THE ROD AND GUN CLUB.
The first southward bound train that passed through Bridgeport on
the morning that Don Gordon so unexpectedly obtained a clue to the
whereabouts of the deserters, took him and all the rest of Captain Mack’s
men to Oxford. Although the young officer had full authority to act in
this way, he did not omit to drop a note into the post-office, telling
the superintendent where he had gone and what he intended to do.
“He’ll not get it before ten o’clock,” said the captain, gleefully, “and
by that time we shall be so far away that he will not think it worth
while to recall us, or to send a teacher after us.”
“We don’t want any teacher with us,” said Don. “We can do this work
ourselves.”
“Of course we can; and what’s more, we’re going to. Now, keep out of
sight, all of us, and don’t go out on the platform when we stop at
the stations. We don’t want to see any despatches. We’re doing this
ourselves, and having begun it, we want to go through with it.”
The next time the superintendent heard from Captain Mack and his men
they were at Oxford, and ready to continue the pursuit in the Idlewild,
which was lying to in the river when Mack sent the despatch. In fact he
took pains to see that everything was ready for the start before he went
near the telegraph office. He got the yacht, as he knew he would, without
the least trouble (Mr. Shelby laughed heartily when he heard what the
deserters had done, and said he wished he had thought of such a thing
when he was a boy), laid in a stock of provisions and water, and then
turned the management of affairs over to Egan, who selected his crew and
got the yacht under way. When she came abreast of the city (the berth
she usually occupied was about a mile up the river) Mack went ashore in
the dory, and after sending off his despatch, telling the superintendent
where he was and what he intended to do next, he plumed himself on having
done his full duty as a gentleman and an officer.
“He couldn’t stop us now if he wanted to,” said Mack, as he returned
aboard and the Idlewild filled away for the bay, “for there are no
telegraph offices outside, and if we see a tug after us, we’ll hide from
her. But the superintendent can’t say that I didn’t keep him posted, can
he?”
The pursuing vessel had a much better crew than the Sylph—of the
twenty-three boys aboard of her there were an even dozen who could go
aloft and stand their trick at the wheel—and if she had once come in
sight of the deserters, she would have overhauled them in short order;
but the trouble was to get on the track of them. There was a good deal
of territory in the bay—it was about a hundred miles long and half
as wide—and there were many good hiding-places to be found among the
numerous islands that were scattered about in it. For five days they
sailed about from point to point, but could gain no tidings of Enoch and
his crowd. The island farmers, of whom they made inquiries, declared
that Captain Mack and his squad were the only academy boys who had been
seen on the bay that summer. If the deserters had left the corn-fields
and melon-patches alone, their pursuers might not have been able to get
on their track at all; but one irate truck-gardener, whom they had
despoiled of nearly a cart-load of fine watermelons which were in prime
condition for the Oxford market, gave them the needed information, and
after that their work was easy. They traced the Sylph from island to
island, gaining on her every hour, and would have overhauled her before
the close of the day on which the storm came up, had they not been
obliged to seek a safe anchorage from the gale.
During the night of the blow the little vessels were not more than five
miles apart. The Idlewild made the earlier start, and if the Sylph had
remained in the cove an hour longer she would have been captured there,
for it was Egan’s intention to coast along the lee-shore of that very
island. As it was, he did not catch sight of the object of his search
until she rounded the promontory and stood up the bay. Then all was
excitement on the Idlewild’s deck.
“Hold her to it, Burgess,” said Egan to the boy at the wheel. “The
Sylph’s got the weather-gauge of us now, but we can soon gain the wind of
her. At any rate we’ll make her captain show what he’s made of. Go aloft,
a couple of you, and we’ll set the topsails.”
“Are you going to lay us alongside of her?” asked Burgess.
“Not in this sea,” replied Egan. “We’ll keep her company until she gets
into smooth water, and then we’ll bounce her. What do you see, Gordon?”
he added, addressing himself to Bert who was gazing steadily at something
through the glass.
“I never saw a wreck,” replied Bert, handing the glass to Egan, “but if
that isn’t one, tossing about on the waves just ahead of the Sylph, I’d
like to know what it is.”
Egan looked, and an exclamation indicative of the profoundest
astonishment fell from his lips. It was a wreck, sure enough, said all
the boys, as the glass was passed rapidly from hand to hand, and there
were people on it, too. Now what was to be done?
“Stow the topsails and lay down from aloft,” commanded Egan. “We don’t
want any more canvas on her until we have taken care of those castaways.”
Never before had the Idlewild bore so excited a party as Captain Mack
and his men were at that moment, and never had she carried a more
orderly one. There was not the slightest confusion among them. Those
who understood Egan’s hurried orders obeyed them, and those who did
not, kept out of the way. When they saw that the deserters were making
preparations to board the wreck, their admiration found vent in lusty and
long-continued cheers.
“Who are those fellows in the dory?” Egan asked of Don, who had the
glass. “They have good pluck, I must say.”
“One of them is Enoch Williams, and the other is——”
Don was so utterly amazed by the discovery he had made, that he could go
no further. He wiped both ends of the glass with his handkerchief to make
sure that there was nothing on them to obscure his vision, and then he
looked again.
“The other is Lester Brigham,” said he.
His companions could hardly believe it. First one and then another took
the glass, and every one who gazed through it, gave utterance to some
expression of astonishment.
“I’ll never again be in such haste to pass judgment upon a fellow,” said
Egan, after he had satisfied himself that Enoch’s companion was none
other than the boy who had faltered when his courage was first tested. “I
have been badly mistaken in both those boys. You are going to capture the
deserters, Mack, but Enoch and Lester will go back to Bridgeport with a
bigger feather in their caps than you will.”
Captain Mack did not feel at all envious of them on that account. He and
the rest watched all their movements with the keenest solicitude, and
cheered wildly every time one of the sloop’s crew was released from his
lashings and put into the dory. When that big wave came and washed Enoch
overboard, their hearts seemed to stop beating, and every boy anxiously
asked his neighbor whether or not Enoch could swim well enough to keep
himself afloat until they could reach him. Their fears on that score were
speedily set at rest and their astonishment was greatly increased when
Egan, who held the glass, said that he could swim like a cork, that he
held a little child in his arms, and that he knew enough to get beyond
the influence of the whirlpool made by the wreck which was now going to
the bottom.
“He’s a hero!” cried Egan, after he had shouted himself hoarse. “Look out
for that spar, Burgess! Get handspikes, some of you, and stand by to
push her off!”
But the handspikes were not needed. Being skilfully handled the Idlewild
came up into the wind within easy reach of the spar, but never touching
it, and hung there barely a moment—just long enough to give the eager
boys who were stationed along the weather-rail, time to seize the swimmer
and haul him aboard. He was none the worse for his ducking, while his
burden lay so white and motionless in his arms that everybody thought he
was dead; but he was only badly frightened, and utterly bewildered by the
strange and unaccountable things that were going on around him.
“Now, then, what does a fellow do in cases like this?” exclaimed Don, who
was at sea in more respects than one.
“Take the boy below and put him to bed,” commanded Egan. “Pull off those
wet clothes, give him a good rubbing to set his blood in motion, and then
cover him up warmly and let him go to sleep. I suppose his father is
among those whom you and Lester took off the wreck?”
“I think he is, and his mother too,” replied Enoch, who was wringing the
water out of his coat.
“His mother!” cried Egan.
“Yes. The first one we took off was a lady.”
“Who are they, and where did they come from?”
“Haven’t the shadow of an idea. I don’t know the name of their vessel, or
whether or not any of the crew were lost. The lady was insensible, and
the men were not much better off.”
“Then we must run for a doctor!” exclaimed Mack.
“You can’t get to one any too quick,” answered Enoch. “But first, you had
better send somebody off to take charge of that schooner. Jones is at the
wheel, and he can’t handle her in this wind.”
Captain Mack lost no time in acting upon this suggestion. While the
Idlewild was taking up a position on the Sylph’s starboard quarter,
her small boat, which had been housed on deck, was put into the water,
half the squad, six of whom were capable of managing the schooner,
were sent off to take charge of the prize, and the majority of the
deserters were transferred to the Idlewild. Bert Gordon, who was the
only non-commissioned officer in the squad, commanded the Sylph, but
Burgess sailed her. All this work was done as soon as possible, and when
it was completed the two vessels filled away for the nearest village,
the Idlewild leading the way. During the run the deserters fraternized
with their captors, and many interesting and amusing stories of the
cruise were told on both sides. The former were treated as honored guests
instead of prisoners, and Mack and his men praised them without stint.
“We’re all right, fellows,” said Jones, when he had opportunity to
exchange a word with Lester and Enoch in private. “The superintendent
won’t say anything to us. He can’t after what we have done.”
“But we didn’t all do as well as Enoch did,” said Lester.
“I know that. He will receive the lion’s share of the honors, but the
rest of us did the best we could, and if one is let off scot free, the
others must be let off too. Those people would have gone to the bottom
with their yacht if we hadn’t sighted them just as we did; and by
rescuing them we have made ample amends for our misdeeds.”
All the deserters seemed to be of the same opinion, and the boys who, but
a short time before, would have shrunk from meeting the gaze of their
teachers, now looked forward to their return to camp with the liveliest
anticipations of pleasure. There was one thing they all regretted, now
that the fun was over, and that was, that the confiding Coleman had lost
his situation through them. They resolved, if they could gain the ear of
the Sylph’s owner, to make an effort to have him reinstated. Fortunately
for Coleman, this proved to be an easy thing to do.
It was twenty miles to the nearest village, but the fleet little vessels,
aided by the brisk wind that was blowing, covered the distance in quick
time. The moment the Sylph came within jumping distance of the wharf,
one of her crew sprang ashore and started post-haste for a doctor, and
shortly afterward Burgess and another of Bert’s men boarded the Idlewild.
“The lady is coming around all right and wants to see her boy,” said the
former.
The little fellow was fast asleep in one of the bunks, and his clothes
were drying in the galley; so Burgess picked him up, blankets and all,
and carried him off to his mother, while his companion lingered to give
Captain Mack some account of the rescued people who, he said, were able
to talk now, but too weak to sit up. They were from Newport, and they
were all relations of Mr. Packard, the Sylph’s owner. The owner and
captain of the lost sloop was Mr. Packard’s brother, and the little boy
was his nephew. The lady was the captain’s wife. They had been out in
all that storm, and after the men had worked at the pumps until their
strength failed them, they had lashed themselves to the rigging in the
hope that their disabled craft would remain afloat until the waves could
carry her ashore.
“But she wouldn’t have gone ashore,” said Egan. “She would have missed
the island and been carried out to sea if she had stayed above water.”
“They know that,” said the student, “and they know, too, that they owe
their lives to the Sylph, for they would have gone down before the
Idlewild could have reached them. They feel very grateful toward the
dory’s crew, and Mr. Packard says he will never forget the gallant fellow
who saved his boy’s life at the risk of his own.”
These words were very comforting to the deserters. The owner of the
Sylph was one of the prominent men of Bridgeport, and it was not at all
likely that he would neglect to use his influence with the superintendent
in behalf of the boys who had saved his relatives from a watery grave.
Lester Brigham could hardly contain himself. He had won a reputation at
last, and the hated Gordons were nowhere. He believed now that he would
stay at the academy, and Enoch, Jones and the rest of them had about come
to the same conclusion. They all wanted warrants and commissions, and who
could tell but that their recent exploit would give them the favor of the
teachers, who would see that their desires were gratified?
At daylight the next morning Bert Gordon sent word to Captain Mack that
the doctor thought his patients were now able to continue the journey
to Bridgeport. No time was lost in getting under way, and at dark they
were in Oxford. The Idlewild was turned over to her owner in just as good
condition as she was when she left port, and Captain Mack, after seeing
the rescued people to a hotel, at which they intended to remain for a
day or two in order to obtain the rest they so much needed, and sending
despatches to the superintendent and Mr. Packard, took the first train
for Bridgeport with the deserters and the main body of his men, leaving
Bert, Egan, and six others to bring the Sylph up the river. Before she
was hauled into her berth the camp had been broken, the students had
marched back to the academy, and the examination was going on as if
nothing had happened during the term to draw the students’ attention
from their books. Mr. Packard had responded to Captain Mack’s telegram
by going down to Oxford and bringing his relatives back with him, and
the townspeople were almost as highly excited over what the deserters
had done, as they were when they learned that an academy company had put
down the Hamilton riot. There were some among them who declared that
Enoch and Lester ought to be promoted; but the superintendent was of a
different opinion. He admired their courage, but he could not lose sight
of the fact that in stealing a private yacht and running off in her,
they had done something for which they ought to be expelled from the
academy. In fact that was the sentence that was passed upon them by the
court-martial; but the superintendent set it aside, as everybody knew he
would, and commuted their punishment to deprivation of standing and loss
of every credit mark they had earned during the year, thus destroying
their last chance for promotion.
The examination came to a close in due time, and the result astonished
everybody. Don Gordon made the longest jump on record, springing from the
ranks to a position “twelve yards in the rear of the file-closers, and
opposite the centre of the left wing” of the battalion. In other words,
he became major; Bert was made a first-lieutenant, and Sam Arkwright,
the New York boot-black, was promoted to a second-lieutenancy. This
was enough to disgust Lester and Enoch, and not even the satisfaction
they felt at being invited to dinner and made much of at Mr. Packard’s
residence, could make them good-natured again. Forgetting that the
position a boy occupied in that academy was determined by his standing
as a student and a soldier, and not by any acts of heroism he might
perform while on a runaway expedition, they laid Don’s rapid promotion to
favoritism, and threatened him and the teachers accordingly. As for Don,
who had simply tried to behave himself, hoping for no higher round than
a lieutenant’s commission, he was fairly stunned; and as soon as he had
somewhat recovered himself, his first thought was to enjoin secrecy upon
his brother.
“Don’t lisp a word of this in your letters to mother,” said he. “Tell her
that the result of the examination is perfectly satisfactory to both of
us, and let her be content with that until she sees our shoulder-straps.”
Lester Brigham pursued an entirely different course. The papers were
full of the exploit the deserters had performed on the bay, and whenever
he found an article relating to it that was particularly flattering to
his vanity, he cut it out and sent it to his father. He wanted him and
everybody else about Rochdale to know what a brave boy he was.
The examination over, two parties of students left the academy and
started off to enjoy their vacation in their own way, Lester and his
friends heading for Mississippi, and Curtis and _his_ friends striking
for the wilds of Maine. The latter had long ago sent for their guns,
which arrived during their first week in camp. Bert, whose highest
ambition was to bag a brace or two of ruffed grouse, carried his little
fowling-piece; Don, who had an eye on the moose and caribou which,
so Curtis told him, were still to be found on the hunting-grounds he
intended to show them, had sent for his muzzle-loading rifle; while Egan
and Hopkins were armed with the same ponderous weapons with which they
had worked such havoc among the ducks and quails about Diamond Lake. To
these outfits were added fly-rods, reels and baskets which they purchased
in Boston, Curtis making their selections for them. The Southern boys
were astonished when they handled the neat implements that were passed
out for their inspection.
“I don’t want this pole,” said Don, who was holding an elegant
split-bamboo off at arm’s length. “It’s too limber. It isn’t strong
enough to land a minnow.”
“That isn’t a pole; it’s a rod,” said Curtis. “Of course it is very light
and elastic, and you couldn’t throw a fly with it if it were not; but
it’s strong enough to land any fish you are likely to catch in Maine.
I suppose you have been in the habit of yanking your fish out by main
strength, haven’t you? Well, that’s no way to do. You’d better take it
if you want to see fun.”
Don took it accordingly, though not without many misgivings, and the
other boys also paid for the rods that Curtis selected for them, carrying
them out of the store as gingerly as though they had been made of glass.
But there proved to be any amount of strength and durability in those
same frail-looking rods, and their owners caught many a fine string of
trout with them before the season closed.
Their journey from Boston to Dalton, which was the name of the little
town in which Curtis lived, was a pleasant though an uneventful one.
The last fifty miles were made by stage-coach—a new way of traveling to
the Southern boys, who, of course, wanted to ride on the top. About ten
o’clock at night the stage drove into the village, and after stopping at
the post-office to leave the mail, and at the principal hotels to drop
some of its passengers, it kept on to Curtis’s home. Late as the hour
was, they found the house filled with boys who had gathered there to
welcome their friend who had been in a real battle since they last saw
him, and to extend a cordial greeting to the comrades he had brought
with him. They were introduced to the new-comers, one after the other,
as members of _The Rod and Gun Club_, which, according to Curtis’s way
of thinking, could boast of more skillful fishermen, and finer marksmen,
both at the trap and on the range, than any other organization of like
character in the State. There were nearly a score of them in all, and
they seemed to be a jolly lot of fellows. Some of them had performed
feats with the rod and gun that were worth boasting of, and as fast as
Curtis found opportunity to do so, he pointed them out to his guests, and
told what they had done to make themselves famous. That tall, slender,
blue-eyed boy who stood over there in the corner, talking to Mr. Curtis,
had won the club medal by breaking a hundred glass-balls in succession,
when thrown from a revolving trap. He was ready to shoot against any boy
in the country at single or double rises, and Curtis was going to try to
induce Don Gordon to consent to a friendly trial of skill with him. That
fellow over there on the sofa, who looked enough like Hopkins to be his
brother, was the champion fisherman. He had been up in Canada with his
father, and during the sixteen days he was there, he had caught more
than eight hundred pounds of fish with one rod. They were all salmon. One
of them weighed thirty-two pounds, and it took the young fisherman fifty
minutes to bring him within reach of the gaff. The boy who was talking
with Don Gordon was a rifle shot. He could shoot ten balls into the same
hole at forty yards off-hand, and think nothing of it.
“I’ll just tell you what’s a fact,” said Egan, when he and the rest were
getting ready to go to bed,“we’ve fallen among a lot of experts, and if
we intend to keep up the good name of our section of the United States
we’ve got to do some good work.”
The other boys thought so too, but they did not lose any sleep on account
of it.