CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DEPARTURE OF THE WHALEBACK, NUMBER THREE
NO emergency was ever too great for Lawrence Coffin. The appearance of the stranger whom he had lifted over the rail to the steamer’s deck may have surprised him; but he gave no visible sign.
The instant the fellow was on his feet, Mr. Coffin slid open the door of the wheelhouse and pushed the newcomer in.
“Jackson,” he said sharply, to the man inside, “go for Captain Wetherbee.”
Then he turned to the dripping figure that stood just within the door of the turret.
The stranger was a youth of fifteen or sixteen, with a sharp, intelligent face, and his saturated clothing was little more than rags.
“Hullo!” said the mate, “you’re not Brandon Tarr, I take it.”
“You kin bet on that, mister,” responded the youth grinning. “An’ you, I reckon, ain’t Cale Wetherbee. He’s got a wooden leg.”
“I’ve sent for Mr. Wetherbee,” replied Mr. Coffin. “What do you want?”
“I’ll tell th’ boss, wot I was told ter see,” declared the fellow shrewdly.
The youth was evidently of that great class of individuals known as “street gamins” who, in New York City, are numbered by the thousand.
He was thin and muscular, quick in his movements, and his eyes were shifty and uneasy, not from any lack of frankness or honesty, perhaps, but because his mode of life forced him to be ever on the watch for what might “happen next.”
Mr. Coffin had hardly made this mental inventory of the fellow, when Caleb, accompanied by Mr. Pepper, came forward. The strange youth evidently recognized the captain of the whaleback at once as the individual he wished to see.
“You’re Captain Wetherbee,” he said quickly fumbling in the inside of his coarse flannel shirt (the shirt and trousers were all he had on) “I got somethin’ fur you from Brandon Tarr.”
“Where is he?” cried Mr. Pepper, in great excitement.
“He’s gone to sea, boss,” responded the boy calmly.
“Hey!” roared Caleb, and then the messenger brought forth that which he was fumbling for—a little waterproof matchbox.
“Gone to sea?” repeated Adoniram, in bewilderment.
“Dat’s it,” said the boy. “He went day ’fore yest’day mornin’ in de Success.”
But Caleb had opened the matchbox and drawn forth the folded paper it contained.
“It’s a letter—the young rascal! Why didn’t he come himself?”
“Didn’t I tell ye he’d gone ter sea?” demanded the youth in disgust.
“Listen to this,” exclaimed Caleb, paying not the least attention to the messenger’s words, and he read the closely written page aloud:
“DEAR CALEB—Swivel is going to make a break with this letter for me, although the Success sails, we understand, in an hour or two. He can tell you how I came aboard here, so I won’t stop to do that.
“What I want to say is, that Leroyd is aboard and that the brig will touch at Savannah for Mr. Pepper’s old clerk, Mr. Weeks, who is in the plot to find the Silver Swan, too. I shall leave her at Savannah if it is a possibility.
“If you get into Savannah while she is there, however, and I don’t appear, try to find some way of getting me out. I’m afraid of Leroyd—or, that is, I should be if he knew I was here.
“I’ve got enough to eat and drink to last me a long time and am comfortable. I can make another raid on the pantry, too, if I run short.
“Look out for Swivel; he’s a good fellow. He can tell you all that I would like to, if space and time did not forbid.
“Yours sincerely,
“BRANDON TARR.
“P. S. We’ll beat these scamps and get the Silver Swan yet.”
“Well, well!” commented Mr. Pepper, in amazement. “What will that boy do next?”
“The young rascal!” Caleb exclaimed in vexation. “What does he mean by cutting up such didoes as this? Aboard the very vessel the scoundrels have chartered, hey?”
“But how did he get there?” cried Adoniram wonderingly.
“This young man ought to be able to tell that,” suggested Mr. Coffin, referring to the dripping youth.
Caleb looked from the open letter to the boy.
“So you’re Swivel, eh?” he demanded.
The lad grinned and nodded.
“Well, suppose you explain this mystery.”
But here Adoniram interposed.
“Let us take him to the cabin, and give him something dry to put on. He’ll catch his death of cold here.”
“’Nough said. Come on,” said Caleb leading the way.
Fifteen minutes later the youth who rejoiced in the name of Swivel was inside of warm and dry garments, several sizes too large for him, and was telling his story to a most appreciative audience.
I will not give it in detail, and in Swivel’s bad grammar; a less rambling account will suffice.
When Brandon Tarr had made his rapid retreat from the office of Adoniram Pepper and Co. he had run across the street, dodged around the first corner, and then walked hastily up town. He determined to keep away from the office for the remainder of the day, hoping to tire out both Uncle Arad and the deputy sheriff.
Finally he took a car and rode over to Brooklyn, and it was there that he fell in with Swivel, who was a veritable street gamin—a “wharf-rat” even—though a good hearted and not an altogether bad principled one.
It being a time in the day when there were no papers to sell, Swivel (wherever the boy got the name he didn’t know, and it would have been hard to trace its origin) was blacking boots, and while he shined Brandon’s the two boys scraped up an acquaintance.
Fearing that Uncle Arad or the officer, or perhaps both, would be on the watch about the shipping merchant’s office, or the steamer dock, Brandon decided that Swivel would be a good one to have along with him to send ahead as “scout,” and for a small sum the gamin agreed.
Brandon was a country boy, and was unfamiliar with city ways or city conveniences. It never crossed his mind to use the telephone communicating with his friends, and Swivel knew very little about telephones, any way.
So they waited until toward evening and then came back to New York.
Water Street and its vicinity, and the docks, were as familiar to Swivel as were the lanes and woods of Chopmist to Brandon. By devious ways the gamin led the captain’s son to the ship owner’s office, but it was quite dark by that time and the place was closed.
So they went to the pier at which the whaleback lay, and here Swivel showed that he was of great use to Brandon, for had it not been for him, his employer would have run straight into a trap. The deputy sheriff, Snaggs, was watching the steamer, and no less a person than Mr. Alfred Weeks himself, was talking with him.
By careful maneuvering the two boys got into a position from which they could hear some of the conversation of the two rascals; but the way to the steamer was right under Snaggs’ eye, and Brandon dared not attempt it.
By intently listening, the captain’s son heard several important items of news, and, greatly to his astonishment, discovered that Uncle Arad, Leroyd, and Mr. Weeks himself were playing right into each other’s hands, and that their object was to keep Brandon from getting back to his friends, and thus delay the sailing of the whaleback so that the craft on which the plotters expected to sail might get away first.
Snaggs was to keep a sharp lookout from the shoreward side of the whaleback and there was already a man in a boat patroling the riverside that Brandon might not return from that direction, and a third person was “shadowing” Adoniram Pepper’s residence. The ship owner’s office would be watched during the day.
As soon as Brandon made his appearance he was to be seized at once on the strength of the Rhode Island warrant and sent back to Chopmist. This, the conspirators hoped, would keep Caleb Wetherbee from sailing for several weeks, and by that time Leroyd and the ex-clerk expected to overhaul the Silver Swan—that is, this is what Weeks and Leroyd themselves were planning to do; but the former took care to say nothing about the Silver Swan to the deputy sheriff.
Finding that there was no chance to get aboard the whaleback just then, and having heard Weeks say that he was going to meet Leroyd and that they two were to go that night and see the vessel and her commander, Brandon decided to follow them, and find out the name of the craft and where she lay, believing that the information would be of value to himself and to his friends.
Piloted by Swivel, Brandon followed “Sneaky Al” to the New England Hotel and while the ex-clerk went inside for Leroyd the two boys waited without, and then took up the trail again when the two conspirators appeared.
The sailor and Weeks went over to Brooklyn and after two hours’ dodging and running and hiding, they tracked the rascals to the brig Success, lying at a Brooklyn wharf.
Brandon decided that it would never do to be so near and not hear the plans the villains made with the captain of the Success, so he rashly crept aboard and listened to the conversation at the cabin skylight. And this was when he got into trouble.
He heard the two plotters agree with the captain of the vessel (who was not in the scheme at all) to pay two hundred dollars for six week’s use of the brig, providing the Success put to sea at once.
She already had a very fair cargo for Savannah, and the agreement was that she should put in at that port for the time necessary for the cargo to be landed.
Thus, of course, the captain, who was the owner as well, was going to make a very good thing out of it, indeed. He asked no questions as to what use the brig was to be put to; and he agreed to allow Leroyd to accompany him to Savannah, where Weeks would meet them.
Brandon made a shrewd guess that the ex-clerk was to remain in New York until he was certain of his capture and incarceration; then he would reach Savannah by steamer.
It was quite evident that the two rascals had managed to “boil” more money out of old Arad Tarr than they had first expected, and could afford to be more lavish with their funds.
But, as I said, the boys, by venturing aboard the Success, got into trouble. Somebody came aft while they were listening to the conference below, and to escape discovery, they dodged down the after hatch.
The crew of the Success were already aboard, and the two men who constituted the “anchor watch” remained near the open hatchway (the other hatches were battened down), and the two boys were unable to leave the hold.
Morning came, and found them still there. The cargo was nearly all in, and the crew went to work to finish the lading by daylight. Brandon and Swivel retreated into the bows of the vessel, and managed to remain hidden all day.
They did not dare leave the hold, although they suffered extremely from lack of food and water, for Leroyd had come aboard to superintend the work, and would have seen them.
At evening the hatches were battened down, and the unintentional stowaways were left in darkness. But Swivel, who a shrewd and sharp eyed lad, had noticed a small door in the cabin bulkhead by which the cook doubtless entered the hold for provisions from time to time.
With their pocket knives they forced the fastenings of this door and Swivel made a raid into the pantry, which was left unguarded, and returned laden with provisions enough to last them a week if need be. He secured a big “beaker” of water, too.
Brandon also discovered the ship’s provisions stored near the bows, and was sure that he could stand a siege.
Leroyd, they ascertained, hardly ever left the cabin or deck of the Success, and Brandon dared not venture out. At last, after talking the whole matter over, Swivel agreed to take the risk of giving himself up as a stowaway, and thus get put ashore before the brig started.
Then he was to make his way to the whaleback and explain Brandon’s situation to Caleb.
The captain’s son wrote his letter and placed it in the matchbox, which Swivel in turn had hidden in the breast of his shirt. Then the gamin pounded on the hatch until the crew heard him and let him out.
Naturally the captain of the Success was angry enough, for the brig was already to sail, and they were getting the lines cast off, so he summoned a night watchman from the dock, who took the unlucky Swivel in charge and handed him over to a policeman.
This was a phase of the situation which neither of the boys had considered. But there was no way out of it, and the gamin spent the day in the police station, for it was Sunday.
He was brought before the magistrate the next morning, but of course there was nobody to appear against him, so he was discharged with a reprimand. The police captain, however, kept him busy about the station until late in the afternoon, before he would let him go.
“He kep’ me jugglin’ wid er mop er wipin’ up de floor,” as the gamin expressed it to his hearers.
As soon as he was free he had hurried to the New York side; but upon reaching the vicinity of the whaleback he discovered that the “patrol line” was drawn even closer than before.
Snaggs and two of his friends were on duty, for as the time approached for the sailing, they decided that if Brandon came back he would do so very soon.
Swivel had seen the raid the policemen made under the deputy’s instigation, and after the bluecoats were safely out of the way, he had slipped into the water and made for the steamer.
“An’ here I is,” he said, in conclusion. “Dey didn’t ketch me, nor dat Brandon Tarr, nuther. We’s too fly for ’em.”
“Of all the scrapes I ever heard of, this is the worst,” Adoniram exclaimed in comment.
But Caleb, now that his fears for Don’s safety were somewhat allayed, seemed rather to enjoy the situation.
“Oh, that boy’s smart,” he declared, with a chuckle. “I’ll risk him even if he is in that vessel’s hold. Leroyd won’t get the best of him. Probably, too, the captain of the Success is not a bad sort of a fellow, an’ he won’t see the boy maltreated.
“I feel better, ’Doniram, and with your permission we’ll get under way at once.”
“But what shall we do with this lad?” asked the little merchant, nodding and smiling at Swivel. “He’s deserving of much praise for his honesty and faithfulness.”
“Oh, take me along, will yer?” exclaimed the gamin, with eagerness. “I’ll work hard ef ye will! I jest wanter see dis thing out, I do! I like dat Brandon Tarr, an’ I wanter see him git the di’monts wot he said was on dat wreck yer arter. Say, lemme go, will yer?”
Caleb looked at the ship owner in perplexity.
“Oh, take him, Caleb,” said Adoniram quickly. “It may be the making of the lad to get him off the city streets. He deserves it.”
“So be it then,” said Caleb, rising. “Now, Mr. Coffin and Mr. Bolin—to work! You’ll have to go ashore at once, Adoniram. I shall have Number Three out of her berth in half an hour.”
Steam was got up, the crew flew about their several duties under the energetic commands of the officers, and within a short time the whaleback, to the manifest disappointment of Mr. Snaggs, who watched proceedings from the shadow of the wharf, cast off her lines and steamed down the bay into the darkness of the night.
Thus did she begin the voyage whose object was the finding of the wreck of the Silver Swan.