IN WHICH PHIL GOES TO SLEEP, AND HIS SEVEREST CATASTROPHE COMES.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Mr. Whippleton, angrily, as he came
alongside of the Marian in the tender.
"I was only looking to see where you were going. I was afraid you might
forget that I was here, and go off without me."
"You are a fool! You make more blunders in the same time than any other
fellow that ever I saw," he added, interlarding his elegant discourse
with coarse and horrid oaths. "Why didn't you stay where you were till
I came back?"
"I was not quite sure that you would come back."
"You were not? Who set you to dog all my movements?"
"I set myself to do it; and I intend to carry out my plan. I thought
you were going to Chicago with me."
"I am, if you don't ground that boat, or wreck her, before I get ready.
You go blundering about a place you know nothing at all about, as
though you considered the safety of that boat of no consequence."
"I consider your safety as of a great deal more consequence," I
answered, with becoming frankness. "If you are going to Chicago with
me, what are you doing in that corner of the lagoon?"
"You are the stupidest blockhead I ever saw, for one who knows how to
keep a set of books. Are you simpleton enough to suppose I would leave
the Florina opposite the mouth of the river, where she would drag her
anchor in the first blow that came?" growled Mr. Whippleton, with
increased vehemence and anger. "I was going to moor her behind this
headland, where she will be safe till I can come after her."
"You were very careful not to wake me, when you got up your anchor."
"What do you suppose I cared whether I waked you or not, you
blunderhead. Now stand by here till we have moored the Florina. Let go
your anchor."
"I can keep her where she is as long as there is a breeze. Moor your
boat, and I am all ready for Chicago."
Mr. Whippleton pulled back to his yacht, and sailed her a short
distance inside of the point, where I heard the splash of the anchor.
His explanation of his movement was reasonable enough, and if I had
been disposed to be satisfied with anything he said or did which
involved his absence in the body from me, I might have been contented
with it. The more determined he was in charging me with blunders, the
better I was satisfied that my course was right; and I preferred to let
the future rather than the present justify my conduct.
"What's the matter, Philip?" asked Marian, opening the slide of the
cabin.
"Nothing; it is all right now."
"But I heard some hard words just now," she persisted.
"Mr. Whippleton thinks I have made another blunder--that's all."
I told her what had occurred, and that, as there was a little breeze,
we should probably start for Chicago in a short time. I advised her to
return to her berth, and not be disturbed by anything she heard. She
acknowledged that she had slept very well till the noise awoke her, and
she was willing to repeat the experiment. She retired, closed and
fastened the slide behind her. In about half an hour Mr. Whippleton and
Peter came on board.
"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Are you going to sea without us,
and carry off all the whiskey?"
I thought, from the movements of the negro, he was carrying off
considerable of it; and the fumes of Mr. Whippleton's breath indicated
that he had not entirely neglected the bottle. But it did not have a
happy effect upon him, as it sometimes does, for he was decidedly ugly.
I believe that liquor intensifies whatever emotions may prevail in the
mind of the toper while under its influence. Joy is more joyous, grief
is more grievous, under its sway; and a man who is ugly when sober is
ten times worse when drunk. A man who has an ugly fit is the uglier for
the rum he has drunk.
Mr. Whippleton had an ugly fit upon him when he came on board of the
Marian. He was probably disappointed and vexed at my conduct, and
having drank several glasses of whiskey, he was really so ugly as to
make himself very uncomfortable. He filled away the yacht, and, taking
the helm, began to rate me over again for my blunders. As we were, to
the best of my knowledge and belief, bound to Chicago, I did not care
much what he said, and I was willing he should waste his venom in any
way he pleased.
The breeze was very light and fitful. We ran out of the lagoon into the
open lake, after a while; but there was hardly wind enough there to
fill the sails. It was still dull sailing, and I was very sleepy and
stupid in spite of the abuse with which Mr. Whippleton regaled me. He
had brought his whiskey bottles back with him, and several times he
imbibed from one of them. Peter went forward with his bottle, and
stretched himself on the forecastle.
The helmsman yawned, and I yawned. The Marian, close-hauled, was not
making two knots an hour. We were headed about north-west, which was
not nearly so close to the wind as the boat could lay.
"We shall not get to Chicago in twenty-four hours at this rate," said
Mr. Whippleton, when he had wasted all his vituperative rhetoric upon
me.
"Not in forty-eight, if you don't keep her a little closer to the
wind," I replied.
"Do you sail this boat, or do I?" he demanded.
"Well, sir, you and that whiskey bottle appear to be doing it just now;
and between you both you are not doing it very well."
"None of your impudence! Perhaps you are conceited enough to think you
could do it better."
"I confess that I am."
"You will mind your own business, Phil."
"I haven't any to mind."
"Go to sleep then!"
"What time is it, sir?"
"About half past twelve."
"I will take my turn at the helm, if you like."
"I won't trust you at the helm. You make too many blunders."
"Then I will take a nap myself."
"That will be the only sensible thing you have done to-night."
I thought it would be sensible, at any rate, and as there was not much
comfort in talking to a man as waspish as he was, I concluded to take
his advice. I stretched myself on the cushions, on the lee side, out of
the helmsman's way, covered myself with the blanket, and was soon
asleep. Perhaps I am conceited: I will not say that I am not; but in
the light of subsequent events, I must say it was the only blunder I
made that night--going to sleep.
I was tired enough to sleep soundly, and as the yacht was bound to
Chicago, I had nothing more to worry me; so I did sleep soundly. If
nothing had occurred to disturb me, doubtless I should have made up my
six hours before morning. Unfortunately something did occur to disturb
me--something sudden and violent.
A heavy hand was laid upon me, and I awoke.
I tried to gain my feet, but a desperate clutch was upon my throat. Mr.
Whippleton was bending over me; his right hand was choking me, while
his left grasped a rope. I tried to scream, but the hard hand choked
me. I realized that I was in the power of my enemy, and I made a
desperate struggle to free myself from his grasp. I thought I was
succeeding, when a crushing blow fell upon my head; my brain sparkled
as with a shower of stars. I remember no more of the affray.
The first sensation that I experienced was a deadly sickness and
faintness. My senses slowly came back to me, and I found myself lying
upon the cushions of the standing-room, with Marian Collingsby leaning
over me, bathing my brow. My head seemed to be bursting with pain and
fulness. I tried to raise my hand to ascertain the extent of my
injuries; but I found that my wrists were tied together behind me.
[Illustration: PHIL A PRISONER. Page 282.]
"O, Philip! Philip!" cried Marian, as I opened my eyes and realized my
situation.
I raised my head and looked around me. Peter was at the helm, and the
yacht was bounding along at a lively rate over the waves. On the
cushion opposite me lay Mr. Whippleton, enveloped in blankets, and
apparently asleep.
"How do you feel, Philip?" asked Marian, who was in as much distress as
I was.
"My head aches terribly," I replied, faintly; and a kind of deadly
sickness came over me again.
She bathed my head again with spirits, and the act revived me.
"This is terrible," said she, trembling with emotion.
"Don't be alarmed, Marian; I shall be better soon," I replied, trying
to change my position, for I was lying on one of my arms, and was very
uncomfortable.
"Won't you untie him, Peter?" said my fair attendant, appealing to the
black helmsman.
"Gorrificious! I'd like to do it first rate; but I dassent," he
answered, glancing at the form of Mr. Whippleton, who was snoring
heavily under the influence of the frequent drams he had taken.
"Then I will," she added, resolutely.
"Don't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton is uncommon ugly."
"I don't care how ugly he is. I am not afraid of him now. Where is your
knife, Philip?"
"In my vest pocket," I replied, encouraged by a hope that the resolute
girl might set me free.
"Mustn't do it, miss. Skipper told me to look out for the young
gentleman. You mustn't do anything to make Mr. Whippleton angry with
you; he'll treat you bad if you do. He was uncommon ugly this mornin',
and kicked me three times in the ribs to wake me, and then cussed me
like I wan't no account."
I suspected that Peter had been sleeping off the fumes of whiskey when
this ungentle treatment was bestowed upon him. Marian put her hand into
my vest pocket and took out my knife. She opened it, and was about to
find the rope that bound me, when the helmsman again interfered.
"Can't let you do it. Very sorry, but I can't. It would cost me all the
rest of the ribs in my body, and three on 'em's broke now."
"Will you let this young man be abused in this manner, you wretch?"
exclaimed Marian, whose gentle nature seemed to have assumed a new
phase.
"I can't help it, miss; 'tain't my fault. Mr. Whippleton's very ugly
this mornin'."
"You are a brute and a coward!" said she, reaching over me to the cords
that bound my wrists.
"Gorrificious!" shouted the negro. "You mustn't do that."
Mr. Whippleton suddenly sprang to his feet, awakened by the cry of
Peter. Rushing forward, he seized the arm of Marian, and dragged her
away from me. As the negro had intimated, he certainly was uncommon
ugly. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was savage.
"Let him alone," said he. "Let no one meddle with him."
"Mr. Whippleton, are you going to let him lie there in pain, with his
hands tied behind him?"
"That's just what I am going to do," said he, taking a bottle of
whiskey from under the seat, and pouring a quantity down his throat.
Perhaps he was afraid that his courage would fail him, if he were not
again fortified by the fiend which had doubtless inspired the evil deed
he had done to me.
"I can believe anything of you now, Mr. Whippleton," added Marian,
courageously.
"Believe anything you please, Miss Collingsby. You will have all you
want to do to think of yourself, without troubling your head about
Phil. I have taught him to mind his own business, and I am going to
repeat the lesson upon you. Go into the cabin!"
"Won't you release Philip--at least, untie his wrists?"
"No, I won't. Go into the cabin, and stay there. I don't mean to have
you on deck."
He moved towards her, and she was compelled to retire to the cabin in
order to escape further violence. I felt that I was alone then. My
worst, and it seemed to me then my last, catastrophe had come. I
regretted my blunder in going to sleep, and the future was dark and
uncertain.