THE chances for making a demonstration were not favorable; but the more desperate the circumstances, the greater was the need of doing something before we were committed to any place more secure than a carriage. If I had been alone I should have opened the door and jumped out; but Kate could not do this. While I was considering what I could do, I heard the driver speak. I raised myself up to the window, and listened for the reply of the other man.
Though I could not tell what was said, I recognized the voice of Tom Thornton. I had come to the conclusion, as soon as my suspicions were aroused, that it was he; for it was not likely that he would trust the execution of his scheme wholly to others.I confess that the sense of being injured was not the only emotion that disturbed me. I was filled with anger and indignation at the trick which had been put upon me. I wanted a weapon like my trusty base-ball bat, and I felt that, if I had it, I should do good service with it.
The thought of the bat suggested an idea. In going up to Chambers Street in the forenoon, I had seen a hackman oiling his wheels at the stand by the Park. When he finished, he put the iron wrench he had used under one of the seats in the carriage. I felt for one in this vehicle, and realized a savage gratification when I placed my hand upon the article. The implement was about a foot and a half in length, but not very heavy. Having decided upon the plan of the intended assault, I buttoned my sack coat, and thrust the wrench into the open space between two of the buttons.
Half paralyzed with terror, Kate asked me what I was going to do. I told her in a whisper to keep still. In a fair, stand-up fight with two men, I should be instantly vanquished, and it was necessary for me to obtain the advantage of a surprise,if possible. The rear window of the carriage was open. Though the aperture was small, it was large enough for me to crawl through, and I worked myself out upon the baggage-rack. The jar which I communicated to the vehicle by this movement attracted the attention of the men on the box.
"Be aisy for a minute more, and you'll be at Madison Place," said the driver.
"How much farther is it?" I asked, thrusting my head into the window, so that he would not suspect that I had got out of the carriage.
"Only a short piece farther," he added.
Placing one foot on a ledge at the side of the hack, and the other on the bottom of the back window, I scrambled to the top of the carriage, where I was obliged to spread out like a frog, and was in imminent danger of sliding off. Of course this feat of gymnastics could not be effected without considerable noise. It was evident to the driver that something decided had taken place, or was about to take place, and he began to rein in his horses.
Just as I reached my perch on the top of the hack, all sprawling, the vehicle was approaching oneof those small public houses at the corner of a cross street, which abound in the upper part of New York and Harlem. In front of it burned a street lamp. Tom Thornton—and I could distinctly make him out now, though I did not see his face—had bent his head down to look in at the front window. He doubtless expected to find the cause of the noise and the jar within the hack; at least, thinking I was there, it was natural for him to look inside for it. I suppose he thought I was breaking out through the top of the vehicle.
With the wrench in my hand, I sprang forward; but my blood was almost frozen at the necessity of striking him a blow on the head which might kill him, and the thought that I might take his life partially paralyzed my arm. I struck, but it was a feeble stroke compared with what it should have been to effect my purpose. His hat appeared to break the force of the blow, and he sprang to his feet. Then I saw that he had a heavy cane in his hand, and I was sorry I had not struck harder.
"Drive on! Don't stop here!" said he to the driver, fearful, perhaps, that I might obtain assistance from the hotel.
ON THE WAY TO MADISON PLACE.—Page 224.ON THE WAY TO MADISON PLACE.—Page 224.
With his cane in one hand, he reached forward with the other to grasp me by the collar; or this was what I supposed he intended to do. He did not see that I had a weapon, and getting up on my knees, I hit him again, this time with better effect, for he fell over backward upon the horses. The driver hauled in his team again, and seemed to be appalled at the fate of his companion.
The instant he stopped I slid off the top of the hack to one of the hind wheels, and thence to the ground. I opened the door of the carriage, and told Kate to get out with all possible haste. I assisted her to the ground, and taking her by the hand, actually dragged her after me. The gloom of the night covered us, and we fled as fast as my companion's trembling limbs would permit. I turned into a cross street, on which there were no buildings, and followed it till we came to another avenue.
I expected to be pursued; whether we were or not, I do not know, for we were not molested, and I neither saw nor heard anything which indicated a search. Whether the hackman, knowing that he was engaged in doubtful business, did not call forassistance, or whether the pursuit was delayed till it was too late to catch us, I have no information. We walked down the avenue as rapidly as possible, till I was satisfied we should not be overtaken.
"O, Ernest Thornton," gasped Kate, out of breath with fatigue and terror, after we had walked a couple of miles, "I shall sink to the ground soon!"
"I am sorry for you, Kate; but what can I do?" I replied.
"I am tired out; and I am so frightened, I can hardly walk."
"Don't be alarmed; we are safe now," I added, drawing her arm through mine. "Now lean on me."
"But you must be tired, Ernest Thornton."
"No, not a particle; let me help you as much as I can."
"This is much easier than it was before," said she; and she clung to me like a frightened child—as indeed she was.
"Don't be afraid to lean your whole weight upon me," I added. "I would carry you if I could."
I think it was her fears more than her exertionsthat exhausted her; and, by the time we had walked another mile, as I estimated the distance, she declared that she felt better, and more able to walk than at first. As we continued on our way, I saw a horse car on another avenue,—street railroads at that time were not so abundant as now,—and we followed a cross street till we came to the track.
"I feel ever so much better now!" exclaimed Kate, as the circumstances became more hopeful.
"There is nothing more to fear," I replied. "I wish I knew how Tom Thornton was."
"Why, what is the matter with him?" asked Kate, with astonishment; and I perceived that she had no definite idea of what had happened before the public house. The poor girl was so terrified that she had hardly known anything from the time our suspicions were first excited till we had walked two or three miles from the scene of the affray.
"Did you think, Kate, that he permitted us to leave the carriage?" I asked.
"I didn't think anything about it; I was so frightened I couldn't think."
"I hope he is not badly hurt," I added, musing.
"Badly hurt! Why, what do you mean, Ernest Thornton?" she asked, her terror renewed by my words.
"Don't be alarmed, Kate; he deserved all he got, and more too, if the blow didn't kill him."
"Why, Ernest Thornton!"
"Do you see this?" I added, holding up the wrench, which, from an instinct of self-preservation, I had kept in my hand.
"What is it?"
"An iron wrench. I struck Tom Thornton over the head with it, and he fell from the drivers box on the backs of the horses."
"O!" groaned she.
"It could not be helped, Kate."
"I hope he is not much hurt."
"I hope not; but I can't help it if he is," I replied, desperately, for I had many fears in regard to the result, and was not half so confident of the future as I tried to appear. "There is a car, Kate," I added, throwing the wrench away. "Now be calm, and try to look as though nothing had happened."
She covered her face with a thick veil, and we entered the horse car. Riding in silence for a long hour, we reached the Park, where, taking a stage, we proceeded to the hotel. It was nearly eleven o'clock when we went into the parlor, where Kate sank exhausted upon a sofa. I found that Mrs. Macombe had retired, but I called her up. The poor girl's nerves were fearfully unstrung, but the good woman ministered to her like an angel. She slept with her, and was all that a loving mother could be to her.
For my own part, I ate a hearty supper, and went to bed. It was not without the fear that the police would visit me before morning, that I lay on my couch thinking of the startling events of the evening. Yet, as I repeated my prayer that night, I felt that I had done no more than my duty—my duty to Kate, my mother, and myself. I would have given half the money in my belt to know whether Tom Thornton was dead or alive. I had not injured him from malice or for revenge, only in self-defence; and I felt that a just God would burden him, rather than me, with the consequences of the blow I had struck.I went to sleep at last, with the prayer in my heart, that Tom Thornton would recover from the injury he had received.
Kate was quite ill in the morning; but Mrs. Macombe cared for her tenderly, and assured me nothing serious would result from the terror and excitement to which she had been subjected. After breakfast I hastened to the store of McKim & Loraine. Kate's uncle had returned the preceding evening, and I waited till he came down town. In as few words as possible, I told him what Kate's situation had been at the house of her step-mother, what abuse she had suffered, and in what manner she had escaped. He was indignant, and insisted that she should immediately make his house her home.
Then I showed him the note signed with his name, which the hackman had brought for Kate. It was a forgery, and Mr. Loraine could hardly control his anger. I related to him our adventure at Harlem, and described the scene on the top of the hack.
"Served him right!" exclaimed he.
"I may have killed him," I added.
"I hope you did," replied he, bluntly. "I will go and see Kate at once."
On our arrival at the hotel, we found the hackman there who had driven us out to Harlem.
I'M waiting for you," said the hack-driver, as I entered the office of the hotel with Mr. Loraine.
"What do you want of me?" I demanded, supposing the villain was charged with the execution of some further design upon me.
"I want my money," he growled.
"What money?"
"For driving you out to Harlem."
"Do you expect me to pay that?"
"As the gintleman didn't pay me, I expect you to do so," he replied, with refreshing coolness.
"Where is the gentleman now?" I asked; and, wishing to obtain some information in regard to Tom, if I could, I did not decline to pay his demand.
"I don't know where he is."
"What became of him?"
"With the help of some people I found in the bar-room, I took him into the public house. Bedad, it was a hard crack you guv him," added the hackman, in a low tone. "If you pay me the tin dollars, I won't say anything agin you."
"You carried him into the public house," I repeated. "What then?"
"Wait till I tell you. Begorra, I thought he was kilt, sure," he replied, in confidential whispers. "A bad scrape it was, and I didn't want to be in it; so I jumped on my box and druv off telling 'em I was goin' for a docther."
"Don't you know what became of him?"
"Faix, I do. Two hours afther, I sent a frind of mine, one Michael Mallahy, that lives convanient to the public house, to go and drink a glass of beer at the bar-room, and inquire for the man that was hurted. Now pay me my tin dollars, and I won't say a word."
"Did your friend find out about the man that was hurt?" I inquired, putting my hand into my pocket.
"Faix, he did. The gintleman wasn't kilt at all. He came out of it with only a sore head, and left the public house all alone by himself."
"Haven't you heard of him since?"
"Not one word; and I don't know where in the world is he."
"And he didn't pay you?" I added, withdrawing my hand empty from my pocket.
"He did not thin."
"He served you just right, then," I continued.
"Aren't you going to pay me my tin dollars?" said he, looking uglier than usual.
"I am not—not I."
"Begorra, thin, I will inform the police," replied he, savagely. "You struck the gintleman on the head with the wrinch, and I'll have you in the Tombs."
"What's the trouble!" asked Mr. Loraine, who had been impatiently waiting for me in another part of the room, as he stepped up to the hackman, his attention attracted by the fellow's anger.
"That is the man that drove us out to Harlem last night," I answered.
"What's your number?" demanded Mr. Loraine of the surly brute.
The hackman looked at him. The New York merchant was no tyro, and Jehu, preferring not to deal with one who understood the characteristics of his class, suddenly bolted through the open door, and ran for his hack. Mr. Loraine pursued him; but the rascal had left his carriage on the Bowling Green side of the street, and he distanced both of us. Leaping upon his box, he drove off as fast as his horses could go.
"Didn't you notice the number of his hack?" asked Mr. Loraine, as we returned to the hotel.
"I did not, sir."
"What did he want of you?"
"He wished me to pay him ten dollars for driving Kate and me out to Harlem last night," I replied, laughing.
"It did not take you long to give him an answer to such a demand."
"I wanted to know why Tom Thornton had not paid him. It seems that the scoundrel, when he found his employer was hurt, was afraid of gettinginto trouble, and left him. I put my hand into my pocket, as though I intended to pay him, so as to induce him to tell me what I wanted to know."
"You'll do!" added Mr. Loraine, smiling. "But what did become of Thornton?"
"When the hackman sent a friend of his to inquire about him, Tom Thornton had come to his senses and left."
"I'm afraid you'll hear from him again. If you do, let me know. Now, where is Kate?"
I conducted him up stairs to Mrs. Macombe's parlor. Mr. Loraine proved to be all I had wished him to be—sympathizing, noble, and decided. He asked Kate a great many questions, in order to assure himself that she was not a naughty, wilful, and disobedient girl; and, in answer to them, she told her whole story, as she had told it to Bob Hale and me in the standing-room of the Splash. I made a voluntary statement of my impressions in regard to the step-mother, and the interview I had had with her.
"I never liked the woman," added Mr. Loraine; "and, till the day of my brother's death, I did not cease to regret his marriage. Why didn't you write to me, Kate?"
"She would not let me."
"Why didn't you tell Mr. Windleton about the treatment you received?"
"It wasn't so bad till after Mr. Windleton went to Europe."
"We will have it made right at once. I have done some business for Windleton during his absence; for he was a friend of mine, as well as of my brother. He will be shocked when he hears of this business. I expect him back the next steamer, due to-day or to-morrow. I shall go and see this woman as soon as he returns."
"But I don't want to go back to her, uncle Freeman," said Kate, with a suppressed shudder.
"You shall not; you shall live with me, if you are so disposed."
"O, uncle!"
Kate cried; I am sure I don't know why, for there was certainly nothing to cry about. Mrs. Macombe, I know, was sorry that Kate was going to live with her uncle, for she had already become very much attached to her, and would gladly have given her a home, and been a mother to her. When theyparted, Mr. Loraine promised that his niece should visit her at no distant day. I was taking my leave of Kate, when her uncle interposed, and insisted that I should go with them to his residence. My fair fellow-traveller would not permit me to leave yet, and a carriage was called, in which we started for Madison Place.
The ride was not so long as the one we had taken on the preceding evening. Kate was warmly welcomed by Mrs. Loraine and her family; and when I saw the kindness that beamed in their eyes, and was reflected from their actions, I was confident that Kate had found a good home—that best of earthly blessings. I was sorry to part with her; indeed, I did not know how strongly I was interested in her until the hour of separation came. I bade good by to the family, and she followed me to the street door.
"I don't want you to go, Ernest Thornton," said she, calling me, as she invariably did, by my full name.
"I don't want to go, Kate; but you know what work I have on my hands," I replied.
"Cannot my uncle help you? I know he would be willing to do so," she asked.
"I don't think I need any more help. If Tom Thornton troubles me any more, I shall apply to him. But I think I have given Tom his quietus for the present. He will carry a sore head around with him for some time. But I must go now. The steamer sails to-morrow, you know."
"Shall I not see you again?" she asked, beginning to be very much moved.
"I will call upon you this evening, if I can."
"You will come, Ernest Thornton—won't you?"
"If possible, I will."
"And when you get to England, you must write to me."
"I will certainly do that. Good by, Kate."
She extended her hand to me, and I took it. Then I hastened away, fearful that she would cry again. I walked down the street thinking of her. She was not as pretty as many young ladies I had met, but she was exceedingly interesting, to say nothing of the grace of her form, which I have never seen surpassed. She is as graceful and interesting now as she was then. But I will not anticipate.
I did not expect to hear any more from Tom Thornton, and I did not fear any obstacles to my departure for England the next day. I took from my pocket the card which the gentleman whose acquaintance I had made on board the Albany steamer had given me. His name was Solomons. I afterwards learned that he was a Jew; and my estimate of the whole Jewish people was very much increased after a few days' intimacy with him. His hotel was written in pencil under his name. I readily found it, and he was in his room.
He received me very kindly; but I had to tell him everything that had occurred after my arrival in the city, before I could introduce the topic which was uppermost in my mind. He was warmly interested in the affairs of Kate, and was delighted when I told him she was then with her uncle's family as happy as she could be.
"I shall sail for England with you to-morrow, sir," I added, when Kate's history had been disposed of.
"Ah, indeed! I'm glad to hear it. Have you engaged your passage yet?" he asked, briskly.
"Not yet, sir."
"Not yet, my boy! I am afraid you'll find no berth. The other one in my state-room was not taken yesterday, but I fear we are too late for it to-day. We will go down and see to it at once."
We rode down to the steamer office in a stage, and Mr. Solomons inquired rather nervously about the other berth in his room.
"It was taken not more than half an hour ago," replied the clerk.
"That's unfortunate," added my friend, apparently as much disappointed as I was. "What else have you?"
"Nothing just now. A gentleman has taken Nos. 41 and 42," he added, pointing to the plan of the cabins, on the counter before him; "but there is some doubt whether he will go. He engaged the room yesterday, and I promised to keep it for him till all the other berths were taken. He was here a while ago, and said he would give his final answer in an hour. It is time he was here."
"In that case we will wait a while," continued Mr. Solomons. "I engaged my passage a month ago, and the ship was half full then."
"Couldn't I find some place on board?" I asked, anxiously.
"I don't know; the officers sometimes give up their rooms for a consideration. I gave the third officer five pounds for his room the last time I came over from Liverpool."
"I have concluded to take that room," said a young man, rather dashily dressed, as he rushed hastily up to the counter.
My heart sank within me, for the announcement seemed to mean that I had lost my passage. But I was determined to go on board of the steamer, and make an arrangement with any officer who was open to a treaty for the use of his state-room.
"You take both berths?" added the clerk.
"No," replied the young man, glancing at me, as I had seen him do several times before.
"Then here is your chance," said the clerk to Mr. Solomons.
MR. SOLOMONS examined the plan again to ascertain the locality of the state-room which contained the unoccupied berth.
"It is on the other side of the ship from mine," said he. "But we can do no better."
"Perhaps this gentleman will exchange with you," suggested the clerk.
"I am quite willing to take the young gentleman into my state-room," answered the stranger.
"Of course he will take the vacant berth in that room," added Mr. Solomons, who did not seem to think that the offer of the stranger was very magnanimous, since the berth in his room could be taken by the next applicant, whether he was willing or not.
The clerk had written the receipt for the passage money paid him by the young man, and pushed it across the counter towards him. The name on the paper was E. Dunkswell. I confess that I was not particularly pleased with Mr. Dunkswell, and did not care to occupy a state-room with him. Besides being rather jauntily dressed, he wore too much jewelry to suit my taste. His speech was somewhat peculiar, and I set him down as a fast young man. He appeared to be about twenty-one years old, though possibly he was more than that.
"I have the lower berth in this room," said Mr. Solomons, addressing the stranger, and pointing to his room on the plan. "It is about the same kind of a room as your own. If you would exchange berths with me, it would oblige me very much."
"I should be very happy to accommodate you," replied the fast young man, "but for particular reasons I desire to occupy the berth I have engaged."
"My room is just as good as the one you have taken," added Mr. Solomons.
"Very true; but I like the locality of mine better than yours."
It was evident that Mr. Dunkswell had a decided opinion of his own in this matter; and my kind friend was too much of a gentleman to say anything more about the exchange. He engaged the berth; but there was still a hope that an arrangement might be made with the person who had taken the upper berth in Mr. Solomons' state-room. Just then it occurred to me, as I saw the clerk writing the receipt for me, that my money was where I could not get at it in a public place; but it was only a short distance to the hotel, and I ran over to my room, and put the greater part of my funds in my wallet. The passage money was paid, and with a lively emotion of pleasure at the prospect which the ticket opened to me, I put it into my pocket.
Mr. Solomons then went with me to a banker's, for I had taken his advice, and resolved to procure a letter of credit on a London banker. My friend was very much surprised, and I think he was a little suspicious, when I told him I had over a thousand dollars in my pocket. The banker gave me a letter of credit for two hundred pounds, and I deposited a thousand dollars with him, as security. On myreturn I was to settle with him for whatever sums I had drawn, and he was to pay me back the balance, with four per cent. interest. Mr. Solomons was particular to have it understood by the banker in London that the money would be drawn by a young man sixteen years of age, and I left my signature to be forwarded to him.
My business was all done, and I parted with Mr. Solomons, to meet him again the next day on board the steamer. In the evening, I went up to Madison Place, and staid till nine o'clock.
"Who do you suppose has been here this afternoon?" asked Kate of me, as I was taking my leave.
"Not Tom Thornton?" I replied, inquiringly.
"No; the gentleman we saw on the steamboat—your friend; he was with you to-day."
"Mr. Solomons?"
"Yes; he told me what a lot of money you had, and wanted to know if you had come honestly by it."
"Well, what did you tell him?" I asked, anxiously.
"I told him the money was rightfully your own. He told me he supposed it was all right, though over a thousand dollars was a large sum for a mere boy to have, and manage himself."
I had almost concluded before to tell Mr. Solomons the whole truth in regard to myself; and the trouble he had taken to satisfy himself of my honesty, decided me to do so at the first convenient opportunity. I did not bid Kate a final good-by when I left the house, for Mr. Loraine promised to take her over to Jersey City, where the steamer lay, to "see me off." On my way to the hotel, I visited the post-office, as I had done every day since my arrival in the city. This time I found a letter from Bob Hale, and I hastened to my room at the hotel to read it.
It was a long letter, full of warm and generous feeling towards me—it was just like Bob. He informed me that my uncle was apparently as well as usual; he had gone to the cottage, and inquired of old Betsey. There had been a great deal of talk about my going off; but no one knew anything about the real circumstances. Mrs. Loraine had taken pains to "hush up" the facts in regard to Kate.
"When my father came home," wrote Bob, "I told him your story, as you wished me to do. He shook his head, and said it was a foolish story, and he feared you were a bad boy, after all. But when I showed him your father's will, and he had read it, he caved in like an avalanche. He told me he thought, from your uncle's singular life, that something ailed him, and your story explained it perfectly. He was sorry you had not come to him, instead of going away. I told him you wanted to find your mother, and cared more for her than you did for the money. He praised you then, and hoped you would find her. He put the will in his safe, and you may be sure it will be forthcoming when you want it."
Bob related all the news about the fellows in Parkville, and wished me to answer his letter immediately. I did so that night, giving him all the incidents of my trip to New York, and the events which occurred after my arrival, with my plans for the future. When I went to bed I could not sleep, I was so excited by the fact that I was going to England the next day. I trembled when I thought of my mother, and of what might happen to preventmy finding her. I heard the clock on Trinity Church strike three before I went to sleep.
It was eight o'clock when I awoke, and I was to be on board the steamer at ten. I ate my breakfast, paid my bill, and left the hotel with my valise in my hand. A stage up Greenwich Street carried me nearly to the ferry, and I reached the steamer half an hour before the appointed time. I found the state-room which I was to share with "E. Dunkswell," where I left my valise, the evidence of my respectability, and then went on deck. Mr. Loraine and Kate soon appeared, and I spent the time with them until those not going in the ship were required to leave. Kate cried then; I took her hand and kissed her—I could not help it. We parted as brother and sister would part, and I watched her on the wharf until she could no longer be seen. The ponderous wheels of the great ship revolved, and we moved slowly down the harbor.
I was excited by the scene and its surroundings, by the thought that I was leaving the land where I had lived from my childhood, and more than all by the reflection that I was going to seek and findmy mother. Everything was new and strange to me. I wandered through every part of the ship open to a passenger. I gazed at the shores, and I studied the faces of my fellow-voyagers. Off Sandy Hook the pilot was discharged, and the prow of the noble steamer pointed out to the middle of the great ocean that rolled between me and my mother. The excitement on board began to subside; the passengers went below to arrange their state-rooms for the voyage.
When I first went on board I entered the dining saloon, where I found a few passengers selecting their seats at the tables. Mr. Solomons had told me in travelling to do as others did; so I took a couple of cards, wrote my friend's name on one and my own on the other, and pinned them to the table-cloth, as near the head of the captain's table as I could find two vacant places. This secured us pleasant seats for the voyage, and Mr. Solomons was pleased with my thoughtfulness, as he called it. Before we reached Sandy Hook, he proposed to his room-mate to exchange berths with me; but when Mr. Dunkswell was pointed out to him as the person whose state-roomhe was to share, he politely but regretfully declined to do so, leaving his reasons to be inferred, for he did not give them.
When the gong sounded for lunch, at twelve o'clock, I found to my surprise that Mr. Dunkswell had taken the seat next to mine. I was rather prejudiced against him; partly because he refused to exchange berths with my friend, and partly because Mr. Solomons' room-mate did not like him well enough to exchange with me. He was very polite to me, and seemed to be strongly inclined to cultivate an intimacy with me. I could not do less than be civil to him. He invited me to drink wine with him at lunch, and to smoke his cigars afterwards, neither of which I could do.
At four we dined, and Mr. Dunkswell renewed his efforts to be intimate with me; and the more he persevered, the more he didn't accomplish anything. I did not like him, and I could not like him. At dinner he drank more wine than his head could bear, and this did not make him any more agreeable to me. After dinner, Mr. Solomons and myself took seats upon the hurricane deck. He mentioned thathe had called to see Kate the preceding evening, and this afforded me an opportunity to tell my story, to which my friend listened with the deepest interest.
He assured me that I had done right; that it was my duty to find my mother; that the fact of my uncle's misapplying my father's fortune justified me in taking the money and the papers from the safe. He commended me for my spirit, and for my devotion to my mother. If I had not felt sure of his approbation beforehand, I suppose I should not have had the courage to tell him my history. At half past seven we went down to tea; and this time Mr. Dunkswell did not make his appearance.
After a promenade on deck till nine o'clock, I found myself tired enough to retire, and more inclined to sleep than I had been before since I left Parkville. I went to my state-room, and found the door locked on the inside. I knocked, but Mr. Dunkswell, politely but in rather muddled tones, requested me to wait a moment. I did wait a moment, and was admitted. My room-mate was tipsy, but not enough so to make him anything more than silly. He was lying in his berth, with his clothes offHaving occasion to open my valise, I found the contents in a very confused state, and not as I had left them. I was somewhat startled, and hastened to examine further. I had put my letter of credit, and about two hundred dollars in bank bills, in my money belt. The letters I had taken from my uncle's safe I had deposited in my valise. They could be of no value to any one on board but myself, and I thought they would be safe in the state-room.
They were not safe; to my astonishment and dismay, they were not to be found. I had placed them under my best suit, and they were certainly gone. The confusion in my valise indicated that they had been stolen.
I WAS vexed, and almost disheartened, by the loss of the letter addressed to Bunyard. My plan to find my mother rested mainly on the possession of it. I had placed the letters in the valise after I came on board, and they must have been taken out after the steamer discharged her pilot. There was not much room for a mystery, for I immediately jumped to the conclusion that E. Dunkswell was the person who had robbed me.
E. Dunkswell was at that moment in his berth, at least half drunk, and a bottle labelled "Old Bourbon" stood on his wash-stand. The odor in the state-room was quite equal to that of a third-class bar-room. Why had E. Dunkswell taken those letters? In what manner did they concern him? Thiswas an interesting, and rather exciting question to me, and it suggested other pertinent inquiries. He had not taken his passage till after I applied for mine. He had practically insisted that I should occupy the same state-room with him. Why did he refuse to exchange berths with Mr. Solomons? Why did he labor so hard to become intimate with me?
The answer to all these questions was plain enough to me after a little consideration. He was an agent of Tom Thornton. He had been sent to worm himself into my friendship, and take from me the will, which Tom probably supposed I carried in my pocket, and the other papers which would enable me to find my mother. Force and violence had failed, and Tom had resorted to cunning and stratagem.
E. Dunkswell had drank too much wine at dinner, and too much whiskey after dinner. Perhaps the frequent libations he had taken increased his zeal, but they diminished his discretion in a corresponding ratio. He had begun his work too soon, and had done it in a very bungling manner. If whiskey was a curse to him, it was a blessing to me, for in his sober senses he would not have exposed himself and his plans by robbing my valise so early on the voyage.
My blood was up; and while I sat on the sofa debating whether or not I should take E. Dunkswell by the throat, and "have it out" with him, he got out of his berth, and took another pull at the bottle. It was plain that he had no intention of keeping sober, and I concluded to wait and let the whiskey help me do my work.
"How is it, old boy?" said he.
"First rate," I replied.
"How zhe head?"
"Sou'-sou'-west, half-west."
"I mus' zgo on deck an zee to it."
He put on his hat, straightened himself up, and walked out of the room as well as he could. I locked the door after him. If his key would fit my valise, it followed that my key would fit his trunk. I tried the experiment, and the logic failed. It was evident that he had other keys, or that he was a regular operator, and carried implements for the purpose of picking locks. I was not sure that the papers he had stolen from me were in his trunk; but I was determined to have them before morning, if I had to split the trunk open.
I unlocked the door, and presently E. Dunkswellstaggered into the room. The first thing he did was to drink from the bottle again.
"Thornton—hic!" said he. "You're a good fellow. Take some whisk—good whisk zever you drank—hic—or any other man. Take zome whisk."
"No, I thank you; I never drink it."
"You dzon't zrink whisk! Then you are a to-tzeetler."
"I am," I replied, inclined to encourage him in talking, hopeful that he would say something which would be of use to me.
"I'm not a to-tzeetler. My name's Dzunkswell. You're a to-tzeetler, and I mus zrink for boze of us;" and, suiting the action to the word, he imbibed again. "If I'm zrunk to-night, 'll be your fault, Thornton—'cause I've got to zrink for boze of us."
But he was no longer in condition even to drink for both of us. He had already taken more than he could carry, and he had just sense enough left to roll into his berth, all in a heap. I straightened him out a little, and in a few moments I heard him snoring in his drunken slumbers. The time for action had come, and I was determined to search him andhis effects till I found the precious letters. I first examined his pockets, but without finding the papers. The key of his trunk, however, I did find. It was exceedingly disagreeable business to me; and if only my own rights, instead of the life, liberty, and happiness of my mother, had been at stake, I should have taken a less direct and more uncertain method of enforcing them.
The trunk, which he had placed under his berth, I pulled out into the floor. With trembling hand and eager heart I opened it. The package of letters had been thrust down between the clothing and one end, evidently in great haste, for I had probably disturbed him when I came to the door. After assuring myself I had all that belonged to me, I closed the trunk,—for I had no desire to explore it any further,—and restored it to its place under the berth. The drunken agent of Tom Thornton still snored unconscious of my proceedings.
I took the precaution to place the Bunyard letter in my money-belt; the others, being of minor importance, I put in my valise again. I looked at the miserable being who lay groaning and uneasy in thestupor of intoxication. The state-room was not fit for the occupancy of a decent person. The fumes of the whiskey were sickening to me, and I could no longer stay there. Taking my valise in my hand, I left it, resolved not to be the room-mate of such a filthy swine.
I deposited my valise in a corner in the passageway, and went into the saloon. Mr. Solomons was there, and expressed his surprise at seeing me. I freely told him what had transpired in the state-room.
"And you recovered your papers—did you?" said he.
"I did; I was satisfied the fellow had been sent by Tom Thornton, to prevent me from finding my mother."
"No doubt of it, my lad. You must keep away from him now."
"That I shall certainly do, for I would rather sleep in a hog-pen than in such a place as that state-room."
"You shall not sleep there," replied my friend, decidedly; "come with me."
I followed him below, and he conducted me to his own room, and told me to occupy his berth.
"But what will you do?" I asked.
"I will take your berth, and the fellow shall not turn the room into a pigsty."
I objected to this arrangement, and offered to sleep on a sofa in the saloon; but Mr. Solomons persisted, assuring me he should take good care of himself, and would not submit to any annoyance from his room-mate. As soon as this point was settled, I retired, and slept soundly till the breakfast gong roused me from my tired slumbers. When I went to the saloon, E. Dunkswell was in his place at the table; but Mr. Solomons had taken the place which I occupied the day before, so as to bring himself between the obnoxious individual and myself.
E. Dunkswell did not appear to have a ravenous appetite. He looked sheepish and disconcerted; and I could not tell whether it was on account of his spree, because he had discovered the loss of the papers, or because he found in the morning that he had a new room-mate. My friend was cheerful and happy, and so was I. We talked and laughed as though E. Dunkswell had been tipsy, or out of existence. We took no notice of him, either by word or look.
It was a beautiful day, and we adjourned to thehurricane deck to enjoy the cool air and the prospect of the ever-throbbing ocean. Tom Thornton's agent soon followed us. He walked up and down the uneasy deck; and occasionally glanced at me. I thought he had something to say to me; but he evidently did not like my close intimacy with Mr. Solomons. During the day, I occasionally saw him, and he always appeared to be watching me; but I carefully avoided him. On the following day, however, I went forward to the bow alone.
"Passengers not allowed forward of that mark," said a sailor, pointing to a chalk line drawn across the deck. "You are fined, sir."
"What for?" I asked.
"For crossing the line."
"Why don't you put up a notice, so that passengers need not cross it?" I demanded.
"Because they wouldn't go over the line if we did, sir."
"How much is the fine?"
"Anything you please, sir."
It was a practical joke, one of Jack's tricks, and I paid the fine, amid the laughter of half a dozenpassengers, who had already been made victims. As I retreated, I encountered E. Dunkswell. He looked sour and savage.
"I want to see you," said he, gruffly.
"I don't want to see you," I replied, continuing on my walk aft.
"You have insulted me," he persisted, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Insulted you!" I replied, pausing; for I was curious to know in what manner I had insulted so vile a creature as he was.
"You have insulted me!" he repeated.
"You said that before. How?"
"You exchanged berths with that old chap you run with."
"I don't know that it concerns you if I did."
"It was the same as saying that I am not fit company for you," said he, shaking his head.
"If it was, it was also saying that you were fit company for Mr. Solomons," I replied; and I regarded this as a clincher in the line of argument.
"It was not my pleasure to room with him."
"It is not my pleasure to room with you," I added.
"I consider your conduct as an insult to me, and I hold you responsible for it."
"All right," I replied, cheerfully. "Hold away."
"If the old fellow don't go back to his room, there'll be a row."
"The old fellow will do as he pleases about that," I added; "but whether he does or not, I shall not return to your room. I would sleep on the main truck first."
"Do you mean to insult me again?"
"Insult you again!" I exclaimed, indignantly, for my blood was up at the idea of a fellow like him putting on such airs. "No decent man could stay in the room with you, as you were the first night."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You were as drunk as an owl, and made the room smell like a low groggery."
"I confess that I took a little too much that night," said he, suddenly changing his front, and apparently relieved to find that this was the objection to him. "I shall not do it again."
"I shall keep away from you, any how," I added.
"Will you?" he continued, angry again. "Thatnight I lost some valuable articles from my trunk. No one but my room-mate could have taken them. I intend to complain to the captain."
"Indeed! I had a similar experience. I had some valuable letters taken from my valise; and they could have been taken only by my room-mate; but I found them again, and I am satisfied. When you complain to the captain, one story will be good till another is told."
Not wishing to talk with him any longer, I walked aft. He followed me, uttering threats and imprecations, which I did not heed. E. Dunkswell was a disappointed man. He had undertaken a mission which he was not competent to perform. He had failed by his own folly. If he had kept sober he might have retained my papers. He evidently felt his own weakness, and realized that whiskey had caused him to make a mess of it.
His hostility was excited against me, and during the rest of the voyage he watched me with an evil eye, and appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to do something. For my own part, I felt that there was a heavy discount on E. Dunkswell.