ROBERT BARKESDALE MONTAGUE.
"Well, Captain Chinks, did you find the man who paid that five hundred
dollar bill to Colonel Montague?" asked Squire Gilfilian, as he seated
himself in the standing-room, opposite his client.
"I didn't look for him," replied the captain, studying the seams in the
deck.
"I thought that was what you went down there for. You told me that, in
your opinion, Bobtail here had sent some one down to Bar Harbor to buy
this boat with the money taken from the letter," added the squire, whose
"fine judicial mind" had not yet grasped the truth. "I don't see any
other way that this bill could have got to Bar Harbor."
"Mr. Hines and I saw the man that received the bill for the boat," added
the deputy sheriff.
Captain Chinks looked up at the speaker, as if to entreat him to deal
gently.
"Well, who gave him the bill?" demanded the squire, impatiently.
"The captain can tell you."
"How can he tell me? He didn't see the man. Why didn't you see him,
captain?"
"I had something else to think of," replied the culprit, with the most
woe-begone expression that ever darkened the face of man. "It's no use
for me to try to beat to windward any more. I gave him the bill myself,
Squire Gilfilian. That's the truth."
"You!" gasped the lawyer.
"I gave it to him."
"That can be proved, for Mr. Gordon identified him as he came off the
steamer at Bar Harbor," added Mr. Brooks.
"I don't deny it," said the captain, meekly.
"But where did you get the bill?" asked the squire.
Captain Chinks did not answer immediately. It was too humiliating to
tell the whole truth, and the lawyer seemed to be very slow to
comprehend it.
"I had no more notion of opening that letter than I had of flying," he
said, at last, after the squire had repeated his question.
"Did you open it?"
"I'll tell you just how it was; but, upon my word, I didn't mean to open
it. Bobtail came into your office that day with the two letters in his
hand, one for you and one for me. He gave me one of them, and I tore it
open without looking at the address."
"Did I give you the wrong one?" asked the skipper.
"You did; and that was what made all the mischief," answered the
captain, wishing to lessen his guilt if possible.
"I didn't know I gave you the wrong one. I had no reason for doing so. I
put the other on the desk, as you told me to do," explained Bobtail.
"Yes; you tossed it on the desk, and it fell with the address down. You
went out then, and I found the letter I had opened was for Squire
Gilfilian, and had a five hundred dollar bill in it."
"There was no harm done even then," said the lawyer. "If you had given
it to me and explained the mistake, it would have been all right."
"That's where I made my mistake, squire. I was afraid you would think I
meant to steal your money, or pry into your business, and I put the
letter into my pocket. It came from the bank robbers, and I didn't
suppose you would believe any such letter had been sent to you."
"I didn't till the man identified the bill," replied the squire. "Mrs.
Taylor gave me the bill in the morning, and while I was writing her
release, Mr. Slipwing came into the office. When the woman paid me the
money, I couldn't help wondering where she got so large a bill.
Happening to think of her son's connection with the letter, it occurred
to me that he had opened that letter. Slipwing described the bill before
he saw it, so as fully to identify it. Of course I was entirely
satisfied then that Bobtail had stolen the letter."
"I don't blame you for thinking so," said the skipper.
"It looked like a plain case; but it is singular how that bill came back
to me. You went off to Mount Desert that day, Captain Chinks."
"Yes; I expected a lot of stuff from the provinces. I went to Bar
Harbor, and bought the boat."
"And you paid the bill from the letter for the boat? Now, that brings up
another question. The bill belonged to me, and I claim it. What Mrs.
Taylor paid me amounts to nothing."
"I don't believe you can make that go, Squire Gilfilian," said Mr.
Hines. "If I mistake not, there's a decision the other way."
"I shall try it, at any rate," added the squire.
"No, you needn't," interposed Captain Chinks. "I will make it good
myself."
"That will settle the case," replied the squire, who knew that his
client had the means to do so.
"If Mrs. Taylor must make good the loss to you, then Colonel Montague
must make it good to her, and Mr. Gordon to the colonel. If the payment
in stolen money was not legal, there was no sale of the boat, and she
still belongs to Mr. Gordon," continued Mr. Hines. "In the mean time the
government has seized her for violation of the revenue laws, and the
case is decidedly mixed."
"I will pay the squire the five hundred dollars," added the smuggler.
"And lose your boat besides?" queried the squire.
"What's the use? You can't fight against the government. The
custom-house officers have the boat and the stuff."
"What stuff?" asked the squire.
"A lot of brandy that I could have sold for over a thousand dollars,
which didn't cost me four hundred. It would bring fifteen hundred at
retail."
"O ho!" said the squire, opening his eyes.
"I'm caught, and I may as well make the best of it. I used to think this
sort of business paid, but I don't think so now. I shall lose my boat,
the money I paid for the stuff, and have to pay a fine of a thousand
dollars besides. That makes me about two thousand out--half of all I'm
worth, besides my farm; and all because Little Bobtail wouldn't make a
trade with me. I as good as offered to give him the boat, if he would
return the stuff; and I reckon he'll wish he had when you take the boat
away from him, for he has been making money with her."
"No, he won't," said Mr. Hines, decidedly. "He gave the information that
led to the seizure of the goods, and his share of the fine and
forfeiture will be at least five hundred dollars, and he can buy the
boat."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the skipper, opening his eyes. "I had no idea I
was to make anything out of this business. But I am in love with this
boat; and if I get her, I shall be the happiest fellow on Penobscot
Bay."
"You will have her; and we'll manage it so that you shall have the use
of her till she is sold," added Mr. Hines.
Captain Chinks was no longer a man of doubtful reputation. His
contraband operations were capable of proof without his confession, and
his reputation as a dishonest man was now fully established. The Skylark
arrived at Rockland in a couple of hours. The United States deputy
marshal arrested Captain Chinks; but he was liberated on bail furnished
by Squire Gilfilian. The Skylark was seized, and Mr. Hines appointed
keeper; and, on his own responsibility, he permitted Bobtail to have the
use of her.
The detective had fully sifted the captain's method of operating. He was
in company with a "Blue Nose" fisherman, who used to run the goods down
to the coast of Maine, where his partner took them into his boat,
usually in the night, or under the lee of some uninhabited island.
Another lot was on its way, but the captain concluded to have them
properly entered, and paid the duties.
When Bobtail returned from the custom-house in Rockland to the Skylark,
he found Mr. Tom Barkesdale on board of her, waiting for him. This
gentleman had come down to Camden in the steamer, and finding that the
boy had gone to Rockland, he obtained a team, and drove to that place,
where he found the Skylark at the wharf. Monkey did not know where the
skipper had gone; but he soon appeared with all his passengers, for the
business had not detained them more than an hour. But Mr. Barkesdale was
not inclined to "tell him all" in the presence of so many persons. He
finally, after much persuasion, induced Bobtail to return with him in
his buggy, while Mr. Hines sailed the Skylark back to Camden. Nothing
but the assurance that the business was of the utmost importance could
prevail upon the skipper to leave the yacht; and much he wondered what
that business could be. They walked up to the hotel together, but, as
yet, Mr. Barkesdale said nothing.
"I think you have worn that bobtail coat about long enough," said the
gentleman, when they came to Main Street.
"I have a better suit at home."
"What color is it?"
"Blue, sir."
"That will hardly answer. You must go up to Belfast with me, and attend
the funeral of Mr. Montague."
"I?"
"Yes; the family are all very much interested in you. You need a black
suit, and we will get one here," added Mr. Barkesdale, as they entered
the best clothing store on the street.
The finest suit that could be obtained was purchased; and it was
supplemented, at other stores, with a cap, nice shoes, black kid gloves,
and other furnishing goods. Bobtail protested against the gloves; he did
not want any gloves in summer; never wore them, except in winter. But
Mr. Barkesdale said he must wear them at the funeral, if he never did
again.
"I don't see why I should be rigged up in all these togs, to go to the
funeral of a man I never saw but twice in my life," said Bobtail, as
they seated themselves in the buggy.
"You don't know much," laughed Mr. Barkesdale.
"I know I don't."
"You don't even know your own name."
"Everybody calls me Little Bobtail, and it wouldn't be strange if I
forgot my own name," replied the boy.
"I'm told your father's habits are not very good."
"Zeke Taylor's? He isn't my father; he is my mother's second husband;
and my father died when I was small."
"Your mother must have a hard time of it with a drunken husband."
"That's so; I wish she would leave him; and I think she will, for he
don't do much, and spends all he gets for rum. He's ugly, too, and tries
to get her money away from her."
"Then your mother has money of her own?"
"I don't know; there's something strange about it," replied Bobtail,
looking into the face of his companion, and wondering what he was
"driving at." "Zeke says she has money hid away from him."
"Then you have thought of the matter?"
"Well, I can't see, for the life of me, how she supports the family."
"Well you don't know much--not even your own name," laughed Mr.
Barkesdale again.
"I know that my father's name was Wayland, and by rights mine ought to
be Wayland."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Of course I am. I know what my mother told me. I was born in the Island
of Cuba."
"That's true, but not the rest of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Your name is not Wayland."
"What is it, then?" asked Bobtail, amazed beyond expression.
"Your name is Robert Barkesdale Montague--the middle name after me."
"You don't mean so!"
"I do; and when you see your mother, as you call her, she will tell you
the same thing."
"Isn't she my mother?" asked Bobtail,--or rather Robert, as we shall
insist upon calling him now,--with a gasp of astonishment.
"She is not; she is a very worthy woman, but she is not your mother."
"Well, who is my mother?"
"The first Mrs. Montague, of course; she died in Cuba when you were only
a few months old. Mrs. Wayland--as she was then--was your nurse. She has
brought you up, and brought you up very well too, for it appears that
you are an honest, good boy, noble, brave, and intelligent."
"But what's the reason I never knew anything about this before?" asked
the puzzled youth.
"I'll tell you;" and Mr. Barkesdale told the story which is related in
the first two chapters.
"I supposed I had a mother, but no father. It turns out just the other
way," said Robert, rubbing his throbbing head.
"And your father is one of the best men in the world."
"Mrs. Taylor is one of the best women in the world; and I shall be sorry
to leave her. I don't like to believe she is not my mother, after all
she has done for me. I don't believe she ever spoke a cross word to me
in her life;" and the tears started in the boy's eyes.
"I don't think you will have to leave her. Your father will take her up
to Belfast."
[Illustration]
"And all the money came from my father?"
"Yes; I have carried a great deal to her myself."
Robert Montague continued to ask questions till the buggy stopped before
the door of the cottage in Camden. Mrs. Taylor wept, and the boy wept,
as they met. He wished that the truth had not been revealed to him. Mr.
Barkesdale went to the hotel, and Robert spent the evening with Mrs.
Taylor. Ezekiel was at home, and sober. He was permitted to know where
the money which had perplexed him so much came from; and, as the son of
Colonel Montague, he regarded Robert with respect and deference.
Mrs. Taylor and Robert took the steamer for Belfast the next morning,
with Mr. Barkesdale. The boy was dressed in his black suit, and looked
like another person. Colonel Montague's carriage was waiting for them
when the steamer arrived. As Robert entered the elegant mansion, now
"the house of mourning," he could hardly control his violent emotion.
Mr. Barkesdale conducted him and Mrs. Taylor to the library, where the
colonel was alone. As they entered, he walked towards his son, grasped
him by the hand, and turning away his face, wept bitterly. Robert could
not help weeping in sympathy.
"You know now that you are my son," said he, when he was able to speak.
"Mr. Barkesdale told me all about it."
"You are my son, and I am proud of you; but I have been a coward,
Robert," added the colonel, with anguish. "I have wronged my father, who
lies dead in the house; and I have wronged you, my son."
"No, sir; you haven't wronged me," protested Robert.
"I have kept you out of your birthright for sixteen years."
"I couldn't have been any better off than I was with Mrs. Taylor,"
replied the boy, turning to the woman.
The colonel took her hand, and expressed his gratitude to her for all
she had done.
"He is a good boy, and I wish he was my son," said Mrs. Taylor. "I can't
bear to think of losing him."
"You shall not be separated, and he and I both will see that you never
want for anything while you live."
Mrs. Montague and Grace were sent for, and presently appeared.
"I am glad to see you, my boy," said the lady, as she took both his
hands. "You are my son now."
"And did you know I was Colonel Montague's son before?" asked Robert.
"I knew it before I was married to him," she replied. "My husband always
reproached himself--and now more than ever--because he concealed his
first marriage from his father; but my brother and I always thought it
right for him to do so."
"I know it was wrong," added the colonel, bitterly.
"Undoubtedly it was wrong in the abstract, but it was the least of two
evils," said Mr. Barkesdale.
"Now you are my brother, I shall kiss you again," was the greeting of
Grace, as she suited the action to the word.
The rest of the day was spent in talking over the events of the past,
and Robert Montague was duly installed as a member of the household. The
funeral took place the next day, and hundreds of people stared at the
boy who rode with the other members of the family in the first
carriage, and wondered why he was there. In a few days the strange story
was fully circulated both in Belfast and in Camden.
On the day after the funeral Robert returned to his former home with
Mrs. Taylor. He was greeted by his friends with a deference which made
him feel very awkward; and when he went on board of the Skylark, Monkey
hardly dared to speak to him. But he soon convinced all that his altered
fortunes had not changed his heart. He was more amazed himself than
other people were to find himself the son of one of the richest and most
distinguished men in the state. He returned to his new home in the
Skylark on the same day, and arrived soon enough to give Grace a sail in
the yacht before dark.
In due time Robert attended the trial of Captain Chinks, who pleaded
guilty, and was sentenced to a year's imprisonment for opening the
letter and stealing the money. The yacht and the liquor were condemned
and sold. The captain was fined a thousand dollars; and it was said that
he got off easy because he pleaded guilty. Colonel Montague bought the
Skylark when she was sold, with his son's share of "the moiety of the
penalty and forfeiture." With his father as a passenger, Robert sailed
the yacht home.
The Penobscot was got off by the sailing-master and crew at the next
tide after she went on the ledge. Buoyed up with casks she was towed to
Belfast, where she was put on the ways, and made as good as new.
"I thought your sailing-master was rather reckless that night," said
Robert, one day, as they passed the Penobscot on the ways, and were
discussing the mishap.
"It was not his fault. The wheel broke down," replied the colonel.
"I didn't know the wheel broke."
"Yes; that was the trouble; but if it had been the sailing-master's
fault, I wouldn't have said a word, after he saved my father. He's a
brave fellow; he is like you, my son. If you had been less brave,
Robert, Grace would certainly have been drowned, or killed on the
rocks."
Colonel Montague shuddered as he thought of such a calamity, and then
gazed with admiration upon his son.
"I would have done that any time for the fun of it," laughed Robert.
"It was hard for me, when we met on the deck of the Penobscot, to keep
from telling you the truth--that you were my son."
"It's all right now."
The conversation turned to Mrs. Taylor. Colonel Montague wanted to take
her into his family, but her drunken husband was in the way of such a
step. On one of her trips down the bay the Skylark put into Camden, and
Robert and his father called upon her.
"I'm all alone now," said Mrs. Taylor, after she had exchanged greetings
with her visitors.
"Why, where is Ezekiel?" asked Robert.
"He went off a-fishing yesterday in Prince's boat, and caught a great
fare of mackerel. He sold them for nine dollars, and of course he has
been intoxicated ever since. This afternoon he got into a quarrel with
Moses Pitkins, and struck him with a club. Both of them were drunk, and
they say Moses is so badly hurt that he may die. Ezekiel was taken up,
and sent over to Rockland."
"Then you had better go with us to Belfast, Mrs. Taylor," added Colonel
Montague.
Robert begged her to do so, and she consented. Squire Simonton was
engaged to defend Ezekiel when his trial came off. Mrs. Taylor went to
Belfast in the Skylark, and was kindly welcomed at the elegant mansion.
Moses Pitkins did not die, but Ezekiel was sentenced to two months'
imprisonment. Squire Simonton labored diligently with him to abandon his
cups; but the two months' abstinence did him more good than the
arguments, able and kind as they were. When he was discharged he
returned to Camden to find his home deserted. Squire Simonton renewed
his efforts to secure the reform of the toper. He assured Ezekiel that
his wife would not live with him if he continued to be intemperate. He
promised faithfully never to drink a drop, and the squire kept an eye on
him. He let the house to Prince, and boarded with him. He went to work
at his trade, and people said Ezekiel Taylor was a new man since he came
out of prison. Mrs. Taylor heard of his good behavior, and came down to
see him. He promised her faithfully that he would never drink another
drop. Colonel Montague had given her a beautiful little cottage near his
own house, handsomely furnished, when the reports indicated that
Ezekiel had actually reformed. Having satisfied herself of the truth of
the report, she invited him to his new home. Thus far he has kept his
promise, and both are happy in their new residence, which Robert visits
every day, and sometimes oftener.
Mr. Walker and his family spent a week with the Montagues, in September,
after Mr. Barkesdale had gone. Though picnics and pleasure parties were
not in order so soon after the death of the Hon. Mr. Montague, Robert
took Grace and Emily out to sail every day in the Skylark; and up to
this date, he thinks Miss Walker is the prettiest girl in the State of
Maine. He may change his mind within ten years; but if he does not, she
will probably have an opportunity to accept or refuse his hand.
Monkey was retained for service in the Skylark during the rest of the
season. He still thinks his friend, the skipper, is the greatest man in
the world. He sends a portion of his wages to his mother, and in the
fall moved her up to Belfast. Robert goes to Camden occasionally, and
always calls upon Mr. Simonton, who invariably gives him a cheerful
welcome. His views in regard to smuggling are very definite now, and,
as Robert Barkesdale Montague, he believes that fidelity to principle is
the only safe rule of life, whether it brings worldly prosperity or
adversity, as did LITTLE BOBTAIL.
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