A STRIKE FOR INDEPENDENCE.
Lon heard no more of his companion in crime, and he concluded that he
had gone to sleep; as, in fact, he had almost as soon as he lay down.
When the boat had been moving about an hour, she came into a flatter
country, and the sail had more wind. The “Mud-turtle,” as some of the
boys who used the boat had christened her, was not a bad sailer, in
spite of her name; and, with the freshening wind, she began to move
at a very lively rate through the water. It was a little startling at
first to the green skipper, who thought she must be making ten knots
an hour, when she was doing only four. But he soon became accustomed
to her heeling over, and to the flaws that sometimes struck her with
considerable force.
But Lon had been up all night; and, when the excitement of managing the
boat had died out, he began to yawn, and to be so sleepy that he could
hardly keep his eyes open; and in the end it became impossible for him
to do so. He wondered that the boat did not come to the Sound; for he
believed he had sailed more than twelve miles, which was said to be
the distance. The time came, before any thing could be seen of the
Sound, when he could stand it no longer. He dropped asleep at the helm;
and more than once the boat broached to for the want of attention to
the helm. The boat had an anchor and plenty of cable, though the wonder
was that some one had not stolen it for a hay-rope.
Lon roused himself, and came to the conclusion that he would anchor the
boat, and then go to sleep in the cuddy. He ran the “Mud-turtle” up to
the side of the river, and lowered the sail. Then he let go the anchor.
He tied up the sail, and fastened the cable, as he had seen a boatman
do it, and then went into the cuddy. He felt about till he found a
place not occupied by Matt, which was big enough for him to stretch
himself out, and lay down. His feet were but a few inches from those of
Wade; but he had no suspicion that the cuddy contained three persons.
In a moment he was asleep, for the case was more desperate with him
than it had been with Matt. All on board were asleep.
They all slept like tops till daylight in the morning, when Wade
Brooks was the first to wake, as he had been the first to go to sleep:
besides, this was his usual time to wake, and to get up. He missed the
usual savage call of the farmer or his wife, and on this particular
occasion he was not informed that he was a “lazy fellow.” When he woke
there was light enough in the cuddy for him to see that his companions
were both sleeping very soundly. One of them was on each side of the
door; but there was space enough between them for him to get out of the
cuddy. With the greatest care Wade passed out of the place into the
standing-room.
If Wade had any doubts before as to who had set the barn on fire, he
had none now. The bad boys had run away by the light of the fire they
had kindled: they had run away. It was for this trip that Matt had
stolen the money from his father; and no doubt he had it in his pocket
at that moment. Wade sat down near the door of the cuddy, where he
could see both of the sleeping conspirators against the peace of the
town of Midhampton. He felt that Lon would pitch into him as soon as he
woke; and he had made up his mind that he would not stand his abuse any
longer. He was no longer in Midhampton--at least, he supposed he was
not, but he could not tell where he was,--and Swikes could no longer
pound him for what he did. He had made up his mind to fight, instead of
allowing Lon and Matt to kick and beat him about as they had been in
the habit of doing.
When he had reached this conclusion, he felt better. In the bottom of
the boat he found a piece of a birch fish-pole, about half an inch in
diameter, which he trimmed into shape for a club. He made it about two
feet and a half long, and, for the want of something better to do,
he whittled away at it for an hour or more: but he was thinking all
the time how he should meet his tyrant; for such he had always been
to him, and Matt was no better. If there were to be any more “broken
heads,” they should be more equally distributed than formerly.
Wade wondered where the bad boys were going in the boat; but he could
only suppose they intended to get out of the way after the mischief
they had done, and had no suspicion that they had embarked for a long
voyage, as he would have called that to New York. Then he began to
think what a hard life he had led on the farm of Obed Swikes. Why
should he be starved and frozen, and compelled to work so many hours in
the day? Why should he stay with Swikes when he was so hardly used? Why
should he be constantly lashed by the peppered tongue of Mrs. Swikes?
She told him, every day he lived, that he did not earn his salt, and
she should have to send him to the poorhouse, where he belonged. If he
was of so little use to the Swikeses, why should he stay with them any
longer? He would not. He decided not to return to Midhampton.
Wade began to think that he was becoming very independent. But it was
better to pick his living out of the swill-barrels of a great city
than it was to eat the bread that was daily begrudged to him, though
he earned four times as much as he received. He knew this by the wages
Swikes paid when he had to hire a man in haying-time. He could get
something to do on a farm, that would enable him to earn his living;
but, whether he could or not, he would no longer submit to be abused
as he had been. He had often heard what a terrible thing it was for a
boy to run away: but the Swikeses had no claim upon him; they were no
relation to him, and they complained that he was a burden to them. He
would relieve them of the burden. He had no master by rights; and he
would be his own master in the future.
While he was thinking of all these things, he saw Matt moving as though
he intended to wake. He watched him, and made sure that his stick was
where he could use it. But the Swikes did not get up, though it was
clear enough that he was awake; and Wade kept his eye upon him. He sat
where the fugitive could not see him. Matt lay on his back, and seemed
to be reviewing the events of the night before. He put his hand into
his pocket, and drew out the wallet he had stolen from the closet over
the mantle-piece. He took from it the money it contained; and, laying
the wallet on the hay by his side, he proceeded to count the bills, of
which there was a large roll, and they must have been small ones.
Matt spent a full hour in this pleasing occupation, for those who love
money like to count it. But he seemed to be doing something more than
merely counting it; for he laid off the bills in two piles, and then
counted each of them several times, as though he could not make them
come out right. Finally he put the two packages of bills into separate
compartments of the wallet.
Wade wondered what he was thinking about, for he lay there musing with
the wallet in his hand. Possibly he was thinking how his father would
miss and mourn over that money. Wade saw him look several times at
his sleeping companion; and the two rolls of bills indicated that he
intended to divide the ill-gotten treasure with Lon. Perhaps he had his
doubts whether it was best for him to do so. He knew what a bully Lon
was.
Finally Wade saw him pull up the hay from the bottom of the cuddy, and
from his side of the bulkhead he perceived that a narrow board had been
taken from the floor. Looking into the space below, he saw Matt deposit
the wallet under the floor, reaching up so as to place it where the
water in the bottom of the boat could not reach it. He did not restore
the board he had removed, but covered the aperture with hay. Having
done this, he lay down on his bed once more. Wade heard him gape, and
concluded that he intended to take another nap, as Lon did not wake. In
a few minutes he heard him snore as he had done in the night.
Just out of curiosity, Wade thrust his hand into the space below the
flooring, and felt in the direction Matt had put his hand. He found
the wallet. He drew it out. He took one of the rolls of bills out of
the compartment, and counted the money. One hundred dollars: this was
half of the sum farmer Swikes had mentioned. He counted the other roll:
it was the other half. Two hundred dollars was the sum the farmer had
lost. Here it was: it was in the hands of the boy of all work, whom
the Swikeses had overworked and abused. If Wade could have returned the
money to his tyrants without going to Midhampton, he would have done
it. Though he was accused of stealing it, he was disposed to do the
right thing.
Worldly-wise people would have said that he was a fool; and the Devil
tempted him with visions of the comforts this large sum would purchase
for the friendless boy; but he was determined to keep it, and have
it restored to its rightful owner as soon as he could, even if he
had to go back to Midhampton to do it. This was the sort of boy Wade
Brooks was. He had the reputation of being a “goody,” and the bad boys
ridiculed him for it; but it was deserved, whether it was applied in
honor or in scorn.
Wade was tempted to get up the anchor, and run the boat to the shore,
so that he could get away from his wicked companions. Very likely he
would have done so, and walked back to Midhampton, if he had not feared
that the noise he would have to make on the forward deck, over the
heads of the sleepers, would wake them. While he was considering this
plan, Lon Trustleton waked; and, unlike his companion, he did not lie
thinking, but jumped up at once, and went into the standing-room.
He was startled, and stopped, standing as though he had suddenly
been changed into a statue, when he saw Wade Brooks seated in the
standing-room. He seemed to think it was a ghost, for he could not see
how it was possible for Wade to be in the boat with him when he had not
seen him before.
“Wade Brooks!” exclaimed Lon, when he had found his tongue.
“That’s my name,” replied Wade, grasping his stick closely in his hand.
“How came you here, Wade?” demanded Lon.
“I guess you can tell better than I can.”
“None of your lip; but answer my question,” said Lon, who had by this
time recovered his self-possession.
“I’m willing to answer the question, though it is not a very civil
one,” replied Wade. “I went into the boat to sleep; and, when I woke,
you were beating in the door of the cuddy: that’s all I know about it.”
“I promised to give you a broken head if I ever saw you again, for what
you said to Garlick;” and Lon made a dig at him.
That stick flashed in the air, and Lon fell.