DOWN THE RIVER
Burt Noble blew out the candle quickly, but not until Phil had noticed
a keen look of alarm in his eyes. Then Burt ran to a window looking
down from the front of the building, and Phil darted to the same
opening.
"What was that?--Who is it?" asked Andy sharply.
"It's the Brams, bag and baggage," replied Phil, staring down through
the gathering gloom.
"Yes, and, Adam Woods, an officer of the law, is with them."
"And two others!" added Burt Noble in a gasp. "Oh, I feared this! I
shouldn't have come back here. At least, I shouldn't have stayed."
Burt had run to one side window and then to another. Then he backed to
a bench and stood wavering undecidedly, and evidently frightened.
Phil had followed his movements quickly. He also glanced out of the two
side windows in turn just as Burt had done. On the ground at the south
side of the mill was Bram's hired man. He was armed with a musket, and
was looking up at the old building.
On the north side of the building, evidently keeping guard in that
direction, was a man whom Phil recognized as one of the town watchmen.
"They have got a big log in front there," said Burt. "There they go
again! They are trying to break down the front door. I guess they have
got me this time."
"Not yet," declared Andy with vim, his eyes snapping with excitement.
"Warrant, due process of law, and all that, eh? The old Tory
curmudgeon! trying to get you into his clutches and shut you up as
his slave, and shut you out from doing your duty by the country he
hates! That's his game, is it? Well, it won't work. We're just going to
circumvent them."
"I am afraid it is hopeless," said Burt. "Bram has a right to arrest me
as a runaway."
"Come here for a minute, Phil," came from Andy, paying no attention to
Burt's last words.
There came another tremendous bang at the door down stairs. Andy
whispered something rapidly to Phil.
"Come on, Burt Noble," said Phil. "Go ahead, Andy. Hold those fellows
in check as long as you can."
"You see they saw the light," observed Burt. "I feared being traced
here. After I left you this afternoon I noticed Jasper Bram's hired man
watching me from a clump of trees. Later he passed the old mill here.
He has told Bram and the officers."
"Never mind. They won't get you just yet," Phil promised confidently.
"Follow me quietly. You do your part, Andy."
"Rest assured I will!" announced Andy, descending the stairs.
As Phil and Burt passed him on their way to the rear of the place, Andy
stepped on a big bench and pulled open a little window about ten feet
from the ground.
"Hey you!" he hailed to Bram, his son Greg and the officers outside,
who poised a heavy tree log on their shoulders, ready to make a run for
the door.
"Come out of that!" shouted Jasper Bram, dropping his end of the
impromptu battering ram and waving his arms excitedly up at Andy.
"We've got you--oh, pshaw!"
Here he recognized Andy. His face fell, while that of Andy broke into a
tantalizing grin.
"What's all this rumpus about, anyhow?" demanded Andy.
"Don't let him fool you!" shouted Greg Bram to the officers. "It isn't
so cozy in that old barn of a place that Andy Sabine would shut himself
in. The other fellow is in there, too. Make him come out--make Andy
tell."
"See here, Andy Sabine," spoke up the town officer, trying to look and
act dignified and important, "I suppose you know that it's a pretty
serious offense obstructing the majesty of the law?"
"Why, I am obstructing nothing," declared Andy innocently.
"You be!" shouted old Bram. "You've shut us out. Come down and open
that door, or it will be the worse for you."
"I didn't lock the door. Huh! what have I got to do with your old
door!" exclaimed Andy, in right royal indignation.
"Well, the boy we're after did. You're harboring him. Do you know what
harboring a criminal means in the eyes of the law, young man?" demanded
the town officer.
"Bosh!" cried down Andy, "get in the best way you can. I'm not around
opening doors for people."
Andy shut the window with a slam, for he had parleyed with and delayed
the enemy to some purpose. Of this Andy was apprised by a low whistle
sounding from a distant part of the structure. It was an agreed signal
with Phil Warrington, and Andy now felt very independent and fearless.
Meantime Phil had led Burt Noble to a lower floor of the old mill, in
pursuance with a suggestion of the clever and quick-witted Andy. Phil
had been in the building several times since his arrival in Concord
during the desultory rambling excursions along the river, and what he
did not know about the place Andy had told him.
A section of the building reached out over the water. Its floor at
this place was covered with a movable wooden grating. There was still
light enough, as the boys reached this, for Phil and his companion to
discover outlines. Phil pulled the grating up and tilted it against the
side of the room.
"Now then, Burt Noble," he said briskly, "can you swim?"
Burt glanced down at the watery pit below, fed from the river, and at
the stream itself, chill and uninviting and carrying frequent ice-cakes
on its surface. He shivered, smiling, but quite anxiously.
"I can swim," he replied, "but I don't care about trying it in that
ice-water bath."
"You don't have to," said Phil. "I asked the question incidentally.
Only, if you should happen to duck down or get under, why, I'd feel
easier to know that you could reach shore."
"Duck down? get under?" repeated Burt in a puzzled way. "Why, how do
you mean?"
"You've got to get out of this, haven't you?" demanded Phil.
"I should say so."
"Well, this is the only route," proceeded Phil, pointing down into
the water runway. "Look down closer. See a big tub there, almost a
hogshead?"
"Yes, I see it!" answered Burt, staring dubiously.
"Well, we are going to barrel you up in it and send you adrift."
"Barrel me up?" repeated the astounded refugee.
"Just that, and trust to luck that the floating tub will not be noticed
by the man watching out at the south end of the mill."
The big tub below was an immense affair. It was partially filled with
ice which bore it down about half its depth. Its use at present had
been suggested to Andy through a memory of former swimming exploits in
this same vicinity. Phil slanted a board until it rested on the level
ice in the tub.
"Slide down," he directed. "Stoop, when you land. Then I'll lower one
of these round covers. It will be loose, and you will have plenty of
air. You can even look out. I will climb down the rafters, and with
that pole yonder help you out into the river. Stay aboard until you
pass the bend in the stream. Then land, and make for Andy's house. You
know where that is?"
"Oh, yes," responded Burt, "but I don't think I had better go there."
"What--not among friends? Why not?"
"Because the Brams will hunt me out. No," said Burt seriously, "I am
through with my work in Concord, and I had better get back to Boston."
"All right, you know best," said Phil, "only, move briskly, for those
men in front may break in at any moment. And here," continued Phil
drawing some silver from his pocket, "take that."
"Oh, see here--" remonstrated Burt.
"It will help out on your route home. If the trifle worries you--wish I
had more--call it a loan until you get on your feet."
"You're right good fellows, both of you!" said Burt, with enthusiasm
and emotion. "Wait," he added, as Phil touched his arm to urge him into
action, "I want to tell you something."
Burt drew from an inner pocket of his coat two narrow folded strips of
paper. He cast his eyes down to these as if to distinguish one from the
other. Then he selected one and handed it to Phil with the question:
"Let me ask you--is your father's name John Warrington?"
"That is right," nodded Phil, in some wonder.
"I was sure it was. Let me ask you again. Has he ever had anything
particular to do with Jasper Bram?"
"Too much, I fear, for his own good, in a business way," replied Phil
promptly.
"I don't know as this strip of paper I am giving you will be any good
to you," went on Burt, "but the singular way in which I got it made
me treasure it as maybe a--a what you might call it? yes, a clew to
something."
"But what is it, and where did you get it?" inquired Phil, made very
curious by his father's name coming up amid this strange and unusual
environment.
"It is simply a paper band marked in ink: John Warrington," explained
Burt. "I found it with a band like it marked with my own name. The
place I found it was in Jasper Bram's house."
Phil started, and all kinds of curious speculations ran rapidly through
his mind.
"At Jasper Bram's house?" he repeated. "When did you get into his
house?"
"Night before last, when they were all away to town," replied Burt.
"The truth is, I was hoping to find some papers that would tell me the
truth about the right of Peter Bram to hold me as an apprentice--hoping
to find out something about my father, who it seems disappeared when
I was a child. There is some mystery about that, about me, and the
Brams hold the key to it, I feel certain. Well," proceeded Burt, with a
sigh of disappointment, "I learned little that was of any use, through
my raid on the desk of Jasper Bram. There was a waste basket full
of old documents, torn to little bits. It looked as if old Bram had
been recently cleaning up his desk, destroying unimportant papers and
putting his affairs in order, maybe for a move, or because he knew we
were going to have a war."
"It looks that way. Go on," urged Phil eagerly.
"To me these two paper bands look as if they had held some papers that
concerned your father and myself."
"Why, it is a sure thing," declared Phil. "But if Bram has destroyed
them--"
"We don't know that. More like, if they have been of some value to him
all along, they are of value now. I think he has selected what he wants
to save, and has planted it somewhere for safety until he sees how the
trouble in the colony is going."
"This will be interesting to my father," murmured Phil, pocketing the
strip of paper. "About yourself--I shall start back for Boston in a day
or two. Be sure to come and see me."
"I surely shall," promised Burt. "Good-by, I hope these people outside
don't discover me."
At this Burt slid down the plank that Phil had lowered, and landed in
the tub. Phil tilted the board to a beam, and selected a big wooden
cover from the cooper's stock. Not much more conversation passed
between the boys. Phil had some difficulty in placing the cover on the
tub. It was not easy to hold on to the rafters, and, progressing foot
by foot, shove the tub with the pole in his hand towards the river end
of the water runway.
"Are you all right in there?" inquired Phil at last, as the tub began
to whirl.
"Right as a trivet," came the prompt reply in muffled tones.
"Good-by, then!"
"I'll see you in Boston--many thanks."
Phil gave the tub a final push, and it passed from his view, out into
the night and into the current of the fast-rolling stream.
It was then that Phil gave the signal whistle that told Andy Sabine
that the coast was clear. Phil hurried to the ground floor of the
mill and peered out of one of its south windows. He saw Jasper Bram's
hired man still on guard, with his musket, but now facing towards his
companions at the front of the structure. Phil quickly glanced towards
the river. The fast gathering darkness made him strain his gaze to make
anything out. The surface of the river was turbid and broken, and only
because he sought a definite object was he enabled to catch a fleeting
view of the floating tub that he had just sent adrift.
It moved along with ice-cakes, scarcely noticeable amid the gloom. Phil
watched it rock and drift with the current, and where the river curved
lost sight of it. Then Phil whistled again, and joined Andy near the
front door.
"Did you manage it?" inquired Andy eagerly.
"Yes. Burt is safe out of this place," reported Phil with satisfaction.
"It was a grand idea of yours, Andy. We have outwitted the enemy."
"Hear them grumble!" said Andy.
There was a great hubbub outside. Jasper Bram, his son, Greg, and the
officer were all talking together at once. Each was suggesting some
different plan to assail the stout barrier and force a way to the
interior of the old mill. Phil ended the commotion by abruptly removing
the bar to the big elm door, pushing it back, and stepping into the
midst of the attacking party, Andy promptly following him.
"Where's the other boy?" yelled Jasper Bram, with a ferocious look of
hatred at Phil.
"This is a pretty serious affair, obstructing the majesty of the law,"
began the officer, in his former poll-parrot fashion.
"Obstructing nothing!" interrupted Andy bluffly. "The door's open,
isn't it? If you're looking for any one, you had better be brisk and
find him."
"If we don't, we'll remember your share in this affair, young man!"
snarled old Bram venomously.
"You want to be quick about it, then," retorted Andy spicily. "If I
know anything about it, this town will be too hot to hold Tories of
your stripe before long. Come on, Phil, let them have their turn at the
fun, now."
The boys proceeded from the spot. As they crossed an old bridge, Phil,
who had kept a sharp lookout all along the river bank, pointed to a
place where some ice-cakes had massed in a sort of crevasse.
"There's the old cooper's tub, Andy," he remarked.
"Yes," nodded Andy complacently, peering, too. "The cover is off, so I
reckon our friend is safe and far on his way to Boston."
The chums found it pretty hard to dismiss the stirring events of that
eventful day from their minds. After supper they went out to the barn,
and held a mutual discussion over the situation. They decided to tell
everything to Mr. Sabine. Andy called his father out to the barn, and
they had an interested auditor in the "club room," in the hay loft.
Mr. Sabine rather curiously inspected, opened, and read the letter that
Burt Noble had given Andy. His eyes brightened. Then his face became
thoughtful, and he said:
"This is a big piece of work, lads. I would like to know that plucky
fellow who has put just the ammunition the cause needs into our hands.
I will have to report this to the citizens' committee at once."
Phil and Andy prepared to retire to rest at once, for they were tired
out. For a long time, however, they sat on the edge of the bed talking
about Burt Noble, the hidden gunpowder, and the events generally that
seemed to show that they were approaching the crisis of truly-spirited
times.
Phil's mind was as well taken up with the discovery of the paper band
taken from Jasper Bram's house and bearing the name of his father.
Somehow, this fitted to the remarks concerning "documents," which Mr.
Warrington had hinted Jasper Bram possessed, and which he had said
involved quite a sum of money.
"We'll have a great story to tell the club, eh, Phil?" remarked Andy.
"Of course, we can't tell about the gunpowder, but--"
"We'll be dreaming about gunpowder, if you don't turn in!" cried Phil.
"Tumble in, now!" and he threw a pillow at Andy. It struck his active
bed fellow and knocked him flat, but Andy suddenly sprang up.
"Hark!" he cried sharply, "what was that?"
Both listened intently, with the echoes of a dull but unusual
explosion in their ears. Andy ran to the window. Phil was equally
excited.
"A musket shot," he began.
"Musket shot, nothing!" retorted Andy, with great animation. "That
was a cannon, and nothing else. Why, I know!" and Andy jumped for his
clothes.
"Know what?" demanded Phil, scrambling likewise into his garments with
the activity of a wide-awake lad aroused by a fire alarm.
"Old Silas Berks, Phil! Don't you remember what he told us to-day? That
was his cannon we just heard. Can war have been declared--for that was
Old Tom barking!"
"Sure as you live!" shouted Phil in an extravagant state of excitement,
and both boys dashed downstairs and out of the house.