Books: The Voyage of the Hoppergrass
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Edmund Lester Pearson >> The Voyage of the Hoppergrass
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"Which of these is ours?" asked Jimmy Toppan.
"That's easy enough," said Ed Mason, "follow the car-track."
"Yes," said Mr. Daddles, "but there's a track leading up both of
'em."
"Toss up a coin," I suggested.
"I will, if you'll go back to that isle of treasure and find me a
coin."
So we chose the left-hand road. In doing so we chose wrong, for
after we had gone about a mile we met a man in a wagon, who told
us that the road led to Dockam's Hole.
"We don't want to go to Dockam's Hole," said Mr. Daddles; "back to
the cross-roads! I begin to think I'll never see my home and
mother again. This treasure-hunting is all it's cracked up to be,
--and even worse."
The man peered out of his wagon.
"Say, I'd give you fellers a ride, if there wa'n't so many of ye."
And he whipped up his horse and drove away into the darkness. In
an hour or more we reached the beginning of the causeway, and
fifteen minutes later we were in Bailey's Harbor.
"I wouldn't mind something to eat," said Ed Mason.
"Some ham and eggs," I suggested.
"And some of those mince turnovers," remarked Jimmy Toppan, almost
breaking into a run.
"And some coffee," said Mr. Daddles.
"Do you suppose there is any of that chowder left?" asked Ed
Mason; "it's always better warmed over."
"The Captain must have had his supper long ago," said I. "And gone
to bed, too," put in Mr. Daddles,--"say, do you know, it's pretty
late?"
To judge by the looks of Bailey's Harbor it might have been
midnight. There was not a soul on the street, and only one or two
houses had a light.
"Oh, well, they go to bed early here."
"Don't want to worry the Captain. He expected us back before
supper."
"We'll relieve his mind now, all right."
"Gee!" said Jimmy, as we tramped down the hill, "but I'll be glad
to get aboard the 'Hoppergrass.' There's nothing in the world so
cosy as the cabin of a boat, on a night like this."
The same idea struck all of us, and we hurried down the wharf. The
fog had lifted a little, and blew by us in wisps and fragments.
"For one thing," remarked Ed Mason, "I'd like to get into some dry
clothes. I'm beginning to be soaked."
"Oh, we'll be all right again," I said, "when we're aboard. The
Captain--"
I stopped suddenly. We all halted on the end of the wharf, and
stared across the inlet. We looked at the spot where our boat had
anchored, and then we looked up and down the inlet. The
"Hoppergrass" was gone!
CHAPTER V
MIDNIGHT BURGLARS
"What!" exclaimed Jimmy Toppan, "gone?"
"Gone," replied Ed Mason, "sailed away and left us. Like old Aaron
Halyard, in 'The Angel of Death'."
Mr. Daddles looked at him and grinned.
"At least, you remember your classics," he said, "you can fall
back on the consolations of literature in a time of sorrow."
"But he can't be gone," put in Jimmy, "he wouldn't sail off and
leave us like this. He must be somewheres about."
And he commenced to shout "On board the 'Hoppergrass'!" He got us
to shout the same phrase. The sailor-like way of putting it did
not please Ed Mason.
"Oh, I don't see any sense in shouting 'On board' of anything,
when the whole trouble is that we're not on board."
There was an echo from a building across the inlet--an insulting
echo--which repeated the phrase, or rather the last three letters
of the last word in an irritating fashion.
"I feel like one," said Mr. Daddles, "but I don't like to be told
so by a blooming old echo."
Then we all stood and looked at one another, and wondered what we
should do.
"Friendless and alone, in a strange place," said Mr. Daddles.
"Wet," said Ed Mason.
"Hungry," I added.
"Tired," said Jimmy.
"With no money," remarked Mr. Daddles.
"And nothing that we could do with it, if we had it," Jimmy Toppan
gloomily reflected, shoving his hands deep into his trousers
pockets.
"And it's ten o'clock," I suggested.
"Eleven," said Jimmy.
"Twelve," thought Ed Mason.
"Our case is desperate," said Mr. Daddles, "but we'll pull
through, somehow. Perhaps the Captain went treasure-hunting
himself, and has got lost in the fog. This has been a busy little
day. Now, let's see. I think I remember a woman up the road here,
who used to let rooms, or--"
He broke off, and slapped the back which was nearest him,--it was
mine.
"Well, Great Scott! That echo was right!"
"Why? What's the matter?"
"The idea of our standing here for a second, when there is a
house, and maybe things to eat, and beds to sleep in, anyhow,--all
waiting for us!"
"Where?"
"My uncle's, of course!"
"That's so!"
"That's bully! Come on!"
"And that's not the best of it, either," he said. "We can make an
attack on that house like a real gang of burglars, and enter it in
true burglar style. I've always wanted to have a chance to commit
a burglary. There's nothing so exciting in the world as a
burglar's life,--but what chance do you get to lead one? None at
all. I was brought up to believe that it's all wrong,--many's the
time my poor old grandmother told me: 'Never be a burglar.' And
the effect of that teaching has not worn off. I still believe that
it's wrong to be a burglar. Besides, they put you in jail for it.
But this,--they can't object to our breaking into my own uncle's.
Even my grandmother would approve, I'm sure. Of course, there
won't be as much plunder as if Aunt Fanny were at home,--she's
probably taken all the pie away with her. But there'll be
something in the pantry, even if it's only pickles. What do you
say,--shall we burglarize the house in style?"
We all agreed in delight. Mr. Daddles's enthusiasm, and his
curious ideas made us quite forget how tired and wet and hungry we
had felt. The fog had settled down thick again, and the air and
earth were damp with it. Great drops of moisture gathered on the
wood-work of the wharf, and on the burdock leaves that grew
between gaps in the planking. High overhead the sky must have been
cloudless, for we could see the moon, now and then, like a dim
dinner-plate, when there was a moment's rift in the fog.
"Just the night for a deed like this," said Mr. Daddles; "come on!
But wait a minute--there's no sense in being burglars way off at
this distance, we'll be,--let's see,--we'll be smugglers, first,
--a gang of smugglers."
He insisted on forming us in single file. He led, followed by
Jimmy, then I came, and Ed Mason brought up the rear.
"Remember!" whispered our leader, "we are smugglers till we get to
the top of the hill. After that,--burglars."
We started up the wharf on tip-toes. This was rather unnecessary,
for as we all had on rubber-soled shoes we could walk very quietly
even if we went in the usual manner. Besides, it gets tiresome to
walk on your tip-toes after a few minutes. But Mr. Daddles kept on
that way almost to the end of the journey. When we reached the
head of the wharf he turned around, and spoke again, with one hand
held mysteriously at the side of his mouth, so not to be
overheard.
"Now, boys," said he, "if we meet any King's officers,--GIVE 'EM
THE COLD STEEL! If you haven't got any cold steel, give it to 'em
luke warm. Give it to 'em somehow, anyhow. Remember, it's them as
try to keep us honest fellows from a livelihood, just because we
run a few casks of brandy and some French laces without paying
anything to King Jarge,--bless him!"
And Mr. Daddles solemnly took off his hat.
"Now, are you ready, boys?"
"Yes," we all whispered.
"No, no! Not 'yes'," returned Mr. Daddles, with an agonized
expression; "you must say 'Ay, ay,--heave ahead,' and you must
GROWL it."
We all tried to growl: "Ay, ay,--heave ahead," but we didn't make
much of a success of it.
"That's fair," said Mr. Daddles, "only fair. You need lots of
practice. We ought to have rehearsed this before we started. It's
embarrassing to do it here, with the eyes of the world upon us, so
to speak. Now try again."
We tried again, and our leader said we had done much better.
"Ed," he said, "walk with more of a roll in your gait,--a deep-sea
roll. See--this way. And pull your hats down low over your eyes,
and glance furtively from right to left."
"I can't roll, nor anything else," Ed remarked, "until I get this
pebble out of my shoe."
And he sat down on the door-step of a house, and took off one
shoe. As he did so, the clock in a church belfry struck eleven.
"Eleven," reflected Mr. Daddles. "I mean: 'tis the signal, men! If
the Cap'n has not failed us the lugger should be in the cove at
this hour,--and we coves should be in the lugger, too. Ha! how
like ye the pleasantry? 'Tis a pretty wit I have, as no less a man
than Mr. Pope himself told me at the Coca Tree--No; I don't
believe Mr. Pope would know the mate of a gang of smugglers,--do
you?"
Jimmy Toppan and I assured him that the only Mr. Pope we knew was
librarian of the Sunday School at home, and that if he knew any
smugglers he had kept it a secret. Ed Mason had got rid of his
pebble, and he now joined us again.
"Are you ready, men?"
"Ay, ay,--heave ahead!"
So we started once more. The streets were black as ink. They were
paved with cobblestones, and there did not seem to be any side-
walks. The buildings were fishermen's and clammers' huts, boat-
houses, and small shops,--all dark and deserted. The fog shut out
everything at a short distance. At the top of the hill there was
one dim light in the rear of a little shanty.
"Hist!"
Mr. Daddles stopped us.
"It's the lair of the old fox himself!"
"Who?"
"None but black-hearted Gregory the Gauger. Him it was--or one of
his minions--that killed old Diccon, our messmate, but a hundred
paces from the cave, last Michaelmas. Shall we go in and slit his
weazand?"
We crept up to the window and looked in. A little man, with chin-
whiskers like a paintbrush, sat inside, shucking clams by the
light of a lantern. We decided not to go in and slit his weazand.
Suddenly he looked up, as if he had heard us, and then rising,
started for the door. We all darted back hastily, and hid in the
shadow of the next building. He came out, emptied the pail of
clam-shells, looked toward the sky, yawned, and went in again.
As soon as he had closed the door, we were on the march. We turned
the corner and took the road to the right. The walking was
smoother here, and the street broader. We were soon past most of
the shanties, and following a country road, where the buildings
were far apart. They seemed to be large houses, set back from the
road, with carefully kept lawns. Mr. Daddles stopped and peered at
one of them through the fog.
"Here it is, I think. This one--or the next. No; it's this one, I
remember the fence. It would never do to walk right up the front
path when you're going to crack a crib. We'll have to get in a
back window, anyway, so we'd better go a little farther down the
road, get over the wall, circle round, and come up from the rear."
We carried out this plan, so far as getting over the wall, and
then set out across a field. This was high ground, but the village
behind us was still covered with the fog, and all we could see in
its direction was a white cloud of vapor. The road we had just
left wound on, down the hill again, and toward what might have
been a dark clump of trees. The grass in the field was short and
scrubby, and worn quite bare in places. There was a path which Mr.
Daddles knew, and this we followed in single file.
All of a sudden we heard a strange, thumping sound, right in front
of us. We stopped short. There was a dark, indistinct mass of
something moving slowly toward us. It seemed to be humped up, like
a man crawling forward on his hands and knees. Almost as soon as
we stopped, it--whatever it was--stopped too. It was a very
unpleasant thing to find in a lonely field, in the middle of the
night, and as I stared at it, I felt a curious prickling sensation
run all over me.
We all stood in perfect silence. So did the thing. It looked like
a man, only it was a very big and broad man, and also a very low
and stumpy one, as I said. Why he should be crawling along in that
open field, on his hands and knees, was something I could not
understand. Unless,--and this gave me another chilly feeling--
unless he were a real burglar. I wanted to run, but I was ashamed
to do so for fear of what the others would think. Moreover,
although I was afraid to stay there, I was also afraid to run, for
I didn't like the idea of that thing chasing me through the fog.
So we all stood there in a group. At last Mr. Daddles stepped
toward the thing.
"What do you want?" he said, in a low tone.
There was no answer. The thing stayed perfectly motionless. This
was getting terrible. I could feel my heart thumping away, and my
temples seemed to be bursting with the blood which was pumped into
them.
"What do you want?" said Mr. Daddles again; "come, who are you and
what do you want?"
He took another step toward the thing, and then suddenly jumped
back. The thing seemed to sway toward us, and then it uttered a
horribly loud:
"Moo-o-o-o-o-o!"
It was a second or two before we could laugh.
"Well, you miserable old cow!" exclaimed Mr. Daddles, "you nearly
scared a crowd of burglars to death!"
And he walked up to her, where she had already begun to feed
again, and slapped her fat side. She paid no attention to him, but
kept on cropping the grass.
"Come on, now, boys. I thought we were attacked by a hippopotamus,
at least."
"I thought it was a man without any legs," said Jimmy.
"I thought it was a real burglar," said I.
"I dunno what I thought it was," said Ed Mason, "and that was the
worst of it."
And if any of you who read this think we were a silly lot to be
frightened by an old cow, it is because you have never met one at
night, in a thick fog. You try it some time, and see.
We went down a little slope, and came up behind the house and
barn. We crossed a vegetable patch, and then a flower-garden.
Jimmy stopped Mr. Daddles.
"We'd better look out for the dog."
"No; my uncle never keeps one,--he doesn't like 'em."
In a grape-arbor, right back of the house, we paused to decide on
a plan of action.
"We'll try that window first," said our leader, pointing, "and
then the others on the veranda. I don't want to break one if we
can help it. If we have to, we'll take a basement window. You stay
here a second."
He darted out of the arbor, and ran noiselessly up the steps. He
tried a window, gave it up, and tip-toed along the veranda to
another. No sooner had he started to raise the sash than he turned
and beckoned to us. In an instant we were out of the arbor, and at
the window with him.
"This is great luck,--look!"
He raised the window without any trouble at all.
"Very careless of Aunt Fanny,--but it saves us from having to
smash one."
We all climbed inside a small room. When he had closed the window,
and pulled down the shade, Ed Mason lighted a match.
"The pantry!" we all exclaimed.
"Yes, we've landed on our feet at last. Is that shade down? Light
the gas ... keep it turned low,--that's right. Now, let's see. We
won't find much,--family's gone away ... taken all the pie with
'em, as I said, still, there ought to be something--"
We were all rummaging amongst the shelves and cupboards.
"Hum!" said Mr. Daddles, "stove-polish. Anybody want any stove-
polish? Raw oatmeal,--that's a little better, but not much. Not
much choice between 'em. What's this? ... Starch. Nice lot of
nutritious food Aunt Fanny leaves for her burglars. Now, with some
flat-irons and a couple of stove-lids we could make up a jolly
little meal. What have you got there?"
I had found some dried currants in a tin box, Jimmy had a bottle
of vanilla extract, while Ed Mason exhibited a box of tapioca, or
something of the sort.
"Well, well,--this is more careless of Aunt Fanny than leaving the
window unlocked. No wonder she left it unlocked,--she wanted
burglars to come in, and choke to death. I never saw such a lot of
foolish food. Here's some raw macaroni,--another toothsome dish--
nutmegs--pepper--sticky fly-paper,--better and better. Perfectly
delicious!"
"Here you are!" said Ed Mason.
He had found a cake-box, with half a loaf of pound-cake,--the kind
that keeps for years. Just at the same instant I had climbed up on
a shelf and captured two glass tumblers whose contents seemed
promising. Sure enough,--their labels bore the fascinating words:
"Raspberry Jam." Jimmy Toppan presently discovered a can of soda-
crackers. Mr. Daddles plunged once more into a cupboard and came
forth with a can of the stuff you shine brass with,--the kind with
the horrible smell.
"Always fortunate," he murmured; "well, this will do,--what you've
discovered. I don't seem to have contributed much to the picnic.
We'll get some water to drink, and take this into the dining-room.
I'm about ready to sit down and rest. Come on,--softly, now. Turn
out the light. ... Here's the kitchen ... no, it isn't, either,--
it's a laundry. ... That's funny ... been making improvements, I
guess. Here we are--give me another match. No, don't light the
gas,--no need ... and here's--what's this? Butler's pantry ... yes
... passage ... here's the dining-room. Here we are. Shades down?
Yes ... light the gas ... hullo! Where's the old stuffed sea gull
gone? New paper! Oh, well, it's two years since I was here."
Mr. Daddles wandered around the room for a while, with a puzzled
air, but the rest of us were too hungry to pay much attention to
him. Ed Mason filled a water-pitcher in the butler's pantry, and
Jimmy brought some tumblers from a closet. I opened the jam, and
got some plates and knives. Then we all sat down and began to eat.
I have never tasted anything better than the crackers and jam.
Nobody said anything for a few minutes: we just ate.
Suddenly Mr. Daddles held up his hand,--
"Sh-h-h-h-h!"
We stopped everything and listened. For a minute or two we had
quite forgotten that we were midnight burglars, and we were going
on as if we were right at home.
"Sh-h-h-h-h-h-h!" said Mr. Daddles again, "don't you hear
something?"
We all did hear something that very instant. No one could help
hearing it. It was the strangest sound,--as much like the sawing
of wood as anything I can think of. Except that toward the end of
the stroke it seemed to run into some tough knots in the wood, for
it made two or three funny, little noises, like "yop, yop, yop."
Then it stopped for a second or two, and then there was another
long stroke, with "yop, yop" on the end.
"Do you s'pose it's another cow?" whispered Jimmy.
Mr. Daddles shook his head, and held up his hand again for
silence. The noise continued with perfect regularity for half a
minute,--then it stopped altogether.
"It's in the wall," I suggested, pointing. "P'r'aps it's a mouse
gnawing."
"It's more like a buffalo gnawing," said Ed Mason.
"Sh-h-h-h-h-h!" said Mr. Daddles, "we ought to have looked about
the house a little before we began to eat. I think that's only the
branch of a tree, or something like that, scraping against the
house outside. Anyhow, we'd better investigate."
He got up, and lighted one of the candles on the side-board. Then
he very carefully opened the other door of the dining-room, and we
all followed him out into a hall. There we listened again, but
could hear nothing. He led the way up the back-stairs, and we tip-
toed behind him. The candle which he carried flickered, and cast a
dim light into two rooms which opened off the landing. One was a
nursery, with children's blocks, stuffed elephants, and Noah's Ark
animals on the floor, and on a couch. The moon, which had come out
of the fog, shone in at a window, and its light fell right on a
white rabbit sitting under a doll's parasol. He had tea-cups and
saucers on the floor in front of him, but he was perfectly quiet.
The noise did not come from him. The room on the other side of the
landing was an ordinary bed-room, quite empty.
We stole along the landing toward the front of the house. Here
were two more large bed-rooms. The beds were smooth and
undisturbed, and both rooms were quiet as the grave.
"Nothing here," whispered Mr. Daddles, "we'll go down the front
stairs."
He spoke in the lowest kind of a whisper,--I could hardly make
out what he said. But he beckoned toward the stairs, and we all
tip-toed in that direction. I can see how that hall looked,--I can
see it now, just as I saw it, as we came down stairs. The wood-
work was all painted white, some little moonlight came in through
the glass over the front door, and that, with the candle, made it
fairly clear. The stairs were broad, and they sloped gradually.
There were two big portraits on the wall, one of them over the
stairs. Rooms opened to right and left of the front door, and in
the corner of the hall, to the right, stood a big clock. It ticked
slowly and solemnly, and a little ship, above the dial, rocked
back and forth on some painted waves. I caught Mr. Daddles by the
sleeve.
"The clock is going," I whispered.
He nodded. "Eight day clock," he whispered back.
Then we continued down stairs, still walking without a sound. Just
as Mr. Daddles reached the foot of the stairs, the noise began
again. The long-drawn, sawing sound, and then the "yop, yop, yop"
so loud that it nearly made us fall over backwards in surprise.
There was no possible doubt from what place it came. It was from
the room nearest the tall clock.
Mr. Daddles instantly blew out the candle, and then we all stepped
very carefully to the threshold, and looked in. The room was a
library, with books from the floor to the ceiling. The gas was
lighted, but turned down low, and there were the smouldering
embers of a fire on the hearth. Seated in an arm chair in front of
the fire, with his feet up in another chair, was a big, fat
policeman. He was sound asleep, with his coat unbuttoned, his gray
helmet on the floor beside him, and his brass buttons and badge
glittering in the gas-light. On a couch at the other side of the
room lay another policeman, in his shirt-sleeves. He, too, was
asleep, his mouth was open, and from it came the most outrageous
snores I ever heard.
"Whee-e-e--yar-r-r-r--yaw-w-w--yop, yop, yop," he would go. And
then he would begin it again, and go through it once more.
We looked at this spectacle for about twenty seconds. Then we all
turned around, and tip-toed back, through the hall, and into the
dining-room.
"Somehow," said Mr. Daddles, "I think we'd better get out of this
house."
"So do I," came from all the rest of us, like a chorus.
There was no dispute about it at all. Mr. Daddles and Ed Mason
started for the pantry without delay.
"P'r'aps we'd better put back these dishes," whispered Jimmy;
"they might find 'em, and that would start 'em after us."
But neither Mr. Daddles nor Ed heard him at all. The latter merely
said "Hurry up!" and then disappeared toward the kitchen. It
struck me that Jimmy was right, and although I was anxious to get
out of the house as quick as possible, it did not seem likely that
anything would wake up those policemen for hours to come. So we
put the dishes back into the butler's pantry, set back the chairs,
and fixed the room, as well as we could, in the way that we had
found it. Just as I put out the gas Jimmy slipped the pound-cake
into his pocket.
"We might as well have this," he said.
Then we hurried through the kitchen, and into the pantry. The
others had left the window open. Jimmy went through it first, and
I followed. As I stepped out into the moonlight I felt someone
grab my arm. I looked up, expecting to see Mr. Daddles. But it was
not he. Instead, I looked into the face of a big man, with a long
beard. He had a pitchfork in his other hand. Two other men had Mr.
Daddles by the arms, and some others were holding Ed and Jimmy.
There seemed to be quite a big crowd of people on that veranda.
CHAPTER VI
WE ARE OFFERED LODGINGS
The man with the pitchfork bent down and squinted in at the
window, still holding me tight by the arm.
"Any more on ye comin' out?" he inquired.
"No, there aren't any more of us," said Mr. Daddles, "you've got
the whole gang now."
"Better wait a second, Eb," said one of the men who was holding
Mr. Daddles. He was a fat man, with ears that stuck out the way an
elephant's do, when he waves them. "Better wait a second,--yer
can't tell."
"You'll waste your time," said Mr. Daddles, "there's no one left
in there but the policemen,--and you can't wake them up from
here."
"P'licemen?" queried the fat man.
"Whatcher talkin' about?" asked the man with the pitchfork.
"I'm talking about the two policemen who are getting their eight
hours in the library," Mr. Daddles replied, "Poor things! I hope
we didn't disturb them."
"Don't yer believe him, Eb," said another man, "it's some gum
game."
"Look here," I said, "this is all a mistake. We're not burglars.
This house--"
"Yes, we know all about that," said a man, "we've heard this
feller tell all about his Uncle Alfred Peabody's house. It's a
fust-rate story,--only Uncle Alfred's is next door. This is T.
Parker Littlefield's, an' you know it, too."
"I'm afraid we did strike the wrong house, Sam," said Mr. Daddles,
"you see--"
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