DON OBTAINS A CLUE.
“How have you succeeded with Coleman?” continued Enoch. “Are we going to
get rid of him as easily as we hoped?”
“Coleman is all right,” was Jones’s encouraging reply. “I laid a neat
little trap for him, and he fell into it just as easy! I told him that we
had been followed nearly all day, and he said he knew it, for he had seen
Mack and some of his squad on the dock. I told him, too, that Mack knew
all about the party at Windsor, and that I was afraid he would go down
there and lie in wait for us; and Coleman offered to go ashore in the
dory and reconnoiter.”
“Good!” exclaimed Enoch. “Just the minute he is out of sight we’ll fill
away for the bay. Now let’s post the other boys, so that they may know
just what is expected of them.”
The deserters did not at all enjoy their ride down the river, for they
were thinking about something else. They were impatient to see the
last of Coleman, and trembling for fear that something would happen to
excite his suspicions. They were strong enough to take the schooner from
him by force, and there were some reckless ones in the band who openly
advocated it; but the majority would not listen to them. They had enough
to answer for already, they said, and they would not countenance any such
high-handed proceeding. While they were talking about it they sighted
Windsor.
“I guess I had better run in and tie up to the wharf,” said Coleman, who
stood at the wheel.
“Don’t do that,” said Enoch, quickly. He wanted to keep the schooner out
in the river so that when the proper time came he could fill away without
the loss of a moment. If she were made fast to the wharf and the sails
were lowered, it would be a work of some difficulty to get under way
again, and if Coleman were the active and quick-witted man they took him
for, he would upset all their plans in an instant.
“That wouldn’t do at all,” chimed in Jones. “How do we know but that Mack
and his men are hidden there on the wharf all ready to board us as soon
as we come alongside?”
“Couldn’t you fight ’em off?” inquired Coleman.
“We might, but we’ll not try it,” said Enoch. “There’s no law that
prevents a deserter from hiding or taking to his heels, but if he should
resist arrest, they’d snatch him bald-headed. We don’t want to fight, for
we’re deep enough in the mud already.”
“What will the superintendent do to you when you go back?” asked Coleman.
“Oh, he’ll court-martial us and stop our liberty,” replied Jones. “But
we don’t care for that, you know. We intend to have so much fun to-night
at the party that we can afford to stay in camp during the rest of the
month.”
Jones did not think it best to tell Coleman that he and his companions
stood a fine chance of being expelled from the academy to pay for this
night’s work. He was afraid that if he did, the man would refuse to
assist them in their scheme, and that he would come about and take them
back to Bridgeport. If he had tried that, there would have been trouble
beyond a doubt, for his passengers were bound to make themselves
famous before they went back. They succeeded beyond their most sanguine
expectations. It is true that they were taken to the academy under
arrest, but they were looked upon as heroes and not as culprits who
were deserving of punishment. They gave the students and everybody else
something to talk about, but not in the way they had anticipated.
“The safest plan you can pursue is to leave the schooner out here in
the river, and go ashore in the dory and see that the way is clear,”
continued Jones.
“I don’t know of but one house in Windsor that is big enough for a party,
and that’s Dr. Norton’s,” said Coleman.
“There’s right where we’re going,” said Enoch, at a venture. “We want you
to go out there and look carefully about his grounds to make sure that
Mack and his men are not in hiding there.”
“Why, it’s a mile from the village!” exclaimed Coleman.
“What of that?”
“It would take me an hour to go there and come back,” replied the man,
“and to tell the truth, I am afraid to trust the yacht in your hands for
that length of time. You might beach her, or a steamer might run her down
in the dark.”
“You needn’t be afraid of that,” replied Jones. “Williams can take care
of her. He owned and sailed a yacht years ago.”
“And here’s another thing,” said Enoch. “You ought to remember that you
are as deeply interested in this matter as we are. If Mack and his men
should capture us now, wouldn’t they find out that you are using your
owner’s yacht without his knowledge, and wouldn’t they get you into
trouble by speaking of it?”
“So they would,” answered Coleman. “I didn’t think of that. I must help
you now whether I want to or not. Well, I’ll go ashore, as I agreed.
Who’s going to manage the schooner while I am gone?”
Enoch answered that he was.
“All right. Take the wheel, and let me see you throw the yacht up into
the wind.”
Enoch complied, and Coleman had no fault to find with the way in which
he executed the maneuver. As soon as the schooner lost her headway, the
man clambered down into the dory and pushed off toward the dock, not
forgetting to tell Enoch that he left the yacht entirely in his hands,
and that he (Enoch) would be responsible for her safety.
“Don’t be uneasy,” was the boy’s reassuring reply. “I know just what
I want to do; and I’m going to do it,” he added, in a lower tone. “Go
for’ard, Jones, and keep an eye on him as long as you can. When you see
him go up the street that leads from the wharf, let me know.”
The impatient boys watched Coleman as he rowed toward the dock, and
presently they saw his head bobbing up and down in front of the lights
in the store windows. As soon as he disappeared up the road that led to
Dr. Norton’s house, Jones carried the news to Enoch, who filled away
and stood down the river again. The deserters were so delighted at the
success of their stratagem that they danced hornpipes, and could with
difficulty restrain themselves from shouting aloud.
“Brigham, tell those fellows to keep still,” commanded the new captain.
“Now, Jones, the next thing is something else. We’ve got the schooner
easy enough, but what shall we do with her?”
“Let’s crack on and get into the bay as soon as we can,” suggested Jones.
“I should like to, for I know we are not safe as long as we are in the
river, but I am afraid to put any more canvas on her. Not being familiar
with the channel I am going it blind, and I don’t want to knock a hole in
her, or run her high and dry on a sand-bar before I know it. I think it
would be safest to stay here for a while, and let our pursuers get ahead
of us, so that we will be in their wake instead of having them in ours.
Perhaps you had better talk it up among the boys and see what they think
of it. While you are about it, find out if there is any one in the band
who knows the river. If there is, send him to me.”
Jones hurried away to obey this order, and presently returned with a boy
who lived in Oxford, and who had often piloted his father’s tugs up and
down the river. The information he gave the captain was contained in a
very few words, but it proved to be of great value to him. The boy told
him that he had better keep as close to the bluff banks as he could, for
there was where the channel was; but when he came to a place where the
banks were low on both sides, he would find the deepest water pretty
near the middle of the river.
“That’s all I want to know about that,” said Enoch. “It is eleven
o’clock, isn’t it, and we are about thirty-five miles from Bridgeport?
Very well. How much farther down the river ought the current and this
wind to take us by daylight?”
“I should think it ought to take us past Mayville, and that is seventy
miles from Bridgeport,” replied the boy.
“Do you know of any little creeks around there that we could hide in
during the day?”
The boy said there were a dozen of them.
“All right,” answered Enoch. “Perhaps you had better stay on deck with me
to-night, and to-morrow we will sleep. Now Jones, divide the crew into
two equal watches, and send one of them below if they are sleepy and want
to go. Then bring up a couple of lanterns and hang them to the catheads.
If we don’t show lights we may get run over.”
Jones proved to be an invaluable assistant, and it is hard to tell how
Enoch would have got on without him. He hung out the lamps, set the
watch, and then he and some of the band went below to take a look at
their floating home. He peeped into all the state-rooms, glanced at the
forecastle, examined all the lockers as well as the galley and pantry,
and was delighted with everything he saw.
“I didn’t know there was so much elbow-room on one of these little
boats,” said he, after he had finished his investigations. “There are
provisions enough in the store-rooms to last us a week, and the owner has
left his trunk and his hunting and fishing traps on board.”
“That must not be touched,” said Enoch, decidedly.
“It wouldn’t do any harm to take out one of those fine breech-loaders and
knock over a mess of squirrels with it,” said Jones.
“Yes, it would. Most men are very particular about their guns and don’t
want strangers to use them. We must return all this property in just as
good order as it was when it came into our hands. We’ve got money enough
to buy our own grub, and I’ll raise a row with the first fellow who dips
into those provisions, I don’t care who he is. We’re not mean, if we did
run away with the schooner.”
Perhaps Egan would have been astonished to have heard such sentiments as
these expressed by the boy whom he believed to be the “meanest fellow
that ever lived.” Enoch could be manly so long as he was good-natured,
and so could Lester Brigham. It was when they got angry that they showed
themselves in their true characters. It may be that the fear of a
rigorous prosecution by the angry owner of the yacht had something to do
with the stand Enoch took in regard to the provisions and hunting outfit.
Of course none of the band wanted to go below, inviting as the berths
looked, and Enoch, who liked company, did not insist upon it. They showed
a desire to sing, but that was something the captain opposed. The noise
they made would be sure to attract the attention of some of the people
living along the banks, and put it in their power to aid Captain Mack and
his men when they came in pursuit. He wanted to cover up their trail so
as to mystify everybody.
“You need not expect to do that,” said one of the band. “Coleman will
blow the whole thing as soon as he gets home.”
“But I don’t think he will go home and face his owner after what he has
done,” said Enoch. “I know I shouldn’t want to do it if I were in his
place. If he keeps away from Bridgeport, so much the better for us. Wait
till we get out of danger, and then you can sing to your hearts’ content.”
Enoch stood at the wheel all night, and the boy who lived in Oxford kept
him company to see that he gave the sand-bars a wide berth. Some of the
band managed to sleep a little, but the majority of the members lounged
about the deck and wondered what they were going to do for excitement
during their cruise.
The schooner passed Mayville shortly after daylight, and the deserters
could not see that there was any one stirring. About half an hour
afterward Enoch’s companion directed his attention to a wide creek which
he said would afford an excellent hiding-place for their vessel during
the day, and the schooner was accordingly turned into it. After she had
run as far up the stream as the wind would carry her, the sails were
hauled down, a dory they found in the creek was manned, a line got out,
and the yacht was towed around the bend out of sight, and made fast to
the bank.
And where were Captain Mack and his men all this time, and did they
succeed in finding the trail of the deserters in spite of all Enoch’s
efforts to cover it up? They spent the night in their quarters, and
struck a hot scent the first thing in the morning. It came about in this
way:
When Lester Brigham, with Jones’s assistance, succeeded in eluding Don
Gordon, the latter became firmly settled in the belief that there was
“something up.” He and Captain Mack used their best endeavors to get on
Lester’s track again, looking in every place except the one in which they
would have been sure to find him. That was at Cony Ryan’s house. As we
said before, they did not go there because they knew it would be time
wasted.
“It’s no use, Gordon,” said Captain Mack, after he and his squad had
searched all the streets and looked into every store in the village.
“They’re safe at Cony’s, and we might as well go home. I hope they will
stay out all night so that we can have another chance to-morrow. I don’t
like to give up beaten.”
Captain Mack knew where to find every one of his men, and in half an
hour’s time they were all marching back to camp. The young officer
reported his return and his failure to capture the boy who had run the
guard, adding that he had a strong suspicion that Enoch, Lester and the
rest had some plan in their heads, and that they did not intend to return
to camp of their own free will.
“Very well,” said the superintendent. “If they do not return to-night,
you had better take a squad and go down to the village in the morning and
make inquiries. If they can get away from you they are pretty smart.”
“Thank you, sir. I will do my best, but I can’t hope for success if I am
to be hampered by orders.”
“No, I suppose not,” said the superintendent, with a laugh. “You would
rather waste your time in running about the country than stay here in
camp and attend to your business.”
“I am ahead of my class, sir,” said Mack.
“I know it. Well, stay out until you learn all about their plans, if they
have any, and capture them if you know where they have gone. I presume
that is the order you want.”
“Yes, sir; that’s the very one,” said Mack, with so much glee in his
tones that the superintendent and all the teachers laughed heartily. “May
I select my own men and take as many as I want?”
“Certainly, provided you leave enough to do camp duty.”
“I will, sir. I’ll take a man for every deserter.”
Captain Mack made his salute and hurried out, laughing all over. His
first care was to go to the officer of the guard and find out just how
many boys there were in Lester’s party (he took it for granted that they
were all together and that they intended to desert and go off somewhere
to have a good time), and his next to make out a list of the boys who
were to comprise his squad. It is hardly necessary to say that the names
of Don and Bert Gordon, Egan, Curtis and Hopkins appeared on that list.
The captain meant to have a good time himself, and he wanted some good
fellows to help him enjoy it.
“I have a roving commission, fellows,” he said to the boys, as fast as he
found them. “If I can find out where those deserters have gone, I shall
not come back without them. Stick a pin there.”
“Good for you, Mack,” was the universal verdict.
“I tell you it pays for a fellow to mind his business,” continued the
delighted captain. “I never would have been allowed so great a privilege
if I hadn’t behaved myself pretty well this term. Say nothing to nobody,
but hold yourselves in readiness to leave camp at daylight. We’ll get
breakfast in the village. If you haven’t plenty of money, perhaps you
had better ask for some; and while you are about it, you might as well
get ten dollars apiece. The superintendent is not very particular about
financial matters during camp, you know.”
That was true, but still he looked surprised when more than twenty boys
came to him that night and asked for ten dollars each. He handed over the
money, however, without asking any questions, and when the last one went
out he said to the teachers who had gathered in his marquee:
“This looks as if Captain Mack were up to something himself. Well, he’s
a good boy, he associates with none but good boys, and we can trust him
with the full assurance that any privileges we grant him will not be
abused.”
Captain Mack and his chosen men did not get much sleep that night.
Although they firmly believed that a large party of students had deserted
the camp they had no positive proof of the fact, and they were in a state
of great uncertainty and suspense. They hoped from the bottom of their
hearts that Lester and the rest would not come in, for if they did, that
was the end of the fun. Some of them ran out of their tents every time a
sentry challenged, and always breathed easier when they found that none
of the suspected parties had returned. At ten o’clock the challenges
ceased, and after that no one came through the lines. Captain Mack went
to the guard tent and found that none of Lester’s crowd had returned, and
then he knew that his scout was an assured thing. The band was gone sure
enough, and the next thing was to find it. All the members of his squad
reported for duty promptly at daylight (not one of them waited to be
called), and in five minutes more they were on their way to the village.
“Now, boys,” said the captain, as he halted the squad in front of the
post-office, “scatter out, and take a look about the streets for half an
hour, and then report for breakfast at the International, which will be
our headquarters as long as we stay here. I will go down there and tell
them that we want something to eat as soon as they can dish it up.”
The boys “scattered out” in obedience to their order, and a short time
afterward Don Gordon drew up at Haggert’s dock, where he found a portly
old gentleman who seemed to be greatly excited about something, for he
was striding back and forth, talking to himself and flourishing his cane
in the air. This was Mr. Packard—the one to whom Don and Bert presented
their letter of introduction on the night they got into trouble with the
guard, and saved Sam Arkwright from being ducked in the big pond by Tom
Fisher and his followers.
“I declare I don’t understand this thing at all,” said Mr. Packard,
shaking his cane at Don, as the latter came up and wished him a hearty
good morning.
“Neither do I,” replied Don, who knew that the angry old gentleman
expected him to say something.
“Now there’s that villain, Coleman,” continued Mr. Packard, bringing the
iron ferrule of his heavy stick down upon the dock to give emphasis to
his words. “I’ve done everything I could for that man. I’ve footed his
doctor bill when he was ill, paid him more wages than he demanded, given
him employment when I didn’t really need him, and now he’s gone and run
off with my boat. I say hanging is too good for such an ingrate. Come up
to the house and take breakfast with me, Don. We haven’t seen you and
Bert there in a long time. What are you doing here at this hour in the
morning? Have you deserted again, you young scamp?”
“No, _sir_,” said Don, emphatically. “I haven’t been in a single scrape
this term.”
“You were in that fight at Hamilton, and I call that something of a
scrape. Everybody says you behaved with the greatest coolness. I am proud
of you, do you hear me?” said Mr. Packard, again shaking his cane at Don.
“Thank you, sir,” was the reply. “What I meant to say was, that I have
broken none of the rules, and don’t mean to, either. Do you see this
bayonet? I am on duty, and consequently, I am obliged, much to my regret,
to decline your kind invitation. I am out after a lot of deserters.”
“I hope you’ll not catch them,” exclaimed Mr. Packard. “Let them enjoy
themselves while they are young, for old age comes all too soon—too soon.
I haven’t forgotten that I was a boy once myself. Come up to the house as
often as you can—you and Bert. We are always glad to see you.”
The old gentleman walked quickly away, and then he as quickly stopped and
shook his cane at the anchor buoy which marked the berth in which his
schooner lay the last time he visited the dock.
“Now there’s that Coleman,” said he. “I’ll give him till dark to bring
that boat back, and if he doesn’t do it, I’ll have the police after him.
I will, for I can’t stand any such nonsense.”
“I have an idea,” said Don; and he also left the dock, performing a
little problem in mental arithmetic as he hurried away. Given a five-knot
breeze and a three-mile current, how far could a vessel like the Sylph
(that was the name of Mr. Packard’s missing yacht) go in a narrow and
crooked channel in nine or ten hours? That was the question he was trying
to solve. While he was working at it, he entered a telegraph office
and found the operator dozing in his chair. He held a few minutes’
consultation with him, which must have resulted in something that was
entirely satisfactory to Don, for when the latter came out of the office
and hurried toward the hotel, his face wore an excited and delighted
look. He found the squad at breakfast, he being the last to report.
“What kept you?” demanded the captain, as Don entered and took his seat
at the table.
“Business,” was the laconic reply. “Have any of you got a clue?”
No, they hadn’t. With all their trying they had not been able to gain
any tidings of the deserters, who had disappeared in some mysterious
way and left no trace behind. Their leader, whoever he was, had shown
considerable skill in conducting their flight so as to baffle pursuit.
“You’re a wise lot,” said Don. “I have a clue.”
A chorus of exclamations arose on all sides, and the captain laid down
his knife and fork and settled back in his chair.
“I know right where they were about the time we left camp this morning,”
continued Don.
“Where were they?” exclaimed all the boys at once.
“A long way from here. I tell you, Mack, the superintendent didn’t dream
of this when he gave you your roving commission. Is it necessary that you
should report to him for further orders?”
“No. He told me to catch those fellows if I could learn where they were,
and that’s the only order I want.”
“All right. What do you say to a sail on the bay?”
The students raised a shout that made the spacious dining-room echo.
“Have they gone that way?” asked the captain.
“They have, and this is the way I found it out,” answered Don, who,
having worked his auditors up to the highest pitch of excitement, went
on to repeat the conversation he had held with Mr. Packard, and wound up
by saying: “Somehow I couldn’t help connecting the deserters with the
disappearance of that yacht; so I dropped into a telegraph office, and
the operator, at my request, spoke to Mayville, who, after taking about
fifteen minutes to gain information, replied that the Sylph had gone down
the river at daylight with a lot of students aboard.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Captain Mack; while his men broke out into a yell,
pounded the table, clapped their hands, and acted altogether so unlike
orderly guests of a first-class hotel, that the proprietor came in to see
what was the matter.
“Break all the dishes,” said he, swinging his arms around his head. “Turn
the house out of doors, if you want to; it’s paid for!”
“We’ll try to stop before we do any damage, Mr. Mortimer,” said Captain
Mack, with a laugh. “Now pitch in everybody, so that we can take the
first train.”
“Where are we going, Mack,” inquired Curtis.
“To Oxford. Egan is a sailor-man, and—you know Mr. Shelby, of course.”
These words enabled the students to see through Mack’s plan at once, and
they made another boisterous demonstration of delight and approval. They
knew Mr. Shelby, who owned the finest and swiftest yacht in Oxford. He
was an academy boy, and had once been famous as a good runner. He was a
soldier as well as a sailor, as full of fun and mischief as any boy in
Mack’s squad, and just the man to help Lester and his band with one hand,
while giving their pursuers a lift with the other. Of course he would
lend them his yacht and take as deep an interest in the race as any
student among them.
Breakfast over, Don asked and obtained permission to run up to Mr.
Packard’s and let him know what had become of the Sylph. To his great
surprise the old gentleman took it as a huge joke, and laughed heartily
over it. He warned Don that the schooner was a hard boat to beat when
Coleman was at the helm, and declared that if the deserters would return
her safe and sound, they might keep her a month and welcome. He would
never make them any trouble on account of it. He was sorry to give up
his cruise, but then his brother had just left Newport in his yacht, and
when he arrived, he (Mr. Packard) would go off somewhere with him. It was
plain that his sympathies were all with the runaways, although he knew
nothing of the great service they were going to render him and others. If
it hadn’t been for those same deserters, Mr. Packard would never again
have seen his brother alive.