Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 187 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy. 3 suspicious creaking noise as if something besides the boat had moved. Ina minute more he knew by the fresh coolness of the air that they were outside. In complete silence the oarsmen rowed on. For a period that might have been fifteen minutes and might have been an hour, for all that the captive’s gauge of time could have decided, this progress continued. At the end of that time the boat stopped, and seemed to rub up against the bank of the water- course. ‘*Land him here,’ said the voice of Cap. ‘“ Wea don’t care a fig for what he knows, for he is as ig- norant of where he has been as that bat. But let me tell you one thing, boy. If you get into my hands in this way again you won't get out so easy. And you may thank your lucky stars that you are out of it with a whole skin this time.” “That’s just what I am doing,’’ replied Fred. ‘“‘And I’m much obliged to you, Cap. You can bet I'll have some business round the next corner if I ever run across you again.” Fred was left blinded and bound on the grass, while the boat shot swiftly off. It was no very agreeable position, in the midst of those winding channels, and in that muddy, oozy marsh, from which it might have been difficult for a man with the free use of his limbs and his senses to escape. Perhaps his captors hoped, in leaving him there bound and blindfolded, that he would be drowned without any direct effurt on their part. But if they thought so they did not know Fred Halyard. ‘‘T’m as ignorant as a bat, am I?” cogitated Fred. "Don’t you build too high on that, my covey, or you might be sold. We'llseeif I don’t find that nest of yours, with all its eggs in it. ‘* But the next business on hand is to get out of here,’’ he continued. ‘* And I can’t roll out, that’s settled. I must slip out of these ropes, somehow.” But that was likely to be no child’s play. They had been tied by hands well versed in the work. Fred remembered, however, that they had seemed somewhat looser when he had been ‘in the water, which might have come from their wetting. This was an idea worth A | on, and he instantly swung himself around until his feet hung in the stream that ran beside him. The water-soaked ropes yielded slightly to his vig- orous muscular efforts. Fortunately for him his feet were small, and he finally succeeded in slipping one foot through the loosened bight of the ge He leaped upright with a‘* hurrah!” of triumph, but his long-bound limbs were too much stiffened to support his weight. He fell lengthwise upon his back, his hands sinking into a shallow pool of wa- ter. ‘*That’s clever,”’ averred Fred. ‘If I can only get my fingers clear I'll feel asfrisky as a colt in a pasture-field.”’ But in this hope he was unsuccessful. After half an hour’s arduous labor they remained bound as firmly as ever. The same ill-success attended his efforts to get rid of the bandage upon his eyes. It had been tied too firmly to be moved by any means at his disposal. He felt anxiously around with feet and hands for a stick or stone, or something firm enough to act asa lever in moving the close-binding cloth. But that soft marsh afforded nothing firmer than weeds or grass stems, all of which lacked the firm- ness necessary for his purpose. ‘** Anyhow I've got my legs,” thought Fred. ‘ But I’d give a pint of chestnuts for my eyes. And two quarts of huckleberries for my hands. A chap never knows what his senses are good for till he losesthem. But lain't going to take boardirg in these diggings five minutes longer than I can help, eyes or no eyes.”’ He rose to his feet, which had now recovered their strength, and felt his way as well as he could about the locality. The whole surface was moist, but it was moderate- ly firm, and covered with a thin coating of marsh rrass, while here and there slight depressions form- ed shallow pools of salt water. “But my triangulation won’t bo worth a cent if I can’t spot this place again. The grass is pretty well tramped down, that’s one mark. But, Il want some- thing surer. Guess I'll have to make a spade of my toes, and dig out a ring, or a hook, or some aan hole in the mud.”’ It pos very ney. to move the oozy surface, and red was not ten minutes in excavating a very fair symbol of a boat-hook. At least he fancied that it was plain enough for any boatman to recognize it. “Till be queer if Idon’t hook them in, wr a pane they are,” he remarked, with much satisfaction. “Tf they'd put me on my honor, now, and give me my eyes and hands, | wouldn’t have blowed on them foracow. But as long as it’s a game of sharps, we'll see who sells out his neighbor. There ain’t no half-way business with achap like me. You’ve got totrust me altogether, or else drown me and be done with it; for if I don’t walk into t ‘retty contra- band nest of yours, I'll emigrate vv the country of the noodles, that’s all. Fred was walking slowly onward as he spoke, feel- Ing his way wiih his fect at every step. ‘I’ve got to make a bee-line to the south’ard, or I’m a gone rooster,” he ruminated. “A fellow might roam round herein a cirele for the next ten ears, and come out where he started. It’s like be- ine lost on the prairic. I'd rivea jack-knifeif the sun was up, and 1 could get it on my left cheek. Anvhow, there’s the wind. It was sou’east last night, and meybe it’s sou’east this morning. If I can only hol. it on the left side of my nose, a point or two toward my ear, I might make a straight streak. If it only ain’t veered since midnight.” Butit was the only guide he had, and it was neces- ee = a ee ee Se ee ~~ sary to trust to it. Hoe knew that any southerly | light chip hatin her hand, letting the soft breeze play course would bring him toa road that crossed the marsh, and afterthat it would be plain sailing. But, as to the distance necessary to go, that was quile an- other matter. Fred walked slowly onward, fecling his way with a precaution unusual with him. One main difficult was the water-courses which frequently crossed his path. Fortunately, as a rule, they were neither deep nor wide, and he walked across the most of them without being immersed deeper than his neck. In two or three cases, however, they proved too deep to be forded in this manner, and swimming became ne- cessary. Had Fred retained the use of his arms, he would have minded this no more thanif he were an otter. As it was, it troubled him little. The deep portions were not very wide, and he managed to easily pass them bya a ne of *‘ treading water,”’ in which he was a proficient. After some two hours of this slow progress, Fred was overjoyed to perceive, even through his ban- dage, a greater degree of light toward the left than toward the right hand. ‘*Day’s breaking, for sure,” he cried, with a loud ‘hallo!’ of satisfaction. ‘And I’ve’ got the sun on my left cheek. I'm in the right road, that’s certain.” e paused, for a distant sound had come to his ear. A moment satisfied him that it was the noise of wheels, rapidly approaching. ‘“*Hallo, there!” he yelled with delight. ‘ Ain’t you going to help a—”’ | His appeal came suddenly toaclose. In his joy he had become careless of his footsteps, and now plunged headlong into another branch of the inlet, cutting his sentence short in the middle. But he struggled resolutely to his feet. It wasa go stream than any he had yet crossed. With his head above water he found it impossible to touch bottom, and was obliged to pursue his former pro- cess of treading water. By this means, however, he could advance but slowly. He was growing thor- oughly exhausted by the labors of the night, and found his progress in this manner becoming more and more difficult at every foot. The stream was unusually wide, and poor Fred's strength was rapid- ly going. He struggled manfully, with all the ener- gy of despair, but it seemed to him asif the further shore would never be reached. Had he mistaken the direction? Was he going down stream? The horror of this possibility over- came the flagging resolution of the boy. Hemade one more strenuous effort, and then his head slow! sunk underthe water—his strength quite exhausted. It seemed to him asif he heard a cry as he sunk, But it might have been the water in his ears: His last effort had been made, and the cruel stream closed over his sinking head, leaving but a ripple to’ mark where he had been, And now, a moment too late, the rattle of wheels sounded on a causeway beside this fatal stream. CHAPTER Il. WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT OLD TOM, Tur sun rose clear and warm on the morning sue- ceeding to the night of the events just related. Its bright beams fell alike on the salt marsh, with its plexus of water-channels, in one of which poor Fred Halyard had sunk; and on the roofs and streets of — City, just awakening to the pleasures of a new day. Folks were already on the sands; enjoying the fresh air of the early morning. Of these soine were tourists, who had no fancy to waste the best hours of their sea-shore trip in sleep; others were inhabi- tants of the city, accustomed to early rising, or with business abroad at that hour. Among the latter was a hale, strongly-built old man, who was seated on the gunwale of a life boat; that lay, ready for use, on the beach. His stiff-rim- med sailor’s hat was on the sand at his feet, leaving his abundant white hair free to the toying of the breeze. His face was burnedand browned with the suns of sixty summers, but was a strong, firm-fea- tured countenance, full of will-power and energy. He had walked with the peculiar rolling gait of an old sailor, and now sat picking a piece of rope into oakum, as if this had become second nature to him. The old man’s eyes were fixed on the sea, sweep- ing the horizon with the telescopic glance of an old **}ook-out,”’? and noting distinct features in the dis- tant. water-line where all would have been’ blank space to a landsman. = Any sail in the offing?’”? came a voice at his ow. ‘* Ay, ay!’ answered the old salt, without turning his eyes. ‘There’s a steamer, hull-down, off there to the east’ard; anda light spray of sail hereaway, headin’ south.’ ‘* But, how can you make out a steamer when she is hull-down? Isshe under sail?’ **Tt’d be hard enough to miss her,’’ returned the old man, with alow laugh. ‘Thatis for a sea-dog like me, that’s been on the look-out aloft for many along hour, D’ye see the patch o’ blue mist on the sky, thisside the sun? That’ssmoke. And it don't come from no old woman’s kitchen-fire, neither. That line of smoke bas beentrailed across the broad Atlantic, if I ain’t badly mistaken.” He slowly turned his eyes, to observe with whom he had been speaking. There stood before him a white-haired gentleman, of apparently bis own age, but fashionably dressed, and supporting his steps upon a gold-headed cane. He presented a strong contrast in appearance, end in his handsome face and clear complexion, to the old tar. By his side was a young tady, a bright-faced, beau- tifu girl, with warm, earnest blue eyes, and a mouth in which the strong lines of that of the gentleman were softene into feminine grace and beauty. She nn el en with her clustering brown hair. ‘Glad to see you out so ‘arly this mornin’, Mr. pak re greys said the old man, with a nod of the ead. ‘“‘And my little May Rose, too. But ain't you afeard the salt air mought spile that satin skin of yours? Our young lady folks don’t ginerally trust it.” “Tt is your suns more than your airs we fear,” she replied, in a tone of liquid music. ‘‘ Your suns do burn one dreadfully.” She raised her parasol as she spoke, and directed it toward the sunlight, which was now pouring in a broad swath across the waters. “I’m a good sample of that,’’ and the old sailor laughed. ‘*Though I’ve been tanned by hotter suns than any you are likely to ever see in this latitude.”’ “*T should think that our own sun might do its work tolerably well,” said Mr. Darlington. ‘ But how beautifully it kindles the waters. And how bright and gentle everything is. One would scarcely fancy that sleeping ocean could ever become a raging tyrant.” ‘But you never have any great storms here, Mr. Halyard?’’ asked the young lady, appealingly. “Why, I have been to the beach every summer for years, and it always seems quiet. The surf, of course—but that is only the breathing of the giant.”’ ““Ay, ay!” replied the sailor, a smile crossing his weather-beaten face, “it isa pretty summer play- thing, You should run down here in winter, now and then, Miss Rose, if you’d like to see old ocean fairly waked up. Of course it knows how to keep its temper when it’s got such sweet blue eyes as yours on it. “Thanks; laughing. “I did not fish for that 6 gp at auyrate. But is it so stormy in win- ry’ “Bless you, little one, you'd think the whole sea was turned topsy-turvy sometimes. And it’s hard to tell what’s sea, and what’s cloud, and what's sky, for the whole gots jumbled together. Where we're standing now the water dashes up in young moun- tains, You'd think it was goin’ to lick up all Beach City in one sweep of its greattongue. And the roar! —well, thunder’s a baby to it.” ‘* And vessels dashed ashore like floating chips, I ose?” said Mr. Darlington. ** No, no,”’ replied the old man, shaking his head. “Not like chips. Chips don’t carry living souls, And chips don't groan like flesh and blood under the whiplash of the waters. I wouldn't like you to see the sights this quiet beach has known, Miss Rose, Nor you neither, Mr. Darlington. There’s some things that’s too tryin’ to a feelin’ heart. D'ye see them old ribs?”’ He pointed to the broken skeleton of a ship, the ends of whose worn timbers barely showed them- selves above the surface of the sands, “Yes. Dhaveoften wondered as to the history of that: good ship,’’ returned Mr. Darlington, “I re- member it several years ago, when it stood much higher. 3 That's the way the sea has of burying her dead. She hides them slowly, slowly—but surely. Another summer and you will not see a trace of that craft and there will be few left to remember it but we old water-dogs who saw it come ashore,”’ The old man’s voice fell, and he shook his head re pe asif he was mourning the death of a riend. * You saw it wrecked?’ cxclaimed Rose, eagerly. ‘*You, Mr. Halyard? Tien I want you to tell me all about it!” She seated herself beside him, and laid her soft hand, in her earnestness, on his ‘hele d paw. “-Yog, my May Rose,’ he replied, his rough face softening. ‘‘l’d be the last one to forget it. That = wreck brung me the greatest treasure of my o **Oh, now you shall tell me the story of the wreck! she cried. ‘For 1 know that theie must be some interesting story.” ‘Don’t take much to interest you Won't you set down, Mr. Darlington? as standin’.”’ ‘“‘Tam not tired. Goon, Mr. Halyard. You have got me almosi as anxious as Rose.,”’ ‘*Almost! Do you bear that?’ cried Rose, with affected irony. ‘Oh, yes! it is only t'e girls that care about sailors’ Stam Almost! Why, Iam just listening. becouse } know that Mr. Halyard is anx- ious to tell it.” * Yes, you butterfly!’ said the old sailor, laying his other palm upon ker soft hand, and gently strok- ing it. “*Of course you don’t care about wrecks, Let us walk on, Mr. Darlington, and not bother little Rose with our old talk.” “You dare!” she exclaimed, clasping his hand firmly in hers. **Now go on, sir. You shall not es- cape till the whole etory is told.” he old man laughed at her impetuosity. But his face sobered down to a quieter expression as he be- gan his recital. ‘It was fifteen years ago last winter,” he com- menced. ‘ We'd had nor’-west gales for a week, off and on. Sich as are likely to come in January. There had been more than one wreck up and down the coast, but our beach here bad somehow’ scaped. One night—after midnight it was—the wind rose to a perfect burricane. I never see’d a wuss blow in the West Injies. And you'd thought the whole sea was jist comin’ ashore, the way it pounded and roared. There weren’t many souls abed, you can be sure. Twas etandin’ jist back of where we are now —couldn’t have stood here, for this was the sea's acre, and it was giving warnin’ ’gainst trespassers. Well; it mought have been five hours arter midnight when we heard a gun to win’ward—the dismalest oung folks, t’s as cheap was simply but gracefully dressed, and swung her | sound mortal ears ever heered in a storm like that,” ’ com NOOKSTEOM