CHAPTER II.AT THE BANK.
I was both astonished and dismayed to see the large sloop go over and precipitate its passengers into the water. The catastrophe happened so quickly that for a moment I knew not what to do.
Then my presence of mind came back, and I set promptly to work to rescue those who had gone overboard. In a moment I had the woman on board of my own craft. She was insensible.
“Save my boy!” cried one of the men. “Don’t mind us; we can both swim.”
“All right; I’ll do what I can,” was my reply.
Looking about, I discovered the body of the little fellow some distance back. I tried to tack, but it could not be done, the wind being too strong from the opposite direction.
“He is going down!” went on the father in agonized tones that pierced my heart. “Oh, save him! save him!” And he made a strong effort to reach the spot himself; but the weight of his clothes was against him, and I knew he could not cover the distance beforeit would be too late. I was a first-class swimmer, and in a second had decided what to do.
With a bang I allowed the mainsail to drop, and threw over the anchor, which I knew would catch on the rocky bottom twelve or fifteen feet below.
Then I kicked off my boots, ripped off my vest and coat, and sprang to the stern. A single glance showed me where the boy had just gone down, and for this spot I dived head first.
I passed under the water some ten or a dozen feet. When I came to the surface I found the little fellow close beside me. He was kicking at a terrible rate, and I could see he had swallowed considerable of the fresh liquid of which the lake was constituted.
“Don’t kick any more,” I said; “I will save you. Here, put your arms around my neck.”
“I want papa and mamma,” he cried, spitting out some of the water.
“I’ll take you to them if you’ll do as I tell you.”
Thus reassured, the little fellow put his arms around my neck.I at once struck out for the sloop, and reaching it, clambered on deck. As I did so the woman I had saved seemed to come to her senses, and rising to her feet she clasped the boy in her arms.
I at once struck out for the sloop
“My Willie! my darling Willie!” she cried. “Thank God you are saved!”
“Yes, mamma; that big boy saved me. Wasn’t it good of him?”
“Yes, indeed, my child!”
Looking around, I discovered that the two men were clinging to the keel of the large sloop, which had now turned bottom upwards. I pulled up the anchor, hoisted the sail again, and was soon alongside.
“Here you are!” I called out, throwing them a rope by which they might come on board.
“Did you save my son?” demanded the elder one anxiously.
“Yes, William; he is safe,” returned the woman.
“All right; then we’ll come aboard too,” said the man. “Here, Brown, you go first. This accident is entirely my fault.”
“No more yours than mine,” returned the man addressed, as he hauled himself up over the stern. “It was I who wanted to go out without a man to manage the boat, Mr. Markham.”
“Yes; but I tied the knots in the ropes,” was the reply, as the elder man also came on board.
They were all well-dressed people, and I rightly guessed that they were boarders at one of the hotels at Bayport.
“Well, young man, it was lucky you came along,” said Mr. Markham, turning to me. “You have saved at least two lives.”
He was still excited, and put the case rather strongly.
“Oh, no, I didn’t!” I protested. “I only picked you up. Any one would have done that.”
“Didn’t you jump overboard and rescue my son?”
“Well, yes; but that wasn’t much to do.”
“I think it was a good deal. If my son had gone down I would never have wanted to go back. All of us owe you a deep debt of gratitude.”
“Yes, indeed!” burst out Mrs. Markham. “What would I have done without my precious Willie?” And she strained the little fellow to her breast.
The situation was both novel and uncomfortable for me. I had but done my duty, and I didn’t see the use of making such a fuss over it.
“Where are you bound?” I asked, by way of changing the subject.
“We started for a trip down the lake about an hour ago,” replied Mr. Markham. “Will you take us back to Bayport?”
“Certainly; that is just where I am bound. But what do you intend to do with your sloop?”
“Leave her adrift. I never want to see the craft again.” And Mr. Markham shuddered.
“She can easily be righted,” I went on.
“If you want her, you may have her. I will pay the present owner what she is worth.”
“Thank you; I’ll accept her gladly,” I cried; “but it won’t cost much to bring her around, and hadn’t you better pay her owner for the damage done, and let him keep her?”
“No; I’ve given her to you, and that’s settled.”
“Then let me thank you again, sir,” I said warmly, greatly pleased at his generosity.
“Humph! it isn’t much. May I ask who you are?”
“I am Reuben Stone. I run my father’s mill over at Torrent Bend River.”
“Indeed! Rather young to run a mill alone.”
“I have a man to help me. I was brought up about the place.”
“I see. My name is William Markham. I am in the dry-goods trade in New York. This is my wife and my son Willie, and this is Mr. Brown, an intimate friend.”
I acknowledged the various introductions as best I could. Every one was wet, and scarcely presentable; but in that particular we were all on a level, and I did not feel abashed.
We were now approaching the Bayport shore, and Mr. Markham asked me to stop at the hotel’s private wharf, which I did.
“Will you come up to the hotel with us?” he asked.
“I’m not in condition,” I laughed. “I had better be about my business.”
“No, no; I want you to stay here,” he returned quickly. “I want to see you just as soon as I can change my clothes.”
“Suppose I come back in half an hour?”
“That will suit me very well.”
After the party had landed I skirted the shore until I came to the business portion of the town. Here I tied up, and made my way at once to Mr. Carnet’s flour and feed store.
“Well, Rube, got that middlings for me?” he exclaimed as I entered.
“Yes, sir; sixteen bags.”
“All right. Just pile them up in the shed on the wharf. I’ll go down with you. How much?”
“I would rather you would see them before I set a price,” I returned. “I am afraid some of the bags are pretty wet.”
“I don’t want wet bags. How did it happen?”
I related what had occurred. By the time I had finished we had reached the wharf.
“My! my!” exclaimed the flour-dealer. “Mr. Markham! I know him. He is one of the richest men at the Grand. So he said you could have the boat. She is worth a couple of hundred dollars.”
“Yes, and a hundred added. He is more than generous.”
“He can afford it, I suppose.”
“Here are the bags,” I went on. “Ten of them are dry.”
“Those I’ll give you regular price for,—dollar and a half.” Mr. Carnet examined the others. “Suppose we make the six a dollar each?”
“Can’t you make it a dollar and a quarter?”
“No; a dollar is all they are worth to me.”
“Very well. When do you want more?”
“Any time next week,” replied the flour-merchant, handing over the twenty-one dollars that were due me.
“All right. I’ll be over Tuesday. Want anything else?”
“Not for the present. Trade is rather slow.”
Putting the money in my pocket-book, I entered my sloop again, and steered for the hotel wharf. I found Mr. Markham already awaiting me.
“Just tie up here and come with me,” he said.
I did so, and we walked along the principal street of Bayport, which at this hour of the day was nearly deserted.
“I am going to the bank on business,” he went on with a twinkle in his eye. “This is my last day here, and I want to draw out the deposit I made for convenience’s sake when I came.”
I did not see what this had to do with me, but said nothing.
We soon reached the bank, which, in contrast with the many fine buildings in the place, was a dilapidated structure. We entered the main office; and here Mr. Markham asked me to wait while he held a brief consultation with the president.
I waited for half an hour. During that time many people came and went; but I knew none of them. The janitor eyed me sharply, and finally asked me what I wanted.
His tone was a rough one, and I replied curtly that I was waiting for a gentleman who had gone in to see the president; then I turned on my heel, and walking outside, stood on the pavement. It was not until some time later that I found out how suspicious my actions had been regarded.
Presently Mr. Markham came down the steps in a hurry. He was pale with anger, and his eyes flashed with indignation.
“It is an outrage! an abominable outrage!” he ejaculated.
I was rather surprised, and could not refrain from asking what was the trouble.
“You would hardly understand it, Reuben,” he replied. “I made a deposit in this bank under rather peculiar circumstances, and now President Webster refuses to allow me to draw the balance due me until certain matters are adjusted.”
“I hope you don’t lose by it.”
“I won’t lose much. But that isn’t the point. I expected to reward you for what you have done for me, and now I am not able to do so.”
“I don’t expect any reward, sir.”
“Nevertheless, I shall do what is right.”
“The sloop is worth several hundred dollars. That is more than I deserved.”
“I don’t think so. Every time I think of what might have happened to my wife and my little son I cannot help but shudder. Brown and I ought never to have ventured out without a man to sail the boat. We have learned a lesson that we shall not forget in a hurry.”
“It was a risky thing to do in this wind, sir.”
“It was. But about this reward—”
“I don’t want any reward, sir. The value of the sloop is more than I deserve.”
“Nevertheless, you shall hear from me in the near future.”
On this point Mr. Markham remained firm, and a quarter of an hour later we parted, I hoping that none of the party would suffer any from the involuntary bath.
I jumped aboard the sloop, feeling on particularly good terms with myself. As I sped away from Bayport I began to calculate on what the large sloopwould net me at a sale. Certainly not less than two hundred and fifty dollars; and this would clear off the bill for repairs at the mill, and leave me a hundred dollars ahead. In my present straitened circumstances this amount would be a perfect windfall.
I tried to steer for the overturned craft, and tow her to a safe place, where I might right her and fix her up.
The wind was as fresh as ever, and I had to steer with care, lest the standing-room should get filled with water from the waves that dashed over the bow. To a person not used to the lake the passage would have been a rough one, but I was accustomed to far worse weather, and did not mind it.
At length I reached the spot where the catastrophe had occurred, and looked around.
The large sloop had disappeared.