“Keep her away, Burgess! If the ragged end of that spar hits us it may send us to the bottom. Slack away the fore-sheet! Stand by, everybody, and don’t let him go by for your lives! He looks as though he couldn’t hold on another minute.” It was Egan who issued these hurried orders. He was standing on the weather-rail of Mr. Shelby’s yacht, the Idlewild, which was sailing as near into the wind’s eye as she could be made to go, now and then buoying her nose in a tremendous billow that broke into a miniature cataract on her forecastle and deluged her deck with water. He was drenched to the skin, and so were the boys who were stationed along the rail below him, trembling all over with excitement, and watching with anxious faces one of the most thrilling scenes it had ever been their lot to witness.
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There had been a terrible storm along the coast. It was over now, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining brightly; but the wind was still blowing half a gale, there was a heavy sea running, and the waves seemed to be trying their best to complete the work of destruction that had been commenced by the storm. Two points off the weather-bow there had been, a few minutes before, a little water-logged sloop, over which the waves made a clean breach; but she was gone now. All on a sudden her bow arose in the air, her stern settled deep in the water, and the yacht, which had set sail from Newport a few days before with a merry party of excursionists on board, went down to the bottom of the bay. Broad on the Idlewild’s beam was the Sylph, the deserters working like beavers to rescue the crew of the sunken yacht, heedless or ignorant of the fact that they were in jeopardy themselves, their vessel being so badly handled by the frightened and inexperienced boy at her wheel, that she was in imminent danger of broaching to. Tossed about by the waves which rolled between the Idlewild and the Sylph was a broken spar to which a student, with a pale but determined face, clung desperately with one arm,[309] while in the other he supported the inanimate form of a little boy. The student was Enoch Williams, and the boy was Mr. Packard’s nephew.
The last time we saw the Sylph she was hiding in the creek a short distance below Mayville. That was a week ago, and her persevering and determined pursuers had but just come up with her. During the day the deserters purchased a small supply of provisions from the neighboring farmers, fished a little, slept a good deal, and when darkness came to conceal their movements they got under way again, and stood down the river, taking the stolen dory with them. At daylight they found another hiding-place, and before dawn the next morning they ran by Oxford, a bustling little city situated at the mouth of the river. If they were pursued they did not know it. They made cautious inquiries as often as they had opportunity, but no one could give them any information, because Captain Mack and his men had escaped observation by going from Bridgeport to Oxford on the cars.
When the Sylph ran out into the bay, the deserters began to feel perfectly safe. They shouted and sung themselves hoarse, and told one another[310] that they were seeing no end of sport; but in their hearts they knew better. How was their cruise going to end? was the unwelcome question that forced itself into their minds every hour in the day, and none of them could answer it satisfactorily. It might be a daring exploit to run off with a private yacht, but they didn’t think so now that the mischief was done, and there was not one among them who did not wish that he had taken some other way to get out of the academy. Enoch very soon became disgusted. The wind being brisk he was obliged to be at the wheel nearly all the time, and he couldn’t see the fun of working so steadily while the rest of the band were lying around doing nothing.
“I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said he to Jones, one day. “There’s too much of a sameness about this thing to suit me. I have the best notion in the world to desert the yacht the next time we go ashore, and strike a straight course for home.”
“I have been thinking seriously of the same thing,” answered Jones.
“It’s a cowardly thing to do,” continued Enoch, “but when I fall to thinking of the settlement that’s coming, I can’t sleep, it troubles me so.[311] Suppose the man who owns this yacht is one who can’t take a joke! Do you know that we have rendered ourselves liable to something worse than expulsion from the academy?”
“I didn’t think of that until it was too late,” said Jones.
“Neither did I; nor did I think to ask myself what my father would say and do about it. I believe our best plan would be to go back and put the schooner in her berth. It will take us four or five days to do that, and during that time each fellow can decide for himself how he will act when we get to Bridgeport—whether he will go home, or return to the academy and face the music.”
“That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Jones. “I know what I shall do. I shall get into camp, if I can, without being caught, and report for duty. Let’s all do that, and if we return the schooner in as good order as she was when we found her, we shall escape the disgrace of being sent down, and at the same time have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done something that no other crowd ever attempted. After we get home we can tell our fathers that we don’t[312] want to come back to school, and perhaps we can induce them to listen to us. That fight with the mob will be in our favor, for after our folks have had time to think it over calmly, they’ll not willingly put us in the way of getting into another. That’s the best plan, and you may depend upon it.”
“I think so myself,” said Enoch. “Call the boys aft and ask them what they think about it.”
It is hardly necessary to say that the runaways were delighted with the prospect of escaping the consequences of their folly. Their cruise among the islands of the bay had been almost entirely devoid of interest. It is true that they had raided a few melon-patches and corn-fields, and that a little momentary excitement had been occasioned by the discovery of suspicious sails behind them; but their foraging had been accomplished with small difficulty and without detection, and the sails belonged to coasters which held their course without paying any attention to the schooner. Without giving Jones, who did the talking, time to enter fully into an explanation, the deserters broke into cheers, and some of them urged the captain to turn the schooner’s bow toward Oxford at once.
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“I am afraid to do it,” said Enoch, as soon as he could make himself heard. “Just turn your eyes in that direction for a moment.”
The boys looked, and saw a milk-white cloud, followed by one as black as midnight, rapidly rising into view above the horizon. Underneath, the sea was dark and threatening.
“There’s wind in those clouds, and plenty of it, too,” continued the captain. “If we are caught in it we are gone deserters. Our only chance for safety is to make the lee of that island you see ahead of us.”
The runaways watched the clouds with a good deal of anxiety. Up to this time the wind had been fair and the weather all they could have desired; but now it looked as though the Storm King were about to show them what he could do when he got into a rage. The clouds came up with startling rapidity; the lightning began playing around their ragged edges, the mutterings of distant thunder came to their ears, and their haven of refuge seemed far away; but fortunately the breeze held out, and just a few minutes before the wind changed with a roar and a rush, and the storm burst forth in all its fury, the Sylph dropped[314] her spare anchor in a sheltered nook under the lee of the island, and with everything made snug, was prepared to ride it out. The rain fell in torrents, driving the boys below and keeping them there until long after midnight. The wind blew as they had never heard it blow before, but the anchor held, and shortly before daylight the thunder died away in the distance, and finally the sun arose in unclouded splendor. The runaways were all hungry, for they had had no supper, and as their provisions were all exhausted, some of them began to talk of laying violent hands upon those in the lockers.
“There’s no need of doing that,” said Enoch, after he had taken a look around. “All hands stand by to get ship under way. It doesn’t blow to hurt anything, and we’ll take the back track without any delay. After a glorious spin over these waves, we’ll stop for breakfast at the island where we robbed our last corn-field. It’s only a few miles away, and it will make the Sylph laugh to run down there with such a breeze as this.”
The deserters had become accustomed to yield prompt and unquestioning obedience to Enoch’s orders, but there were some among them who did[315] not at all like the idea of going out of the cove to face the white caps that were running in the bay. If there had been any one to propose it and to direct their movements afterward, a few of them would have refused duty; but the majority, having confidence in Enoch’s skill and caution, went to work to get the chain around the little windlass which served the Sylph in lieu of a capstan, and when they shipped the handspikes, the timid ones took hold and helped run the vessel up to her anchor. She was got under way without difficulty, and as long as she remained behind the island where the wind was light and the sea comparatively smooth, she made such good weather of it that Lester Brigham and those like him, began to take courage; and they even ............