ANOTHER TEST AND THE RESULT.
“Keep her away, Burgess! If the ragged end of that spar hits us it may
send us to the bottom. Slack away the fore-sheet! Stand by, everybody,
and don’t let him go by for your lives! He looks as though he couldn’t
hold on another minute.”
It was Egan who issued these hurried orders. He was standing on the
weather-rail of Mr. Shelby’s yacht, the Idlewild, which was sailing as
near into the wind’s eye as she could be made to go, now and then buoying
her nose in a tremendous billow that broke into a miniature cataract on
her forecastle and deluged her deck with water. He was drenched to the
skin, and so were the boys who were stationed along the rail below him,
trembling all over with excitement, and watching with anxious faces one
of the most thrilling scenes it had ever been their lot to witness.
There had been a terrible storm along the coast. It was over now, the
clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining brightly; but the wind was
still blowing half a gale, there was a heavy sea running, and the waves
seemed to be trying their best to complete the work of destruction that
had been commenced by the storm. Two points off the weather-bow there had
been, a few minutes before, a little water-logged sloop, over which the
waves made a clean breach; but she was gone now. All on a sudden her bow
arose in the air, her stern settled deep in the water, and the yacht,
which had set sail from Newport a few days before with a merry party of
excursionists on board, went down to the bottom of the bay. Broad on
the Idlewild’s beam was the Sylph, the deserters working like beavers
to rescue the crew of the sunken yacht, heedless or ignorant of the
fact that they were in jeopardy themselves, their vessel being so badly
handled by the frightened and inexperienced boy at her wheel, that she
was in imminent danger of broaching to. Tossed about by the waves which
rolled between the Idlewild and the Sylph was a broken spar to which a
student, with a pale but determined face, clung desperately with one
arm, while in the other he supported the inanimate form of a little boy.
The student was Enoch Williams, and the boy was Mr. Packard’s nephew.
The last time we saw the Sylph she was hiding in the creek a short
distance below Mayville. That was a week ago, and her persevering and
determined pursuers had but just come up with her. During the day the
deserters purchased a small supply of provisions from the neighboring
farmers, fished a little, slept a good deal, and when darkness came to
conceal their movements they got under way again, and stood down the
river, taking the stolen dory with them. At daylight they found another
hiding-place, and before dawn the next morning they ran by Oxford, a
bustling little city situated at the mouth of the river. If they were
pursued they did not know it. They made cautious inquiries as often as
they had opportunity, but no one could give them any information, because
Captain Mack and his men had escaped observation by going from Bridgeport
to Oxford on the cars.
When the Sylph ran out into the bay, the deserters began to feel
perfectly safe. They shouted and sung themselves hoarse, and told one
another that they were seeing no end of sport; but in their hearts
they knew better. How was their cruise going to end? was the unwelcome
question that forced itself into their minds every hour in the day, and
none of them could answer it satisfactorily. It might be a daring exploit
to run off with a private yacht, but they didn’t think so now that the
mischief was done, and there was not one among them who did not wish that
he had taken some other way to get out of the academy. Enoch very soon
became disgusted. The wind being brisk he was obliged to be at the wheel
nearly all the time, and he couldn’t see the fun of working so steadily
while the rest of the band were lying around doing nothing.
“I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said he to Jones, one day. “There’s too
much of a sameness about this thing to suit me. I have the best notion in
the world to desert the yacht the next time we go ashore, and strike a
straight course for home.”
“I have been thinking seriously of the same thing,” answered Jones.
“It’s a cowardly thing to do,” continued Enoch, “but when I fall to
thinking of the settlement that’s coming, I can’t sleep, it troubles me
so. Suppose the man who owns this yacht is one who can’t take a joke! Do
you know that we have rendered ourselves liable to something worse than
expulsion from the academy?”
“I didn’t think of that until it was too late,” said Jones.
“Neither did I; nor did I think to ask myself what my father would say
and do about it. I believe our best plan would be to go back and put the
schooner in her berth. It will take us four or five days to do that, and
during that time each fellow can decide for himself how he will act when
we get to Bridgeport—whether he will go home, or return to the academy
and face the music.”
“That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Jones. “I know what I shall do. I shall
get into camp, if I can, without being caught, and report for duty.
Let’s all do that, and if we return the schooner in as good order as she
was when we found her, we shall escape the disgrace of being sent down,
and at the same time have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done
something that no other crowd ever attempted. After we get home we can
tell our fathers that we don’t want to come back to school, and perhaps
we can induce them to listen to us. That fight with the mob will be in
our favor, for after our folks have had time to think it over calmly,
they’ll not willingly put us in the way of getting into another. That’s
the best plan, and you may depend upon it.”
“I think so myself,” said Enoch. “Call the boys aft and ask them what
they think about it.”
It is hardly necessary to say that the runaways were delighted with the
prospect of escaping the consequences of their folly. Their cruise among
the islands of the bay had been almost entirely devoid of interest. It is
true that they had raided a few melon-patches and corn-fields, and that
a little momentary excitement had been occasioned by the discovery of
suspicious sails behind them; but their foraging had been accomplished
with small difficulty and without detection, and the sails belonged to
coasters which held their course without paying any attention to the
schooner. Without giving Jones, who did the talking, time to enter fully
into an explanation, the deserters broke into cheers, and some of them
urged the captain to turn the schooner’s bow toward Oxford at once.
“I am afraid to do it,” said Enoch, as soon as he could make himself
heard. “Just turn your eyes in that direction for a moment.”
The boys looked, and saw a milk-white cloud, followed by one as black as
midnight, rapidly rising into view above the horizon. Underneath, the sea
was dark and threatening.
“There’s wind in those clouds, and plenty of it, too,” continued the
captain. “If we are caught in it we are gone deserters. Our only chance
for safety is to make the lee of that island you see ahead of us.”
The runaways watched the clouds with a good deal of anxiety. Up to this
time the wind had been fair and the weather all they could have desired;
but now it looked as though the Storm King were about to show them what
he could do when he got into a rage. The clouds came up with startling
rapidity; the lightning began playing around their ragged edges, the
mutterings of distant thunder came to their ears, and their haven of
refuge seemed far away; but fortunately the breeze held out, and just
a few minutes before the wind changed with a roar and a rush, and the
storm burst forth in all its fury, the Sylph dropped her spare anchor in
a sheltered nook under the lee of the island, and with everything made
snug, was prepared to ride it out. The rain fell in torrents, driving
the boys below and keeping them there until long after midnight. The
wind blew as they had never heard it blow before, but the anchor held,
and shortly before daylight the thunder died away in the distance, and
finally the sun arose in unclouded splendor. The runaways were all
hungry, for they had had no supper, and as their provisions were all
exhausted, some of them began to talk of laying violent hands upon those
in the lockers.
“There’s no need of doing that,” said Enoch, after he had taken a look
around. “All hands stand by to get ship under way. It doesn’t blow to
hurt anything, and we’ll take the back track without any delay. After a
glorious spin over these waves, we’ll stop for breakfast at the island
where we robbed our last corn-field. It’s only a few miles away, and it
will make the Sylph laugh to run down there with such a breeze as this.”
The deserters had become accustomed to yield prompt and unquestioning
obedience to Enoch’s orders, but there were some among them who did not
at all like the idea of going out of the cove to face the white caps that
were running in the bay. If there had been any one to propose it and
to direct their movements afterward, a few of them would have refused
duty; but the majority, having confidence in Enoch’s skill and caution,
went to work to get the chain around the little windlass which served
the Sylph in lieu of a capstan, and when they shipped the handspikes,
the timid ones took hold and helped run the vessel up to her anchor. She
was got under way without difficulty, and as long as she remained behind
the island where the wind was light and the sea comparatively smooth,
she made such good weather of it that Lester Brigham and those like
him, began to take courage; and they even struck up: “Here let my home
be, in the waters wide,” to show how happy they were, and how much they
enjoyed the rapid motion. But their song ceased very suddenly when they
rounded the promontory at the foot of the island, and saw what there was
before them. In front, behind and on both sides of them were tumbling,
white-capped billows, whose tops were much higher than the schooner’s
rail, and which came rolling slowly and majestically toward them, but
with dreadful force and power. It seemed as if every one of them were
higher than its predecessor, and that nothing could save the Sylph, which
bounded onward with increased speed.
“This is something like a sail!” shouted Enoch, who was all excitement
now. “This is what puts life into a fellow. I wish some other schooner
would show up, so that we could have a race with her. How she flies!”
“Look out or you’ll tip us over,” whined Lester, who was holding on for
life.
“No fear of that,” replied Enoch. “The Sylph is no ‘skimming-dish.’ She’s
deep as well as wide, and being built for safety instead of speed, I
couldn’t capsize her if I should try.”
“There’s the boat you were wishing for,” said Jones, suddenly. “Now you
can have a race if you want it.”
Enoch looked around, and was surprised as well as startled to see a
handsome little yacht scarcely more than a mile distant from them and
following in their wake. She was carrying an immense spread of canvas,
considering the breeze that was blowing and the sea that was running,
but that her captain was not satisfied with the speed she was making
was evident from the fact that while the deserters looked at her, they
saw a couple of her crew mount to the cross-trees to shake out the
gaff-topsails.
“That’s the most suspicious-looking fellow we have seen yet,” remarked
Enoch, after he had taken a good look at the stranger. “He don’t crack on
in that style for nothing. Hallo! what’s the matter with you?” he added,
as Jones gave a sudden start and came very near dropping the spy-glass
which he had leveled at the yacht.
“They’re after us, as sure as the world,” exclaimed Jones, in great
excitement. “Those fellows who are going aloft are dressed in uniform.”
“Then we’re as good as captured,” said Enoch, spitefully. “There isn’t a
single boy in the band who can go up and loosen the topsails, or whom I
dare trust at the wheel while I do it. If I had as good a crew as he has,
I’d beat him or carry something away; but what can I do with a lot of
haymakers.”
“There’s another boat right ahead of us,” said one of the deserters.
Enoch was not a little astonished as well as frightened by the sight
that met his gaze when he turned his eyes from the pursuing yacht to the
boat in advance of them. He expected to find that she also was full of
students; but instead of that she was a complete wreck. Her mast had gone
by the board and was now dragging alongside, pounding the doomed yacht
with fearful violence every time a wave rose and fell beneath it. There
was no small boat to be seen, and Enoch thought at first that the sloop
had been abandoned; but when she was lifted on the crest of a billow and
he obtained a better view of her, he was horrified to discover that there
were three men and a woman lashed to the rigging. The sight was a most
unexpected one, and for a minute or two Enoch could not speak. He stood
as if he had grown fast to the deck, and then all the manhood there was
in him came to the surface. Those helpless people must be taken off that
wreck at all hazards. He looked at the pursuing yacht, and then he looked
at the sloop. The former was coming up hand over hand, but she was still
far away, and the sloop might go to the bottom at any moment. Probably
she was kept afloat by water-tight compartments. The spar that was
towing alongside would very soon smash them in, and then she would go
down like a piece of lead, being heavily ballasted and having no buoyant
cargo to sustain her.
“Jones,” said Enoch, speaking rapidly but calmly, “you have stood by me
like a good fellow so far, and you mustn’t go back on me now. Come here
and take the wheel. I am going to save that lady or go to the bottom
while trying.”
“Are you going off in the dory?” faltered Jones, as he laid his hands
upon the wheel.
“Of course. There’s nothing else I can do.”
“Then you will go to the bottom, sure enough.”
“I can’t help it if I do,” said Enoch, desperately. “I will throw the
yacht up into the wind before I go, and all you’ve got to do is to hold
the wheel steady and keep her there till I get back—if I ever do. I say,
fellows,” he added, addressing the frightened boys who were gathered
around him, “I am going off in the dory after that lady, and I want one
of you to go with me. Who’ll volunteer?”
The deserters were so astonished that there was no immediate response.
The dory was small, the waves were high, and it looked like certain
death to venture out among them. After a moment’s indecision one of them
stepped forward and prepared himself for the ordeal by discarding his
coat and hat and kicking off his boots. Who do you suppose it was? It was
Lester Brigham. The boy who had hidden his head under the bed-clothes
when he thought that the rioters were coming to attack the academy, now
showed, to the surprise of everybody, that he was not a coward after
all. Enoch could not have picked out an abler assistant. He was a good
oarsman, he could swim like a duck, and, better than all, his courage
never faltered when he found himself in the dory battling with the waves.
His companions, who dared not go on so perilous a mission themselves,
cheered him loudly as he stepped forward, and Enoch shook him warmly by
the hand, saying in a low tone:
“We said we would give the academy boys something to talk about, and now
we’re going to do it.”
The schooner ran on by the wreck, whose crew, seeing that an attempt was
to be made to rescue them, cheered faintly, but made no effort to free
themselves from their lashings. The reason was because they were utterly
exhausted, and they were afraid that if they loosed their bonds, the
first wave that broke over the sloop’s deck would carry them into the sea.
As soon as the Sylph had been thrown up into the wind, Enoch and Lester,
whose faces were white but resolute, scrambled down into the dory, and
the struggle began. The waves tossed their little craft about like an
egg-shell, but they kept manfully on, and in ten minutes more, they
were alongside the wreck. The lady, who was insensible from fright or
exposure, was the first to be released and placed in the boat, and then
the men were taken care of, one after the other. As Enoch approached
the last one, he saw that the man carried in his arms a bundle that was
wrapped up in a blanket. He held fast to it, too, in spite of the boy’s
efforts to take it from him; but as Enoch assisted him toward the dory, a
wave, higher than the rest, knocked them both off their feet, and as the
man was hauled into the boat Enoch missed the frantic grasp he made at a
life-line, and the water rushing across the deck carried him overboard.
Close in front of him was the bundle which had slipped from the grasp
of the rescued man when he lost his footing. As the wave hurried it
across the deck toward an opening in the bulwarks the blanket fell off,
revealing to Enoch’s astonished gaze the handsome features of a little
four-year-old boy, who turned his blue eyes pleadingly toward him for
an instant, and then disappeared over the side. Enoch made a desperate
clutch at the golden curls, and when he arose to the surface, he brought
his prize with him; but he had to go down again the next moment to
escape destruction from the spar, which the next wave brought toward him
broadside on. It had been torn from its fastenings at last, but it had
done its deadly work. There was a great hole in the sloop’s side, and the
water was pouring into it.
“I say, Lester!” shouted Enoch, as he came up on the other side of the
spar, shook the water from his face and held the boy aloft so that he
could breathe. “Get away from there.”
“Oh, my boy!” cried one of the men in the dory, who now discovered that
he had lost the precious burden to which he had so lovingly clung through
long hours of exposure and suffering.
“He’s all right,” shouted Enoch, encouragingly. “I’ve got a good grip on
him. Lester, I tell you to get away from there! Hold the dory head on to
the waves, and she’ll ride them without shipping a drop of water. If the
Sylph doesn’t make stem-way enough to pick you up, the other yacht will
take care of you.”
Not knowing just how much of a swirl the sloop would make when she went
to the bottom, Enoch exerted all his powers as a swimmer to get himself
and his burden out of reach of it. He succeeded in his object, and when
the wreck had sunk out of sight and he thought it safe to do so, he swam
back to the spar and laid hold of it. Then he looked around for the dory.
She had been hauled alongside the Sylph by aid of the line that one of
the crew had been thoughtful enough to throw to her, and the sloop’s crew
were being hoisted over the rail one after the other.
“Hard a starboard! Stand by, everybody,” shouted a voice above him.
The pursuing yacht came gracefully up into the wind, and as the bold
swimmer was lifted on the crest of a wave strong hands grasped his arms,
and he and his prize were lifted out of the water and over the rail to
the Idlewild’s deck.