BAYARD VISITS THE SCHOONER.
While Bayard and his cousins were galloping through the swamp on their
way to the old Frenchman’s house, Henry Chase and Leonard Wilson were
riding slowly along the road toward the residence of Mr. Bell. To say
that they were astonished at what they had heard would not half express
their feelings. They told themselves that they had never known anything
about Bayard before that day, and were glad indeed that he had not asked
their assistance in carrying out his plans. Chase was the first to speak.
“What shall we do about it?” he asked.
“I think our duty is very plain,” replied Wilson. “In the first place,
we ought to say that we will never have anything more to do with those
fellows.”
“I don’t think we shall have any difficulty in carrying out that
resolution,” answered Chase, “for it is plain that they have made up
their minds to have nothing more to do with us.”
“In the next place,” continued Wilson, “we ought to go straight to Walter
Gaylord and tell him to look out for himself, and to give Coulte and his
sons a wide berth. I never heard of such a cowardly way of taking revenge
before, and I could not sleep soundly again if I did not do something
to prevent it. And in the third place, we ought to go home and tell our
fathers everything we have heard. They will know just what ought to be
done.”
“I will agree to that—all except calling on Walter,” replied Chase. “I
don’t want to meet him or any of the Club. If Mr. Gaylord or Uncle Dick
should see us in the yard, they would order us out without giving us time
to make known our business.”
“We need not go there in the day-time. We will wait until after dark, and
tell the person who answers our knock at the door that we want to see
Walter a moment. Now that I think of it, what have these fellows done
that we dislike them so much?”
If one might judge by Chase’s actions, it was a question that he did not
care to answer. He looked very sheepish, gazed down at the handle of his
riding-whip, and had nothing to say.
“It was very mortifying to be beaten in that boat-race, after we had
bragged so lustily of our muscle and long wind, and all that,” continued
Wilson; “but it was fairly done, and we ought to have accepted the result
like gentlemen.”
“That’s a fact,” said Chase; “although it was a severe blow to me to have
that little upstart, Fred Craven, elected Vice Commodore, when I wanted
the position so badly, and tried so hard to get it.”
“Well, he is a good sailor, and popular among the students; and perhaps
you can thank yourself for your defeat. I tell you, Hank, this day’s work
has opened my eyes. I am going to turn over a new leaf and behave myself
from this time forward, if I know how. Why, man alive, just think of it!
What will the folks in Bellville say about us when it becomes known that
we have been associating with fellows who have dealings with smugglers?
Gracious! We’re getting rather low down in the world, the first thing you
know. Let’s whip up, and get our things out of that house before Bayard
returns.”
The boys urged their horses into a gallop, and in half an hour drew rein
and dismounted in front of the porch at Mr. Bell’s dwelling—a rambling
old structure, which seemed in a fair way to crumble to pieces, and
from the outside looked as though it was entirely deserted. The wide
hall, which was destitute of furniture, echoed loudly as the boys passed
through it, and the stairs creaked as they ascended them. They made their
way to the room they occupied without meeting any one, and began to pack
up their clothing. Wilson put on his overcoat, while Chase threw his
cloak over his arm, picked up his saddle-bags, and turned and looked at
his companion.
“I say!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Don’t this look rather—it isn’t just
the right thing now, is it?”
“What?” inquired Wilson.
“It’s very ungentlemanly, not to say sneaking!”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, stealing out of the house without saying good-bye to anybody.
Bayard’s father and mother have treated us very kindly since we have
been here, and it would be rude in us to go off without taking leave of
them.”
“I know that; but I don’t see how we are going to do it without telling
them we had a falling out with Bayard, and, of course, we can’t do that.
We’ll let him give his own version of the affair when he comes home, and
I know it will be anything but flattering to us. What shall we say to
them?”
“Leave it to me,” replied Chase. “I’ll fix it all right.”
The boys being ready for the start picked up their luggage, descended the
stairs, and in a few minutes more were standing in the library taking
leave of Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Chase did all the talking, and succeeded
in taking himself and companion through the interview in a perfectly
satisfactory manner. Without alluding in any way to what had passed
between them and Bayard, he gave their host to understand that certain
circumstances had happened which rendered it necessary for them to start
for home that very night; which, by the way, was the truth.
“That’s over,” said Chase, mounting his horse—which looked enough like
the one Walter rode to have been his brother—and leading the way at a
rapid gallop toward the gate; “and now comes another unpleasant piece
of business, which is to call upon the President of the Sportsman’s
Club. After that, a forty-mile ride over the muddiest road in the United
States.”
When the boys arrived within sight of the chimneys of Mr. Gaylord’s
dwelling, they became cautious in their movements, and if a stranger
had seen them loitering about on the edge of the woods, and peeping
through the bushes at the house, he would have looked at them rather
suspiciously. He would not have supposed from their actions that they
had come there on a friendly mission, but would have thought rather that
they were a couple of burglars, who were taking notes of the mansion and
its surroundings, and waiting for the darkness to hide their movements
in order that they might make a descent upon the silver. They repeatedly
declared that it “looked sneaking,” but they lacked the courage to ride
into the yard and face Walter Gaylord in broad daylight; although if
he had come out into the woods where they were, they would have met
him gladly. They watched the house closely, and Wilson kept his lips
puckered up in readiness for a whistle to attract the attention of the
Club if they came out; but Eugene was fast asleep on the sofa in his
uncle’s cabin, Walter and Featherweight were busy with their books, Perk
and Bab were deeply interested in their games of backgammon, and not one
of them showed himself.
The afternoon wore slowly away; darkness came on apace, and Chase and
Wilson, hungry and shivering with the cold, began walking their horses up
and down the road, the former, who was to act as spokesman, repeating,
for the twentieth time, what he intended to say to Walter when he came
to the door. They passed the gate several times without possessing the
courage to enter it, and each time they did so two men, who were closely
watching all their movements, drew back into the bushes and concealed
themselves.
“It must be done some time!” exclaimed Chase, at length, “and it might as
well be done first as last. The sooner it is over the sooner we can start
for home. Let’s go in now.”
As Chase said this he turned his horse, and put him into a full gallop,
being determined to ride to the house and go through the interview with
Walter, while he was in the humor for it. Arriving at the gate, he bent
down from the saddle and raised the latch; but just then a thought struck
him, and he paused.
“Suppose Walter puts no faith in our story,” said he; “what then? If he
isn’t suspicious that we are up to a trick of some kind, he will think it
very strange that we, who were so friendly to Bayard this morning as to
be willing to fight for him, should be at loggerheads with him now.”
A long debate followed, the result of which was, that the boys determined
to adhere to their resolution and warn Walter of his danger, leaving him
to do as he pleased about believing their story. After that Chase once
more rehearsed his speech in order to fix it in his memory, and again
placed his hand on the latch; but just as the gate swung open and he was
on the point of riding through, two dark figures suddenly appeared beside
him; and while one seized his horse by the bridle, the other caught him
by the arm and dragged him to the ground, placing a brawny hand over his
mouth, to stifle his cries for help.
[Illustration: CHASE CAPTURED BY THE SMUGGLERS.]
“I’ve got him, Edmund,” said the latter, in a hoarse whisper. “Bring your
light. Make yourself scarce about here,” he added, addressing himself to
Wilson.
The man who had been called Edmund released the horse, and hurrying
up to his companion, produced a dark-lantern from the pocket of his
coat, and turned the slide. When the light blazed up, Wilson, who had
sat motionless in his saddle, too nearly overwhelmed with astonishment
to hear the words that had been spoken to him, saw that the men wore
pea-jackets, and that they looked like sailors. He tried to get a glimpse
of their features, but the lower portions of their faces were concealed
by heavy mufflers, and their tarpaulins were slouched over their
foreheads, so that nothing but their eyes could be seen.
“It’s him, ain’t it?” asked Edmund. “Here’s the white horse, the blue
cloak with the red lining, the long, curly hair, the heavy boots and
silver spurs, and the riding-whip with an ivory handle. Yes, it’s him.
If you want to see daylight again, you had better be getting away from
here,” he added, turning fiercely upon Wilson.
As the man spoke, he thrust his hand into the pocket of his pea-jacket
and drew it out again, bringing with it a double-barrelled pistol. The
sight of the weapon must have restored Wilson’s power of action, for he
wheeled his horse and galloped swiftly down the road, closely followed by
Chase’s nag, which seemed unwilling to be left behind.
The suddenness of the assault, and the violence with which he was
handled, rendered Chase for a few seconds speechless with surprise and
alarm; and when he recovered himself sufficiently to understand what was
going on, it was too late to resist and dangerous to cry out, for his
hands and feet were securely tied, and a pistol was levelled at his head.
“We’ve got nothing against you, and we don’t want to hurt you,” whispered
the man who held the weapon; “but you mustn’t make any fuss—mind that.”
“What are you going to do with me, anyhow? and what do you mean by
assaulting me in this manner?” asked Chase, as soon as he could speak.
“Keep perfectly still, now, and don’t say another word,” was the
satisfactory reply. “It’s enough for you to know that you are wanted.”
As the man said this he lifted his prisoner from the ground as easily as
though he had been an infant, and placing him on his shoulders started
through the bushes toward the beach; while the other put his lantern
into his pocket, and hurried along in advance of him, keeping a sharp
lookout on all sides. Although Chase’s brain was in a great whirl, he
retained his wits sufficiently to notice that the course the men were
pursuing would take them within a short distance of Mr. Gaylord’s house.
He could see the lights in the window, which appeared to be dancing
about among the trees as he bobbed up and down on the shoulders of the
man who carried him, and he listened intently, hoping that some of the
Club’s hounds would discover him and his captors, and give the alarm; but
nothing of the kind happened. The men moved rapidly, but with cautious
footsteps, and in a few minutes carried their prisoner down the bank
and laid him in a yawl, which was moored at the jetty in front of Mr.
Gaylord’s boat-house.
As he was placed on the bottom of the boat, under the thwarts, with his
face downward, and the gunwales were so high that he could not look over
them, he could not tell in what direction the men were taking him. They
moved steadily for two hours without exchanging a word, and during that
time Chase had ample leisure to think over his situation. At last his
ears told him that the men had taken in their oars, and were pushing
the yawl through a dense thicket of bushes, and a few minutes afterward
a sudden jar, which was followed by a violent rocking of the boat,
indicated that it had come in contact with something.
“Here we are at last,” said one of the men, and Chase thought, from the
tone in which he spoke the words, that he was glad that the work was over.
“I wish I was somewhere else,” said the prisoner. “Now, perhaps you will
be good enough to tell me why you brought me here?”
“That’s something that we have nothing to do with,” answered the man, as
he busied himself in untying his captive’s feet, while the rattle of the
painter showed that his companion was engaged in making the yawl fast.
“It is no part of our business to answer questions. All I can tell you is
that we’re not going to hurt you if you behave yourself.”
This assurance removed a heavy burden of anxiety from the mind of the
prisoner, who now, being relieved of all apprehensions concerning his
personal safety, raised himself to a sitting posture and began to look
about him with some curiosity. He noted two things: that the yawl was
lying alongside a small schooner, and that the schooner was anchored
in a little cove which was surrounded on all sides by a dense wall of
trees and bushes. He did not have time to make any further observations,
for his captors, who seemed to be in a great hurry to dispose of him,
assisted him rather roughly out of the boat to the deck of the vessel,
dragged him down a hatchway, and thrusting him into a little locker, left
him to his meditations.
Bayard Bell did not sleep a wink that night, but tossed uneasily on his
bed, thinking over his plans, and waiting impatiently for daylight. He
had heard of such things as smuggling vessels, and was anxious to see
one; and, more than that, he wanted to know how Walter Gaylord would look
bound hand and foot, and what he would say when he learned that he was to
be carried away from his home and put where he would never find his way
back to it again.
“I’ll tell him that I am at the bottom of all his troubles,” said Bayard
to himself. “I’ll say to him: ‘Walter Gaylord, I studied up this plan
and put it into execution myself; and I have done it to show you that
no boy can treat me as you have done with impunity. You think yourself
some pumpkins because you beat me in that boat-race, and because the
fellows elected you Commodore of the Yacht Club over me. What good will
that office do you, I’d like to know? Where will you be when we go on
our regular cruise next summer? Somebody will command the yachts and fly
the Commodore’s broad pennant, but it won’t be you—it will be a fellow
about my size, and who looks just like me. And that same fellow will win
the champion colors, too, next summer, for you needn’t think that the
Sportsman’s Club is going to hold them.’ That’s the way I’ll talk to
him for a while, and then I will begin to abuse him. Perhaps he will be
impudent—I hope he will, for that will give me an excuse for hitting him
a cut or two with my riding-whip. I wish it was morning.”
The long hours of the night wore away at last, and as soon as the first
gray streak of the dawn was seen in the east, Bayard sprang out of bed
and aroused his cousins. They, too, had passed an almost sleepless
night, and were ready to start for the smuggling vessel at once, and
without waiting for their breakfast. Their horses were quickly saddled,
and after a three hours’ hard gallop Bayard led his cousins into a
thickly-wooded ravine, and dismounted.
“Coulte told me particularly to leave our nags here,” said he. “The
schooner is only about a quarter of a mile away, and if some one should
happen to be prowling about, and should find our horses hitched on the
bank near her hiding-place, it might lead to her discovery. I don’t want
to do anything to endanger the existence of that band, for I am going to
join it some day.”
Having seen the horses concealed to his satisfaction, Bayard led his
companions out of the ravine and across a narrow bottom, which was
rendered almost impassable by the water and ice; and presently arrived on
the bank of the cove where the schooner was hidden. The crew had heard
them coming through the bushes and were evidently on the watch, for the
boys saw three pairs of eyes looking at them over the top of the rail. As
they stepped out into view the persons to whom the eyes belonged arose
from their crouching posture, and then the boys saw that they were Coulte
and his two sons. They saw at the same glance that the old man was
greatly troubled about something, for he was smoking fast and furiously,
and when he looked toward Bayard he wrung his hands and walked nervously
up and down the deck. While the boys stood watching him and wondering
what could be the matter, his sons clambered down into the yawl and came
to the shore after them. As they approached, Bayard told himself that
something had gone wrong with them too, for they took no notice of his
greeting, but glared savagely at him, as if they had half a mind to lay
violent hands upon him. Their looks were enough to frighten Will, who
whispered to his cousin:—
“If we once get out of this scrape I’ll never have anything more to do
with these men. I am afraid of them.”
“Nonsense! Don’t be uneasy,” replied Bayard, carelessly. “They are mad
because we know that they belong to the smugglers. Let’s see them help
themselves. We’ve got them completely under our thumbs.”
Having by this time reached the schooner, Bayard sprang over the rail
and looked about him with much interest. Naval etiquette was strictly
enforced by the rules of the yacht club of which he was a member, and
his first move was to salute the quarter-deck, which he did with as
much dignity as though he had been an admiral, and his next to make a
hasty but critical examination of the schooner. She was about fifty tons
burden, long and narrow, with a black hull, and tall, raking masts,
and was supplied with more canvas than vessels of her size generally
carry. It was plain that she had been built for speed, and that she was
commanded by an experienced sailor, for her rigging was well kept, and
her deck was in the best possible order. Bayard was delighted with her.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” he cried, turning to his cousins. “I don’t wonder
that she has never been caught; for I will warrant that she can out-sail
any revenue cutter in Uncle Sam’s service. Well, Coulte, good morning!
You didn’t sleep very well last night, judging by your appearance.”
The Frenchman paused long enough to take his pipe out of his mouth
and give utterance to a shrill whistle, and then put it in again, and
continued his walk up and down the deck; while his boys folded their arms
and leaned sullenly against the rail. Bayard looked from one to the other
of them and exclaimed impatiently,
“What’s the matter with everybody? That’s what I want to know. Coulte,
stand still and talk to me.”
“O, Meester Payard!” cried the old man, wringing his hands violently;
“vat a grand mistake is here—one grand big mistake. Ah! oui! whew!”
Coulte whistled long and loud, took a few more pulls at his pipe, and
went on,
“You zee, Meester Payard, my leetle poys don’t know Meester Valter zo
very veil—zey don’t seen him very many times. Zey go down last night to
Meester Gaylord’s house, and zey—zey—whew!”
“Well, what did they do? Go on,” commanded Bayard.
The old Frenchman tried his best to comply, but his astonishment, or
perplexity, or something else choked his utterance. He took a few more
puffs at his pipe, and beckoning to Bayard, led the way forward and down
a ladder into the hold.
“It’s all right, boys,” whispered Bayard, gleefully. “I thought at first
that they hadn’t got him. No doubt they hurt him a little in capturing
him, and that’s what troubles Coulte.”
“Perhaps they hurt him too much,” said Will, with a look of alarm. “Who
knows that they didn’t kill him?”
“Eh?” exclaimed Bayard, his face growing pale with apprehension. “O, no;
they didn’t do that; they wouldn’t be such fools.”
Bayard spoke confidently enough, but the words of his cousin terrified
him, and it was with a great deal of impatience that he followed the
deliberate movements of the old Frenchman. When the latter reached the
hold, he paused long enough to light a lantern, after which he led the
way to a small locker in the extreme forward part of the vessel. He
opened the door, and handing the lantern to Bayard, stepped back and
motioned him to enter. The boy glanced timidly into the room, and then
looked suspiciously at Coulte, as if he feared that the latter were about
to try some trick upon him; but a second glance into the locker reassured
him. There was a prisoner there, and at the sight of him Bayard uttered
a shout of triumph. He did not see much of him—nothing but his boots,
for the rest of his body was hidden behind a coil of rope; but that was
enough for Bayard, who knew those boots and the little silver spurs
that were attached to the heels. He stepped quickly into the room, and
holding the lantern over the coil of rope so that its rays fell full upon
the face of the captive, exclaimed:
“Well, my young boy, didn’t we tell you yesterday that you hadn’t seen
the last of us?”
“Bayard Bell, is this some of your work?” asked a familiar voice.
It was not Walter Gaylord’s voice. If it had been it would not have
produced such an effect upon Bayard and his cousins. The former started
back, almost dropping the lantern in his bewilderment, while Seth and
Will crowded into the locker and looked over their cousin’s shoulder.