HOW IT RESULTED.
When the crew of the Storm King saw the flames coming out of the fore-hatchway, and learned from the anchor watch that Tom Newcombe had turned up again, and that he had been on board the yacht, to carry out that "splendid idea" of which he had spoken, their amazement and indignation knew no bounds; and there was not one among them who would not willingly have given up all his chances for promotion, if he could have had that boy within reach of his arm for one minute. And when Midshipman Richardson, flying down the harbor in the jolly-boat, heard the fire-bell ring, and, looking over his shoulder, saw the smoke ascending from his vessel, he placed his hand on the cutlass which hung at his side, and told himself that, if he could only get one finger on the collar of Tom Newcombe's jacket, he would capture him or perish in the attempt. If Tom had only known it, he had, at last, succeeded in thoroughly arousing the students. They had thus far treated him much more leniently than he deserved—not out of any love for him, but because of their respect and affection for his father; but now they had one and all resolved that he had done damage enough. He need not try to save himself by flight, for he could not do it. They would hunt him high and low, and they would find him, too; and when they got their hands on him, they would see that he did not escape the consequences of his last act. Of course the students never said all this, for they were so busy that they did not have time to say any thing; but they were as determined about it, and as certain of each other's assistance, as though they had talked the matter over, and already decided upon a general plan of action.
The first lieutenant had never in his life been more astonished and alarmed. That his evil genius should reappear again so suddenly, when every body believed him to be miles away, and that he should have the audacity to board the vessel, and set fire to her under the very noses of the anchor-watch, when he knew that the chances were not one in ten that he could escape detection, was almost incredible. Harry could not understand it. It showed what a reckless, vindictive fellow Tom Newcombe was, and how determined he was, too, when he once made up his mind to any thing.
"You've reached the end of your rope, my hearty," were the first thoughts that passed through Harry's mind. "You've got to lead Crusoe life now, sure, for you can never return to this village." Then he stamped his foot on the deck, and looking impatiently down the harbor in the direction the jolly-boat had gone, exclaimed, aloud: "O, what shall I do? That villain has tied my hands, and I can't even pursue him. Richardson, if you know what you are about you will not let him escape you this time."
Having succeeded in working off a little of his surplus indignation, the lieutenant seemed, for the first time, to realize that the fire-bell was ringing in his ears, that his little vessel was being slowly consumed before his eyes, and that his men were looking to him for orders. He had stood inactive on his quarter-deck not more than a minute, and during that time the men had been filing up from below, bringing their hammocks, which they stowed away in the nettings with as much care and
precision as though they had just been called up to their morning's duties, instead of midnight fire-quarters. As fast as they disposed of their beds, they sprang to their stations, and presently the first lieutenant saw before him twenty young tars, some at the pumps, others at the fire-buckets, ready to pass the water when the word was given, a couple with axes in their hands, the boatswain's mate holding the nozzle of the hose, and all awaiting his commands. Not a boy moved, and not an eye was turned from the first lieutenant, although the smoke began to rise in greater volume from the hatchway, showing that the fire was making rapid progress. Naval discipline had been strictly carried out, and Harry felt ashamed of himself when he reflected that he was the only one on board who had shown any signs of excitement.
"Fire in the galley!" shouted the lieutenant. "Break down on that pump! Pass up the water! Mr. Jackson, close the main hatch, and every other opening except the door of the galley."
The sailors jumped at the word. The boatswain's mate dived through the smoke with the hose; the buckets began to fly along the lines; the boys at the pump came down manfully; and soon a furious hissing and steaming below told the first lieutenant that the water was pouring into the galley. Harry fumed inwardly because he could not go down and use a bucket with the others. But his place was on deck, where he could see all that was going on, and could be readily found by his officers, in case they had any thing important to report.
"I'm an unlucky fellow," said he, pacing nervously back and forth, and unconsciously making use of Tom Newcombe's favorite expression. "First, I was captured by a crew of pirates, who tried their best to sink me; I came near having my commission revoked because their leader escaped; and now I am set on fire! What could have possessed that fellow to come back here? Where has he been? What has he been doing? Where is he now? What is the prospect, Mr. Jackson?" he added, turning to the second lieutenant, who at that moment came up, all begrimmed with smoke and dirt, and drenched with water.
"It is not very flattering, sir," was the reply. "The wind comes strong down the fore-hatch, and fans the flame."
"Shut the galley, and knock a hole through the door for the hose," said Harry, promptly. "If the fire continues to gain headway, we must cut into the deck to give the buckets a chance. What will become of us if we lose the vessel, Jackson?"
"We're not going to lose her, sir," replied the lieutenant; and Harry was greatly encouraged to hear him speak so confidently. "She will capture Tom Newcombe and his band of freebooters for us yet."
Jackson ran off to obey the orders of his superior, and the first lieutenant stopped the buckets (for, of course they could not be used when the galley door was closed), and waited impatiently for the next report. Up to this time he had been so engrossed with his work, that he could not have told whether he was alone in the harbor or not; but now he was reminded of the fact that there were vessels all around him, and found that the Storm King had suddenly become an object of interest to their crews. A yawl came alongside, and half a dozen men, armed with axes and buckets, sprang over the rail. They were led by an old, gray-headed sea captain, who, the moment he touched the deck, demanded in a voice that could have been heard above the roar of a hurricane: "Who's master of this craft?"
"I am in command, sir," replied the first lieutenant.
"You!" exclaimed the old sailor, looking first at Harry's uniform, and then toward the galley, taking in at one swift glance all the preparations that had been made for putting out the fire. "Well, what have you done, little marline-spike?"
"I've stopped the draft, and am throwing water on the fire as fast as I can."
"If you want any help say the word. I've got a boat's crew here. If you've no objections, I'll just step down and take a squint at things. Perhaps a few suggestions from an old fellow who has had two vessels burned under him in mid-ocean wouldn't come amiss."
"O, no, sir," replied Harry, gratefully. "I shall be glad to listen to your advice. It won't do to let this fire get started in the harbor."
"It would ruin me," replied the captain. "That's my vessel over there, and she is all I have in the world. If I lose her, I shall be high and dry aground."
Harry did not wonder that the old sailor felt uneasy. He was so nervous himself that he could not stand still, and he became appalled when he thought of the possible consequences of Tom Newcombe's attempt to carry out his "splendid idea." He had placed a million dollars' worth of property in jeopardy, and all to satisfy an unreasonable grudge against his father, the students, and the principal of the academy. If the fire he had kindled in the galley of the Storm King should spread to the shipping in front of Mr. Newcombe's elevator, Tom might be revenged in a way he had not thought of. He had promised to raise a breeze in the village, that would lead the people there to believe that they had never known any thing about him, and he had succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations.
The uneasiness was not confined to the crews of the vessels that were moored about the yacht—it began to spread through the town. Mr. Newcombe's night watchman, who had by this time been discovered and released, had found out that there was something unusual going on, and he was ringing the bell on the elevator, as if his life depended upon his arousing the village in the shortest possible space of time. Then the alarm bells, and the big bell at the academy joined in, the fire engines rattled through the streets, men began to run about the wharves, and in a few minutes all Newport was in commotion. Some thought the town was on fire; but the flames had thus far been confined to the galley of the Storm King, and, thanks to Harry and his crew, they were likely to remain there.
"What do you think of it, sir?" asked the first lieutenant, when the old sailor returned from the galley.
"O, it's all right. I couldn't see much on account of the smoke; but there's no danger now if you keep the draft shut away from it."
Before Harry could reply, another yawl dashed up alongside the yacht, and a second party of sailors clambered over the side, headed by a burly, red-whiskered man, who seemed to be in a terrible rage about something.
"It beats the world what little sense some people have," said he, hurrying up to the old captain, who was standing beside Harry. "The idea of giving a lot of little brats like these full charge of a vessel! I've had my eye on this craft ever since I've been in port. I've said a dozen times that she'd get us into trouble, sooner or later, and now my words are coming true. The whole harbor will be in a blaze in five minutes. Peters," he added, turning to one of his men, "kick those young sea-monkeys out of the way, and put out that fire."
Harry overheard the order, and so did Lieutenant Jackson, who at that moment came up to report that the fire was being rapidly subdued. The former was willing to take advice and to receive assistance, but he was not the one to submit to any domineering, and he regarded the order as a most unwarrantable interference, and, if the red-whiskered sea captain had been of his own age, it is probable that he would have heard something. But the first lieutenant, angry as he was, did not forget the respect due to those older than himself.
"Captain," said he, mildly, "the galley is full of water, and there is no necessity—"
"Shut up!" was the polite rejoinder. "Do you suppose that I am going to leave so dangerous a thing as fire to the management of a lot of little boys? Go down there, Peters."
"Mr. Jackson, you will allow no one to interfere with you," said Harry.
"Very good, sir," replied the lieutenant, who was in excellent fighting humor, like all the rest of the yacht's company. "I'll look for him."
Peters ran down the ladder to execute the orders of his captain. The first man he encountered was the boatswain's mate, who stood in front of the galley holding the nozzle through a hole in the door, and directing the stream of water upon the fire inside.
"Come, now, get out o' this!" roared Peters, trying to push the young tar away from the door.
"Who are you? Get out o' this yourself," replied the boatswain's mate.
Peters, seeing that the boy was not disposed to be driven away from his work, proceeded to carry out his orders to the very letter. His first move was to fasten with both hands into the collar of the mate's jacket and send him sprawling on the deck; his second, to throw open the door that led into the galley. As the apartment had been flooded with water, and the fire nearly drowned out, this did not endanger the little vessel as it would have done a few minutes before, but the mate was none the less angry.
"Well, douse my to'-gallant top-lights," he growled, "Here's a go."
"Wheeler," shouted the second lieutenant, from the deck, "close that door at once."
"No words, now," said Peters, shaking his fist at Jackson, "or you'll go overboard."
"We'll see about that. Stand by here, men!"
The students swarmed around their officer, and Peters began to believe that he had stirred up a hornets' nest. "I was sent down here to put out this fire," said he. "Give me that nozzle."
"I was sent down here for that same purpose," replied the boatswain's mate, "and I won't give up the hose. The fire is out, and now I am going to put you out."
As he spoke he turned the nozzle full in the face of the intruder, an action which caused him to toss up his heels and measure his length on the wet deck. When he recovered his feet he thought no more of the fire, but made the best of his way up the ladder, followed by a stream of water from the hose.
All these things happened in much less time than we have taken to describe them. It was probably not more than ten minutes from the time the first notes of the alarm were struck until the last spark of fire had been extinguished. In five minutes more the deck of the Storm King had been cleared of the sailors, her anchor slipped, and she was standing down the harbor under a full press of canvas.
As Captain Steele's military duties kept him ashore, Harry was virtually the commander of the yacht, and, having authority to act in all emergencies like the present, he was not delayed in his operations by being obliged to ask instructions of his superior. He did just what he knew the captain or the principal would have done, had either of them been there—he started in hot pursuit of the incendiary, and was fully resolved to capture him before he returned.
Every thing seemed to indicate that there were stirring times ahead. Sam Barton, although he had but a small force at his command, was cunning and reckless, and Harry was long-headed, fruitful in expedients, and determined. He was simply working to effect the capture of the young rogue who had tried to destroy his vessel, while the governor and his band were fighting for liberty. The contest promised to be an exciting one.
"I have to report, sir, that the starboard watch is engaged in setting things to rights below, according to orders," said the second lieutenant, stepping up and saluting.
"Very good, sir," replied Harry. Then, dropping the officer, he inquired: "How does she look, Jack?"
"O, don't ask me. It makes me mad to think of it."
"Well," said Harry, taking a good survey of his friend, who was as wet and begrimmed as a boy could be, "if she looks as bad as you do I don't want to see her."
"She does, and worse. Go down and look at her, Harry, and then tell me if you think any punishment too severe for that fellow. But don't this night's work beat you?"
"Beat is no name for it; I am taken all aback. If any one had told me that Tom Newcombe was as reckless as he has shown himself to be, I should have laughed at him. What do you suppose he intends to do? Where is he now?"
"I wish I could tell you. We must hunt him up, and when we have captured him we can find out all we want to know."
The second lieutenant went below to put on dry clothing, and Harry walked forward to take a look at things. He found that ten minutes had made a great change in the appearance of his little vessel. The effects of the fire were visible on deck about the hatchway, and on the ladder that led below. The wood-work of the galley was charred and smoked; the furniture was scattered about over the floor and broken and battered; the stove was overturned; the water stood in little pools all over the floor, and, altogether, it presented so desolate an appearance that the lieutenant was sorry he had come down to look at it.
"She isn't much like the neat little vessel of which I have been so proud," soliloquized Harry, as he returned to the deck. "But I am thankful for one thing, and that is, her sailing qualities are not injured, and we can use them to bring that fellow to justice."
Then, turning to the officer of the deck, he instructed him to put two men on the forecastle with orders to keep a bright lookout for the jolly-boat, and also for a white skiff with a crew of half a dozen boys.
Meanwhile the jolly-boat flew down the harbor, propelled by two good oarsmen. Midshipman Richardson sat bolt upright in the stern sheets, examining each side of the harbor as well as he could through the darkness, and hoping it might be his good fortune to put "just one eye on that Tom Newcombe." He did not stop to consider that it was reported, by the anchor-watch, that Tom was backed up by his old pirate crew, and that, if such was the case, he would have six desperate fellows to contend with. He cared nothing for the difference in numbers. He had but two companions, but he was sure that, having justice on his side, he could overcome all obstacles.
"There's a boat right ahead, sir," said the bow oarsman. "I can hear it."
"So can I," replied Richardson. "Give way, strong. Remember, men, if we come up with Tom Newcombe I shall catch him and hold fast to him, and I want you to stand by to defend me with your cutlasses. Do you understand?"
"Ay, ay, sir!" was the answer.
"Whatever we do must be done quickly," continued the young officer. "We can't hope to capture his whole crew, nor beat them in a fair fight. Tom Newcombe is the man we want, and, if I can once get my hands on him I can hold him, if you will keep the others off. Bear in mind, men, that he set fire to our vessel."
There was no danger that the young tars would forget that, for the strokes of the little bell continued to ring in their ears, and, as they passed along, they could hear the watch on board the vessel talking with each other and making inquiries about the fire. Add to this the fact that they were trembling with anxiety for the safety of the yacht, and filled with apprehension lest Tom's new plan should prove successful, and there was no fear but that his crime would be kept in remembrance.
Richardson went the entire length of the harbor without seeing any signs of the Crusoe band. He could hear the boat just ahead of him, but he could not see it, for it was concealed from him by the darkness; neither could he gain on it an inch, although his crew worked at the oars until the perspiration ran in streams down their faces. At length, however, the jolly-boat reached the end of the pier, and the midshipman suddenly discovered something that filled him with excitement. It was a small schooner, which was slowly moving out into the harbor. At her stern was moored a white skiff.
"There they are," whispered Richardson. "Give way strong."
"Hallo, here!" exclaimed a voice from the deck of the schooner. "Boat ahoy!"
The young officer made no reply. He grasped the tiller-ropes more firmly in his hands, and guided the jolly-boat under the stern of the schooner.