THE DESERTERS AFLOAT.
If the deserters had had the ordering of things themselves they could
not have made them work more to their satisfaction. There was not a
single hitch anywhere; but there was just enough excitement to put them
on their mettle, and give them an idea of what was before them. In less
than twenty minutes after Lester Brigham parted from his friend Jones, he
ran against Captain Mack and Don Gordon. The latter wore a bayonet by his
side to show that he was on duty. If they had not been so close to him,
Lester would have taken to his heels. Although he had not yet deserted,
and carried a paper in his pocket that would protect him, the sight of
these two boys made him feel guilty and anxious.
“Hallo, Brigham,” exclaimed the young captain, as he returned Lester’s
salute. “If I didn’t know better, I should say that you were out on
French leave.”
“Oh, I am not,” answered Lester, with more earnestness than the
circumstances seemed to warrant. “I have a pass.”
“I know it, for I was in the superintendent’s marquee when it was given
to you,” said the captain. “But I must say that you look rather queer for
an innocent boy. Seen anything of Enoch Williams?”
“No, I haven’t,” replied Lester, who now began to prick up his ears. “Is
he out?”
The captain laughed and said he was.
“Has he got a pass?”
“Of course not. If he had we wouldn’t be looking for him, would we?
He followed Egan’s example and Gordon’s, and ran the guard in broad
daylight. We’ve traced him to the village, and we’re going to catch him
if we have to stay here for a week. The boy who was on post at the time
Enoch went out said he ran like the wind, and if I can get Don after him,
I expect to see a race worth looking at. My men are scattered all over
the village, and if you see Enoch I wish you would post some of them.”
“I will,” answered Lester.
“He won’t,” said Don, as he and the captain moved on.
“I know that very well,” returned Mack. “Brigham is up to something
himself, or else his face belies him.”
“He and Jones and Williams are cronies, you know,” continued Don, “and I
believe that the surest way to find our man is to keep an eye on Lester.”
“I believe so myself,” said the captain, giving his companion a hearty
slap on the back. “That’s a bright idea, Gordon, and we’ll act on it.”
“Mack thinks he’s smart, but he may find out that there are some boys in
the world who are quite as smart as he is,” soliloquized Lester, as he
moved on up the street. “I don’t know whether I want Enoch to command
that schooner after all. His running the guard in daylight shows that he
is inclined to take too many risks.”
Lester began to be alarmed now; the village seemed to be full of
Captain Mack’s men. He met them at nearly every corner, and they, as in
duty bound, asked to see his pass, and made inquiries concerning the
deserter. Every one of them declared that there was something afoot.
“Williams didn’t run the guard in that daring way and come to town for
nothing,” said they. “There’s no circus here, nor is there anything
interesting going on that we can hear of; but there’s a scheme of some
kind in the wind, and we know it.”
Lester’s fears increased every time Captain Mack’s men talked to him in
this way, and he began looking about for Jones. He wanted to know what
the latter thought about it; but he could not find him, nor could he see
any of the band. They had all disappeared very suddenly and mysteriously,
and now the only academy boys he met were those who wore bayonets. Eleven
o’clock came at last, and Lester was on the point of starting for Cony
Ryan’s, when he heard his name pronounced in low and guarded tones, and
looked quickly around to see Jones standing in a dark doorway.
“Don’t come in here,” whispered the latter, as Lester stepped toward the
door. “Stand in front of that window and pretend to be looking at the
pictures, and then I’ll talk to you.”
Lester wonderingly obeyed, and Jones continued:
“We’re suspected already.”
“I know it,” answered Lester, in the same cautious whisper. “Mack’s men
all believe that Enoch had some object in deserting as he did, and one of
them said they wouldn’t go home until they caught him if they had to stay
here a week.”
“That’s just what they said to me,” returned Jones. “The thing is getting
interesting already, isn’t it?”
“Almost too much so. What do you suppose the teachers would do to us if
Mack should hear of our plans?”
“They wouldn’t do anything but stop our liberty,” replied Jones. “Some of
the best fellows in the school make it a point to desert every camp, and
there’s nothing done to them. Stealing the schooner is what is going to
do the business for us. We’ll be sent down for that, and it’s just what
we want.”
“Have you seen anything of Enoch?”
“Yes; he’s all right. He’s gone down to Ryan’s to order dinner for us.”
“Where are the rest of the fellows?”
“Some of them are hiding about the village, and the others have gone down
to Ryan’s. Enoch and I thought it best to tell them, one and all, to keep
out of sight. If Mack and his men should hear of our plan, the fat would
all be in the fire.”
“Would they arrest us?”
“You’re right.”
“Why, we haven’t done anything.”
“No, but we’re going to do something, and if they knew it, it would be
their duty to stop us.”
“Well, why don’t you come out, or why can’t I go in there?” demanded
Lester. “There’s no one, except village people, in sight.”
“There’s where you are mistaken,” replied Jones. “Look across the street.
Do you see that fellow on the opposite sidewalk who appears to be so
deeply interested in something he sees in the window of that dry-goods
store?”
Yes, Lester saw him. He had seen him before, and took him for just what
he appeared to be—a country boy out for a holiday. His tight black
trowsers would not come more than half-way down the legs of his big
cowhide boots; his felt hat was perched on the top of a thick shock
of hair which looked like a small brush-heap; his short coat sleeves
revealed wrists and arms that were as brown as sole-leather; and the
coarse red handkerchief which was tied around his face seemed to indicate
that he was suffering from the toothache. But if he was, it did not
prevent him from thoroughly enjoying his lunch—a cake of ginger-bread
and an apple which he had purchased at a neighboring stand, and which
he devoured with so much eagerness, as he stood there in front of the
window, that everybody who saw him laughed at him.
“I see some gawky over there,” said Lester, after he had taken a glance
at the boy.
“That’s no gawky,” replied Jones. “It’s Don Gordon.”
Lester was profoundly astonished. He faced about and looked again. There
was nothing about that awkward clown, who did not know what to do with
his big feet, that looked like the neat and graceful Don Gordon he had
met a short time before.
“You’re certainly mistaken,” said Lester. “Don’s pride wouldn’t let him
appear in the public street in any such rig as that.”
“It wouldn’t, eh? You don’t know that boy.”
“Besides, Gordon couldn’t look and act so clumsy if he tried,” continued
Lester, who had striven in vain to imitate Don’s soldierly carriage.
“Why, he is making a laughing-stock of himself.”
“I know it, and so does he; and he enjoys it. I don’t know where he
procured his disguise, but if he didn’t borrow it, he bought it. He’s got
more money than he can spend, and he will stick at nothing that will help
him gain his point. Now, can you see Mack anywhere?”
Lester looked up and down the street and replied that he could not.
“Well, he’s somewhere around, and you may be sure of it,” Jones went on.
“He is keeping Don in sight, and Don has disguised himself so that he can
keep _you_ in sight. They have been following you around the streets for
two hours, and this is the first chance I have had to tell you of it.
Have you let anything slip?”
“No,” replied Lester, indignantly.
“You’re spotted, any way; and I can’t, for the life of me, see why you
should be if you have kept a still tongue in your head,” said Jones,
in deep perplexity. “Now, our first hard work must be to shake those
fellows, and then we’ll draw a bee-line for Cony’s. When I say the
word, come into the hall and go up those stairs as if all the wolves in
Mississippi were close at your heels; but don’t make any noise.”
Lester braced himself for a jump and a run, and Jones took up a position
in the hall from which he could observe Don’s movements without being
seen himself. The amateur detective—it really was Don Gordon—having
disposed of his lunch and growing tired of waiting for Lester to make a
move in some direction, shuffled rather than walked over to the other
window, not neglecting, as he made this change, to take a good look at
the boy he had “spotted.” As soon as he was fairly settled before the
other window, Jones whispered “_Now!_” whereupon Lester darted through
the door and went up the stairs three at a jump. Jones lingered a minute
or two and then followed him.
“It’s just as I expected,” said he, hurriedly, when he joined Lester at
the top of the stairs. “Captain Mack was concealed somewhere down the
street. He saw you when you ran through the door and signaled to Don, who
is now coming across the street. Follow me and run on your toes. Stick
to me, and ask no questions.”
So saying Jones broke into a run and led the way through a long hall to
another flight of stairs, which he descended with headlong speed, Lester
keeping close at his heels. On reaching the sidewalk they slackened their
pace to a walk, and Jones suddenly turned into a shoe-store, with the
proprietor of which he was well acquainted.
“Mr. Smith,” said he, addressing the man who stood behind the counter,
“may I go in your back room long enough to take something out of my boot?”
Time was too precious to wait for the reply, which they knew would be a
favorable one, so Jones and Lester kept on to the back-room. When they
got there the former took his foot out of his boot—there was nothing
else in it—while his companion, acting in obedience to some whispered
instructions, concealed himself and kept an eye on those who passed the
store.
“There he goes!” he exclaimed suddenly, as Don Gordon walked rapidly
by, peering sharply through the glass doors as he went. “He must have
followed us through the hall.”
“Of course he did, and consequently there is no need that I should tell
you why I came in here. Now we’ll start for Cony’s.”
As Jones said this he opened a back door which gave entrance into a
narrow alley, and conducted his companion through a long archway that
finally brought them to a cross-street. After making sure that there were
none of Captain Mack’s men in sight, they came out of their concealment
and walked rapidly away toward the big pond. When they reached Cony
Ryan’s house and entered the little parlor which had been the scene of
so many midnight revels, they found it in possession of their friends,
who greeted them in the most boisterous manner and inquired anxiously for
Enoch Williams. A few of them had had opportunity to exchange a word or
two with him, all knew how he had run the guard, but none of them could
tell where he was now.
“He is safe enough,” said Jones, knowingly. “Of course you don’t expect
him to show himself openly, as we can who have passes in our pockets. If
you will be on Haggert’s dock at dark—and those who are not there will
stand a good chance of being left, for when we get ready to start we
shall wait for nobody—you will find him. In the meantime be careful how
you act, and keep out of sight as much as you can. Mack knows that we
haven’t come down here for nothing.”
The boys said they were well aware of that fact, and Jones went on to
tell how closely Don Gordon and Captain Mack had watched Lester in the
hope of finding out what it was that had brought him and his friends to
town that day, and described how he and Lester had managed to elude them.
While the boys were laughing over the success of their stratagem, Jones
disappeared through a back door, but presently returned and beckoned to
Lester, who followed him into the kitchen. Cony Ryan was there, and he
had just placed upon the table two large buckets covered with snow-white
napkins.
“That’s your dinner,” said he, as he shook hands with Lester, who had
put many a dollar into his pocket that term. “They tell me that you are
getting to be a very bad boy, Brigham. You have put the fellows up to
stealing a yacht.”
“It’s a pretty good scheme, isn’t it?” said Jones.
“I never heard of such a thing,” said Cony. “I know every boy who has
been graduated at this academy during the last half century, and although
there were some daring ones among them, there were none who had the
hardihood to do a thing like this. I have about half made up my mind that
if Captain Mack comes here, I will report the last one of you.”
“Well, so long as you don’t wholly make up your mind to it, we don’t
care,” replied Jones, who knew their host too well to be alarmed by any
such threats as this. “I’ll take one basket, Brigham, and you can take
the other. Cony, you keep your eyes open and give us the signal at the
very first sign of danger.”
“Where are you going?” inquired Lester, as Jones, with one of the baskets
on his arm, led the way out of the door toward a grove that stood a
little distance off on the shore of the big pond.
“To find Enoch,” answered Jones. “I know right where he is. I say,
Lester, you did something to be proud of when you got up this scheme.
When Cony Ryan praises a fellow, the praise is well deserved.”
“I am very well satisfied with it,” said Lester, complacently. “You said
something about a signal of danger; what is it?”
“Did you ever hear Cony’s greyhound sing?” asked Jones in reply. “Well,
if Cony sees any of Mack’s men approaching his house, he’ll tell his
hound to ‘sing,’ and the animal will set up the most dismal howling you
ever heard. If Enoch hears that, you will see him dig out for dear life.”
After walking a short distance into the grove, the two boys came to a
little creek, whose banks were thickly lined with bushes. Here Jones
stopped and put down his basket, and hardly had he done so when Enoch
Williams made his appearance. He had been concealed in the bushes,
awaiting their arrival. This was the first time Lester had seen the
deserter that day, and one would have thought by the way he complimented
Enoch, that the latter, when he ran by the guard, had performed an
exploit that no other boy in the academy dare attempt.
“I am glad to see you two,” said Enoch, nodding his head toward the
baskets, “for I am hungry.”
“Any news?” asked Jones, as he spread the lunch on one of the napkins.
“Not a word,” replied the deserter. “I haven’t seen Mack or any of his
squad for a long time.”
“We have,” said Lester. “We’ve just had some fun in getting away from
them.”
Of course Enoch wanted to know all about it, and Jones told the story
while they were eating their lunch. The good things that Cony had put
up for them rapidly disappeared before their attacks, but busy as they
were, they did not neglect to keep their eyes and ears open. They
depended upon Cony and his hound to guard one side of the grove, and upon
themselves to detect the presence of any danger that might threaten them
from other directions; but Mack and his men never came near them. Being
well acquainted with Cony Ryan, they knew it would be a waste of time
to look for a deserter about his premises. The old fellow was a staunch
and trustworthy friend. He could not be bribed, coaxed or flattered into
betraying a boy’s confidence.
It seemed as if the day never would draw to a close. As Enoch did not
think it safe to venture near the house, Jones and Lester kept him
company in the grove, where they rolled about on the grass, consulting
their watches every few minutes and laying out a programme for their
cruise. By this time it was understood that Enoch was to command the
schooner. He was delighted when Lester proposed it, accepted the
responsibility without the least hesitation, and spoke confidently of his
ability to make the cruise a lively one and to give their pursuers a long
chase, if he could only succeed in getting the yacht out into the bay.
The hours wore away, and when six o’clock came the deserter and his
friends finished what was left of their lunch and began to bestir
themselves. Jones and Lester returned to Cony Ryan’s house, which they
found deserted by all save the proprietor and his family, the members of
the band having formed themselves into little squads and strolled off
toward the dock. Having made sure that the coast was clear, Jones went
out on the back porch and gave a shrill whistle, to which the deserter
responded in person.
“Now, Lester,” said Jones, when Enoch entered the house, “you stay here
and act as look-out for Williams, and I will take a scout about the
village and see how things look there. It will be dark by the time I
come back, and then we will make a start.”
Jones was gone a long while, but the report he brought was a favorable
one. The members of the band were all hidden about the dock, awaiting
Enoch’s appearance with much anxiety and impatience, and Coleman was
ready to carry out his part of the contract. The sails were cast loose,
and all they had to do was to slip the anchor, and let the current carry
them down the river. He had seen nothing of Captain Mack or his men, nor
had he been able to find any one who could tell him what had become of
them. He believed they had gone back to camp.
“Mack rather plumes himself on his success in capturing deserters, I
believe,” said Enoch, as he arose from the sofa on which he had been
lounging and put on his cap. “He fails sometimes, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t shout until you are out of the woods,” replied Jones, who knew
that his friend was congratulating himself on his cunning. “The pursuit
has not fairly begun. He may gobble you yet and all the rest of us into
the bargain.”
“Well, it will not cost him anything to try,” said Enoch, confidently.
“I am more at home on the water than I am on land, and the boy who beats
me handling a yacht must get up in the morning.”
“But they will follow us in tugs,” said Lester.
“Then we’ll hide among some of the islands in the bay and let them hunt
for us,” replied Enoch. “I tell you it will be a cold day when we get
left.”
After Lester had paid for the lunch they had eaten in the grove, he and
his companions left Cony Ryan’s hospitable roof and set out for the
dock, neglecting no precautions on the way. Jones and Lester went ahead,
stopping at every corner and looking into every doorway, and Enoch,
who followed a short distance behind them, did not advance until they
notified him, by a peculiar whistle, that he had nothing to fear.
By keeping altogether on the back streets and giving the business
thoroughfares a wide berth, they managed to reach the dock without
meeting anybody. There was no one in sight when they got there, but
Jones’s low whistle was answered from a dozen different hiding places.
“Ahem!” said Enoch, looking toward the schooner.
“Ahem!” came the answer through the darkness. “Who is it?”
“The band,” replied Enoch; and then there came a few minutes of silence
and impatient waiting, during which Coleman got into his dory and shoved
off toward the dock. Another whistle from Jones brought several students
from their places of concealment, and when the dory was filled to its
utmost capacity, it was pulled back to the schooner. Coleman was obliged
to make three trips in order to take them all off, and when Jones, who
was the last to leave the dock, sprang over the schooner’s rail, he
announced that not a single one of the band was missing.
“Keep silence fore and aft,” commanded Coleman, as he made the dory’s
painter fast to the stern and went forward to slip the chain. “Wait until
we get under way before you do any talking.”
The boys were careful to obey. With a single exception they were highly
elated over the success of their plans, and now that the schooner was
moving off with them, they were determined that she should not come back
to her berth again until she had taken them on a good long cruise. That
exception was, of course, Lester Brigham. He became timid when he found
himself at the mercy of the current which was carrying him off through
darkness so intense that he could scarcely see the vessel’s length ahead
of him, and took himself to task for his foolishness in proposing such an
expedition. But when he found that the schooner was seaworthy, and that
Enoch knew how to keep her on top of the water and to get a good deal of
speed out of her besides, these feelings gradually wore away, and he even
told himself that he was seeing lots of fun.
When the current had taken the little vessel so far down the river that
there was no longer any danger to be apprehended, Coleman came up to
Enoch, whom he recognized as one of the leaders of the band, and inquired:
“Are there any among you who know a halliard from a down-haul?”
Enoch replied that there were.
“Then send a couple of them forward to run up the jib, while I take the
wheel,” said Coleman. “I want to throw her head around. No singing, now.”
“What did he mean by that?” asked Lester, speaking before he thought.
“Why, have you never heard sailors sing when they were hoisting the
sails?” exclaimed Enoch. “It makes the work easier, you know, and helps
them pull together.”
“Why, of course it does,” said Lester. “What was I thinking of?”
“I don’t know, I am sure. Come with me and lend a hand at the jib. Jones,
you had better attend to Coleman now.”
“Shall I give him his money?” asked Jones, who, we forgot to say, had
been elected treasurer of the band without one dissenting voice.
“Yes; hand it over, and perhaps he will want to go ashore and spend some
of it. You see,” added Enoch, as he and Lester went forward, “our first
hard work must be to get rid of Coleman without raising any fuss, and
Jones is going to try to induce him to go off with us at Windsor; so keep
away from him and let him talk.”
It was so very dark and there were so many ropes leading down the
foremast that Lester didn’t see how Enoch could find the one he wanted;
but he laid his hand upon it without the least hesitation, and when he
began pulling at it, Lester knew enough to take hold and help him. The
schooner swung around as the wind filled the sail, and when her bow
pointed down the river the fore and main sails were hoisted, and in a few
minutes more she was bowling along right merrily. Enoch superintended the
work, all the boys lending willing but awkward assistance, and Coleman
complimented him by saying that he was quite a sailor.
“And I am the only one on board,” said he, as soon as he found
opportunity to speak to Jones in private. “Brigham is a fraud of the
first water. There are lots of fellows aboard who make no pretensions,
but who know more about a boat in five minutes than he does in a month.”
“His yacht was a cutter, you know,” suggested Jones.
“Oh, get out!” exclaimed Enoch. “He doesn’t know a cutter from a
full-rigged ship.”
Lester, who was painfully aware that his ignorance of all things
pertaining to a yacht had been fully exposed, was leaning against the
weather-rail, heartily wishing himself back at the academy. He then and
there resolved that he would never again attempt to win a reputation
among his fellows by boasting. It is a bad thing to do; and the boy who
indulges in it is sure to bring himself into contempt sooner or later.