THE PLOT.
Meanwhile Ned was positive that everything had been arranged
satisfactorily.
It never came into his mind that Mr. Stout might think it in the highest
degree unsafe for a boy to be possessed of a secret which could send him
and the captain to prison for a long term. His only idea was that in
case the brig was scuttled he would be in no danger, and this was
sufficient for the time being.
There was no occasion for him to leave his room, therefore he had no
intimation he had been made a prisoner, and lay down to sleep with not a
care on his mind, save, possibly, whether he should succeed in pleasing
the captain as well on the following day as during the one just passed.
Matters would have worn a very different complexion to him had it been
possible to have overheard the conversation which Mr. Stout had with the
captain in the latter’s room about midnight, when the second mate went
on deck.
The master of the Evening Star was wrapped in a slumber superinduced by
frequent draughts from the liquor bottle, and his chief officer had some
difficulty in awakening him.
“What’s the matter?” he cried in alarm when finally it was possible for
the visitor to make his presence known. “Anything wrong?”
“Not with the brig; but there’s some one aboard who must be attended to
mighty quick if you count on carrying out the plan we spoke about the
other night.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a listener while we were talkin’ in the pantry.”
“Who?” and now fear caused the captain to be very wide awake.
“The boy. He can hear even a whisper from the pantry while lying in his
berth. I tried the experiment a little while ago, an’ know that not a
word could have escaped him.”
“And he heard what I said?”
“That’s the size of it. He came to ask me not to leave him behind when
the brig was scuttled, an’ you can fancy what a turn it gave me. He
didn’t seem to think it anything out of the way to tell the whole story,
an’ I’ve taken the precaution of lockin’ him in his room.”
“That was right. He must fall overboard before daylight, or we shall
stand a good chance of going to jail if we ever show up on shore again.”
“Now don’t talk foolishness,” Stout replied impatiently. “In the first
place, I won’t have murder committed; it’s bad enough to scuttle a
vessel. Then, again, it couldn’t be done without some of the crew
knowing about it, and even if they simply had suspicions the loss of the
brig immediately after the boy was silenced would show up the whole
matter.”
“But what shall we do?”
“That’s what I don’t know. All I can say is as to what mustn’t be done
an’ leave you to figger out the rest.”
The captain was silent for fully a minute, and then said abruptly:
“I wish you’d bring the bottle in here; I need something to clear my
head a bit.”
Mr. Stout obeyed at once, and when he returned the master of the brig
had seen a way out of what promised to be a very serious difficulty.
“We’ll soon settle him, and I’ll answer for it that the crew will be
glad enough to help us.”
“What is the scheme?”
“Keep him a close prisoner from now out. Say that we have discovered he
has some contagious disease——”
“But anybody with half an eye can see he’s well and hearty.”
“There are plenty of things which can be hatched up. Say leprosy; that
will startle every man jack, I’ll go bail.”
“Then what? We can’t leave him on board when the brig goes down.”
“How thick-headed you are to-night, Stout! Take a drink to brighten you
up. Suppose the men believe he’s a leper? The result will be that
they’ll insist on our setting him ashore, as we should do in case he was
really afflicted with the disease. We can land him on some small key,
and the matter will be settled.”
“But he’ll talk all the same when he gets back.”
“If he ever does.”
“Then it is really murder you are thinking of!”
“Not a bit of it! We’ll simply maroon him, with plenty of grub, and
trust to chance for the rest. We’ll make Spider Key for the first land,
and once he is there I’ll guarantee he stays.”
“But I don’t fancy the idea of such a thing as that,” Mr. Stout replied
thoughtfully. “It is different, this scuttlin’ a vessel for the purpose
of doin’ the insurance companies, while to maroon a boy is very much the
same as puttin’ a knife into him, and perhaps more cruel.”
“Look here, Stout, it is too late for you to be squeamish. He has heard
the plan and knows you agreed to it. Once his story has been told on
shore, even if we back out now and put the brig into port, the cargo can
be examined, and it’s good-by for you and I. Death wouldn’t be half so
bad in my eyes as ten or fifteen years in jail, and that’ll be the size
of it if he’s allowed to run around with our secret.”
“I s’pose you’re right,” the mate replied with a sigh; “but it’s mighty
tough for the poor little fellow, all the same.”
“Not so much so as it would be for us. I’ll see to it that he has enough
in the way of grub and weapons to keep him going for a year, and at the
end of that time it won’t do much harm if he should tell the yarn.”
One would have said from the expression on the captain’s face that he
felt certain Ned would not be alive at the end of a year; but the mate
was willing to soothe his conscience with the thought that he might find
some means of escaping from the key, and thus the matter was settled.
It only remained to decide upon the room which should answer for Ned’s
prison until he could be sent ashore, and Mr. Stout said:
“I reckon we may as well leave him where he is, eh?”
“By no manner of means. Didn’t you say he could hear all that was said
in the pantry?”
“Yes; but what of that? We needn’t go there to talk any more.”
“You’re still thick-headed, Stout. If he can hear so plainly, what’s to
prevent him from chinning with some of the crew or the steward? It’s a
chance we mustn’t take, for if we give out that he’s a leper and he
manages to tell one of them that he was never away from the State of
Maine in his life, there would likely be a very big question as to the
truth of our statement.”
“Then the only vacant room is the one next to mine.”
“Exactly. We’ll put him there and leave the crew to say what shall be
done with him. I’m ’way off my reckoning if they don’t insist on his
going ashore the first chance. When that has been done we’ll make a big
show of burning the bedding, and the thing is over.”
“Very well, sir, I shall have to give in that you can handle this matter
better than I. Now, if you’ll take care of the balance of the job it’ll
be a big weight off my mind. I couldn’t face that boy, knowin’ what
we’re goin’ to do, without standin’ a chance of givin’ the whole snap
away.”
“Leave it to me; I’ll attend to everything, and you shan’t see him again
till the day we take him on shore.”
Mr. Stout went to his own room after this promise; but it is safe to say
that his sleep was neither sweet nor refreshing.
Two hours later Ned was awakened by a heavy hand laid on his shoulder,
and as he raised his head the captain’s voice was heard.
“I want you to shift rooms, lad. The carpenter is going to make some
changes here, and you’ll lose the best part of the night’s rest if you
try to stay.”
The words were spoken in the most friendly of tones, and Ned, wondering
not a little why it was the master of the Evening Star had suddenly
grown so kind, hastily dressed himself.
Captain Bragg stood in the doorway until he was ready, and then led him
to the room adjoining the chief mate’s, saying as he opened the door:
“It ain’t a bad swap for you to make, my son. We keep this for
passengers because it is so big, and don’t usually count on givin’ it up
to one of the crew; but it seems necessary in this case. You needn’t try
to turn out early in the mornin’; I shan’t have a regular meal served
till the repairs are made, so lay in bed as long as you please.”
Then the captain closed the door, locking it so gently that the turning
of the key could not be heard, and Ned undressed himself again in a
perfect maze of bewilderment.
The captain’s excessive kindness caused wonderment not unmixed with
fear, for he remembered what Mr. Stout had said the day previous when
the gentleman was so affable.
“There’s no need for me to fuss about it,” he said after trying in vain
to fancy some good reason for this almost affectionate manner. “Of
course he don’t want me to do anything for him, else he’d asked with his
fist. Perhaps he’s been drinkin’ too much, an’ I’d better turn out the
same time as usual.”
This last supposition seemed the most reasonable, and, believing he had
hit upon the true cause for the change of demeanor, he devoted his
entire attention to sleep.
At what time Ned awakened next morning he was unable to say; but it
seemed quite late when he opened his eyes, and jumping quickly from the
berth, began to dress hurriedly as he muttered to himself:
“I reckon I shall have to walk mighty straight this morning, for the
captain will be crosser than a bear.”
After making a hurried toilet he attempted to go into the saloon, and,
to his great surprise, found the door was locked.
It did not seem possible at first that such could be the case; but after
trying in vain for several moments to open it, he was forced to admit he
was a prisoner.
“Some one has turned the key, not knowing I was in here,” he thought,
and then began to pound on the door in order to attract attention.
It was not necessary to do this many seconds before succeeding in his
purpose, and he heard the captain’s voice from the outside:
“If you don’t keep quiet I’ll break every bone in your body!” came in
low, but angry tones.
“But the door has got locked somehow.”
“I did that myself. You’ll stay where you are till I make up my mind
what shall be done with you.”
“But why am I kept here?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Behave yourself, and there’ll be no harm
done; but if I hear so much as a single yip, you’ll know what the cat
tastes like.”
Then all was silent once more, and Ned literally staggered back to the
bunk, trying in vain to understand the meaning of this very strange
performance.
He could think of nothing he had done or neglected to do which would
warrant such treatment, and after studying over the perplexing matter
until his head swam, he lay down again.
An hour later the door of his room was opened, and the captain entered,
bringing a supply of food.
“Here’s enough to eat and drink till morning,” he said gruffly as he
placed the tray on a locker. “Take hold and enjoy yourself as much as
you can, for this terrible thing isn’t any fault of yours.”
“What do you mean?” Ned cried. “What have I done?”
“Nothing, lad; but the men are not willing to have you around.”
“The men!” Ned repeated in bewilderment. “What can they have against
me?”
“They’re afraid of catching the disease, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“But I ain’t sick.”
“Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know you had the leprosy?” and the
captain now appeared to be thoroughly surprised.
“Have I?” and Ned in turn evinced astonishment.
“There’s no question about it. If I had noticed you more carefully the
day you came on board, I should have known what the trouble was. Now it
will be necessary to stay here quietly until we can set you ashore where
there’s a hospital, for you need immediate care.”
Ned was so bewildered that he did not question the man further; but
threw himself on the bunk once more, entirely at a loss to understand
anything in regard to the matter, save that the crew had suddenly grown
afraid of him.
“You must keep very quiet,” the captain continued. “Don’t exert yourself
by moving around, and I will see you have everything that’s needed until
we put you on shore, which will be by to-morrow, or the next day at the
latest.”
Then the master of the Evening Star left the room, locking the door
behind him, and Ned tried in vain to realize his position.
After a time he remembered that he had not asked the captain what
leprosy was, and examined his face in the glass to see such evidences of
sickness as would warrant people in being afraid of him.
His skin seemed of a healthy color, and he asked himself if he felt ill
in any way; but without receiving a satisfactory answer.
“I can’t make out that I’m different from what I always was; but there
must be something wrong, or the captain wouldn’t act so awful good.”
Since he was not sensible of being an invalid, and had a very clear idea
he felt hungry, there appeared to be no good reason why he should not
partake of the plentiful supply of food which had been brought.
He made a hearty meal, and then lay down again as he muttered to
himself:
“All I can say is that it ain’t very bad to be sick with leprosy, for I
feel first class, an’ oughter be willin’ to stay here a long while if
they feed me up in this shape.”
During the day he slept considerable, but during the night was more
wakeful. Now and then it was possible to hear the hum of voices from the
cabin; but he could not distinguish the words, and, from the “heel” of
the vessel, knew she was reeling off the knots in fine shape.
When another day dawned and the rays of the sun, coming through the
port-hole, lighted up the tiny apartment, he expected to see the captain
with a second supply of food; but the hours passed on, and his door
remained locked.
Then came the thought that perhaps they were making preparations to
scuttle the vessel, and he would be left behind to drown.
The chance of this seemed so great that he had made up his mind to pound
on the door in order to attract attention, despite the threats of the
captain, when that gentleman entered.
“Well, my lad,” he began in a cheery tone, “I am glad for you that it
won’t be necessary to stay here many minutes longer.”
“Have you found out that there is nothing the matter with me?” Ned cried
eagerly.
“I wish I had; but there’s no such good luck as that. We are off Spider
Key now; the brig will soon be hove-to, and you are to go ashore. I’m
sorry we couldn’t fetch up on the other side of the island where the
village is, but, under the circumstances, you won’t mind walking a
couple of miles. We shall give you enough so there’ll be no chance of
wanting anything, even though you should stay here a year, and when it
comes right down to facts, you’ll be better off than if you remained on
board.”
“Will I have any trouble in findin’ the village?”
“Not a bit. Walk straight across till you come to it.”
Ned was satisfied. He had had so many hard rubs in his life that this
being set ashore did not surprise him, and the fact that he would have
enough to keep him for a year seemed like a wonderful show of generosity
on the captain’s part.
Just then the tramp of feet overhead, mingled with cries of command,
told that the brig was coming up into the wind.
Captain Bragg went to the companion-way a mo—and then returned with Mr.
Stout.
“Are you going ashore with me?” Ned asked in glad surprise.
“Yes: the men backed out from the job, an’ since somebody must do it, I
allowed you’d rather it would be me.”
“Indeed I had,” Ned replied, and if he entertained any suspicions
previously, they were dispelled now the one man on board whom he
considered a friend was to accompany him as far as the shore.
The captain enveloped the boy in a rubber coat which partially hid his
face, saying as he did so:
“You should be careful about taking cold. There’s a damp wind comes off
the water, and it’s best to keep your face well covered until you are in
the hospital.”
Ned, now firmly convinced that the master of the Evening Star was his
very good friend, obeyed orders to the letter, and Mr. Stout led him on
deck.
The brig was hove-to off a low-lying, sandy island about half a mile
away, and a more desolate-looking place could not well be imagined.
Far down on the opposite shore was something dark which might be a clump
of trees, otherwise there was not so much as a blade of grass in the way
of vegetation.
The boat was alongside, and, standing well forward, as if afraid of
having the leper pass them, were the crew, looking very much disturbed.
“You can see how frightened they are of you,” Mr. Stout said in a low
tone. “It was all the captain an’ I could do to prevent them from
setting you adrift in one of the boats.”
“How funny it is that they should have got scared when I look the same’s
I ever did.”
“But you don’t, my lad. There’s a big change in your appearance since
you come aboard.”
“I feel jest the same, anyway.”
“Yes, folks with that disease always do; but come on, we must get to the
island as quick as we can, or the brig may go on without me.”
“I wish you was goin’ to stay ashore too.”
Ned was clambering over the rail as he said this, consequently did not
see an expression of what was very like fear which passed over the
mate’s face, and it seemed impossible for him to make any reply.
On stepping into the boat Ned noticed a number of packages in
sail-cloth, and asked what they were.
“Provisions an’ sich like as you may need while stoppin’ here. The
captain tells me he has given you a first-class outfit, large enough to
keep you like a prince for a year.”
While speaking Mr. Stout had begun to row toward the shore, and when
they were so far from the brig that his words could not be overheard by
the captain, who was watching them from the quarter-deck, he said as he
motioned with his foot toward a small bundle which lay under the
stern-sheets:
“I found a lot of fish-lines, a pocket knife, an’ a quantity of matches
in my room this mornin,’ so I put ’em aboard thinkin’ they might come in
handy for you.”
“What would I want with such things if I’m goin’ to the hospital?” Ned
asked in surprise.
“Is that where you’re bound for?” the mate inquired, and now it was his
turn to show astonishment.
“Of course. Didn’t the captain tell you?”
“I ain’t certain as he did. I’ve been pretty busy on deck since you was
taken sick, an’ haven’t had much chance to talk with him.”
“But I haven’t been taken sick. Captain Bragg says I’ve got leprosy; but
that’s all.”
Mr. Stout acted very much as if he did not care to prolong the
conversation.
He rowed as rapidly as possible with his head half-turned, as if to
avoid looking the boy in the face, and pretended not to hear when Ned
asked relative to the location of the village.
When the bow of the boat grated on the sand he leaped ashore and began
pulling out the packages with feverish haste, while Ned, throwing off
the rubber coat because of the heat, leisurely stepped on the land.
[Illustration: NED WATCHES THE MATE ROW BACK TO THE SHIP.—Page 49.]
In a very few seconds Mr. Stout was ready to return to the brig, and
stopped as if to shake hands with Ned; but evidently changed his mind,
for instead of so doing he leaped in the craft.
“Perhaps I’ll see you when we come back,” he cried, and then pulled at
the oars with all his strength, keeping his eyes fixed on the bottom of
the boat to shut out from view the boy who stood at the very edge of the
water, gazing after the man whom he believed to be his friend.