CHAPTER XXV._Tom Newcombe; Or, the Boy of Bad Habits

CONCLUSION.

Notwithstanding his prediction that Captain Harding never would

succeed in taking the vessel safely into port, Rich thought it best

to prepare for action; and he lost no time in revealing to his

friends the plan that had just been determined upon. There were six

boys on board, including Tom, who agreed to “stand by” him, and among

them was the “fighting member,” who urged Rich to take the sloop

that very night. If Johnny refused to give up possession, it would,

he thought, be a good opportunity to reënact the scenes in the story

of the mutiny at sea, which seemed to occupy all his thoughts. But

Rich knew that Johnny’s friends were numerous, and spunky, and that

if an attempt was made to take the vessel by force, the mutineers

would, in all probability, get the worst of it. By following out the

first mate’s idea, they could accomplish their object without danger

to themselves, and so this plan was finally adopted. The malcontents

were all delighted to receive their leader’s assurance that he

intended to “get even” with the new captain; but they were very

careful to do all their talking and planning when none of Johnny’s

friends were in hearing, so that no one except those whom Rich and

Tom had taken into their confidence knew what was going on.

On the second morning after Harding took command of the sloop, Rich

found that his prediction would not be verified. Land was in plain

view at sunrise; and, at noon, the Swallow, after coasting along

the shore to find a suitable harbor, entered a little bay, and was

made fast at a wharf, in front of a farm-house. Johnny’s friends

all insisted that the new captain had brought them safely to their

destination, while Rich and his followers affirmed that if that was

Nantucket they would agree to “eat the sloop,” and perform several

other impossible feats.

“What island is this?” asked Johnny, of a man who appeared at the

door of the house, while the sloop was being made fast.

“Martha’s Vineyard,” was the reply.

“How far are we from Edgartown?”

“About fifteen miles by the coast, and six miles by land. But I say,

boys,” continued the man, coming down to the wharf, “what boat is

that?”

“The Dreadnought, from New Bedford,” answered Rich, with a wink at

his companions.

“What are you doing so far from home?”

“O, just taking a sail, for the fun of the thing.”

The man, looking at the deserters with a comical expression on his

face, continued:

“Perhaps that’s the truth, and then, perhaps, it isn’t. That sloop

is the Swallow, and there was a tug here this morning after you. O,

you can’t fool me,” he added, with a laugh, noticing that some of the

boys opened their eyes, as if very much astonished. “I know all about

it.”

“Jump ashore and cast off that line,” said Captain Harding, turning

to one of his crew. “We had better get away from here.”

“O, you needn’t be afraid of me,” said the man. “I’m not going

to trouble you. Besides, I would advise you to remain here until

evening, for if you go to Edgartown now, you’ll certainly be

captured.”

Some of the deserters were rather suspicious of the farmer, while

others thought he looked like an “honest old chap,” and that he had

no idea of attempting to detain them. However, they had nothing to

fear from him, even if he proved himself to be an enemy; so, after

a short consultation, they decided to remain at his wharf, at least

long enough to take on board a supply of fresh water. Rich and his

friends were strongly in favor of this, for they were impatient for

an opportunity to put their plans into execution. After the deserters

had got ashore, and talked a few moments longer with the farmer,

they discovered that he was disposed to be friendly toward them, for

he told them all about the intended movements of their pursuers,

as far as he had been able to learn them. He said that there were

no less than three steamers after them, and that the one which had

left his wharf at daylight that morning, was loaded with students,

who had authority from the principal of the academy to arrest the

deserters wherever they found them. Some of the young soldiers had

expressed the hope that they wouldn’t catch the runaways for two

weeks, as they were having a jolly cruise on the tug, and wished to

continue it as long as possible. The rightful captain of the Swallow

was also on the tug, and, unlike the students, he was impatient to

capture the deserters as soon as possible. He was astonished at the

recklessness displayed by a “lot of green boys,” in putting to sea

in a boat, without “knowing the first thing about seamanship or

navigation,” and predicted that nothing more would ever be seen of

the sloop or of her crew. The farmer then went on to say that the

last exploit of the Night-hawks had caused great excitement among

the citizens of Newport. The manner in which they had effected their

escape from the academy astonished every one, and was the general

topic of conversation. Mr. Newcombe, not being satisfied with what

he had already done, was to send out two more tugs that morning;

and, in all probability, the deserters would soon find the islands

about Buzzard’s Bay very unsafe. After telling them this much, the

farmer thought it a good opportunity to give the boys some advice.

He assured the deserters that what they had done would win them no

honor, and urged them to return to Newport immediately, and endeavor

to make some amends for their misconduct by renewed attention to

their duties.

“O, that’s played out!” exclaimed one of the boys. “If you had ever

attended the military academy, you wouldn’t talk that way. We’re on

the black list now, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we

can.”

This seemed to be the opinion of all the boys; and the farmer, seeing

that they were determined to have their own way, made no further

attempts to induce them to return to the village.

The first mate, becoming impatient at this delay, now urged Captain

Harding to set the crew at work. The farmer showed them a spring,

behind the house, and, armed with buckets, pans, and cups, the

deserters began the work of filling the water-barrels. It was a

tedious task, and while it was going on, Tom had ample time to mature

his plans. He soon decided upon his course, which was communicated to

Rich; and, although they were by no means certain that it would prove

successful, it was the best they could think of, and, after some

discussion, was adopted.

Tom soon becoming tired of carrying water, set his bucket down, and

amused himself in walking about the farm. At the end of half an hour,

after the casks had been filled, and the crew had returned on board

the vessel--while Johnny’s friends were lounging about the deck,

resting after their work, and Rich’s followers were busy in the hold,

setting things in order--the third mate went aloft and took his stand

on the cross-trees, to watch for the Philistines, he said, but, in

reality, to signal to Tom that the time for action had arrived. In a

few moments, the latter made his appearance, carrying in each hand a

huge slice of water-melon, which he was devouring with great avidity.

As he had expected, this instantly attracted the attention of the

boys, several of whom eagerly inquired:

“Where did you get that, Newcombe?”

“Bought it off that farmer,” was the reply. “He’s got plenty more,

and sells them cheap, too. You can get one as big as a bushel basket

for five cents.”

“Give us a piece, Tom,” shouted one of the boys from the hold.

“O, no; I can’t,” drawled the first mate. “Go and get some for

yourself.”

“Come back with us, and show us where you got it,” said another.

“O, you can find the place without me. It’s just on the other side

of that corn-field. The farmer is there now. I told him that I would

send you down.”

The deserters who were lounging about the deck waited to hear no

more, but, springing ashore, started at the top of their speed

for the farmer’s melon-patch. Rich descended to the deck with all

possible speed, the boys clambered up out of the hold, and some of

them even jumped upon the wharf and followed the others a short

distance; but as soon as the main body of the crew had disappeared

behind the house, they hastily returned to the vessel, where Tom and

two of his friends were already engaged in hoisting the sails. Rich

cast off the line with which the Swallow was made fast, and just

as he sprang on board, the sloop moved slowly away from the wharf.

Tom’s plan had worked to perfection. Johnny Harding and every one of

his friends were on shore, and the seven mutineers had the vessel to

themselves.

Rich took the wheel, and, as soon as the sloop had gained

steerage-way, he put her about and stood out of the harbor. Of

course, it required considerable time to execute all these movements,

and scarcely was the Swallow fairly under way, when Johnny and

several of his friends appeared, loaded with water-melons. A single

glance at the vessel, standing out of the bay, under a full press

of canvass, was all that was needed to convince them that they were

in a very unpleasant situation. They knew that Rich, Tom, and their

friends were about to desert them, and they had no difficulty in

divining their motives for so doing. They gathered around their

captain for a moment, as if in consultation, and then walked slowly

toward the wharf. There was no shouting, no begging to be taken on

board, as the mutineers had expected; but they stood looking at the

sloop, as if the course her crew might see fit to follow did not

interest them in the least.

“Ah ha, Harding!” shouted Rich, as the Swallow dashed by the wharf.

“Who’s captain now? I told you that you wouldn’t make any thing by

acting mean toward me. You may stay there now until you are captured,

or get a chance to go back to Newport.”

“Good-by, fellows,” shouted Miller, waving his hat to the boys on the

wharf. “You were afraid to trust Captain Rich, so we thought it best

to leave you on shore, where you would be safe.”

None of Johnny’s friends made any reply, for they were well aware

that remonstrance would be useless. They knew that Rich always took

a fiendish pleasure in revenging an injury, and, knowing that he

deemed himself insulted, as well as abused, by being relieved of the

command, they did not think it at all probable that he would allow

so good an opportunity to punish them for what they had done slip

by unimproved. They were not at all surprised at the action he had

taken. Their only wonder was, that they had been foolish enough to

trust him.

At this moment, the sloop rounded a point at the entrance of the

harbor, and a sight met the gaze of her crew that astonished and

alarmed them. Coming straight into the bay, at full speed, was one

of Mr. Newcombe’s fast tugs, and so close was she to the runaways,

that all attempts at escape seemed useless. The Swallow was caught at

last. So thought Captain Rich, and so thought the boys on the wharf,

who could not refrain from shouting with delight when they discovered

that the voyage, which their treacherous companions had expected

to enjoy, was likely to be brought to a speedy termination. The

forecastle of the tug was crowded with students, and, among them, the

deserters saw the lieutenant-colonel. The captain of the tug was at

the wheel, and, as soon as he discovered the sloop, he rang the bell

to “stop,” and then to “back,” at the same time turning the steamer’s

bow toward the Swallow, as if it was his intention to run along-side

of her.

“How are you, Newcombe?” exclaimed the colonel, flourishing a paper

which was, doubtless, his “warrant” for the apprehension of the

deserters. “You, and the rest of your party, may consider yourselves

prisoners.”

Rich was desperate. The Swallow’s capture seemed inevitable; and,

had all the deserters been on board, it is probable that he would

not have thought of escape. But he and his friends had seized the

sloop with the intention of having a cruise on their own hook; and he

thought how all the boys they had left behind would laugh at them if

they failed! They would consider it conclusive evidence that Rich was

not fit to be captain. While the latter was wondering what he should

do, the tug continued to approach the sloop slowly, and presently a

man stepped upon her bow and began to use a lead-line. This suggested

an idea to Rich, and he was prompt to act upon it. When he first

discovered the tug, he had thrown the sloop up into the wind, but now

he filled away again, and, putting the helm down, ran across the

steamer’s bows, almost grazing her as the Swallow went by.

“How are you now, Colonel Smith?” shouted Rich, as he shaped the

sloop’s course toward the beach, where he knew the tug could not

follow her. “We’ll not consider ourselves prisoners just yet, if you

please.”

“Hold on with that boat, Rich!” exclaimed the colonel, who began to

be afraid that his prisoners might escape him after all. “We’ve got

orders to take you back to the academy, and we intend to do it.”

“All right!” replied Miller; “but it is always a good plan to catch

your man before you hang him. Come on with your steamboat. We’re

ready for a race.”

But the tug could not “come on.” She followed the sloop as close to

the shore as her captain dared to go, and then backed out into the

middle of the bay. Here she stopped, and the Swallow’s crew could

see that her captain and the colonel were holding a council of war.

Finally the bell rang again, and the tug went along-side the wharf,

to take on the boys who had been left behind, and who, knowing that

their cruise was at an end, surrendered at discretion.

“Didn’t I fool them nicely?” exclaimed Captain Rich. “That was a

sharp trick, I take it!”

“O, yes it was,” drawled Tom; “but it won’t do us any good. We’re

caught easy enough.”

“Not yet,” replied Miller. “We’ll keep in close to the beach until

night, and then we can give them the slip. We are not foolish enough

to think of giving them a fair race; so we’ll stay in shoal water,

where they can’t reach us.”

Captain Rich approved this plan, and, undoubtedly, it was the only

one that could have been adopted under the circumstances. Tom then

proposed that, in case they were successful in their attempts to

evade their pursuers, they should return to Newport without waiting

to be taken back; but the others would not listen to this. They were

resolved that they would not go back to the village voluntarily,

until they had had a two-weeks’ cruise. If the principal desired

their presence at the academy before that time, he must capture them.

“There comes the tug again!” said one of the crew, suddenly.

“And she’s got three boats with her,” drawled Tom. “I know it’s all

up with us now!”

When Captain Rich saw the boats that dragged at the stern of the

tug, he was obliged to confess to himself that affairs looked rather

dubious again. The Swallow was under the lee of the island, where

she had just breeze enough to keep her moving through the water, but

not enough to enable her to run away from the boats. He had been in

hopes that the tug would blockade them until night, or that she might

attempt to run in nearer to the beach and get aground, in which case

he could easily effect his escape. He found, however, that he had to

deal with those who were as smart as himself.

When the tug came abreast of the sloop, she stopped. The students

manned the boats, and commenced pulling toward the Swallow, evidently

with the intention of boarding her. The runaways watched these

movements in alarm, and finally gathered about their captain,

advising him to go along-side the tug and surrender, without any

farther delay. The lieutenant-colonel, they said, had authority from

the principal to arrest them, and they would only get themselves into

trouble by opposing him.

“I won’t do it,” said Rich, decidedly. “We can’t be in any worse fix

than we are now, and, as long as I see the least chance for escape,

I’m going to hold out. When the colonel comes on board, we’ll tell

him that if he wants the ship, he can take her. He can’t manage her,

and I don’t believe there’s a boy on board who can. If we can only

delay them until dark, we shall be all right.”

But the runaways did not have an opportunity to put this plan into

execution, for, as the boats approached, they discovered that one of

them was under the charge of Mr. Hudson. This took all the backbone

out of them, for, however much they might have felt disposed to

refuse to yield obedience to the commands of the lieutenant-colonel,

they did not dare to resist the teacher. So, when the boats came

within speaking distance, and Mr. Hudson sternly ordered Rich to

take the Swallow along-side the tug, he promptly obeyed. At this

moment there was not one among the deserters who did not heartily

wish that he had never had any thing to do with Tom Newcombe or his

“grand idea.” If they had all remained at the academy, even though

they had failed in their examination, they would simply have been

denied the privilege of going into camp with the others, but now they

would be obliged to endure some terrible punishment. And it was the

uncertainty of what that punishment would be, that troubled them more

than any thing else. Had they been sure of a whipping, they would

have braced up their nerves, prepared to “take it like men,” and

congratulated themselves that it would soon be over with. But that

was not the principal’s way of dealing with such characters. He had a

faculty of making a student, who had been guilty of misconduct, feel

indescribably mean and little; and the runaways were certain that,

theirs being an extraordinary case, something new would be invented

for their express benefit.

“Newcombe, I wish I had never seen you, or heard of your society!”

exclaimed Martin. “It’s all your fault.”

“O, now, it isn’t, either,” drawled Tom. “You are all just as much to

blame as I am.”

“I can’t see it,” said another. “If we once get out of this scrape,

we’ll steer clear of you in future.”

By this time the runaways had been marched on board the tug, the

sloop was manned by some of the crew of the steamer, who were

detailed for that duty, and both vessels shaped their course toward

Newport. Rich and his companions felt particularly sheepish. They

could not look Johnny or his friends in the face, for they knew they

had treated them in a way they would not like to have been treated

themselves. Johnny, however, did not seem to feel very badly about

it, for, as Rich stepped on board the tug, he said, with a laugh:

“Well, captain, your cruise didn’t last long!”

“You deserters are not half the sailors I thought you were,” said one

of the students. “I hoped that you would lead us a long race. We have

had a splendid time following you, and I had much rather spend my

vacation at sea than in camp.”

The students asked the runaways innumerable questions about the

manner in which they had effected their escape from the academy;

inquired how they had enjoyed themselves, and what had been the cause

of the mutiny, (for Johnny had explained why he and his friends had

been left on the wharf,) to all of which the deserters replied in as

few words as possible. They were thinking of the court-martial, the

guard-house, and extra duty, and did not feel at all inclined to talk.

On the following morning, the tug arrived at Newport. As soon as

it became know that the runaways had been captured, the wharf was

crowded with people, and the culprits found themselves the “observed

of all observers.” Tom saw his father standing on the wharf, but he

felt so ashamed of what he had done, that he could not raise his

eyes to his face. As soon as the tug had landed, Johnny Harding and

his three friends made the best of their way homeward, while those

that belonged to the institute were placed under arrest and marched

through the village, like prisoners of war. When they arrived at the

academy, they were met by the principal, who ordered them, not to

the guard-house, but into the school-room, where the lessons of the

day were pointed out to them, and in five minutes more the runaways

were at work at their books, as if nothing had happened. On the

second day, all the students who had been in pursuit of the deserters

returned and the work at the academy was resumed and carried on as

usual. Three days after that, the examination was completed, and,

when the result was announced, Tom had the satisfaction of seeing

the eagles he had coveted placed on the shoulders of Bill Steele,

the adjutant Colonel Smith, and a few of the older students, had

finished the course at the academy, and were to enter college. As

for Tom and his fellow-conspirators, they were left so far behind

that they were heartily ashamed of themselves. The next day, the

much-dreaded court-martial was convened. During the process of

the examination, the part each of the students had borne in the

conspiracy was brought to light, and the secret workings of the

society of Night-hawks were developed. Then came the sentence. Tom,

being the prime mover in the affair, was ordered to do “extra duty”

for two months, and the others for one month. The grand commander

drew a long breath of relief, for he was prepared for something

terrible; but the others all looked blank, for they understood the

meaning of the sentence.

When the business of the court had been concluded, the successful

students made preparations for going into camp; and, in order

that the runaways might know how much they had lost by their

misconduct, they were permitted to witness their departure. The

lieutenant-colonel, major, and adjutant had been provided with

horses; and when the battalion, accompanied by its baggage-train,

moved out of the grounds, it looked like a little army on the march.

As soon as it was out of sight, the runaways, and a few others who

had failed in their examinations, were ordered into the school-room,

and Tom soon found that “extra duty” was something not to be

despised. He was kept busy at work all the time; he was constantly

under the eye of his teacher, who promptly took him to task for the

least violation of the rules, and before a week had passed, he had

been fully convinced that “the way of the transgressor is hard,” and

had made repeated resolutions, that as long as he remained at the

academy, the principal would never again have occasion to put him on

“extra duty.”

Here we will leave him for the present, working out the punishment

brought on by his own misdeeds, and repenting, at his leisure, the

folly of which he had been guilty, and go back to our old friend Bob

Jennings, the fisher-boy, of whom we have for some time lost sight,

but whom we have not forgotten. Of Bob’s life and character, his

trials, disappointments, and final success, we shall have something

to say in “GO AHEAD; OR, THE FISHER-BOY’S MOTTO.”

THE END.

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