THE REBELLIOUS SKIPPER OF THE SLOOP.
"What are you going to do with Paul Bristol, Mad Twinker?" inquired
Bissell, as they marched him down to the sloop.
"We are not going to do anything with him. Major Billcord wants to see
him, and we promised to take him over to Sandy Point for him," answered
the chief ruffian.
"Oh, that's all, is it?" added the skipper. "What is the major going to
do with him?"
"We don't know; and it's none of our business."
"Of course it isn't," replied Bissell cheerfully, as he hauled up the
bow of the boat so that the party could get on board. "How are you
feeling now, Paul?"
"I think I am all right. I have got some hard cracks since I saw you at
your house, but I guess I shall come out of it all right," replied the
prisoner, looking with interest and anxiety into the face of the
store-keeper.
Just then, while the ruffians were picking their way into the boat,
Bissell gave the prisoner an almost imperceptible wink, which Paul saw
and comprehended. It was full of hope to him, for he did not see how the
skipper could deliver him over to the magnate after the good service he
had rendered, in his humble way, on board of the Silver Moon. Besides,
he was a Beech Hiller now, and the store-keeper knew it. He was under
great obligations to them, and Paul did not believe he would betray one
of their number.
The skipper had not lowered his mainsail when he made the landing, and
the sloop was all ready to shove off. After two of the ruffians were in
the standing-room, the prisoner was conducted on board between two
others. At this point, Bissell went on board and took a stand near the
tiller.
"It blows like Sam Hill to-day," said he, "and I want you to keep your
places, and not move out of them. There are eight of us now, and sit
four on a side. Here, Paul, you sit there," and he shoved the prisoner
into the place next to his own, on the port side.
"But you won't have to go out into the rough water to get to Sandy
Point," suggested Mad Twinker.
"We must go out some distance, for there is hardly any wind under the
bluffs," replied the skipper. "You take a seat in that corner, Mad;" and
he crowded him into the place opposite his own.
The other ruffians were arranged to suit him, and then he shoved the
sloop off into deep water. The sail filled on the port tack, and the
Silver Moon went off with the wind a little abaft of the beam. The shore
was low at the head of the bay, and the sloop got her full share of the
breeze. She struck into an eight-knot speed at once.
"It was lucky for us that you came up to the creek, Mr. Bissell," said
Mad Twinker, as the boat shot ahead.
"Perhaps it was," replied the skipper; but there was not much enthusiasm
in the remark.
"Those villains from the other side blocked us in so that we couldn't do
anything, and we were thinking of walking Paul over by land," added the
leader. "But some of us are about used up, and we did not like the idea
of such a tramp through the woods."
As he spoke he glanced at the battered faces of some of his companions.
They all looked as though they had been through the wars.
"The head boat of the tinkers is swinging around," said Alf Sumner, as
the Gildrock turned her bow towards the shore.
"I wonder what they are going to do now," added Mad Twinker, with no
little anxiety in his expression.
"The rest of the tinker boats are following her," continued Ham Jackson.
The Gildrock made a graceful sweep before the sloop came up with the
position of the last barge in the line, and was abreast of the Silver
Moon about as soon as she was under full headway. The Beech Hillers now
laid themselves out, though they could hardly expect to keep up with the
sailboat in that wind.
"Can't you outsail those barges, Mr. Bissell?" asked Mad Twinker.
"Every time when we have as much breeze as we have now," replied the
skipper. "And we shall have a good deal more before we have any less."
"There goes the Dasher," said Alf Sumner. "The Racer is after her."
"And both of them will be a long way after the tinkers," added Ham
Jackson.
"We want you to put us ashore on the Sandy Bay side of the point," said
Mad Twinker. "Of course, we shall pay you the dollar an hour for the
boat and boatman for all the time we have her."
"That's all right," answered the skipper, as he headed the Silver Moon
farther out into the bay, and let off the main sheet to suit the change.
In a few minutes more the boat was in rough water, and she began to
pitch and roll in a manner somewhat trying to the nerves of persons not
used to it. The six ruffians, who were no boatmen, for they had very
seldom been allowed in a sailboat, did not like it.
"What's the use of going out so far from the shore, Mr. Bissell?"
demanded Mad Twinker.
"I don't think it is safe to sail near the bluffs, for the wind is flawy
and snappish there," replied the skipper. "I don't know but I shall have
to put a reef in the mainsail, for the gusts come heavier than I thought
for."
As he spoke he hauled out a lot of rope from the locker under the
tiller. He began to fuss over the lines to find a reef pendant. He took
his knife from his pocket, and cut one of them off the right length. He
laid the knife down by his side on the seat, and then returned all the
ropes, except the one he had cut off, to the locker.
"I may not want to reef, but it is best to be ready," continued the
skipper, shifting the tiller a couple of notches on the comb. "Do you
think those barges will come up with us, Mad?"
"I should judge that they would not," replied the leader.
"The Beech Hillers are putting in some strong strokes," added Bissell.
"So are our boats," replied Mad.
"They are getting up quite a smart race. Will you fellows bet on your
own boats?" asked the skipper, with a cheerful smile.
"Of course we won't while the Dasher is four hands short of her
complement," said Jeff Monroe.
"But your boats are doing their prettiest, and I shouldn't wonder if
they got the best of it in the end. Don't you see that the Dasher is
gaining on the Marian?" continued Bissell, with a great deal of
earnestness.
"I don't think she is gaining at all," put in Steve Douglas.
But the six ruffians were gazing with all their eyes at the five barges;
and this was the one thing that Bissell most desired. While he held on
to the tiller with his right hand he had picked up his knife with the
other. Reaching around behind him, he got hold of the cord which bound
Paul Bristol. Making sure that the blade was in the right place, in
which he was assisted by the prisoner, he cut the rope.
"Is the Dasher gaining anything, Mad?" he asked when he had accomplished
his purpose without attracting the attention of the ruffians.
"Not a hair; she is losing, and the tinkers are running away from our
boats. They ought to when our fellows are short-handed."
"I guess you are right, Mad," added the skipper, as he looked about him,
as if in search of something. "The wind comes stronger and stronger, and
I think I shall want my long tiller. It is in the cuddy forward; Will
you hand it to me, Jeff Monroe?"
Jeff produced the spare tiller, and passed it astern to the skipper. It
was about three feet long, and was made of the toughest oak. Bissell
took it, and placed it at his side, between himself and the prisoner.
Though Paul knew that his arms were free, he had not removed them from
the position in which the cord had kept them, and no one but the skipper
suspected that he was not still in bonds.
All that the owner had said about rough seas had been uttered to blind
the six ruffians. It was rough, but not nearly so bad as it had been in
the forenoon farther from the land. Bissell had become more interested
that day in sailing a boat than he had ever been before. He had obtained
a good many new ideas on the subject, and was really desirous of
reducing them to practice. Without saying anything about his intention,
he had gradually let off the sheet, and put up the helm until the Silver
Moon was now a full mile from the shore, and was exposed to the entire
force of the moderate gale.
The Beech Hill barges followed the sloop, but the Chesterfields were
inclined to keep near the shore. The latter were short-handed, and this
was doubtless their excuse. The sailboat was now at least half a mile
from the Gildrock. Bissell was glowing with his new ideas, and he was
disposed to profit by the instructions of the skipper of the Goldwing
while they were fresh in his mind. Suddenly he hauled in the sheet, and
threw the sloop up into the wind and then let her off on the starboard
tack. Laying a course which would take him back to the mouth of the
creek, he trimmed the sail and let her drive.
"What under the canopy are you doing, Mr. Bissell?" demanded Mad
Twinker angrily.
"I am afraid the Dasher will not catch us if I run off any farther,"
replied Bissell.
"No matter whether she catches you or not. All you have to do is to land
us at Sandy Point, on the bay side," added the leader of the ruffians.
"I guess we had better run back a piece," said Bissell, unmoved by the
wrath of his passengers.
"We don't wish to go back," protested Jeff Monroe. "Do you want the
tinkers to board us and take our prisoner out of the sloop?"
"I don't know that I care if they do."
"Don't you? Well, we do! We won't stand this sort of thing. We hire the
boat, and she must go where we say," replied Jeff, rising from his seat,
boiling over with wrath. "We won't stand it!"
"What are you going to do about it?" inquired Bissell in the mildest of
tones.
"I order you to come about and take us to Sandy Point, as you agreed to
do."
"I didn't agree to do anything of the kind. I told you I would take Paul
on board, and then the rest of you, when you asked me to do so. That's
the whole of it."
"This is treachery," yelled Mad Twinker.
"Well, if it is, I think we have carried this thing about far enough. I
hadn't any idea of helping you to hand Paul over to Major Billcord. I
would sink my carcass to the bottom of the lake first," continued the
skipper of the Silver Moon, warmly.
"All we have to do, fellows, is to take possession of the boat," shouted
Jeff Monroe, as he made a rush aft.
"Back into your seat, or I will spill you into the lake!" said Bissell
sharply.
But Jeff was not to be intimidated by a threat, and, supported by Mad,
he made a dive at the skipper. Suddenly the spare tiller appeared in
air, in the hands of Paul, and then it came down upon the head of Jeff
Monroe.