WHAT HAPPENED THERE.
“Well, if this doesn’t beat anything I ever heard of!” said Seth, in a
frightened whisper. “That isn’t _him_, is it?”
“No sir, it isn’t. It is somebody else, as sure as you are alive,”
replied Will. “It is—it is—”
“I want to know if I have you to thank for this?” repeated the prisoner,
raising himself to a sitting posture, and looking over the coil of rope
at the astonished boys. “Why don’t you say something.”
Bayard was so utterly confounded that for a few seconds he could not
speak. He stood as if he had been turned into a wooden boy, and then,
rubbing his eyes and staring hard at the prisoner, to make sure that he
was awake, called out in tones indicative of great excitement, “Hank
Chase!”
“Yes, it is Hank Chase, and nobody else,” replied the owner of that name,
indignantly. “Now, I want to know what you brought me here for, and what
you intend to do with me?”
Bayard, who quickly recovered from his bewilderment, leaned forward to
take a nearer view of the prisoner, and, paying no heed to his entreaties
that he would release him, or at least explain his reasons for having him
brought there, walked slowly out of the room, followed by his cousins.
After closing and fastening the door, he handed the lantern to Coulte,
and began pacing thoughtfully up and down the hold, thrashing his boots
with his riding-whip at every step.
“Haven’t we got ourselves into a pretty scrape?” said Seth, after a
little pause.
“Shut your mouth!” exclaimed Bayard, savagely.
“Haven’t we, though?” cried Will. “That plan of yours, for getting even
with Walter Gaylord, has worked splendidly, hasn’t it? I wish I was a
million miles from here. I am going to start for home this very day.”
“So am I,” said his brother.
“Hold your tongues, I say; both of you,” shouted Bayard, raising his
riding-whip, as if he had half a mind to use it on them.
“You zee, Meester Payard,” observed Coulte, shrugging his shoulders and
waving his hands, as if to say that _he_ was in no way to blame, “my
leetle poys have made one big—one magnifique mistake.”
“Are these ‘the little boys’ who have made this ‘magnificent mistake?’”
asked Bayard, looking contemptuously at the two tall, broad-shouldered
men, who stood leaning against a stanchion close by, waiting to see how
the interview would end. “I call them pretty good-sized boys, and think
they might have known better. They are blockheads, both of them. Now, I
want you to tell me how you came to make this blunder.”
Edmund and his brother were sullen at first, but after a few words of
encouragement from their father, they began and told the story of Chase’s
capture, just as we have related it. They wound up by saying that they
could not see where they were to blame. Their father had visited them the
day before, according to promise, and, after informing them that Bayard
had it in his power to make serious trouble for them if he chose to do
so, and gaining their consent to assist him in carrying out his plans,
had told them that if they saw a boy riding a white horse, and wearing
a blue cloak with a red lining, and heavy top-boots, armed with small
silver spurs, to make a prisoner of him. They had met a horseman who had
answered to the description perfectly, and had captured him according to
orders—a proceeding on their part that they were now heartily sorry for.
It was no fault of theirs that it proved to be the wrong boy, for they
did not know that there were two fellows in the settlement who rode white
horses, and wore blue cloaks with red linings, and besides, they were
not well enough acquainted with Walter Gaylord to tell him from anybody
else. When their father came over that morning to ascertain how they had
carried out their instructions, he saw at a glance that they had made
a mistake, and that was the first intimation they had had of the fact.
Some portions of their story must have astonished and alarmed Bayard, for
he stood with his mouth and eyes open, listening intently, and his face
was as pale as a sheet. When the men ceased speaking, he went into the
locker, closing the door after him.
“Chase,” said he, “I want to ask you something: What were you and Wilson
doing in Mr. Gaylord’s yard last night after dark?”
“Eh?” ejaculated the prisoner, surprised and disconcerted by the
abruptness with which the question was asked; “I—you see—”
“Yes, I do see,” exclaimed Bayard, in a voice which trembled with anger
or terror, Chase could not tell which. “I see that my suspicions are
confirmed. I knew yesterday that I ought to look out for you, for there
was something in your eye that told me that you and Wilson had overheard
what I said to my cousins about the smugglers. This is what you get for
playing eavesdropper, my young friend, and by meddling with things that
do not concern you. It serves you just right.”
Bayard came out and slammed the door of the locker, without waiting to
hear what else the prisoner had to say. His face was paler than it was
when he went in, but that was not to be wondered at, for he knew that
there was a boy in the settlement who was acquainted with his secret,
and that he had made an enemy of him. He was afraid of Wilson now. Where
was he? He might be in Bellville—very likely he was, for he rode a swift
horse which could easily carry him there in one night—and perhaps, by
this time, half the citizens of the place had heard of the plans Bayard
had laid against Walter Gaylord. He trembled when he thought what a
commotion the news would create in that quiet town. Everybody there
knew Walter and liked him; and every one able to ride a horse, from the
President of the Academy down to the smallest student, would turn out to
assist him and hunt down the smugglers; and what would they do with the
boy who had caused all this trouble? Bayard asked himself. The question
troubled him. He saw that he had got himself into a terrible scrape,
and was almost overwhelmed with alarm when he thought of the probable
consequences of his act; but when he spoke, it was with great calmness
and deliberation.
“This is none of my funeral, Coulte,” said he, “and I wash my hands of
the whole affair. Two courses of action are open to you: You can release
your captive, or you can take him to the West Indies and lose him there,
as you intended to do with Walter Gaylord. My advice to you, however, is
to hold fast to him; for if you should set him at liberty he would blow
on you before night, and then where would you be? But the matter doesn’t
interest me one way or the other. Do as you please. Come on, fellows;
there is work before us, and we’ve not an instant of time to fool away.”
As Bayard said this he placed his foot on the ladder and was about to
ascend to the deck, when a shrill whistle sounded from the shore. It had
a strange effect upon some of those who heard it, for Coulte once more
began to wring his hands, while his sons, Edmund and Pierre, started up
and looked about them in alarm.
“What’s the trouble now?” asked Bayard. “Who’s out there?”
“Ah! every dings is going wrong—oui! every dings,” exclaimed Coulte.
“Zare is ze captain Whew!”
The old Frenchman had been terrified before; he was doubly so now. Bayard
did not pay much attention to him, for he knew that he was so excitable
that he sometimes became unreasonably agitated over a very trifling
matter; but when he saw that Edmund and Pierre were uneasy, he began to
think there might be good cause for alarm.
“The captain!” repeated Bayard; “what would he say to us if he should
find us here?”
“He mustn’t find you here,” said Edmund, who seemed to be alarmed at the
bare thought of such a thing. “And you won’t be safe any where now that
he has come, for he will look all over the vessel before he goes away,
to make sure that everything is right. I wish you were at home, where you
belong.”
“So do I,” said Seth, heartily.
“And I wish you had been in Guinea last night, for then you wouldn’t
have captured Hank Chase instead of Walter Gaylord,” said Bayard. “That
mistake will get you into serious trouble if you don’t mind what you are
about.”
“Vel, vat shall be done,” asked Coulte, as another shrill whistle rang
through the vessel, this time louder than before, showing that the
captain was becoming impatient at the delay. “Vare shall ve hide these
leetle poys?”
“Let them go into the cabin,” said Pierre, who had not yet spoken.
“Edmund and I will take the yawl and go off after the captain, and when
we come back we’ll make her fast to the stem of the schooner. Then let
the boys watch their chance, and when we come below with the captain, let
them climb out of the cabin windows into the yawl and put for the shore.”
This plan seemed to meet with approval from everybody, for Pierre and his
brother at once ascended to the deck, and the boys followed Coulte, who
beckoned them toward the cabin. Bayard wondered how the captain would
get ashore if they went away with the boat, but as that was a matter of
no interest to him, he did not waste time thinking about it. He did not
care if the captain never set his foot on shore again, if he and his
companions could only leave the vessel before they were discovered by him.
Arriving at the after-end of the hold, Coulte pushed open a door and
ushered the boys into the cabin; and after urging them to keep their
eyes and ears open, and to be ready to get into the yawl the moment they
heard the captain coming below, he closed the door and left them. Will
and Seth, who were intensely excited and alarmed, ran at once to the
window, drew aside the curtain and looked out; while Bayard, who seemed
disposed to take matters very coolly, and who was anxious to learn all he
could about the smuggling vessel during the few minutes he had to remain
on board of her, began to take a thorough survey of the cabin. It was a
gloomy uninviting apartment, and Bayard thought that if he had been the
master of the schooner he would have made a good many improvements in it.
There was no carpet on the floor, and a worn-out sofa, a table and two
or three chairs completed the furniture. Two doors, one on each side,
opened into dark, uncomfortable looking state-rooms, each containing a
bed which apparently had not been made up since it was brought on board
the vessel. Bayard told himself that he would be in no haste to join the
smugglers if he knew that he would be obliged to sleep in such beds as
those; and perhaps if he could have seen the bunks in the forecastle he
might have given up the idea altogether.
While Bayard was making his observations, Seth and Will, who were
impatient to get a glimpse of the captain of the smugglers, ran their
eyes along the shore as far as they could see it from the window, and
presently discovered the object of their curiosity, who was leaning
against a tree, engaged in whittling a switch with his knife. His back
was turned partly toward them, and his hat was drawn over his forehead
so that they could not see his features; but they were certain that he
was no stranger to them, for there was something about him that looked
familiar. Just then the yawl pushed off from the schooner, and as it
approached the bank where he was standing, the man straightened up and
turned his face toward the boys at the window, so that they had a fair
view of it. Could they believe their eyes? They gazed at him a moment,
while an expression of blank amazement overspread their countenances, and
then dropping the curtain they drew back from the window with as much
haste as though the captain had suddenly levelled a revolver at them.
“What’s the trouble now?” snarled Bayard. “Anything else wrong?”
“Come here,” said Will, in reply, “and tell me if you think that is the
man who is the captain of this band of smugglers.”
Bayard stepped to the window and looked out; but after he had taken one
short glance at the figure who was just then stepping into the yawl, he
sprang back into the middle of the cabin and gazed about him as if he
were searching for some avenue of escape.
“It’s my father, as sure as the world,” said he, with a gasp.
“I thought it was Uncle David,” exclaimed Will.
“I was certain I couldn’t be mistaken,” chimed in Seth.
“And I would rather it was anybody else on earth,” continued Bayard.
“I wouldn’t have him catch me here for any money. Why it doesn’t seem
possible, and I can’t understand it at all,” he added, stepping to the
window again and looking cautiously out. “But it must be that he belongs
here, for he has got into the yawl and is talking to Coulte’s boys.”
Bayard’s surprise, perplexity, and terror were almost unbounded, and he
did not wonder now that Coulte was alarmed when he knew that the captain
was standing on the bank waiting to be brought on board the vessel. What
would Mr. Bell say to him and his cousins if he should chance to find
them in the cabin, and what would he do? This was something that Bayard
did not like to think about. He kept one corner of the curtain raised, so
that he could observe the movements of the yawl, while his cousins sank
helplessly down upon the sofa, listening intently, and scarcely daring
to breathe, lest their uncle should hear it. In a few minutes the boat
reached the schooner, and Bayard heard his father clamber over the side.
One of Coulte’s sons also sprang out, and the other dropped the yawl
astern and made it fast there in such a position that the painter hung
down directly in front of one of the windows.
“That’s the idea!” said Bayard approvingly. “The way of escape is open to
us now. You listen at the door, Will, and tell me when you hear any one
coming down the ladder, and I will open the window, so that we can crawl
out at an instant’s warning.”
“But how are we going to cast off the painter?” asked Seth. “It’s made
fast on deck, and of course we can’t go up there.”
“We won’t stop to cast it off, we’ll cut it; and you had better have your
knife out, all ready.”
“What do you suppose Uncle David will think, when he finds the painter
cut and the boat gone?”
“We don’t care what he thinks. We’ll let Coulte and his boys explain that
in any way they please. We want to get out of this schooner as soon as we
can—that’s all that interests us just at present. Don’t this morning’s
work beat you?”
While Bayard was speaking he had opened the window very slowly and
carefully, and seizing the painter drew the yawl close up under the
stern. Scarcely had this been done when Will announced, in an excited
whisper, that there was some one coming down the ladder.
“It is time for us to be moving, then,” said Bayard, as soon as he had
satisfied himself that Will’s ears had not deceived him. “Seth, give me
your knife, and you and Will jump into the boat and be ready to shove off
when I say the word. Be lively, now, but don’t be in too great a hurry,
for the more haste the less speed, you know.”
Had Bayard been as excited as his cousins were, it is very probable that
they would not have succeeded in effecting their escape from the cabin
in time to avoid discovery. The two brothers displayed a great deal of
awkwardness, and made considerable noise in getting through the window;
and had it not been for Bayard’s help they might have stuck fast there.
He held the curtain up with one hand, assisted his cousins with the
other, and at the same time kept his eyes fastened on the door which
he expected to see opened every instant. The voices and footsteps came
nearer and nearer, and, just as a hand was laid upon the latch, Bayard
dropped the curtain to its place, sprang lightly into the boat, and with
one swift blow with the knife cut the painter. Their escape had been a
very narrow one, and he too began to be excited.
“Shove off,” said he, in a hoarse whisper, “and pull around the schooner,
for fear that father might come to the window and look out.”
The bushes were thick, and it was a matter of some difficulty to push the
heavy yawl through them; but the boys exerted all their muscle, and made
such good use of their time that they succeeded in reaching the shore
before any of the crew returned to the deck.
“That danger’s over,” said Seth, with a long breath of relief.
“Yes, but there’s another hanging over our heads,” returned Will.
“Suppose Uncle David should happen to go into that locker and find Hank
Chase there?”
“And suppose Leonard Wilson should happen to go to Bellville and tell all
he knows about us and our plans?” said Bayard. “That’s another danger
that you haven’t thought of.”
“Leonard Wilson!” repeated Seth. “What does he know about us?”
“He knows all about us. Didn’t Edmund and Pierre say that they saw him
and Chase going into Mr Gaylord’s yard? Now, what were they going to do
in there?”
Seth and Will looked at their cousin, but made no reply. Their wits were
not as sharp as Bayard’s, and they did not understand the matter as well
as he did.
“Humph!” exclaimed the latter, in great disgust; “can’t you see through
it yet? You are the most stupid fellows I ever met in my life. The amount
of the matter is, that, while I was telling you my plans yesterday those
fellows sneaked up on us and overheard every word I said. We made them
mad at us, and they thought they would block our game by putting a flea
in Walter Gaylord’s ear. They were on their way to call on him when
Edmund and Pierre captured Chase. Wilson was allowed to go free, and
of course he will put straight for the village, and tell everything he
knows. We’re in a pretty pickle, the first thing you know, but there is
one way of escape for us. We must—what’s that?”
It was the sound of a horse’s hoofs that had attracted Bayard’s
attention. The boys all heard it now, and, if they had not been so fully
occupied with something else they might have heard it long before, for
the horseman was close upon them. They did not care to be seen by him,
for he might be one of the smugglers. They dived into the bushes with a
common impulse, and they were not an instant too soon, for scarcely had
they concealed themselves when a chestnut-sorrel pony appeared, running
at the top of his speed, his rider bending forward in his saddle, and
holding his arm before his face to prevent the bushes and the branches
of the trees from coming in contact with it. The pony stopped when he
arrived upon the bank of the cove, and his rider straightened up and
pushed back his hat, disclosing to view the features of Fred Craven, who
opened his eyes in surprise when he discovered the schooner lying at
anchor among the bushes.