No Moss Part 28

"Yes, I see her," replied the master of the tug, "and I know she will capture the schooner. But I can't help it, for I can't run my vessel without plenty of water. There's a bar across the mouth of that bay, and I can't pa.s.s it."

At this moment Spencer's tug came up, and stopped near the other; and, while the impatient young officers and their men were crowding about the captains, and urging them to go ahead, whether there was water enough to float the tugs or not, the Storm King swept by like the wind. There was no noise or confusion on her deck. The young tars were all at their stations; a party of boarders, under the command of Harry Green, stood on the forecastle; Captain Steele, a little pale with excitement, but quite self-possessed and confident, was perched on the rail, holding fast to the shrouds, and as his vessel bounded past the tugs he lifted his cap to his discomfited rivals. Five minutes afterward the yacht's canvas was lying on her deck; her bowsprit was lashed fast to the schooner's foremast; Harry Green's boarders had released Johnny Harding and the jolly-boat's crew, and made prisoners of Friday and Xury just as they were on the point of leaping overboard; Johnny had secured the valise, s.n.a.t.c.hed an empty pistol from a sailor, opened the hatchway that led into the store-room, and compelled the burglars to pa.s.s up their revolvers, threatening to shoot them on the spot if they did not instantly comply with his demands; and a small skiff, which Captain Steele had picked up the day before, to supply the place of the jolly-boat, was in hot pursuit of the governor and Tom Newcombe, who were tossing about in the waves, and swimming l.u.s.tily for the sh.o.r.e. Sam was overtaken and secured in spite of his desperate struggles; and, during the delay he occasioned, Tom reached the beach and disappeared in the woods. He was the only one of the Crusoe band who escaped.

The next morning, about ten o'clock, Johnny Harding, flushed with triumph and excitement, burst into the store where Mr. Henry was busy at his desk, and, with the air of one who did not think he had done any thing very remarkable, placed the valise containing the seven thousand dollars upon the counter, pulled a pair of navy revolvers from his pockets and laid them beside the valise, and then, seeing that the store had not yet been swept out, seized a broom and went to work. He did not say a word, and neither did Mr. Henry, until he had counted the money, when he came out from behind the counter and shook hands with his clerk so cordially that Johnny dropped the broom and raised one knee almost up to his chin.

"I never expected to see it again," said the grocer. "How shall I ever repay you, Johnny? What do you want?"

"I want something good to eat, and about forty-eight hours' sleep,"

replied the clerk.

Mr. Henry told him to go home and get it, and Johnny started, but it was an hour before he got out of the store. It soon became known throughout the village that the yacht and two of the tugs had returned with the robbers and some of the Crusoe men, and the people wanted to hear all the particulars. Some questioned the students, others came into the store, and Johnny could not get off until he had recounted his exploits.

He concluded by telling how he had come by the revolvers, and said if no one had a better claim to them than he had, he would keep them to remember the robbers by.

It was a long time before the events of that night ceased to be a topic of conversation. Every body was astonished, especially at the daring and vindictive spirit exhibited by Tom Newcombe, and many were the conjectures indulged in as to what had become of him. The trial of the "pirates," as the villagers soon learned to call them, came off in due time, and Sanders and his companion went to the State's prison, and the Crusoe men to the House of Refuge. People wondered what would have been done with Tom if he had been there.

And where was Tom all this while? When the students left the island, after spending the afternoon and a portion of the night in searching for him, the captain of the Crusoe band came out from a hollow log where he had been concealed, and sat down upon it, to think over the past, and speculate upon the future. He was his own master now; he could go and come when he pleased, and there was no one to trouble him even with advice. How he had longed for this freedom, and, now that he had got it, how little he enjoyed it. Homeless, friendless, penniless, a feeling of desolation he had never before experienced came over him, and Tom would have given the universe, had he possessed it, to be able to live over the last three months of his life. How dreary seemed the world, now that he was alone in it, and how he would have appreciated his home could he have gone back there. He was now a wanderer upon the face of the earth, and he continued his life as he had begun it, flying from one thing to another, and searching for something he never found--perfect immunity from care and trouble. His adventures would fill a volume, but with them we have nothing to do. It only remains for us to see whether or not he accomplished any thing in the world.

Thirty-five years have pa.s.sed since the scenes we have attempted to describe in this story were enacted, and during that time some great changes have taken place in Newport. From a thriving village it has grown into a city of respectable size, and boasts of a mayor and councilmen. Of the boys of our acquaintance some have pa.s.sed away and been forgotten, others have grown to manhood, and now occupy the positions in business and society once held by their fathers, and another generation of youth has sprung up to take the places of our heroes of thirty-five years ago. The military academy is now the pride of the city, and boasts of a respectable navy. The Storm King, after many a pleasant cruise, gave way to three small schooners, which are now anch.o.r.ed in the rear of the academy grounds. The students of the present day are as proud of them as ever Captain Steele was of his yacht, and their rigging is as faultless, and they are in every respect as well kept as is the saucy revenue cutter, moored a little way from them.

Business in Mr. Newcombe's old office is still carried on, but under a new proprietor, and with a different staff of clerks. The huge machinery in the elevator is rumbling, and a vessel at the wharf is being relieved of her cargo of wheat. A group of gentlemen are standing near, watching the operation, and conversing. One of them is in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a pencil behind his ear. Over a ma.s.s of thick, bushy whiskers peep forth a pair of eyes as sharp as those of a ferret and brim-full of fun and mischief That is Johnny Harding--councilman Harding, with a fair prospect of becoming something more at the next election--a prosperous, hard-working business man, the owner of the largest grocery-store in the city, popular with every body, and as big a torment as ever. Opposite to him stands another of our old acquaintances, a sailor on the face of him, although there is nothing about his dress to indicate his calling. His name is Harry Green, and he is the commander of the revenue cutter, lying at anchor near the academy squadron. At the examination following the famous cruise of the Storm King, Captain Steele, much to his regret, was obliged to take a step backward and give place to Harry, who a.s.sumed double honors--those of colonel of the battalion and captain of the yacht, both of which he held until he graduated. It was no easy task to lead a hundred smart, ambitious students, every one of whom cast longing eyes toward the shoulder-straps he wore, but Harry was sensible enough to know that if any thing is worth having it is worth striving for, and he never wasted a minute, either in school or out. When he completed the course at the academy he obtained the appointment of third lieutenant in the revenue service, and slowly worked his way up to captain. He has experienced harder storms than those he weathered in the yacht, and on two occasions he led a party of boarders, when those who opposed him had something more formidable than boat-hooks and handspikes to fight with. He has smelt powder, heard the whistle of hostile bullets, and felt their force, too, but he says that he has seldom been more excited than he was when he stood on the Storm King's rail as she was swinging toward Tom Newcombe's pirate vessel. Harry often speaks of that cruise, and affirms that he shall never cease to be proud of the part he bore in it.

The other gentleman of the group also answers to the t.i.tle of captain, and no one could recognize in him the ragged, bare-footed fisher-boy of thirty-five years ago. But it is Bob Jennings, and he is to-day the proprietor of the office and elevator that formerly belonged to Mr.

Newcombe. Although he is not so large a s.h.i.+p-owner, he is wealthy, and his business is still increasing. The schooner discharging her cargo is named after his benefactor, J. M. Evans, and the s.h.i.+p which is receiving it, and which is to take it to Europe, is the Go Ahead. Strangers think it an odd name for a vessel, but those who are acquainted with the history of her owner do not wonder at it. Those who enter the office see over the captain's desk two mottoes in gilt letters, to the faithful observance of which he says he owes his success in life. We know that at one time Bob lost faith in his first motto, but the experience of a life-time has convinced him that it can be depended upon.

While Captain Jennings and his friends stood on the wharf conversing, a party of half a dozen students, all of them officers belonging to the academy squadron, came up. Among them were the admiral, fleet captain, and the commanders of the vessels. The foremost, a boy about fifteen years of age, who carried in his hand a model of a full-rigged s.h.i.+p, with sails and ropes complete, wore an anchor and gold leaf in his shoulder-strap, and four stripes of gold lace and a star on each arm. He was Bob Jennings, junior, the second lieutenant of the Zephyr. His brother George, two years younger, was the ranking mids.h.i.+pman on board the White Cloud, the flag-s.h.i.+p, and the swiftest vessel in the squadron.

The young officers appeared to be excited about something, for they were walking rapidly and talking very earnestly.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Mr. Harding, when the students had come within speaking distance. "What are you going to do with that s.h.i.+p, Bob? Do you intend to enter her at the next regatta to beat the White Cloud?"

"No, sir," replied the lieutenant. "I bought it to put on the mantle in my room. Say, father, do you know there is a man in Fishertown who hasn't had any thing to eat for two days?"

"No," replied Captain Jennings, "I didn't know it. Who is he?"

"Jack Crosstree, that old fisherman."

"He is a man-of-war's man, too," chimed in the mids.h.i.+pman, "and we're not going to stand by and see him suffer."

"Of course not," said Mr. Harding, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "you are old men-of-war's men yourselves, you know, and you must always be ready to a.s.sist a s.h.i.+pmate in distress."

"That's our opinion exactly," said the admiral. "We're going up to the academy now to bring down a good dinner for him."

"Who is Jack Crosstree?" asked Captain Green, when the students had pa.s.sed out of hearing.

"No one around here knows much about him," replied the grocer. "He is a sea-faring man, and, if one might judge by his appearance, he has seen some hard times. He has been all over the world, spent the best part of his life in the navy, lost his leg during the war, and has settled down here in Newport to pa.s.s the remainder of his days as a fisherman, but he doesn't seem to be making a paying business of it. Suppose we go down and talk to him."

Jack Crosstree, as he called himself, had been in Newport about six months, and during that time he had shunned every body except the students, who paid frequent visits to his cabin to listen to his stories, when he happened to be in the humor to tell them, and to purchase specimens of his handiwork in the shape of models of yawls, jolly-boats, and full-rigged s.h.i.+ps. He was a sullen and morose old fellow, too lazy to work, and had a great deal to say about the cruelty and injustice of the world.

A few minutes walk brought the three friends to a dilapidated cabin on the beach, whose appearance and surroundings testified, in unmistakable language, to the poverty and s.h.i.+ftlessness of its occupant. A broken, leaky scow, that would have borne no comparison to Bob Jennings's old Go Ahead, was drawn up on the beach, a tattered sail leaned against the eaves, one side of the roof of the cabin was gone, and the door was so nearly off its hinges, that, when Captain Green rapped upon it with his cane, it fell down with a loud crash.

"Avast, there!" growled a hoa.r.s.e voice, from the inside. "You've done it now, haven't you?"

"Beg pardon," said Mr. Harding; "but we had no idea that your door was in so shaky a condition, you know. Why don't you get some hinges for it?

And I believe, if you would put a few boards on that roof, you would sleep better of stormy nights."

"Ah, yes; it's all well enough for you to talk about boards and hinges--you, who, if you stand in need of such things, have only to go and buy them. But, with me, the case is different; although I've seen the time when I was better off than any of you. Let the door alone, and go off about your business."

Mr. Harding and his friends paid no attention to the ravings of the old fisherman. They raised the broken door and leaned it against the wall, and moved toward the corner from whence the voice proceeded. There, upon a miserable pallet, lay a gaunt and crippled form, partly concealed by a ragged blanket which was drawn over his head. Captain Green gently unclasped the withered fingers that were holding fast to it, and removed the blanket, revealing first a shock of gray, uncombed hair, and next a bronzed and weather-beaten face, on which the signs of a reckless and dissolute life were plainly visible.

"Go away, I tell you," cried the fisherman, striving to draw the blanket over his head again. "Who asked you to come here? I know who you are, and I don't want any thing to do with you--I don't want to see you."

Something in the features, or the voice, must have struck Captain Green as being familiar, for he bent lower over the prostrate form, and when he straightened up, the face he turned toward his companions expressed the most intense amazement.

"IT IS TOM NEWCOMBE!" said he.

"Ay, it is Tom Newcombe--or, rather, all there is left of him--starving to death here in his native village, with no one, among all those who once pretended to be his friends, to lend him a helping hand. You can't a.s.sist me in my distress, but you can come here to torment me with your presence--to show me what _you_ are, and what _I might have been_. If I had only listened to the advice so often offered me, I might have been the equal of any of you," added the sailor, in a repentant frame of mind. "But it's too late now. Why can't you go away and let me alone?

I'll never trouble you, and I don't want you to bother me."

He sank back upon the bed exhausted, and turned his face to the wall, while his visitors gazed down at him in silence. Who could have told that there ever would have existed so great a difference between these four men, who were once boys together? Three of them were beloved and respected by all who knew them, held positions of honor and trust, were cheerful, happy, and contented, and, better than all, could look back upon lives well spent; the other was a mere wreck of humanity, a feeble old man, when he ought to have been in his prime, living in that miserable hovel, friendless and alone, dest.i.tute of all comforts, dissatisfied with himself and every body, and reaping at last the reward of a dissipated, wasted existence. His bad habits had grown and strengthened, and prepared the way for others of a worse character, and now he did not possess the power, even if he had possessed the inclination, to shake them off.

A man seldom if ever abandons his settled habits and modes of life at that age; and the helping hands that were extended to him, and the encouraging words he heard on every side, from the friends of his boyhood, could effect no change for the better in Tom's condition. He is to-day a miserable, indolent, worthless being, subsisting princ.i.p.ally upon the charity of Captain Jennings. His history is well known to the village boys, who see nothing in it that will induce them to follow in the footsteps of THE ROLLING STONE.

THE END.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.'S POPULAR JUVENILES.

JACK HAZARD SERIES.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.

The Young Surveyor.

Fast Friends.

Doing His Best.

A Chance for Himself.

Lawrence's Adventures.

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