Charlie Codmans Cruise 12
XI.
OFF TO SEA.
The thoughts of our young hero as he lay helpless, gagged and bound,
were hardly of the most cheerful character. The blow had been so
sudden, that he was quite unprepared for it. Added to this, his
apprehensions were vague and indefinite. There seemed something
mysterious about the manner in which he had been spirited away, and
this thought increased his feeling of discomfort. A danger which can
be measured and comprehended in its full extent may be boldly faced,
however great, but when we are ignorant of its nature and extent that
is not so easy.
Charlie understood as much as this, that it was the intention of
Randall to carry him off to sea. But why he should have taken such
pains to ensnare him, when there are always plenty of boys glad to
obtain such a situation, he could not conceive.
Charlie was no coward. He was no stranger to the bold spirit of
adventure by which boys of his age are apt to be animated. Indeed,
under different circumstances, and if the arrangement had been of his
own free choice, it is quite possible that he might have looked forward
with pleasurable anticipations to the life that awaited him. But there
was one thought uppermost in his mind that gave him no little pain
and anxiety, the thought of his mother. He was her all. In the large
and busy city she knew but very few; she had none whom she could call
friends. Her hopes were all centred in him. Still farther, it was in a
great measure owing to his activity and industry that she had been able
to live with a degree of comfort, for though she was always at work,
the avenues of industry open to women are few, and toil at the needle
is so unsatisfactorily compensated that Charlie, though working fewer
hours, was able to contribute considerably more than half of the sum
required for their joint support.
How would his mother get along during his absence, the length of which
he could not estimate? Would she suffer not only in mind but in bodily
discomfort? Well he remembered how pleasantly the evenings had passed
when they were together. Now there must be a long separation. Would
he ever see his mother again? She would not be able to retain their
present lodging, now that the entire rent would fall to her to pay.
Perhaps when he did he should be unable to obtain any clew to her
whereabouts. This was indeed a terrible thought to poor Charlie, who
chafed like a caged lion in his confinement. He endeavored to unloose
the cords which bound him, but with little prospect of success; for no
one better than a sailor understands the art of tying a knot securely.
While Charlie was doing his utmost to free himself from the cords that
bound him, having already removed the gag, he was startled by a low
laugh of triumphant malice.
Looking up, he saw the mate, the author of all his misfortunes,
watching him with great apparent enjoyment.
"Ah, Jack," he said, "I see you are hard at work. Work away. If you
untie those knots you've got more skilful fingers than the one that
tied them, that's all."
"Come and release me," said Charlie. "You have no right to keep me
here."
"You are mistaken," said the mate, coolly. "I have the best of all
rights."
"And what right is that?" demanded our hero.
"_The right of power!_" answered Randall. "Might makes right, perhaps
you have heard."
"How long are you going to keep me here?" asked Charlie, after a pause.
"Till we get far enough out to sea to make it safe to release you."
Charlie kept silence. He felt that it would be useless to appeal to the
mercy of the mate, who appeared bent upon carrying him away. He turned
his face resolutely away from Randall, for whom he began to entertain
a stronger feeling of dislike than he had supposed himself capable
of feeling. Hitherto he had only been accustomed to an atmosphere of
affection, and though he had met with some rebuffs in his daily search
for employment, he could always return at night to a home and a mother,
with whom he could forget whatever had been disagreeable during the
day. Now his position was entirely changed. The only one he knew on
board the vessel was one whom he had no reason to believe friendly, but
very much the reverse.
By this time the noise upon deck, which he could hear plainly, had
become greater and greater. He could hear frequent orders given by the
captain, and also by the mate, who had now returned to his post.
Soon the vessel, which had been at rest, appeared to be moving. He
could hear the plashing of the water against its sides. He felt that it
was in motion, slow at first, but afterwards more rapid. He conjectured
that the ship was being towed out to sea by a steam-tug.
He wished that at least he could get to a window, and catch a last
glimpse of the land to which he was about to bid so unexpected a
farewell. But this, tied hand and foot as he was, was impossible, and
he felt that now it would do him no good even if he should succeed
in breaking his bonds. Already they were speeding out to sea as fast
as the tug could convey them. There was no redress or help for him
beyond the limits of the vessel in which his tyrants exercised absolute
control, for he felt well assured that Captain Brace was in league with
the mate, or, at all events, would interpose his authority to support
Randall in his plans.
So time sped on, the ship continuing all the while in steady motion.
At length the tug left them and returned to the city, leaving the
vessel to shift for itself. Although Charlie could not see what was
going on, he judged this from the noise and shouts of command given
above, to which he listened with sharpened attention.
Charlie felt that with the departure of the steam-tug all possibility
of escape had passed. The last link which had bound him to the shore
had been snapped asunder.
While he was plunged in sorrowful thought he suddenly heard a step
descending the stairs.
Thinking it was the mate, of whom he felt that he should see in future
much more than he cared, he did not turn his head.
"Hallo, my lad," was the salutation of the new-comer, in a rough, but
hearty voice, "how came you in this trim?"
It was not the mate's harsh voice. Quickly turning round, Charlie's
eyes rested on the bronzed but good-humored face of Bill Sturdy, the
stout sailor to whom reference has already been made. Whatever may be
thought of physiognomy as an index of character, it is undeniable that
we are either attracted to or repelled from certain faces.
Now the first sight of Bill Sturdy's honest and good-humored face
seemed to Charlie like a ray of light in a dark place. He felt that
he was a man to be trusted.
"Will you be a friend to me?" asked Charlie, with instinctive
confidence.
"That I will, my lad," exclaimed Bill, with hearty emphasis; "but tell
me who tied you up in this fashion?"
"His name is Randall, and I believe he is the mate."
"The lubberly rascal! And what did he do that for?"
"He entrapped me on board the vessel, and now he is carrying me out to
sea, against my will."
"How came you in your sailor's rig?" asked Sturdy.
Charlie explained the trick which had been practised upon him, which
Bill Sturdy denounced in good set terms, though possibly more strong
than refined.
"He's a rascal; there ain't a doubt of that," said Bill. "I should like
to overhaul him, and teach him better manners. As for you, my lad, I'm
sorry for you. You've shipped for the v'y'ge, and there ain't any help
for it, as I see. But you may depend upon one thing, old Bill Sturdy
will look out for you, and will be your friend."
"Thank you," said our hero, feeling more cheerful and hopeful. It was
something to have one friend on board.
"I mistrust there are some rascals aboard," muttered Bill to himself,
as he went up on deck. "They'd better not interfere with me or that
young lad!" and he extended his muscular arm with a sense of power.
XII.
LANDLORD AND TENANT.
The payment of a thousand dollars to Randall had been a severe blow
to old Peter Manson, and this consideration materially lessened the
satisfaction which he felt in Charlie's removal.
We re-introduce him to our readers, engaged, as usual, in counting over
his hoards. Preparatory to doing so, he carefully secured the outer
door, and also the door of the apartment which he occupied.
Then lifting up a plank from the floor, he raised from beneath a large
box containing gold coins. It was very heavy, and it was not without
difficulty that the old man, who was very feeble, succeeded in lifting
it to a level with the floor.
The box was, perhaps, four fifths full.
The old man surveyed the deficiency with a groan.
"It might have been full," he muttered, "if I hadn't been obliged to
pay away such a sight of money to that determined man. One thousand
dollars! two hundred bright, sparkling coins! How many, many weary days
it will take before I can supply their place. It was all but full. It
wanted only ten more coins to make five thousand dollars. Oh gold, gold,
gold! How beautiful you are! To me you are food and drink and clothing
and friends and relations. I care for nothing but you."
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