CHAPTER VI.
Arkwright and his fellow detective, Hammond, for their clever piece of work in bringing the sailor to trial for the theft of the jewels, and the Farren fellow for the pawning of a stolen watch, were both given higher positions in the prison at the Island. They were much pleased with the work, knowing that a higher prestige was carried with the job. Hammond was a fellow who could not be trusted, but Arkwright was the soul of honor, and he had a position next to that of the warden. In fact, there were strong talks of making him warden if anything should happen to the man now in charge.
He was coming down just as Nathans was finishing his talk with Jim. The Jew heard Arkwright calling from the stairs.
“You give Mrs. Standish anything she wants.I do not believe she will last long, and if anything should happen to her suddenly you call me. Do not let anyone have the little tot until I have been notified.”
The Jew started as he heard these words.
It meant so much to him, and so much to the man for whom he was working, as well as the little mite of a child who was waiting for the death of its mother in the upper ward.
Little did Annie Standish know that in the mansion on Fifth avenue that day a great funeral had been held, and that the father she had hoped to see had given up his fight, and that George Benson followed him to his grave as the only mourner. Little did she realize that a gigantic scheme was afloat to ruin her child and to make her life of no value. She was too sick to realize, even if it had been told her, and could only now and then open her eyes and look at the good Mrs. Higgins, who had followed her over, and to squeeze the red hand of her friend, Biddy Roan.
As Mr. Arkwright left her the good man felt that she was not long for this world, and that shewould leave her child soon, but his heart beat happily when he thought that for the little one there were happier days, as there was lots of money for her, but little Helen was too young to know what money meant.
As the good Arkwright called out his commands to the attendants he spied the Jew.
“You here yet?” said he slowly.
“Yes, I’ve been talking to Jim. I hope you don’t mind. I brought him the prayer book his mother sent him.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind, but it’s a new business for you, that’s all, Nathans.”
“Not so new,” growled the other, a guilty flush rising to his forehead. “I have always felt for these poor fellows over here, but have never known of one before.
“But have you ever heard anything of the woman you were looking for, the poor one with a wealthy father?”
“We have,” said Arkwright, rubbing his hands, “but the mother is ill unto death, and the child will live to make the best of the money.”
“Then, its people were rich?” asked the Jew, his eye shining, as he wanted to be very sure that the child upstairs was the little heiress. He wanted to know that he was not paying out a thousand for nothing. He cared not a picayune if Jim stayed in prison all the rest of his days, but he wanted to get the child whose mother was the daughter of the millionaire Benson, and there must be no mistake.
“Rich,” replied Arkwright, as he held the large gate open for the Jew to pass through; “I should think so. They have more money than they know what to do with,” and as the Jew walked away he waggled his beard after the manner of his race.
“I have you right where I want you, Arkwright,” said he to himself. “You think that the child’s life is worth a great deal, and I will show you that there is no one who can balk me and George Benson without failing in their plans.”
When Biddy Roan was with Annie Standish upstairs there was a pathetic scene. The sickwoman had heard the news of her father’s death. “Biddy,” she said plaintively, “I know that I shall not live until the morrow. Now, there are none of my people who care a cent for me or the child, and I want you to promise me that you will take my Helen, remember her name is Helen Standish, and take her with you.”
“Now, now, honey,” soothed the Irishwoman, “you need not be so worrit over this child, nor over yourself, for I am a-thinking that you’se is a-going to get well. But if you’se shouldn’t I will take your darling to my house, and there will be no better mother in the world than I will be to the likes of her.”
Annie Standish smiled faintly, for she knew this, and had she not had evidence of the goodness of the woman’s heart?
“Listen, Biddy, until I charge you with something. My father is dead, and he has left his fortune to my cousin, so I think. Now then, don’t you let him know of my child’s existence, for if he does he may do her some terrible harm.”
“Then he shan’t know of it, honey. Now youjust take a good look at the darling and go to sleep.”
Biddy went to the child’s crib and picked the little one up in her arms.
“Come and give a kiss to you’se poor mother, me darlint,” said she softly, “and then you’se can snooze again to sleep. Now then, be a good girl.”
The little one whined, for sleep had closed her eyelids and the tired child was worn out with her prison play.
“Mother’s precious baby,” said the mother sleepily; “I will hold her, Biddy, for a little while, for she is so sweet.”
“But it will tire you to death,” cried the Irishwoman. “Now then, you let me put her back on her own little bed, and you both try and sleep.”
Biddy crept out and left the mother and child alone, and as she passed out she muttered a prayer for the sick woman and for the welfare of her little child.
Darkness had settled over the prison, and nota sound was heard but the whispering of two men.
“I got to get this chart of the prison in to Farren on my beat,” said one, “and then I’m going to turn in.”
“You had better be careful that you don’t take his place. It’s worth more than a hundred to do such a job as this.”
“I know, but when you can’t get no more, what youse going to do? I tried to raise yours and mine. Now then, a hundred goes a long ways filling up seven hungry mouths like I have home.”
“Just so,” retorted the other, and they subsided into silence.
In a cell a young man was lying as quiet as a mouse, and his breath was coming in short pants, as if excitement was overcoming him.
He heard the tramp of feet, and soon a hand was shoved through his cell bars and a paper was extended to him.
“Here is the chart. Be careful, and don’t forget about the baby.”
The long fingers covered over the paper, andthe youth lay down again, this time breathing easier, and he realized that there was much to do before the morning should dawn. Many a man had escaped from this place, only to again be taken by the guards before they could get into New York.
For a long time he lay thinking, and he could hear the guards talking in a low tone nearby, but his heart was even then quickening in its beating, for another thought had come into his mind.
Once he remembered doing a mean thing to a fellow being. Stealing from the rich was just in the sight of Jim, but to do a trick unjust and unkind was not his way. He knew that this baby killing was to be the meanest thing of his life. If it were not for blessed freedom he would back out in a moment.
Suddenly he sat up and whispered loudly:
“Tom Cooper.”
All was silent.
“Tom Cooper,” he said, this time a little louder.
Another voice came from the other cell.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Listen, for I cannot speak too loudly. I want to take you out of this place to-night. Do you want to go?”
There was an evident stir in the opposite cell.
“How can you take me out?” said the voice.
“Here, I will throw you a file, and you cut through your cell door, and I will do the same, and I have friends who are going to help me. Now, don’t wait too long.”
If any one had been listening they would have heard the distinct buzzing of two tiny files making their way through the steel bars in the cells of two convicts.
When the task was over Tom Cooper stood a free man in the corridor.
“How are we going to leave this place?” asked Tom in a low voice.
“By a boat. I don’t know how to manage one, but you do, and the river is high. Now then, we’ve got to run for it. You are not to say a word, for there is to be but one missing, and I’m letting you into my good luck, for I’m thinking that youwere put in here unjustly, and some day I’ll tell you all about it.”
Tom was too interested to listen to more, and he hastily asked the way to the boat.
“Oh, it’s all right, but, listen, somebody is coming.”
Saying this, both jumped into their berths, and Arkwright ran again through the corridor.
“I could have sworn that I heard voices,” said he in a whisper. “I suppose I am worried, seeing that boat, but I think some fisherman has left it there.”
Tom and Jim had hardly taken a breath until they heard the re-echoing of the officer’s heavy boots upon the floor.
“Come now,” he said in a low tone, “let’s get out of here.”
“All right.”
“I’ve got to go upstairs,” said Jim slowly, looking at Tom to see what he would say as to the revelation he was going to make. “I have a kid up there, and I’m not going to leave it behind.”
“Your own?”
“You bet, ’taint no right in the world,” said Jim; “but long as ’tis here, and I’m to blame for it, I’m going to take it along.”
Tom Cooper put out his hand and grasped the other’s hand in his.
“You’re a dandy,” cried he; “I’m glad to know you. Hurry and get the kid, or we may be seen.”
“Don’t utter a whisper, and I’ll be down in a minute. The babe is just above us here. Lucky I got it to-night, or there would be no chance to-morrow. I heard they were going to move it to another building.”
“Hurry then, Jim,” again said the sailor.
Jim could not but wonder how he was going to explain the drowning of the child, and if the sailor would take it like he did and think that as long as his freedom depended upon it it was all right. Jim hated to do it, but he had promised, and then, too, the kid was so little.
He hurried up the steps, and looked cautiously about.
There was the mother lying as if dead upon the bed, and opposite her was the child.
With a sly motion of his hand he slipped a saturated handkerchief under the child’s nose, and she slumbered on peacefully.
The mother murmured once, “Helen,” in her sleep and the convict heard and went on. He could see the death damp upon the brow of the mother. He knew that it would not be long before she would be outside the gates of the immortal and demanding admittance.
Jim was superstitious and he ran down the steps as if the devil were in his trail.
The boys thought their troubles were all over, when they heard a great voice calling them:
“Wait a moment, there are two of you.”
“Shut up, Hammond,” snarled Jim, “I’m taking the father of the kid. Get some more money from Nathans; he’s good for it.”
Again there was silence.
“Hist, there is another.”
“Who?” called Jim.
“Arkwright.”
“Then we are lost,” cried Jim, lying flat down upon the baby, and Tom following suit.
“Have you seen anyone?” they heard the deep voice of the guard from the south gate.
“No,” growled Hammond.
“Then I suppose all my worry was for nothing, but I thought that this boat meant something; but I think it must belong to some fisherman.”
“Of course it does, for heaven’s sakes go and let a fellow snooze.”
Arkwright muttered something about not snoozing on duty and said out loud:
“If I thought that boat meant anything I’d turn it adrift.”
“And keep some poor fellow upon the Island all night?” said Hammond, the bribed guard, who with his mate was watching for fear their little plan might be noticed.
“Well, that would be mean. I don’t think it amounts to shucks, so I’ll go along and let you boys attend to your business.”
As soon as he was gone the convicts were up and off again and down to the river like two shadows, and the great gates were closed again.
Into the boat tumbled Tom, and he took the child from his companion’s arms.
“It’s a girl, ain’t it, Jim?” he asked as he placed it upon the seat still sleeping.
“Yep.”
“How old?”
“I’ll be blest if I know. My memory ain’t no good, even as far as my kid goes. But I wasn’t going to leave it behind.”
“I admire you for taking her,” said Tom as he whirled the boat into the dark night, and the shadows of the prison walls dropped into the longer one of the night, and the boys were well upon their way to freedom.
In the shadow Jim took a card from his pocket.
“Can you read that, pard?” said he just as a great whistle blew from the prison. But Tom had been able to see Biddy Roan’s address, and heard Jim say that she was a good woman and wanted him to come to her place. But the terrible thundering of the whistle and the bright lights upon the shore made the boys put to the oars with greater grip than ever.
When they were out of danger Jim commenced to play about the baby’s neck, mumbling to himself.
“I’m going to take this off,” murmured he.
“What?” asked Tom, stopping a moment.
“Going to take this trinket from the child. I am going to give her a bath.”
“Oh, not to drown her?” said Tom in a terrified tone.
“Yes, unless she can make her tracks in the water.”
“Why, no child that age can swim,” said Tom, again putting his hand upon his companion’s arm.
“Then her chance isn’t worth what ours is,” replied Jim brutally.
“You would murder your own child? Oh, man, I implore you do not do this thing.”
Tom had a tight hold of Jim.
“Nevertheless, I am going to do it,” cried Jim, “and you listen here, the price of our freedom is that we should shut this kid’s wizen, and I promised,and now that I let you in on the game I don’t expect you to balk me.”
The two were staring at each other through the awful darkness.
“I swear you shall not kill it,” cried Tom, and with that the two struggled fiercely together. Every time Jim came near the baby he tried to kick it off in the water. But Tom would effectually keep him far enough away from it.
But Jim gave a peculiar wrench to Tom’s arm, and the poor fellow was suffering with a dislocated shoulder. He saw the convict pick up the baby, and throw it into the water, and then grasp the oars and row away. From the depths Tom thought he saw a sweet childish face, and for a moment he hesitated and then cast himself into the water.
In an instant he had the child by the arms and had swung her up onto his back sailor-like and was making for the shore.
The last that Jim saw of the sailorhe was pulling with great strokes for land with the child clinging to his back.
“Let him go,” muttered the convict, “and may the black devil go with him, but I’m darned glad that the kid didn’t die, although I did my prettiest.”