THE STOWAWAY ABOARD THE SUCCESS
AS we know, Brandon Tarr had no intention of remaining long away from
his friends when he slipped out of Adoniram Pepper’s office to escape
arrest on the fraudulent charge of robbery, concocted by Uncle Arad.
The events which followed, however, made it necessary for him to remain
away, and, finally, to go to sea as a stowaway in the hold of the
Success, the vessel chartered by the conspirators to make search for
the Silver Swan.
After the friendly street gamin, Swivel, left him in the hold, in
the early hours of Sunday morning, Brandon of course had no means of
knowing what had become of him--whether he had accomplished his purpose
of getting away from the brig before she sailed, or whether, because
she was short handed, the captain of the Success had retained him.
After Swivel was let up on deck, and the hatch closed, however, Brandon
heard nothing further, except the heavy tramping of the sailors,
the creaking of the ropes, and the hoarse roars of command from the
officers.
The work of getting the Success away from the dock went rapidly on.
Quite fortunately for the stowaway, the hold of the Success was little
more than two thirds filled with Savannah goods. In the bows, beside a
great many bags and boxes and barrels of provisions for the use of the
crew, there were likewise spare sails, cordage, etc.
It would be a very easy matter indeed for him to hide among the stuff
if any one came into the hold.
The scent of bilge water was not at all strong, for the Success was a
comparatively new vessel and had evidently been recently pumped out.
Brandon judged her to be about the size of the Silver Swan, much the
same sort of craft in fact, and, like his father’s vessel, the Success
was a “tramp.”
It was night--or at least a gloomy twilight--at all times in the hold;
but Brandon thought that it was surely daylight by the time the brig
was under way.
She was taken down the river by a fussy little steam tug and then,
meeting the swells of the Atlantic, and a brisk gale springing up, she
shook out her sails and dropped the tug astern.
Brandon was fearful that he might be sick, for he had never really been
to sea and the brig pitched not a little in the waves of the ocean.
To reduce the possibility of this misfortune to a minimum, he ate but
sparingly the first day or two out, and by that time all “squeamish”
feelings passed away.
It was dreadfully dull in the dark hold, however. Of food and water he
had a sufficiency, although the latter was warm and brackish; but there
was absolutely nothing for him to do to pass away the time. There was
not even the spice of danger about his situation, for nobody came into
the hold.
He dared not explore much at first, for he was afraid that he might be
heard from the cabin or forecastle.
During a slight blow which came up the fourth day, however, while the
spars and cordage were creaking so that all other sounds were drowned,
he felt perfectly safe in moving about. If he could not hear what went
on outside, nobody outside would be likely to hear him.
On this day, however, he received several tumbles, for the ship
occasionally pitched so suddenly that he was carried completely off his
feet. Nothing worse happened to him, though, than the barking of his
elbows and knees.
Gaining confidence in his ability to get around without being
discovered, he changed his position more frequently after this. The
weather remained fair for some time following this small blow, and
Brandon hung about the cabin bulkhead, striving to hear more of
Leroyd’s plans, if possible.
It was plain that the captain of the brig knew nothing of the real
plans of the conspirators. They had told him what they pleased, and he
was to ask no questions.
It was not long, however, before the stowaway discovered something
which was quite a surprise to him. There was a woman on board the brig;
he heard the rustle of her garments, and occasionally the tones of a
female voice.
At first he thought her to be the captain’s wife, but because of the
youthfulness of her tones and some words which the captain addressed to
her, he changed this opinion, and decided that she was his daughter.
Brandon was quite interested in her, for a girl on a sailing vessel
was certainly a novelty. He was sure she must be a “jolly one,” as he
expressed it, to sail with her father on a merchantman. Not many girls
would have the pluck to do that.
As the days passed by, and the Success fled on before the favoring
gales, drawing nearer and nearer to Savannah, Brandon became
correspondingly worried over the obstructions to a safe escape from the
brig, which were presented to his mind.
Once the brig reached port and the hatches were opened, it would be
“all day” with him. Nothing but a miracle would save him from falling
into the hands of Jim Leroyd, and he didn’t like to think of that.
He had good reason to believe that the rascally sailor would not
hesitate to injure him in any way possible.
Naturally his mind reverted to the trap in the cabin bulkhead by which
Swivel had gained access to the cook’s galley, as a possible means of
escape before the hatches were removed. If the brig reached Savannah
late in the day, doubtless the hatches would remain battened down till
the next morning. In that case the trap might be his salvation.
Several times during the voyage the steward, sometimes with a seaman
with him, entered the hold by this door, for something among the
stores. At such times Brandon “laid low” and his presence was not
discovered.
What little food he had purloined from the stores was not noticed
either.
Therefore, as the brig drew nearer to her destination Brandon set about
studying the topography of the cabin--its entrances and exits--and how
he could best pass through it and reach the deck without attracting the
attention of anybody on board.
All this scouting had to be done at night, of course, and many were his
narrow escapes while engaged in this most perilous undertaking.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” was the motto of the Tarrs, father
and son. In Captain Tarr’s case, and in that of his brother Anson, it
had been, as a usual thing, a good deal of _venture_ and little _gain_.
The same motive, however, was predominant in Brandon’s nature, and he
took many risks in thus scouting about the brig’s cabin that almost any
other boy would not have taken.
One night he had cautiously set the narrow door leading into the
steward’s pantry ajar, and sat just under it in the darkness of the
hold, trying to discover if all but the officers, excepting the one in
command of the watch, had turned in.
There was a light in the outer cabin, but he could not see into the
room from where he sat, and he dared not enter the pantry until he
was sure that the cabin was unoccupied. Occasionally a sound of low
conversation would reach his ears from the deck, but otherwise all was
still.
[Illustration: “I’M A STOWAWAY. I’VE BEEN IN THE HOLD SINCE WE LEFT NEW
YORK.”]
“I believe I’ll risk it,” he declared, after remaining in a
listening attitude for nearly half an hour. “I need water badly--my
throat is well nigh parched--and if I could learn whether the lamp was
usually left turned up like that, whether the cabin was empty or _not_,
I might know better how to act when I do try to escape.”
Finally he crawled through the opening and crept softly to the cabin
door. The apartment was empty--or it appeared to be--although there
was a chair drawn up to the table, and some books lay there as though
having been in recent use.
“Guess I’d better not stay,” thought the stowaway nervously. “But I
must have a drink.”
He turned back into the cook’s galley, and took a deep draught from a
bucket he found there. Just as he was about to leave the place he was
electrified by hearing a voice say,
“What are _you_ doing here?”
Brandon wheeled about like a flash. There framed by the cabin doorway
was a young girl--the girl whose voice he had heard more than once
since his incarceration in the hold of the Success--the captain’s
daughter!
“Who are you? What do you want!” she repeated, eying him fearlessly,
though with a puzzled expression of countenance. “I never remember
having seen _you_ before.”
Brandon was suddenly conscious that his long captivity in the vessel’s
hold had not improved his personal appearance, and with his feeling of
fright at being discovered, there was also considerable vexation at
being seen in such a plight by a lady.
The girl was bright looking and intelligent, with a face which
attracted the boy greatly; in fact, he was almost tempted to believe
that he had seen her somewhere, so familiar did she appear.
Dressed in a simple blue flannel yachting suit, trimmed with white
braid, which set off her plump figure to great advantage, she was a
pleasing picture.
“Why don’t you answer me?” she demanded in vexation, as Brandon
continued silent.
“Sh! don’t give me away,” begged the boy, taking a step nearer. “I’m a
stowaway, I’ve been in the hold ever since we left New York.”
“Another stowaway!” she exclaimed, but in a lower tone. “Why father
found one just before we left port.”
“I know it,” returned Brandon. “He was with me. What did they do with
him?”
“Father gave him into the hands of the police,” replied the girl
gravely. “He’s very hard on stowaways. Why did you get into the hold?”
“Because I _had_ to; yes, I did--actually had to,” declared Brandon, in
a whisper. “I can’t tell you the whole story now; but I will some time.
I haven’t done anything wrong--excepting taking a few provisions from
the ship’s stores. Those I will pay you for now,” and he took his purse
from the pocket of his stained and ragged coat.
“No, no!” cried the girl, drawing back, “I do not want your money.”
“Then I shall leave it, as I first intended, on the cabin table when we
get to Savannah.”
“But the men will find you when we get in, even if I _don’t_ tell
father.”
“I hope not,” Brandon replied, so earnestly that the captain’s daughter
looked at him curiously.
“Is there anybody aboard whom you fear?” she asked shrewdly.
“Yes, there is. It is that evil looking man--the one who has chartered
the brig--Jim Leroyd.”
“He!” she exclaimed, in surprise. Then after a little silence she added:
“He _is_ an evil looking man; I’ve told father so more than once,
but he says that a man is not always as bad as he looks. Father has
seen so many people and so much of the world, that I seldom question
his judgment; but I have been impressed from the first that there
was something wrong about him--and about that Mr. Weeks, who is in
partnership with him, and whom we expect to meet at Savannah.
“It is a strange thing--this searching for a derelict brig--any way. I
tell father that there is something wrong back of it.”
“There _is_,” Brandon declared. “I don’t dare tell you about it now.
You won’t let anybody know I’m here, will you?”
“No--o, I’ll promise that. It wasn’t right to stow yourself away aboard
the brig, but you look honest--although you _are_ awfully dirty and
ragged,” said this most plain spoken young lady.
“I know it; I look terribly,” whispered Don, creeping through the door
into the hold again. Then he turned about and asked, “What is your
name, please?”
“Milly Frank.”
“Thank you; and mine is Brandon Tarr. Some time I can explain all this
to you, and you will see that I did the only thing I could in stowing
myself away here.”
“But how do you expect to get out?”
“I hope we’ll get to port in the night. If we do, then I’ll try to slip
out through the cabin.”
“Somebody will catch you.”
“I hope not.”
“We-ell, I _hope_, not, too,” said Miss Milly frankly. “I don’t suppose
it is just right, but I’ll try to help you. If I see a chance for you
to get away I’ll come to this door and knock--see, like this.”
She knocked twice in succession, but lightly, so that nobody might hear
her but the stowaway.
“Thank you--thank you!” murmured the boy, and then he shut the trap
quickly, for a heavy step sounded from the cabin without.
Somebody had come down from the deck--probably the officer of the
watch.