[Illustration: TOM LEARNING TO BE A SAILOR.--Page 59.]
_THE GO-AHEAD SERIES._
TOM NEWCOMBE;
OR,
THE BOY OF BAD HABITS.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “THE GUN-BOAT SERIES,” “THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN
SERIES,” ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
CHICAGO TORONTO
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_Other Volumes in Preparation._
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
R. W. CARROLL & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY CHARLES A. FOSDICK.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TOM’S HABITS, 5
II. THE FISHER-BOY, 20
III. TOM GOES TO SEA, 31
IV. LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE, 47
V. HOMEWARD BOUND, 63
VI. TOM GOES INTO BUSINESS, 81
VII. HOW TOM SUCCEEDED, 94
VIII. TOM MAKES NEW BARGAINS, 103
IX. THE MYSTERY IN A STORM, 116
X. TOM’S GAME CHICKENS, 126
XI. TOM DECIDES TO BE A FARMER, 138
XII. TOM’S NEW HOME, 152
XIII. LIFE ON A FARM, 163
XIV. THE “NIGHT-HAWKS,” 177
XV. THE NIGHT-HAWKS IN ACTION, 190
XVI. THE MILITARY SCHOOL, 208
XVII. TOM WANTS TO BE COLONEL, 226
XVIII. TOM HAS AN IDEA, 238
XIX. THE CONSPIRATORS, 251
XX. PLANS AND ARRANGEMENTS, 267
XXI. THE ESCAPE, 280
XXII. THE PURSUIT COMMENCED, 297
XXIII. THE CRUISE OF THE SWALLOW, 309
XXIV. A CHANGE OF COMMANDERS, 321
XXV. CONCLUSION, 332
ILLUSTRATIONS.
TOM LEARNING TO BE A SAILOR. Frontispiece
TOM CAPTURED BY THE SQUIRE. 205
THE ESCAPE FROM THE ACADEMY. 286
TOM NEWCOMBE;
OR,
THE BOY OF BAD HABITS.
CHAPTER I.
TOM’S HABITS.
“O now, I can’t learn this lesson, I know I can’t, and there’s no use
in trying! I am the most unlucky boy in the whole world!”
Thus spoke Tom Newcombe, as he lay under one of the trees in his
father’s yard, rolling about on the grass, and tossing his heels in
the air, as if he scarcely knew what to do with himself.
Tom was not a happy boy, although all his playmates thought he ought
to be. His father was the wealthiest man in the village--owned more
than half the vessels that sailed from that port, and Tom lived in a
large house, where he had every thing a boy of his age could ask for
to make his life pass pleasantly. He owned the swiftest sail-boat
about the village; had more fish-poles, foot-balls, and playthings of
every description than he could possibly find use for; and, in the
stable, was a fine little Shetland pony, which had been bought for
Tom’s express benefit. But, in spite of his pleasant surroundings,
the hero of our story was very discontented; his face always wore a
gloomy expression, and he invariably acted as if he were angry about
something.
Tom was about fourteen years of age, as smart as any boy in the
village, and might have been of some use in the world, had it not
been for his numerous bad habits, which kept him in constant trouble,
and were the sole cause of all his unhappiness. One of these bad
habits was carelessness. He thought it was too much trouble to
carry out the motto he had so often heard--“A place for every thing
and every thing in its place”--and the consequence was, he was not
unfrequently compelled to waste half the day in searching for some
article he happened to want. His cap, especially, was the source of
a great deal of annoyance and vexation to him. For example, when
he came in to his meals, he would take off his cap on entering
the house, and throw it somewhere, not caring where it landed;
and as soon as he was ready to go out of doors again, his first
question--spoken in a slow, drawling tone, as if he were almost ready
to drop down with fatigue--would be:
“Now, mother, where’s my cap?”
“I am sure I don’t know, my son,” would be the answer. “What did you
do with it when you came in?”
“I hung it right here!” Tom would say, pointing to the hat-rack in
the hall, or to a nail behind the door, which had been placed there
for his especial benefit. “I know I hung it up, but it isn’t here
now. I do wish folks would let my things alone! Something’s always
bothering me!”
Then Tom would begin a search in all the rooms of the house, tumbling
chairs about and moving tables and sofas, and the missing article
would be found, sometimes in the “play-house,” sometimes under the
bed, but more frequently under the trees in the yard, or on the
portico.
We have spoken of Tom’s “play-house.” It was a room in the attic,
nicely furnished, with carpet, tables, and chairs, and provided with
a stove, so that he could be comfortable there in cold weather. In
this room he kept his playthings, or rather, part of them. Those
that were lost--and about half of them were missing--would have been
found, some in the barn, others scattered about the yard, while the
rest had been thrown under the house for safe keeping, where Tom
could not get at them without soiling his clothes, and that was
something he did not like to do. To have taken a single glance at
the articles in his play-house, one would have thought that he ought
never to have been at a loss to know how to employ himself; and that
a single glance would also have been sufficient to convince any one
that he never took the least care of what was given him. The only
thing that ever interested Tom for any length of time, was a fine
model of a ship, with sails and ropes complete, which an old sailor
had given him, and which had been placed on a stand opposite the
entrance to his play-house. But, having been carelessly mounted,
it had fallen to the floor, and Tom, in one of his angry moods,
had kicked it under the table, where it lay with its masts broken,
and its sails torn, looking very much like a vessel that had been
wrecked at sea. His playthings were scattered about the room in all
directions. Foot-balls, bows and arrows, Chinese puzzles, base-ball
bats, a magic lantern, models of vessels, fish poles, hats and boots
were mixed up in the most complete confusion, and every article bore
evidence to the fact that it had received the roughest usage. Indeed,
there was but one thing in the room that was entire, and that was a
little fire-engine--a birthday present from his mother. But then this
had only come into Tom’s possession two days before the commencement
of our story, and it was yet new to him.
Tom was always complaining that he never could find a thing when he
wanted it; and no one about the house wondered at it in the least.
To his mother’s oft-repeated inquiry why he did not put his room in
order, and have a certain place for each particular thing, he would
answer:
“O, now, I can’t; I haven’t got time. Let somebody else do it!”
Tom’s room, we ought to remark, was placed in perfect order every
day, but it was only time and labor wasted; for, if he happened to
want a fish-pole, or a ball bat, he would tumble the things about
until he found the article in question, and then go out leaving the
room in the greatest confusion.
Another bad trait in Tom’s character was his unconquerable pride. He
was ashamed to work, and he would not do so if there was any possible
way for him to avoid it. On a cold day, when it stormed too violently
for him to go out of doors, he would remain in his room, with
benumbed hands and chattering teeth, before he would take the trouble
to build a fire. His father often asked him why he stayed there in
the cold, and Tom replied: “O, there’s no wood up here!”
“Well, you know where the wood-shed is. Go and get some.”
“O, I can’t,” Tom would invariably answer. “Let somebody else go. It
wouldn’t look well for me to do it.”
Once or twice during the previous winter, for some offense that he
had committed, he was compelled to remove the snow from the side-walk
in front of the house. On these occasions, Tom, being very much
afraid of soiling his gloves, handled the shovel with the ends of
his fingers, and when any one passed by, he hung his head as if he
did not wish to be recognized. Work of any kind was the severest
punishment that could be inflicted upon him. In his estimation, it
was a disgrace that never could be wiped out.
Tom also had a bad habit of saying, “O, I can’t; I know I can’t, and
what’s the use in trying?” This was his favorite expression--one that
he made use of at all times, and upon all occasions. If his lesson
was hard, instead of going manfully at work to learn it, he would
read it over carelessly a few times; and if he failed to remember
it, or if he found it more difficult than he had expected, he would
throw down his book, exclaiming: “O, I can’t get it. It’s too hard.
Something’s always bothering me;” and that was the end of it as far
as he was concerned.
“Tom,” his father would say, when he heard the boy make use of this
expression, “don’t you remember the words of the old song, ‘If at
first you don’t succeed, try--’”
But Tom, as soon as he found out what was coming, would interrupt him
with--
“O, now, father, that’s all useless. What good does it do a fellow
to try, when he _knows_ he can’t succeed? It’s only time wasted. I’m
quite sure the person who wrote that song never had any very hard
things to do.”
At school, Tom never made any progress. Promised rewards or
threatened punishments seldom had any lasting effect on him, and
the result was, that all the boys of his age in the village soon
left him far behind. He disliked very much to be beaten, and always
wanted to be first in every thing; but even this failed to arouse
him, and, as his school-mates termed it, he was “promoted backward,”
until, at last, he found himself in a class with boys who were much
younger than himself, but who, in spite of the difference in their
ages, always had their lessons better than he. Finally, Mr. Newcombe,
almost discouraged, took Tom out of school, and placed him under the
charge of a private teacher, who lived at the mansion. When this
change was made, Tom looked upon himself as a most fortunate boy; but
he soon discovered a very disagreeable feature in the arrangement,
and that was, his father was always in the school-room when he
recited his lessons. This made Tom very uneasy. He did not wish to
make a display of his ignorance before his father, and, besides,
he knew that if the merchant took the matter into his own hands,
something unpleasant would happen. On several occasions, he had
assured Mr. Newcombe that he could recite his lessons much better if
he were not present; but the latter, taking a different view of the
case, was always at home during the recitations, and Tom had more
than once been soundly scolded for his failures.
Tom was also sadly wanting in firmness of purpose. Like many boys of
his age, he looked forward with impatience to the day when he should
become a man; and the question that troubled him not a little, was,
what should he do when he became his “own master,” as he termed it.
He was full of what he considered to be glorious ideas, but, when
he had determined to enter upon any particular calling, he always
found something unpleasant in it. For instance, during the previous
winter he had informed his father that it was his intention to become
a sailor, and that nothing could induce him to change his mind. As
usual with him, he wanted to begin at once, and he scarcely allowed
his father a moment’s rest, teasing him from morning until night,
for permission to go to sea on one of the vessels as cabin-boy. But
Mr. Newcombe, who had once been a cabin-boy himself, and who knew
what Tom would be compelled to endure, would not give his consent. He
was not at all opposed to his son’s going to sea, for, having been
a sailor himself, he looked upon a sea-faring man as a most useful
and honorable member of society; but he knew that on ship-board,
Tom’s uneasy, discontented disposition would keep him in constant
trouble; and before he allowed him out of his sight he wanted him to
abandon his bad habits. Besides, he did not wish his son to remain
a foremast hand all his life, and he knew that if Tom wished to win
promotion, he must first go to school and pay more attention to his
books. So Mr. Newcombe told Tom that he could not go, and this made
the boy very miserable indeed. Several of his playmates, who were
much younger than himself, had been to sea on three or four voyages,
and why couldn’t he go as well as any body? He could see no good
reason for a refusal, and in order to punish his father for not
allowing him to have his own way, he went into the sulks, and, for a
day or two, scarcely spoke to any one. This was Tom’s favorite way
of taking revenge on his father and mother, and no doubt it was the
source of great satisfaction to him. But had he known how foolish he
was, and how all the sensible boys of his acquaintance laughed at
him, he might have taken some pains to conceal his ugly temper. He
resolved that he would never abandon his idea of becoming a sailor,
and every moment that he could snatch from school, was spent on the
wharf, where he stood looking at the vessels, and wishing that he
was his “own master,” so that he could do as he pleased. One night
he took his stand on the wharf, and saw one of his father’s vessels
towed into the harbor almost a wreck. Her foremast was gone, her
deck and shrouds were coated with ice, her rigging all frozen, the
sails useless, and those of the crew that were left, were in the most
pitiable condition. This was an incident in the life of a sailor that
had never entered into Tom’s calculations; and when he had seen the
vessel moored at the wharf, and heard her captain tell his father
that the crew, besides being badly frost-bitten, had been without
food for two days, Tom started homeward, fully resolved that he would
never follow the sea.
For a day or two after that, he was a most miserable boy. He did
not know what to decide upon next; and he never was happy unless
he had something to dream about. But, one afternoon, as he stood
in his father’s office, a well-to-do farmer drove up with a load
of grain, and Tom suddenly saw the way out of his quandary. There
were four horses hitched to the sled, and they were so slick and
fat, and the farmer seemed to be so happy and contented, that Tom
could not resist the thought that he would like to be a farmer. In
fact, after a few moment’s consideration, he decided that he would
be one, and he resolved to act upon his decision at once. After a
little maneuvering, he commenced a conversation with the farmer,
during which, he asked him if he “didn’t want to hire a boy!” The man
replied that he did, that he was just looking for one, and, that, if
Tom would go home with him, he would soon make a first-class farmer
of him. Tom, delighted with the idea, at once sought an interview
with his father, to whom he hurriedly explained his new scheme. Mr.
Newcombe, too busy to be interrupted, answered his request that he
might be permitted to go home with the farmer in the negative; but
Tom, who was a great tease, was not to be put off so easily.
“You don’t understand what I want, father!” he began.
“Yes I do!” replied the merchant. “I know all about it. But there’s
one thing I don’t know, and that is, what foolish notion you’ll get
into your head next!”
“But, father!” said Tom impatiently, “may I go? That’s what I want to
know!”
“No, sir, you may stay at home!”
“O, now, why can’t I go?” whined Tom. “Say, father, _why_ can’t I go?
I want to learn to be a farmer.”
How long Tom would have continued to tease his father, it is
impossible to say, had not the merchant, well-nigh out of patience,
ordered his son to “go home, and stay there, until he should learn
not to bother persons when they were busy.” Tom reluctantly obeyed;
but the moment he reached the house again went into the sulks.
This last idea, he thought, would suit him much better than any thing
he had ever before thought of. Heretofore, when he had explained his
plans to his father, that gentleman had invariably said,
“Tom, you don’t know enough! Go to school and pay more attention to
your books. Get your education first, and decide upon your business
afterward.” But this was something the boy did not like to do. He
could not bear to study, and all his calculations, as to what trade
or profession he should follow when he became a man, had been made
with reference to this particular object--namely, to discover some
business which could be successfully conducted without a knowledge of
arithmetic and geography, two things that Tom thoroughly despised.
But now he had hit upon the very thing--farming; a farmer had nothing
to do but drive horses, take care of cows, and spread hay; and that
did not require a knowledge of arithmetic or geography. That was just
the business for him; and he resolved that some day he would be a
farmer.
During the remainder of the winter, Tom held firmly to this
determination. He thought, and dreamed about nothing else; and a
farmer’s sled or wagon was an object of great curiosity to him;
at least all his playmates thought so, for every morning and
evening, before and after school, and all day Saturdays, Tom was
seen loitering about the market-houses, looking at the horses, and
talking with the farmers. This state of things, we repeat, continued
until spring, and then all these ideas were driven out of his head as
suddenly as they had entered it.
Among other things of which the village of Newport could boast,
was its military school. This institution was attended by boys of
all ages, from almost all parts of the state, and, in addition
to being prepared either for business or college, they were
instructed in military science. The students wore a uniform of gray
trimmed with blue, the “commissioned” officers being designated by
shoulder-straps, and the “non-commissioned,” by two or three stripes
worn on the right arm, above the elbow. Every thing in and about the
academy was conducted in military order. The officers were always
addressed according to their rank, captain, lieutenant, or sergeant,
as the case might be, and punishment for serious offenses against
the rules of the school was adjudged by courts-martial, composed of
some of the teachers and students. Every spring and fall the members
of the academy, with their professors at their head, went into camp,
where they generally remained about two weeks; and it was during one
of these camping frolics that Tom, after having witnessed a series of
parades, during which, the students behaved like veteran soldiers,
lost all desire to become a farmer, and decided to turn his attention
to the military school. Tom had often wished that his father would
permit him to sign the muster-rolls of the academy, and, in fact, he
had, for a long time, been unable to determine whether he was “cut
out” for a soldier or a sailor. On this point he had often debated
long and earnestly. It must not be supposed that Tom was endeavoring
to decide in which of these two callings he could do the most good,
and be of the most use to his fellow-men! Quite the contrary. He
cared for no one but himself. It made no difference to him how much
others were troubled or inconvenienced, as long as he could get along
smoothly; and the question he was trying to answer was, Which calling
held out the better promise of a life of ease? There was another
question that Tom had never been able to answer to his satisfaction,
and that was, of what use would his military education be to him
after he left the academy? But one day, just before the camp broke
up, this problem was solved by one of the students, who informed
Tom that he had passed a successful examination, and had received
the appointment of cadet at West Point. This showed Tom the way out
of his difficulty, and, at the same time, opened before his lively
imagination a scene of glory of which he had never before dreamed.
“That’s the thing for me!” he soliloquised, as he bent his steps
homeward. “That’s the very place I always wanted to go to. If father
would let me join this school, I’d certainly be appointed captain of
one of the academy companies in two or three weeks; then, after I get
through there, I’d go to West Point. I’d stay there until I completed
my military education, and then go into the army. Then I would be
sent off somewhere to fight the Indians, and, if I was a brave man,
I might be promoted to colonel or brigadier-general. Wouldn’t that
be glorious, and wouldn’t I feel gay riding around on my fine horse,
with my body-guard galloping after me? It’s an easy life, too; I know
it would just suit me. and I am resolved that some day I will be a
soldier.”
By the time Tom reached home he had worked himself up to the highest
pitch of excitement, by imagining all sorts of pleasant things that
would happen when he should become a general in the regular army; but
what was his disappointment when his father--after he had explained
to him his glowing schemes--refused to permit him to join the
military academy.
“I might have expected it,” said Tom to himself, as he walked
sullenly out of the house. “I always was the most unlucky boy in the
whole world. I never can do any thing like other fellows, for father
don’t want me to enjoy myself if he can help it. But I’ll be my own
master one of these fine days, and then I’ll do as I please.”
Tom was decidedly wrong when he said that his father did not want him
to enjoy himself, for Mr. Newcombe used his best endeavors to make
his son happy and contented; and this was the reason he had never
allowed Tom to carry out any of his numerous schemes. He knew that
the boy’s bad habits would render him unhappy wherever he went, and
in whatever he engaged; but he hoped that, as he grew in years, he
would also grow in wisdom; that he would learn that his only chance
for success in any undertaking was to “turn over a new leaf,” abandon
all his bad habits, and begin work in earnest. But Tom, attributing
his father’s refusal to entirely different motives, went into the
sulks, and for a week scarcely spoke to any one about the house. For
two months he fretted and scolded almost constantly, and all this
time he was endeavoring to conjure up some plan by which he might
induce his father to grant his request. He declared, more than once,
that he was “bound to be a general,” and that he “never would give
up his idea of joining the military academy.” But one day an event
transpired that caused him to forget all these resolutions, and
turned his thoughts and desires into another channel.
A full-rigged ship, which had been launched at the yards early in the
spring, was completed, and Tom saw her start on her first voyage. He
had never before seen so beautiful an object as that ship, and, as
she sailed majestically out of the harbor, the thought occurred to
Tom how grand he would feel if he was the master of a vessel like
that. From that hour the military school was at a discount, and Tom
had again resolved to be a sailor--not a common foremast hand, but
the captain of a full-rigged ship.
These are but few of the instances that might be cited to illustrate
the fact that Tom was utterly lacking in firmness of purpose, for
there was scarcely a trade or profession that he had not, at some
time or another, wanted to follow. For a time he imagined that a man
who could build and run a steam-engine ought to be very proud, and
able to make his living easily, and then he wanted to be a machinist.
Then he thought that the village doctor, a fat, jolly man, who rode
about in his gig, and appeared to take the world very easily, ought
to be a happy man, and then Tom wanted to study medicine. Next, after
listening for a few moments to a Fourth of July speech, delivered
by a prominent member of the bar, he decided to be a lawyer; and,
after that, a civil engineer; but, upon inquiry, he found that all
these involved a long course of study and preparation; so they were
speedily dismissed as unworthy of his attention.
Tom, we repeat, had often thought of these and many other trades and
professions; but, at the period when our story commences, he was,
perhaps, for the hundredth time, firmly settled in his determination
to become a sailor. Mr. Newcombe had often talked to his son about
his bad habits, especially his want of stability, his propensity to
build air-castles, and his aversion to study; but, it is needless to
say, the boy paid very little attention to what was said to him. The
truth was, he did not believe that his father knew any thing at all
about the matter. Besides being very stubborn--holding to his own
ideas, no matter what was said against them--he had a most exalted
opinion of himself, and had often made himself ridiculous by saying,
“They can’t teach _me_--I know just what I am about.”
Tom lived to be an old man; and perhaps we shall see what he thought
of these things in after life; whether or not he never regretted that
he had not followed the advice of those who, being older and more
experienced than himself, knew what was best for him.