CHAPTER XXIV.
IN WHICH PHIL GOES TO SLEEP, AND HIS SEVEREST CATASTROPHE COMES.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Mr. Whippleton, angrily, as he came alongside of the Marian in the tender.
"I was only looking to see where you were going. I was afraid you might forget that I was here, and go off without me."
"You are a fool! You make more blunders in the same time than any other fellow that ever I saw," he added, interlarding his elegant discourse with coarse and horrid oaths. "Why didn't you stay where you were till I came back?"
"I was not quite sure that you would come back."
"You were not? Who set you to dog all my movements?"
"I set myself to do it; and I intend to carry out my plan. I thought you were going to Chicago with me."
"I am, if you don't ground that boat, or wreck her, before I get ready. You go blundering about a place you know nothing at all about, as though you considered the safety of that boat of no consequence."
"I consider your safety as of a great deal more consequence," I answered, with becoming frankness. "If you are going to Chicago with me, what are you doing in that corner of the lagoon?"
"You are the stupidest blockhead I ever saw, for one who knows how to keep a set of books. Are you simpleton enough to suppose I would leave the Florina opposite the mouth of the river, where she would drag her anchor in the first blow that came?" growled Mr. Whippleton, with increased vehemence and anger. "I was going to moor her behind this headland, where she will be safe till I can come after her."
"You were very careful not to wake me, when you got up your anchor."
"What do you suppose I cared whether I waked you or not, you blunderhead. Now stand by here till we have moored the Florina. Let go your anchor."
"I can keep her where she is as long as there is a breeze. Moor your boat, and I am all ready for Chicago."
Mr. Whippleton pulled back to his yacht, and sailed her a short distance inside of the point, where I heard the splash of the anchor. His explanation of his movement was reasonable enough, and if I had been disposed to be satisfied with anything he said or did which involved his absence in the body from me, I might have been contented with it. The more determined he was in charging me with blunders, the better I was satisfied that my course was right; and I preferred to let the future rather than the present justify my conduct.
"What's the matter, Philip?" asked Marian, opening the slide of the cabin.
"Nothing; it is all right now."
"But I heard some hard words just now," she persisted.
"Mr. Whippleton thinks I have made another blunder—that's all."
I told her what had occurred, and that, as there was a little breeze, we should probably start for Chicago in a short time. I advised her to return to her berth, and not be disturbed by anything she heard. She acknowledged that she had slept very well till the noise awoke her, and she was willing to repeat the experiment. She retired, closed and fastened the slide behind her. In about half an hour Mr. Whippleton and Peter came on board.
"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Are you going to sea without us, and carry off all the whiskey?"
I thought, from the movements of the negro, he was carrying off considerable of it; and the fumes of Mr. Whippleton's breath indicated that he had not entirely neglected the bottle. But it did not have a happy effect upon him, as it sometimes does, for he was decidedly ugly. I believe that liquor intensifies whatever emotions may prevail in the mind of the toper while under its influence. Joy is more joyous, grief is more grievous, under its sway; and a man who is ugly when sober is ten times worse when drunk. A man who has an ugly fit is the uglier for the rum he has drunk.
Mr. Whippleton had an ugly fit upon him when he came on board of the Marian. He was probably disappointed and vexed at my conduct, and having drank several glasses of whiskey, he was really so ugly as to make himself very uncomfortable. He filled away the yacht, and, taking the helm, began to rate me over again for my blunders. As we were, to the best of my knowledge and belief, bound to Chicago, I did not care much what he said, and I was willing he should waste his venom in any way he pleased.
The breeze was very light and fitful. We ran out of the lagoon into the open lake, after a while; but there was hardly wind enough there to fill the sails. It was still dull sailing, and I was very sleepy and stupid in spite of the abuse with which Mr. Whippleton regaled me. He had brought his whiskey bottles back with him, and several times he imbibed from one of them. Peter went forward with his bottle, and stretched himself on the forecastle.
The helmsman yawned, and I yawned. The Marian, close-hauled, was not making two knots an hour. We were headed about north-west, which was not nearly so close to the wind as the boat could lay.
"We shall not get to Chicago in twenty-four hours at this rate," said Mr. Whippleton, when he had wasted all his vituperative rhetoric upon me.
"Not in forty-eight, if you don't keep her a little closer to the wind," I replied.
"Do you sail this boat, or do I?" he demanded.
"Well, sir, you and that whiskey bottle appear to be doing it just now; and between you both you are not doing it very well."
"None of your impudence! Perhaps you are conceited enough to think you could do it better."
"I confess that I am."
"You will mind your own business, Phil."
"I haven't any to mind."
"Go to sleep then!"
"What time is it, sir?"
"About half past twelve."
"I will take my turn at the helm, if you like."
"I won't trust you at the helm. You make too many blunders."
"Then I will take a nap myself."
"That will be the only sensible thing you have done to-night."
I thought it would be sensible, at any rate, and as there was not much comfort in talking to a man as waspish as he was, I concluded to take his advice. I stretched myself on the cushions, on the lee side, out of the helmsman's way, covered myself with the blanket, and was soon asleep. Perhaps I am conceited: I will not say that I am not; but in the light of subsequent events, I must say it was the only blunder I made that night—going to sleep.
I was tired enough to sleep soundly, and as the yacht was bound to Chicago, I had nothing more to worry me; so I did sleep soundly. If nothing had occurred to disturb me, doubtless I should have made up my six hours before morning. Unfortunately something did occur to disturb me—something sudden and violent.
A heavy hand was laid upon me, and I awoke.
I tried to gain my feet, but a desperate clutch was upon my throat. Mr. Whippleton was bending over me; his right hand was choking me, while his left grasped a rope. I tried to scream, but the hard hand choked me. I realized that I was in the power of my enemy, and I made a desperate struggle to free myself from his grasp. I thought I was succeeding, when a crushing blow fell upon my head; my brain sparkled as with a shower of stars. I remember no more of the affray.
The first sensation that I experienced was a deadly sickness and faintness. My senses slowly came back to me, and I found myself lying upon the cushions of the standing-room, with Marian Collingsby leaning over me, bathing my brow. My head seemed to be bursting with pain and fulness. I tried to raise my hand to ascertain the extent of my injuries; but I found that my wrists were tied together behind me.
Phil a PrisonerPhil a Prisoner.Page 282.
"O, Philip! Philip!" cried Marian, as I opened my eyes and realized my situation.
I raised my head and looked around me. Peter was at the helm, and the yacht was bounding along at a lively rate over the waves. On the cushion opposite me lay Mr. Whippleton, enveloped in blankets, and apparently asleep.
"How do you feel, Philip?" asked Marian, who was in as much distress as I was.
"My head aches terribly," I replied, faintly; and a kind of deadly sickness came over me again.
She bathed my head again with spirits, and the act revived me.
"This is terrible," said she, trembling with emotion.
"Don't be alarmed, Marian; I shall be better soon," I replied, trying to change my position, for I was lying on one of my arms, and was very uncomfortable.
"Won't you untie him, Peter?" said my fair attendant, appealing to the black helmsman.
"Gorrificious! I'd like to do it first rate; but I dassent," he answered, glancing at the form of Mr. Whippleton, who was snoring heavily under the influence of the frequent drams he had taken.
"Then I will," she added, resolutely.
"Don't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton is uncommon ugly."
"I don't care how ugly he is. I am not afraid of him now. Where is your knife, Philip?"
"In my vest pocket," I replied, encouraged by a hope that the resolute girl might set me free.
"Mustn't do it, miss. Skipper told me to look out for the young gentleman. You mustn't do anything to make Mr. Whippleton angry with you; he'll treat you bad if you do. He was uncommon ugly this mornin', and kicked me three times in the ribs to wake me, and then cussed me like I wan't no account."
I suspected that Peter had been sleeping off the fumes of whiskey when this ungentle treatment was bestowed upon him. Marian put her hand into my vest pocket and took out my knife. She opened it, and was about to find the rope that bound me, when the helmsman again interfered.
"Can't let you do it. Very sorry, but I can't. It would cost me all the rest of the ribs in my body, and three on 'em's broke now."
"Will you let this young man be abused in this manner, you wretch?" exclaimed Marian, whose gentle nature seemed to have assumed a new phase.
"I can't help it, miss; 'tain't my fault. Mr. Whippleton's very ugly this mornin'."
"You are a brute and a coward!" said she, reaching over me to the cords that bound my wrists.
"Gorrificious!" shouted the negro. "You mustn't do that."
Mr. Whippleton suddenly sprang to his feet, awakened by the cry of Peter. Rushing forward, he seized the arm of Marian, and dragged her away from me. As the negro had intimated, he certainly was uncommon ugly. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was savage.
"Let him alone," said he. "Let no one meddle with him."
"Mr. Whippleton, are you going to let him lie there in pain, with his hands tied behind him?"
"That's just what I am going to do," said he, taking a bottle of whiskey from under the seat, and pouring a quantity down his throat.
Perhaps he was afraid that his courage would fail him, if he were not again fortified by the fiend which had doubtless inspired the evil deed he had done to me.
"I can believe anything of you now, Mr. Whippleton," added Marian, courageously.
"Believe anything you please, Miss Collingsby. You will have all you want to do to think of yourself, without troubling your head about Phil. I have taught him to mind his own business, and I am going to repeat the lesson upon you. Go into the cabin!"
"Won't you release Philip—at least, untie his wrists?"
"No, I won't. Go into the cabin, and stay there. I don't mean to have you on deck."
He moved towards her, and she was compelled to retire to the cabin in order to escape further violence. I felt that I was alone then. My worst, and it seemed to me then my last, catastrophe had come. I regretted my blunder in going to sleep, and the future was dark and uncertain.
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH PHIL SUFFERS MUCH PAIN, AND MARIAN IS VERY RESOLUTE.
After my catastrophe, the course of the yacht had been altered, and I found that she was now headed to the northward. As I raised my head to change my painful position, I saw the east coast of the lake, not half a mile distant. The breeze was very gentle, and it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, and the ripple of the clear waters was musical; but I was not in a condition to enjoy the glories of the scene.
I was suffering with a severe pain in the head; but the defeat I had sustained troubled me much more. I wondered, now it was too late, that I had been so stupid as to go to sleep. I felt that I was as great a blockhead as my persecutor had accused me of being, and I forgave him for calling me one. I could not foresee the end of the adventure, or the disastrous results of my mistake. Mr. Whippleton had doubtless been fully alarmed by my statements in regard to his arrest. If he had really sold his yacht, he did not deem it prudent to visit St. Joseph in order to deliver it to the purchaser. He would not find it safe to land at any of the towns on the lake, and I was satisfied that he would make for some obscure port in Canada. He was a shrewd man, and would not incur any needless risk.
As nearly as I could calculate the distance, he would have to run four or five hundred miles to reach any point in Canada. The prospect was not pleasing: I was fond of sailing, but not under the present circumstances. The distance to be accomplished in such a boat would require three days with a favorable wind; and it might take ten. I did not believe Mr. Whippleton would be disposed to run at night, for the whiskey, which he now used without restraint, could be more safely enjoyed in port.
I hoped for some favorable circumstance which would turn the tide in my favor. This was all I could do, for, with my hands securely tied behind me, I was powerless. The skipper had renewed his devotions to the bottle as soon as he waked, and it was possible that the liquor might win the victory for me.
"Go and get us some breakfast, Peter," said Mr. Whippleton, after he had taken a second dram, as he took the helm from the cook.
"Yes, sir," replied Peter, as he went forward.
"I hope you are satisfied now, Phil," added Mr. Whippleton, turning to me with something like a chuckle, as though he had done a great thing.
"I am satisfied on one point," I replied.
"What's that?"
"That I was not mistaken in regard to your dealings with the firm."
"We won't discuss that question now," said he, with a sneer. "I have used you well; I have done everything for you; I have given you all the salary you asked, and given you a chance to get ahead."
"You have given me a chance to get a broken head," I replied, as he paused to think what other good thing he had done for me.
"That's your own fault. After all I had done for you, I have my reward in your ingratitude."
"Did you expect me to help you swindle the firm?" I demanded, indignantly.
"You are not in condition just now to use hard words, and I advise you to clap a stopper on that tongue of yours."
"If I say anything, I shall speak my mind. I know you now perfectly. Last night I thought I might be mistaken about some things. Now I know that you have swindled your partner, and I am not surprised to find that you can handle a bludgeon as well as a pen."
"Better be civil, Phil," said he, biting his lip.
"I have nothing more to say. If you murder me, I shall feel that I have tried to do my duty."
"I don't intend to murder you."
"I have no doubt you will if the occasion seems to require it. I shall trust in God, and leave the crime with him."
He said no more then. When breakfast was ready, Peter relieved him at the helm, and he went below. I heard him talking to Marian, and she answered him with spirit. Though I could not distinguish her words, I was sure that she was protesting against his cruelty to me. In about half an hour he returned to the helm again, and my fair cousin followed him, either with or without his permission.
"How do you feel, Phil?" she asked, taking her place by my side again, and bathing my head with spirits, as before.
"I think my head feels a little better."
"Do you rest easily now?"
"Not very; I have to lie upon my hands or one of my arms."
"Mr. Whippleton, if you are not a brute, you will untie his hands," she continued, appealing to the skipper.
"Then I am a brute," he answered, with a coarse grin.
"Why should you compel him to suffer pain?"
"I hope it will make him change his tone. He is as saucy and as impudent as though he were the victor and I the vanquished."
"He will not be impudent again, if you will unloose him," added Marian, in a gentle, pleading tone.
"Will he promise it?"
"You will—won't you, Philip?"
"I will promise not to say anything to him," I replied.
"He is willing to promise," continued she.
"Then I won't let him loose. He is an obstinate mule, and ready to kick the one who does him a favor. Though I have been his best friend in Chicago, he volunteers to hunt me down like a wild beast. He has his reward."
"But what are you going to do with him?" inquired Marian.
"I intend to shoot him," replied Mr. Whippleton, as he took a draught from his bottle, and then produced a revolver, with which he toyed as though it had been a pet plaything. "I am prepared for the worst, and I shall never be safe while he is above the sod."
"Would you be a murderer?" asked Marian, with horror.
"Phil says I would, and I may be obliged to verify his words."
"I did not think you were such a monster!" exclaimed my fair companion, with a shudder.
"I did not think so myself; but Phil keeps goading me on, and I don't know what I may become. If he had minded his own business, and not troubled himself about mine, he would have been safe in Chicago to-day."
"But you don't mean to kill him?"
"That will depend upon himself—and you."
"Upon me?"
"Yes, upon you, in part."
"What shall I do?"
"Sit down, Miss Collingsby, and make yourself comfortable," he continued, with a smile, as though he were rather pleased with his own reflections.
"I will say anything I can to my father, and I will induce my mother to speak for you," said she, seating herself near my head.
"I know your father better than you do, Miss Collingsby. He would be ashamed of himself to be influenced by you, or by your mother. I won't trust him till I have a hold upon him. I don't ask for any pleading in my behalf, because I know it would do no good."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"I had a rather brilliant thought just now," said he, chuckling, and looking very silly, partly from the effects of the whiskey he had drank, and partly from the nature of his own thoughts.
He paused, as though he was not quite ready to express the brilliant thought. He turned over the pistol in his hand, and glanced foolishly at Miss Collingsby.
"What can I do?" asked Marian, evidently disgusted with his manner.
"I want some security for your father's good behavior," he replied.
"I will plead with him."
"It will do no good."
"What would you have me do?"
"I think I heard you say you would not marry my friend Ben Waterford, under any circumstances."
"I certainly would not," answered Marian.
"Exactly so; I don't wish to do anything to interfere with Ben's plans, for he is a good fellow. We started from Chicago with the intention of having a wedding, and I think we ought to carry out the programme," laughed the skipper. "You are a very pretty girl, Miss Collingsby. As the son-in-law of your father, I think I could make a favorable settlement with him. I am only twenty-seven."
"You have said enough, sir," replied she, indignantly.
"Don't be hasty, my pretty one. If you will do me the honor to become Mrs. Whippleton, it will make everything all right; and really I don't know what else to do with you."
"Don't listen to him, Marian," I interposed, in a low tone. "Go into the cabin, and keep out of his sight."
"This plan will make everything comfortable, Miss Collingsby. Your father will see that he is mistaken, and the business of the firm will go on as usual, with your friend Phil as book-keeper at a thousand dollars a year. Will you accept?"
"No, sir."
"No?"
"Certainly not."
"Then I suppose I may as well make an end of Phil. He is only a stumbling-block in my path," added the wretch, cocking his pistol.
"Gorrificious!" exclaimed Peter, appearing at the companion-way at this moment, so opportunely as to indicate that he had been listening to the conversation. "What you goin' to do with that rewolver, Mr. Whippleton?"
"Go into the cook-room, and mind your business there, you scoundrel," said the skipper, angrily, as he pointed the pistol at the cook.
"Gorrificious!" muttered the man, as he disappeared.
Marian, indignant at the proposal of Mr. Whippleton, followed the cook, and I was alone with my persecutor. The skipper laid his revolver upon the rudder-head, as though the end of the sensation had come for the present. I was left to my own suffering for the next two hours. Mr. Whippleton sat at the helm in silence, perhaps brooding upon the plan his busy brain had devised. Occasionally he raised the whiskey bottle to his lips, and drank. I was afraid that his frequent drams would arouse the fiend within him, and induce him to use his revolver upon me. He was intoxicated, and violently irritated against me. My anxiety for my fate was so great that I almost forgot my aching head and painful limbs. I kept very still. No one had thought to give me any breakfast; but I did not feel the need of it, though a cup of tea would doubtless have done me good.
I was still in doubt whether the whiskey bottle would ultimately prove to be my friend or my foe. The skipper maintained his position at the helm till dinner was ready, and then was able to totter into the cabin, when Peter had taken his place. He did not come on deck when he had finished his meal; but Marian soon appeared, and said he had tumbled into one of the berths. He had taken his revolver with him.
"Can't you turn over, Philip?" said she, standing beside me. "I will cut your cords."
"No! Don't do that. Gorrificious! Mr. Whippleton will kill us all."
But I turned over, as far as I was able, and the resolute girl cut the rope that bound my hands together. She had hardly done so before Peter sprang upon her, and hurled her over to the other side of the standing-room. I disengaged my hands; but the line which secured my feet was made fast to a cleat, and when I attempted to rise, I was thrown down upon the floor. Peter leaped upon me, and shouted for Mr. Whippleton.
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE TABLES TURNED, AND THE MARIAN RUNS INTO CHICAGO RIVER.
"Gorrificious!—Mr. Whippleton!" shouted Peter, as he lay down upon me.
"Let him alone, Peter," pleaded Marian, as she rushed to the rope which bound my feet.
"Can't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton will shoot me," answered the cook, in high excitement.
Marian cast off the rope which bound me to the cleat, and then untied my feet; but the negro had placed his knee upon my breast, and held me by the throat with both hands. The condition to which I was reduced was desperate, and only desperate measures could redeem me. I began to struggle, and when my feet were free, I began to use them with considerable vigor. But I was very feeble, and with the advantage he had over me, I was not equal even to the old negro.
The battle was going against me, and I heard the uncertain movements of Mr. Whippleton in the cabin. Marian wrung her hands in despair, when she saw her resolute effort apparently so signally defeated. Out of breath and out of strength, I was compelled to abandon the struggle as useless; but my fair ally was not so demoralized. She took the tin cup, which the negro used for his drams, and pouring some whiskey from the skipper's bottle, she dashed it into the face of the cook, just as Mr. Whippleton was coming up the steps from the cabin.
"Gorrificious!" yelled the negro, blinded by the potent liquor, and smarting with pain in his eyes.
I made one more desperate effort to free myself, and as Peter was obliged to use his hands for the comfort of his eyes, I easily shook him off this time. At the same instant the crack of the revolver startled me; but I was not hit. Marian stood near me with a large champagne bottle, from which she had poured the whiskey, in her hand. I seized it, and sprang upon Mr. Whippleton as he aimed his pistol at me the second time.
I struck him a heavy blow upon the head with the bottle, and he fell back into the cabin.
My strength seemed to come back, as the prospect brightened before me. I descended to the cabin, and proceeded to ascertain the condition of Mr. Whippleton.
"Is he dead?" gasped Marian.
"No; I think not," as I felt of his pulse, and then of his breast to see if his heart still beat.
"O, I hope not," cried she, terrified at the tragedy of which she had become a part.
"Gorrificious!" howled Peter, who had been washing his eyes at the side, and was now able to use them again.
I picked up Mr. Whippleton's pistol, and returned to the standing-room, to guard against any attack on the part of the cook.
"Don't shoot me, Mr. Phil, don't!" cried he.
"I won't, if you behave yourself; but if you don't obey all my orders, I will put a bullet through your head. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you, Mr. Phil. 'Tain't none of my quarrel, and I don't care nothing at all about it. I obeys orders whoever is in command," he replied, rubbing his eyes with his handkerchief.
Skipper Whippleton a PrisonerSkipper Whippleton a Prisoner.Page 301.
With his aid I lifted the form of Mr. Whippleton from the cabin floor, and we bore it to the seat in the standing-room, where I had lain so many hours. The Marian had come up into the wind when the cook left the helm, and I put her about, heading her to the south-west. Miss Collingsby took the helm at my request. She was pale and excited; but she was firm. For my own part I felt like new man, and the new order of things seemed to soothe the pain I was still suffering.
I examined Mr. Whippleton very carefully again. I felt the beatings of his heart, and I was satisfied that he was not more severely injured than I had been.
I did not intend to make any more mistakes, and with the same cord which had confined my hands, I tied his wrists together behind him. I secured his feet, and made him fast to the jib-sheet cleat. He was now in precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced, and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still; but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in spirits.
"Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he.
"They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr. Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated myself at the side of Marian.
"No, sir."
"I'm not drunk, Peter."
"No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook.
"If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol beside me, and I shall not go to sleep."
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"See that you mind."
"Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions.
I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation; but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with what had been drank and what had been spilled.
"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had partially subsided.
"Better, much better."
"Does your head ache now?"
"It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circumstances; but I don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl, Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration.
"I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot you."
"I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take aim."
"Whiskey has been our friend, this time."
"It is more apt to be our friend when our enemies drink it than when we drink it ourselves. That was a happy expedient of yours, to give Peter a dram in the eyes."
"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Twan't happy for me, miss."
"Because you were doing wrong," said Marian.
"It was a brave act of yours, my dear cousin, and I am proud to call you so now," I added.
"I am not a baby. I don't know what made me think of that; I wasn't strong enough to do anything else."
"You couldn't have done any better."
"Gorrificious! I think you could, miss," interposed the cook.
"I blinded Peter with the whiskey, and you struck Mr. Whippleton with the whiskey bottle, and he was so tipsy he couldn't reach us till it was too late," added Marian. "But, Philip, you must be hungry. You haven't eaten anything to-day."
"I am not hungry, but I am faint," I replied.
"Take a little drop of whiskey, Mr. Philip," said Peter, turning to me.
"Not a drop: I would faint away a dozen times before I would touch a drop. Go down and bring me up some tea, and cook me a beefsteak, Peter."
"Yes, sir," replied he, hastening below, apparently glad to get out of the reach of a pistol ball.
"I can scarcely believe that we are still safe, Philip," continued Marian.
"I owe my safety to you, cousin."
"And I certainly owe mine to you."
"We can call it square, then; but not many young ladies, I am sure, would have been so courageous as you were. The battle was lost when you came to the rescue."
"I shall never cease to be grateful to you for your care and protection, Philip."
"And I shall be just as grateful to you. Let us both thank God, from the depths of our hearts, for his goodness to us."
"Do you know where we are, Philip?" she asked, glancing over the waste of waters ahead of us.
"Not exactly; but I think I can find my way back to Chicago."
"The lake is large, and we may get lost."
"No; if we keep on in our course, we shall come out somewhere. I don't know this side of the lake, but I am tolerably familiar with the other side. We crossed the lake, and have sailed to the northward since one or two o'clock this morning, when Mr. Whippleton hit me on the head."
"It was four o'clock in the morning; I asked Peter," said Marian.
"Very well. It was not far from two when we came about this afternoon. We sailed towards the north about ten hours, and I should judge that we made at least fifty miles. I think I can tell by this map nearly where we are. As I understand it now, our course is south-west, and we have not less than a hundred miles to make."
"How long will it take?"
"As the breeze is now, it will take twenty hours. We shall arrive some time to-morrow."
Peter brought my dinner on deck, and though my appetite had been spoiled by the rough experience of the trip, I ate enough to make me feel tolerably strong. Marian kept the helm all the afternoon, and I lay upon the cushions where I obtained a little sleep, which made my head feel better. The fair helmswoman promised to wake me if anything went wrong. About sunset Mr. Whippleton came to his senses again. He had been asleep most of the time, for we heard him snore.
"O, my head!" groaned he, as he opened his eyes, and then rolled off the cushions in his efforts to get up.
I called Peter, and we put him back again.
"My head! My head!" repeated he.
"Mine felt so this morning," I replied, in consoling tones.
He struggled to rise, but the rope had been carefully secured.
"Untie me, Phil," cried he, angrily.
"Excuse me," I replied. "I have you where I want you, and for your sake I hope we shall have a quick passage to Chicago."
"Is she headed for Chicago?"
"Yes, and has been for four hours. The tables are turned."
"Untie me, Phil. I am in great pain."
"If I can do anything to relieve your pain, I will, but I will not untie you."
He pleaded and begged for me to release him, but I dared not do so. He complained bitterly of his head, and made me various offers to let him go. I assured him that I should hand him over to the police the next day; until then, I would do anything I could to make him comfortable, except to give him his liberty. I brought up the bedding and pillows belonging to one of the berths in the cabin, and prepared an easy couch beneath him. I directed Peter to give him his supper, and to feed him like a child. He said he was comfortable then, but begged for whiskey. I refused to honor this demand; and finding that Peter was boozing more than I deemed best, I emptied all the bottles into the lake, with the hope that the fish would not be harmed by it.
Marian retired at an early hour; but she came on deck in the middle of the night, and insisted upon taking the helm; yet I dared not sleep, for the wind was freshening, and we spent the rest of the night in talking. At daylight I discovered the steeples of Chicago in the distance. We had a stiff breeze then, and at six o'clock I ran the Marian into the river.
CHAPTER XXVII.
IN WHICH PHIL VISITS MR. COLLINGSBY AGAIN, AND IS A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.
Having run the Marian into the river, I brought her alongside the pier at her usual landing-place. I was very tired, and my head still ached severely. I had hardly touched the pier before a man stepped on board without any invitation, and came aft to the standing-room where I was.
"Who runs this boat now?" demanded he.
"I have been running her for the last few hours," I replied.
"What's her name?"
"Her name is the Marian now. Formerly it was the Michigan."
"All right, then. I attach her, and take possession, in the suit of WashburnversusWaterford."
"I'm willing; I have no further use for her," I replied. "But what's the trouble?"
"Mr. Waterford's gone up."
"Gone up where?"
"Failed, and those that can get hold of anything are doing so. I have got hold of this boat."
"I thought Mr. Waterford was a rich man," I added, glancing at Marian.
"Most people thought so; but he is a bankrupt now. He made some ten or twelve thousand dollars, they say, in a lucky speculation, and on the strength of that has had the reputation of being worth a hundred thousand. He and Mr. Whippleton have been making some bad speculations in lands, which will not fetch what they paid for them. While they were looking over the affairs of Mr. Whippleton, who ran away, they found that Waterford was as deep in the mud as he was in the mire. I have been on the lookout for this boat since night before last."
"What has been done about Mr. Whippleton's affairs?" I asked, with no little curiosity.
"His partner has been overhauling his business, and finds that he has been terribly swindled. Officers have been on the lookout for him since he left, and telegrams have been sent in every direction. They can't find him, or even hear of him. He went off in his boat, and they think now that he has made his way into Canada. Where have you been all this time with the boat?"
"On a cruise. Are you an officer?" I asked.
"Certainly I am. How could I serve a writ if I were not?"
"Do you know where there is another one?"
"I can find a policeman, I suppose. What do you want of him?"
"I have a prisoner I wish to put into safe keeping."
"Who is he?"
"Mr. Charles Whippleton."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed the officer.
I pulled off the blankets in which the late junior partner had enfolded himself, and exhibited my prisoner.
"What's the matter with him? Is he sick?"
"He has a sore head. But please to get another officer, and a carriage."
"Let him get two. I want one," said Marian.
"I don't know you; but I begin to think you are the clerk that disappeared," added the man.
"I am; I was in the employ of Collingsby and Whippleton."
"Nobody knew what had become of you; but Mr. Whippleton's mother said you had run away with all her property. The officers are on the lookout for you also."
"I am at their disposal whenever they want me," I replied, choking at this disagreeable information.
"Mr. Collingsby thinks you have gone with Whippleton, and that you were concerned with him in the frauds."
"Does he?"
"Is this lady Miss Collingsby?"
"It is."
"Her father and mother believe she has run away with Mr. Waterford. There's all sorts of stories floating about. I suppose, if I bring one of the police, they will arrest you."
"No matter for that; bring him along. If I had been guilty, I should not have brought Mr. Whippleton back."
The officer departed, and I lowered the mainsail. I told Peter to put the yacht in good order.
"Can't you untie me now, Phil?" asked Mr. Whippleton.
"Not till the officers come. I don't intend to make any more blunders."
"You have wound me up completely," said he, bitterly, as he glanced towards the city. "I suppose I must take things as they come."
"Your mother accuses me of running away with her property. How could that be if she gave you an order for the package?" I inquired.
"I dare say you will get at the whole truth in due time. It is not necessary for me to say anything more."
And he did not say anything more. He was in pain bodily; but I am sure his sufferings mentally were infinitely more intense. As I looked at him, reclining on his couch, I could not help thinking that his mother was even more to blame for his misfortunes than he was himself. Instead of filling his mind with Christian principles, she had fed him with the dry husks of worldly wisdom. She had taught him to get money; that it was shrewd and praiseworthy to overreach and deceive. His father had died when he was young, and his mother had had the whole training of him. Before God, she was responsible, though her neglect and her errors could not excuse him. I thanked God anew, as I looked at him, for the Christian teachings of Mr. Gracewood, who had implanted in my soul a true principle.
The officers came, and Mr. Whippleton was relieved of his bonds, and permitted to stand up. He could not walk at first, and had to be assisted to the carriage. I was careful to have his travelling bag placed in the care of the officers. I had locked it up in the cabin when I obtained possession of the yacht, for I knew that its contents would go far towards indemnifying his partner for his losses. At my request, the officers took the prisoner to Mr. Collingsby's house. Marian and I went in one carriage, while the officers, with Mr. Whippleton, occupied the other.
"I tremble when I think of meeting my father," said my fair companion.
"You need not. He will be too glad to see you safe and sound to find any fault with you."
"I have been very imprudent."
"I know you have; but you meant no wrong. You are fortunate to be able to return as you are, for Mr. Waterford is a bankrupt, and a mere adventurer."
"My father was right."
"Fathers are almost always right," I replied, as the carriage stopped before the house.
I found that Marian was trembling violently when I helped her out. We were admitted to the library. Mrs. Collingsby was up, but her husband had not risen yet. The fond mother folded her lost daughter in her arms, and they wept together.
"Let me call your father," said she, leaving the room hastily.
"You will have a glad welcome from both of your parents, Marian," I added.
"My mother will not reproach me," said she, as Mrs. Collingsby returned.
"Where have you been?" inquired the anxious mother, as she took the hand of her weeping daughter.
"I was deceived, mother."
"But where is Mr. Waterford?"
"I don't know; I have not seen him since day before yesterday."
Mr. Collingsby appeared in a few moments in his dressing-gown, and had evidently made a very hasty toilet.
"Marian!" exclaimed he, with a degree of emotion of which I had not supposed him capable.
"My poor child! How anxious I have been about you! for that Waterford is a scoundrel."
"I know he is, father. You were right," replied Marian, as she sobbed upon his bosom.
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
Mr. Collingsby winked very rapidly; but as it was not dignified to weep, he did not do so. He glanced at me, and he must have suspected that I saw his emotion. He was evidently ashamed of it, for he gently disengaged himself from his daughter's embrace, and fixed his stern gaze upon me.
"So you have come back, Philips?" said he.
"Yes, sir, I have come back. I had business here, and I took the liberty to call."
"Where have you been, sir?"
"After Mr. Whippleton."
"So I thought," sneered he. "I suppose it would not suit your purpose to inform me where he is now."
"On the contrary, it would exactly suit my purpose, Mr. Collingsby. He is in a carriage at the door, between two officers."
"Don't say anything harsh to Philip, father," interposed Marian, wounded by his sternness towards me. "It was he who saved me from harm, and he has brought Mr. Whippleton back, with all the money he stole."
"Do you mean so?"