Books: The Voyage of the Hoppergrass
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Edmund Lester Pearson >> The Voyage of the Hoppergrass
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"No, you won't, either," said Mr. Daddles.
He and Sprague darted forward at the same moment. They grabbed the
little man, each by an arm, and commenced walking him rapidly
toward the boat.
"Here, here! Whatcher doin'? Lemme be! Lemme be! This is assault!
Lemme be, I tell yer!"
They led him, still chattering and protesting, right to the boat.
"We don't want you with us,--not a little bit. But you'll have to
come, if you don't keep quiet. Then you'll have a beautiful case
against us."
"Help! Help!" he squealed.
Mr. Daddles clapped a hand over his mouth, and they lifted him off
his feet into the boat. Pete jumped in beside him, and smothered
his cries with a pillow. Ed and I pushed off, and climbed in over
the bows. In a minute we were alongside the yacht. Mr. Daddles and
Sprague jumped on board, and Pete handed Gregory the Gauger up to
them. He had to drop the pillow to do this, and as soon as the
little man's mouth was uncovered he began his protests right where
he had left off.
"Help!" he squeaked, "help! Lemme be! Put me back on shore, I tell
yer! I'll have every last one of yer in State's Prison for this.
It's abducshun,--that's what it is,--d' yer hear? It's abducshun!"
"Yes, and you've already got assault and battery against us, and
smothering-with-a-pillow, to say nothing of burglary, breaking
and entering, and banjo-playing after 10 P. M. We won't any of us
live long enough to serve out our sentences, not even if we get
old enough to make Methuselah look like a spring-chicken."
"And if you go on with that yelping, my friend," added Sprague,
"we'll add piracy on the high seas, keel-hauling, drowning in a
sack, and hanging at the yard-arm to our list of accomplishments.
I would have you know that we are desperate men. This person"--
pointing to the Chief, "is the only law-abiding one amongst us.
If you'll be good and quiet, and sit down and behave until we are
well away, you will come to no harm."
"And we'll let you exchange legal chit-chat with the Chief
Justice, here," added Pete.
But nothing could quiet the captive. He broke away from them, ran
up to the bow, and began once more to call for help. At this, Pete
and Sprague seized him and gently led him down into the cabin.
They closed the cabin doors and left him there. Instantly he began
to pound and thump on the deck.
"Let him thump," said Sprague, "it's time we departed."
"Yes," said Ed Mason, "any moment I expect to see Eb coming down
to the shore."
"With his pitchfork," added Mr. Daddles.
We got the anchor up, and the boat began to move out of the inlet.
The breeze was light, but two short tacks took us into the bay.
"Where do you want to go?" inquired the Chief, gravely. He was
sailing the boat.
"'Somewheres east of Suez,'" said Sprague. "I don't care. I should
like to go to sleep. And I should think you burglars would be
about ready for a nap."
"We are!" we all groaned.
"The Chief and I will stand watch," said Pete, "I'm not sleepy. By
George! It's a great night."
He yawned, stretched both arms in the air, and gazed up toward the
moon. Suddenly he brought both arms down at his sides.
"Great Scott!" he cried, "we've forgotten Simon!"
The Chief gave a snort of disgust.
"If you're going--" he began.
"That's so! that's so!" shouted Sprague, "put about, Chief!"
The Chief groaned. "Positively," he said, "you make me sick!"
"Then you're in no state to sail the boat," replied Pete, "here,
get away from the wheel!"
He pushed the indignant Chief away, and taking the wheel himself,
began to put the boat about.
"Who's Simon?" asked Mr. Daddles.
Nobody paid any attention to his question.
"To think of forgetting him!" exclaimed Pete, "can you see
anything of him, Warren?"
Sprague had run up forward, and was peering ahead as we entered
the inlet.
"Here he comes!" he cried, "by Jingo, here he comes! Well, what do
you think of that? Isn't he a brick, Pete?"
I tried to see what all this was about. The moon was bright on the
water, and at last I could make out some white thing, like a sea
gull, moving toward us. We were running before the wind and soon
were near enough to get a good view. It was a bird of some kind.
We were in no doubt about the kind when it raised itself upon the
water, flapped its wings and uttered a loud "Quack! qu-a-a-a-ck!"
"It's a duck!" said Ed Mason.
"Of course it's a duck," replied Pete, "we got him at Duck Island,
too. It's Simon. Can you reach him, Warren?"
"I think so," answered Sprague, "easy now!"
Pete brought the yacht carefully alongside the duck, Sprague
twined one foot around the bob-stay, reached over and lifted the
bird into the boat. As soon as it was set on deck the duck shook
its feathers, gave one defiant waggle of the tail, and paddled
aft, remarking: "Quack! quack! qua-a-a-ck!"
"Well! Simon, old man!" said the delighted Pete, "did you think we
had left you behind? You didn't think that of us, did you? But you
had started out to overtake us, hadn't you? That shows what a good
old sport you are. The Chief might have left you in the lurch, but
your Uncle Warren and I wouldn't."
Simon waddled about a little, and finally settled down in the
center of a coil of rope. Once more we turned and started again on
our flight from Bailey's Harbor.
It was a beautiful night. The moonlight sparkled on the water, and
shone clear and soft on the sails of the boat. The breeze was cool
and delicious. Gregory the Gauger had stopped thumping and
everything was very pleasant and restful after the jail, and the
other exciting events of the night. Except for the sound of the
water at the bow, we sailed for five or ten minutes in perfect
silence. My eyes half closed and my head fell forward as I sat in
the cockpit.
"Well, I'd go below, and turn in," said Mr. Daddles, "but I don't
know about facing that sabre-toothed tiger down there. We made a
great mistake, boys, in not slitting his weasand the first time we
saw him. Somehow, I think I'm going through life with him in close
pursuit."
"Let's see what he's up to now," said Sprague.
"He's probably scuttling the ship," suggested Jimmy Toppan.
Sprague opened the cabin doors, and pushed back the hatchway.
Gregory had lighted the lamp and was calmly engaged in examining
the clock. To our surprise the wrath seemed to have gone out of
the man.
"Where didger git that air clock?" he asked, peering up at
Sprague.
"In Boston," Sprague answered him, "what do you think of it?"
"Pretty fair, pretty fair. What does a clock like that cost?"
They entered into a conversation about the clock, and some of the
other furnishings of the cabin. Sprague asked him if he wanted to
come on deck. He accepted the invitation and came up.
"You'd better look out for him," Mr. Daddles whispered to Pete,
"this may be guile."
Then all of us, except Pete, the Chief, and our prisoner, went
below, and prepared to turn in. Jimmy Toppan stretched himself out
on a bunk and went to sleep in no time at all. Ed Mason and I
picked out places for ourselves, while Mr. Daddles made himself
comfortable with a couple of pillows under his head.
"Today," I heard him murmur, "I've lost my steamboat, been wrecked
on a desert island, been rescued, fallen overboard, rescued again,
lost my money hunting buried treasure, was deserted by the boat
that rescued me, and left stranded in Bailey's Harbor, been scared
pink by an old cow, committed burglary, scared again by a snoring
policeman, got arrested by the High Sheriff and his posse,
confined in dungeons, escaped from jail, committed abduction,
Gregory-snatching, and muffling-with-a-pillow. I wonder--"
Here his voice trailed off into a whisper.
I had expected to go to sleep as soon as I lay down, but I found
the cabin rather close and stuffy. Sprague and Ed Mason didn't
seem to mind it,--they lay still, and were evidently asleep. I
hitched about for a while, and finally decided to go up on deck.
It struck me that I could sleep better there.
So I took a pillow and went up. Gregory was sitting in the cock-
pit, contentedly smoking a clay pipe and watching the sails with
the air of an owner. Pete and the Chief were both sitting quietly
in the stern. The Chief was again at the wheel. I found some
canvas, part of a sail-cover, and stretched myself out on a seat,
with the canvas over me to keep off the dampness. In a minute or
two I was asleep,--the best and most refreshing sleep I ever
remember. All through the rest of the night I was dimly aware of
the sound of the water about the bows, and the cool breeze on my
face.
When I woke it was broad daylight. The boat had come to a stop,
the mainsail was down, and they were taking in the jib. I heard
the anchor go over with a splash, and then Pete came running aft.
"Hullo! Awake? How are you?"
"All right. Where are we?"
"I don't know. Unknown island."
I sat up and looked over the starboard side of the boat. We were
in a little bay, and there was land about a hundred yards distant,
--a rocky island with pine trees, and two or three small cottages
set amongst the trees. I heard someone talking on the other side
of the boat, and I looked up forward to see Sprague, in a bathing
suit, and Gregory the Gauger. Sprague was entertaining the Gauger
with a poem which he had been reciting at intervals ever since we
met him.
"'She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing Kulla-lo-lo!'--but not
in Bailey's Harbor,--hey, what? She wouldn't get her little banjo
there, or you'd run her in, wouldn't you, Squire? You and the
Constable!"
"Where did you get that poem?" asked Pete, who was furling the
sail.
"I read it in a paper last week. Isn't it great? It's by a man
with a funny name,--I wish I could remember it! 'An' the dawn
comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!' That's the way
the dawn does come up over there, isn't it? Ever been in China,
Squire?"
"No, I haint," said Gregory. "Where be you fellers goin' to put me
ashore? That's what I want to know."
"All in good time, Squire, all in good time. Watch this,--I bet
you can't do it!"
And Sprague made a clean dive and scoot under the water, came up
thirty feet away, and commenced to float, facing the boat, and
waggling one big toe at Gregory the Gauger.
It did not take me two seconds to know what I wanted to do, nor
two minutes to get overboard. The water was cold, but I swam
around the yacht, before I climbed out again. One by one the
others came up from below, and they all jumped over for a swim,
except Gregory and the Chief. The latter went poking about, in his
silent, methodical way, paying no attention to the orders which
Sprague fired at him.
"Food! food!" called the banjo-player, climbing aboard; "my wasted
frame cries aloud for food. Get out the frying-pan, Chief, and the
coffee-pot! Move about more briskly,--remember that I have been
many days on bread and water in a dungeon ... Oh, hang it!"
He floundered about in his shirt, which he had put on wrong side
foremost in his hurry.
"Fish out those eggs, and see if there are any rolls left,--I'll
match you for yours, Squire. You won't be hungry, you haven't been
in swimming."
"Ketch me goin' into that water!" returned Gregory, "I'll make my
abbalootions right here."
And he proceeded to wash his face and hands over the stern of the
boat. We were all very much awake now, very hungry, and no longer
tired. The swim had opened our eyes. The drowsy moonlight world
had gone and given place to one of sunshine. A breeze rattled the
halliards against the mast, and ruffled the blue water of the bay
in little patches. We hurried into our clothes, while the Chief
warned us to keep out of the cockpit, and not get everything wet.
Sprague struggled with his shirt, and declaimed his favorite poem
in a muffled tone.
"'And the flyin' fishes play,'--And speaking of flying-fishes,
where is Simon? Has he had his morning swim? ... Oh, there he is,
--paddling about like a good one! Swims like a duck, doesn't he,
Squire?"
"There's nothing for breakfast except bacon and eggs," said the
Chief.
"And coffee and rolls," added Pete, "what more do you want, you
old lemon?"
"No, there are only three rolls. Some of us will have to eat
crackers."
"I will eat marline-spikes," said Mr. Daddles, "if you've got any
of them on board. I've never seen one,--though I've heard of them
a great deal."
"I'll eat crackers," declared Jimmy Toppan.
"So will I," said Sprague, "and glad to get 'em. I might be
gnawing a bone in jail, now, instead."
"And there's no milk," said the Chief, "we were going to get some,
and some bread, this morning in Bailey's Harbor."
"If you had endured the sufferings that _I_ have in Bailey's
Harbor--" began Sprague.
"There are three dozen eggs," said Pete, "and that's more than
four apiece, and there is plenty of bacon,--stop talking and get
busy."
In ten minutes we were eating breakfast. They had trouble to keep
us all supplied with fried eggs, until two skillets were put into
commission. Then there was silence for a time.
"There's an apple pie down there," remarked Sprague, as he helped
himself to another cup of coffee.
Mr. Daddles hurried below, and soon came up with the pie.
"I hope some of you will," said he, "you do, in this region, don't
you?"
"In obscure parts of the ulterior," said Pete, "I have heard that
the habit lingers of eating pie for breakfast. It's merely a
tradition in my family, I regret to say."
"The old, robust stock is dying out," said Sprague, mournfully,
"but my father has told me that in his youth he often saw his
father do it. We are over civilized, but if there should be any
great national crisis,--a war, or anything like that,--I have no
doubt that New England would rally once again, and--"
"I am so much disappointed," said Daddles, turning slowly about,
with the pie in one hand, "my poor grandmother has often told me
about it, and I did hope to see the weird, old custom practised on
its native heath--won't you? Or you?"
He turned to one after the other of us.
"Yer can give me a mejum piece," observed Gregory the Gauger,
looking up from his fifth fried egg.
Mr. Daddles cut a large slice in evident delight. Gregory ate it,
slowly and thoughtfully.
"Have some more?"
The Gauger held out his plate.
"Jes' mejum," said he.
After breakfast, we of the "Hoppergrass" held a council.
"The Captain will come back to Bailey's Harbor," said Jimmy
Toppan, "but we can't go there at all. We'll have to go somewhere
else, and send a message to him."
"We might go to that place--what's its name? Squid Cove," Ed Mason
suggested.
"And send a message to him by the car-driver," I added.
"We'll have to write it in cipher," said Mr. Daddles, "for it
would never do to have it fall into the hands of Eb."
"How do you know that he will come back there?" I asked.
"I don't," said Jimmy, "but it's the most likely thing to happen,
isn't it?"
"The most likely thing doesn't seem to happen on this trip,"
remarked Ed Mason, who was feeding Simon, the duck, with cracker
crumbs.
Sprague broke in on our conversation.
"This charming little island," said he, pointing over his
shoulder, toward the land, "is not an island, at all, it seems. It
is a cape, or promontory, or perhaps more properly a peninsula.
Its name, so the Squire tells us, is Briggs's Nose. Probably the
man who gave it that name perished long ago,--slain, no doubt, by
the residents. At any rate, it is so far from the nearest town on
the mainland that we believe it will be safe to land the Squire
there. He can take the steamer this afternoon and get home before
dusk. All who wish to kiss the Squire good-bye should therefore
get ready. The line forms on the left."
Gregory the Gauger was disposed to grumble at being set ashore.
"Fear not, Squire," said Sprague, "crowns for convoy shall be put
into your purse. Many a ship's crew would have marooned you on a
desert island, or set you adrift."
"With some ship's bread and a beaker of water," added Mr. Daddles.
"Quite so," said Sprague, "only we couldn't find a beaker on
board,--and wouldn't have known one if we HAD found it."
Pete and the silent Chief prepared to row Gregory ashore. Just
before they left Sprague gave the prisoner some money for
steamboat fare, and Mr. Daddles presented him with the remains of
the apple pie, begging him to keep some of it for breakfast next
day.
Twenty minutes later our friends were on board again, and we were
getting up the anchor. Jimmy Toppan, the Chief, and Sprague went
below to consult a chart, while the rest of us got the yacht under
way. When they came back on deck the Chief took the wheel,
announcing:
"Lanesport it is."
"Why Lanesport?" asked Pete.
"It's the nearest town on the mainland to Bailey's Harbor," said
Jimmy Toppan.
"Then I should think you'd better steer clear of it."
"Oh, they won't have heard anything yet," answered Sprague, lying
down on a seat, with his banjo. And he added: "Assisted by Simon,
I will now give you a little song."
"Do you think we'll find the 'Hoppergrass' at Lanesport?" inquired
Ed Mason.
"We can but try. We'll do a little sleuth-work there, anyhow."
"Who will you inquire from?"
"Oh, anybody. Do not interrupt me again, or I will sing 'Rocked in
the Cradle of the Deep.' Honest, I will."
A little before noon, we sailed up the river to Lanesport. The old
town lay very still in the baking sun. There were schooners in the
stream, and one or two at the wharves. A few sloop-yachts and cat-
boats were at anchor in the river, but none of them was the
"Hoppergrass." Old and dilapidated wharves ran down to the river,
some of them deserted, and covered with grass. There were tumble-
down buildings at the water's edge, and they were mostly black
with age. The town looked as if it had been sound asleep for a
hundred years.
The Chief skilfully sailed our boat up to a wharf, where there was
a landing-stage, and all of us, except our skipper, went ashore.
Half way up the wharf we found a man, painting a row-boat. He knew
nothing about the "Hoppergrass" and said he had never heard of it.
"We'll walk up into the town," remarked Pete, "we've got to get
some grub, anyway."
We strolled up the wharf, and along a quaint and crooked street.
The sidewalk was so narrow that we had to walk in single file, and
the curb-stone, as Mr. Daddles put it, was made of wood. There
were a few shops, but as most of them sold ships' supplies, we did
not go in any of them. A pleasant smell of tar came from each
door.
Presently we reached a square or market place. Here were more
shops, a butcher's, a grocery, and one that announced "Ice Cream."
A peanut-stand, sheltered by an umbrella, stood in the middle of
the square, and toward this we made our way. An aged Italian sat
behind it, reading a newspaper. He sold us peanuts, and exchanged
facetious remarks with Mr. Daddles. As we left the peanut man, we
heard a far-off shouting. Down the street came a tall, thin man,
ringing a great dinner-bell. He was very lame and made slow
progress. Now and then he would halt, and shout something at the
top of his voice.
"What's the matter?" Sprague asked a man, who stood in the door of
a cigar-shop, "is there a fire?"
The man grinned.
"That's the town-crier," said he.
"Town-crier!" exclaimed Mr. Daddles, "I didn't know there were any
of 'em left."
"There aint," said the man, "except this one. He's the last one of
'em."
The crier limped slowly down the street toward us. We all halted
to hear his next announcement. Stopping in the middle of the
street he solemnly rang his bell two or three times. Then he threw
back his head, and bellowed in a tremendous voice:
"Hear--what--I--have--to--say! Stolen! the cat-boat--Hannah--J.--
Pettingell--from--Mulliken's Wharf--yesterday--afternoon! Reward
--will--be--paid--for information!--Apply--to--the--owner--at--
the Eagle--House!"
CHAPTER VIII
HUNTING THE HOPPERGRASS
"Did you ever hear the like of that?" said Mr. Daddles, in a kind
of awed whisper; "don't move,--he's going to do it again!"
But Ed Mason, Jimmy Toppan, and I were not be to restrained.
"That's the 'Hoppergrass'!" we all burst out, at the same instant.
"What's the 'Hopper'--?" began Mr. Daddles, but his voice was
drowned out by the crier. Beginning with his "Hear what I have to
say!" he repeated the announcement word for word as he had given
it the first time. Then he rang his bell with four, slow,
deliberate motions, and started to hobble away.
We were after him in a second.
"Where is it?"
"When was it stolen?"
"Where's Captain Bannister?"
The crier looked down at us with some air of indignation, and
shifted his quid of tobacco.
"Apply at the Eagle House," said he, pointing his thumb over his
shoulder.
"Come on! come on!" we begged the other three, "let's go to the
Eagle House!"
"Why? What for?"
"That's the 'Hoppergrass' he said was stolen. Captain Bannister is
here,--at the Eagle House!"
"But he didn't say the 'Hoppergrass';--he said the Hannah
Billingsgate."
"Pettingell. That's the other name of the 'Hoppergrass'."
"The other name? Does she travel under an Elias, as Gregory the
Gauger calls it?"
"No, no! The captain doesn't like 'Hoppergrass' and he said he had
thought of changing the name. Come on,--let's go to the Eagle
House."
We made them understand at last, and then we started up the street
in the direction that the crier had pointed. On the way, Jimmy
Toppan was struck by doubts.
"I don't see how the Captain COULD change the name like this. You
have to register a new name for a boat, I think."
"You said that he was thinking of calling her the Hannah J. what
--is--it? Didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, it must be the same boat. There wouldn't be two
knocking about, with a name like that."
We found the hotel presently. There were two elderly men sitting
on the little piazza, and they hitched their chairs around and
watched us through the window as soon as we entered the office.
This room was empty, but after we had stamped and coughed a good
deal, a small man in shirt-sleeves came from some room in the
back.
"Is Captain Bannister here?"
"Bannister? Oh, no, Bannister aint here!"
This in a tone which was as much as to say: "I wouldn't have a man
like that on the premises."
"Well, he WAS here, wasn't he?"
"Was here? Oh, yes, he WAS here,--last night."
(As if to say: "He was here until we got on to him.")
"Has he gone away?"
"Gone away? Oh, yes, he's gone away."
This seemed to strike the two men on the piazza--whose ears were
almost stretching through the window--as a joke. They both laughed
uproariously. The hotel man was evidently unwilling to give up any
information until it was wrenched out of him, bit by bit. Mr.
Daddles continued the cross-examination.
"Do you know where he's gone?"
"Oh, he went away before six o'clock."
"Well, do you know WHERE he went?"
"Where? Oh, he told me--Joe, where'd he say he was goin'?"
One of the men on the piazza answered:
"Big Duck."
"Big Duck Island?"
"Yup. He--"
The other man broke in. "He says to me that he was goin' to
Rogerses'."
"Rogerses'? Where's that?"
"Rogerses' Island," said the hotel man, "'bout three miles t'other
side of Bailey's Harbor."
One of the men now came in from the piazza, and after much
questioning we found out all they knew. Captain Bannister had
arrived in Lanesport sometime the latter part of the afternoon. He
left the "Hoppergrass" at the wharf, and came up into the town.
When he returned, an hour later, his boat had disappeared. One or
two men had seen it sail down the river, but in the fog had not
noticed who was on board. The Captain "flew round like a coot shot
in the head," declared our informant. He went from one wharf to
another, started to hire a yacht and go in pursuit, but gave up
the plan. Then he went to the police-station.
"The police reckoned it was some of them burglars had took it. The
fellers that have been breakin' into houses on Little Duck."
"They've ketched them fellers," said the hotel man.
"Ketched 'em?"
"Yes. Got 'em last night, breakin' into a house in Bailey's
Harbor. Bert Janvrin was in here not more'n ten minutes ago, and
he heard 'bout it from a feller that was off Bailey's this
mornin', haulin' lobster-pots. They got the whole gang, and put
'em in jail, an' they all got out again, somehow, an' got away on
a boat, an' there's a man missin',--Mose Silloway,--you know
Mose, Joe--an' they think likely he's been murdered by 'em."
Mr. Daddles looked at me very gravely, and rubbed his upper lip,
hard.
"Dear me!" he said, "why, that's terrible! I hope it will turn out
all right. Well, we want to find Captain Bannister and his boat.
How do you get to Rogers's Island?"
"Jes' go over to Bailey's Harbor, an' keep on to the far end of
the island,--you can row across to Rogerses' from there."
"I don't think he has gone to Rogerses', young feller," said one
of the men, "I heard him say he was goin' to try Big Duck, fust."
"I guess we'll have to try them both,--thank you, all."
We said good-bye, and left the hotel. As we walked down the street
again Sprague said that we would do well to get away from
Lanesport, soon.
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