
himself In the bow, with the painter in his hand, he leaped on board of
the stranger, as she drifted upon his old craft. The abandoned boat was
worthy to be called a yacht. She was about thirty-two feet in length,
with eleven feet beam. Two thirds of her length was decked over, with a
trunk cabin, in which were transoms large enough for four berths, with a
cook-room forward. She was handsomely fitted up, and Little Bobtail
wondered how she happened to be adrift. He hoisted the mainsail, and in
a few moments ran her into a little bay under the lee of Blank Island,
where he anchored her. As she had an anchor it was evident that she had
not broken away from her anchorage. Having secured the old boat at a
safe distance from the yacht, the young boatman had an opportunity to
examine his prize, for such it proved to be.