Charlie Codman's Cruise

Randall used as much wood in kindling a fire as would have lasted Peter a whole day.

"You will ruin me," he said, in dismay.

"Then you'll be ruined in a good cause," said Randall. "But I say, Peter, don't you remember what we talked about when I visited you last?"

The old man groaned, thinking of the thousand dollars.

"Seems to me it has not left a very agreeable impression upon your mind," remarked his companion. "Don't you want me to tell you of the boy that I spirited away?"

"Is he dead?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"No; curse him, he escaped from me."

"You—you didn't let him know about the money?"

"Which you feloniously kept from him? Was that what you mean?"

"Ye—yes."

"No, I didn't."

Peter looked relieved.

"Where is he now?"

"Heaven knows! I don't. He deserted from the ship at Rio Janeiro. But let me ask you, in turn, Peter, what has become of the mother, whom each of us has so much reason to hate?"

"I don't know."

"Then she is no longer a tenant of yours?"

"She moved in less than a month after you went away."

"Couldn't pay her rent, ha!"

"Yes; she paid it as long as she stayed. I have not seen or heard anything of her since."

"I have," said the mate, significantly.

"You!" exclaimed Peter, eagerly.

"I saw her to-day."

"How—where?"

"In a carriage."

"A carriage!" echoed Peter, in surprise.

"Yes; looking as bright and handsome as when she rejected you with scorn."

The miser frowned.

"Where did you meet her?"

"On Washington Street. I was walking there when I chanced to look into a gay carriage that was driving by, and saw her."

"Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"No. I followed her to her place of residence."

"Where is it?"

"No.–Mt. Vernon Street."

"She must be rich, then."

"No; she is a governess there, though enjoying, I should think, unusual privileges, and is, no doubt, happy."

Peter made no reply, but seemed occupied by other thoughts.

"And now, Peter, have you any idea what I came for?"

"To tell me this."

"I am not fool enough to take all this trouble."

"Then I don't know."

"I want money, Peter."

Peter could not be said to change color, but he grew more ghastly than before, at this demand.

"I have nothing to give you," he said.

"Tell that to the marines. You must give me another thousand dollars."

"Another thousand dollars!" exclaimed the old man. "Where do you think I should get it? Did I not impoverish myself in satisfying your last demand, and have I not been obliged to live on bread and water since?"

Randall shrugged his shoulders.

"I dare say you have lived on bread and water, but as to being obliged to, that is nonsense. I ask you again, to give me a thousand dollars. You will have thousands left."

"I shall be a beggar," said the old man, passionately.

"A beggar!" returned Randall, laughing scornfully.

"Yes," said Peter, with energy. "You promised, when I gave you a thousand dollars,"—his voice faltered as he recalled the sacrifice,—"that you would ask no more. Now, you come back for another sum as large, and it is not yet a year. You shall not have it!" he exclaimed, passionately; "not if I had it fifty times over."

"Bethink you what you are saying, old man," said Randall, menacingly. "Do you know that I can go to Mrs. Codman and denounce you?"

"You will not," said Peter, trembling.

"But I will, unless you comply with my demand. Now what do you say? Better be reasonable, and consent, before I compel you."

"Never!" exclaimed the miser, desperately.

"I will denounce you to the police. Shall I have the money?"

But Peter was no longer to be moved, even by his fears. His love of money overcame every other consideration, and again he exclaimed, "Never!" with all the energy of which he was capable.

"Is this your final answer?"

"It is."

"Then I will help myself," said Randall, coolly, leaving his chair, and beginning to lift up the trap-door, beneath which was the miser's box of treasure.

As soon as Peter fairly comprehended his design, and saw the gold coins in the grasp of the purloiner, unable to restrain himself, he threw himself upon the mate with a cry as of a lioness deprived of her young, and grasped the strong man by the throat with fingers, which, though naturally weak, despair and rage made strong. At all events, it was not particularly comfortable, and provoked Randall, who seized the old man in his strong arms, and, with a muttered curse, hurled him to the floor, where he lay pale and senseless.

"Confusion!" muttered Randall, in dismay, for Peter had uttered a shrill scream as he fell. "I am afraid I shall get into an ugly scrape."

He was not altogether wrong.

The scream had been heard by two, at least, who were passing. The door was burst open, and in rushed Bill Sturdy and Charlie, our young hero, who had just returned to Boston, and were passing on their way up from the wharf at which the vessel was lying.

"Mr. Randall!" exclaimed Charlie, in surprised recognition.

Randall strove to escape through the opened door, but Sturdy, seizing him in his powerful grasp, cried, "Not so fast, my hearty! You've been up to some mischief, and if I don't see justice done you, may I never see salt water again!"

XXXVI.

HOW CHARLIE COMES INTO HIS FORTUNE

Probably there were no two persons then living whom Randall at that moment cared less about seeing than Bill Sturdy and our hero. Though astonished beyond expression to see them there, his position was too critical to allow him to waste time in giving expression to his surprise.

"Let me go, you scoundrel!" he exclaimed, making a desperate effort to elude Bill's grasp.

He might as well have striven to tear himself from the grasp of a lion.

"Not so fast, Mr. Randall," said Bill Sturdy.

"You mutinous scoundrel!" hissed the mate.

"You forget," said his captor, coolly, "that we are not now on the quarter-deck. Here I am your equal, Mr. Randall, and perhaps you may find me a little ahead."

"Let me go, if you know what is best for yourself," ejaculated Randall, almost foaming at the mouth.

"If you know what is best for yourself," said Bill composedly, "I would advise you to be quiet."

"And now," he continued, tightening his grasp a little, "just let me know what mischief you have been up to?"

"I am not responsible to you," said Randall haughtily.

"Responsible or not, you must give an account of yourself."

"If you will let me go, I will make it worth your while."

"Do you think I am mean enough to accept a bribe?" exclaimed Sturdy, with honest indignation. "Let me know what you have been doing."

"This old man!" said Randall, curbing his pride, "foolishly thought I meant to rob him, and shrieked for assistance."

"Is that all?" asked Bill, keenly glancing at the box of gold. "Things look as if you were going to rob him in reality."

"I am not in the habit of thieving," said Randall, haughtily.

At this moment the miser, who had been insensible, began to show signs of returning consciousness.

"Go and get some water, Charlie," said Bill. "The old man looks as if he might come to with a little help."

There was a pail half full of water standing near by. Charlie sprinkled Peter's face, and a moment after he gasped and opened his eyes. He cast a frightened glance from face to face till his eyes rested on Randall, when he shuddered, and cried feebly, "Take him away, take him away! He will rob me."

"Not while I am here to prevent him," returned Bill, in a tone of assurance.

"You are friends, then?" said the miser, anxiously.

"Of course we are. Did this man attempt to rob you?"

"Take care not to make any false accusations, old man," said Randall, menacingly.

"Speak the truth without fear," said Bill Sturdy; "I'll bear you out in it. He can't do you any harm."

"He demanded a thousand dollars from me," said the old man, "and when I would not give it to him he was going to help himself."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Randall?" asked Sturdy.

"I say this," said the mate, turning a malignant glance upon the miser, "that it was a regular bargain—a matter of business. This man owed me the money—he knows best what for, and refused to pay it."

"I did not," said Peter, hastily, "he had already been paid in full."

"Take care, Peter, or I may tell what it was for."

"I defy you," said the miser in a quavering tone of defiance. "You are a bad man."

"Perhaps you don't know who this boy is?" said Randall.

"Who is he?" asked Peter, doubtfully.

"He is one who has reason to consider you his enemy," said Randall, "even more than myself."

At this unexpected statement Bill Sturdy and Charlie looked at each other in surprise.

"Do you know this old man, then, Charlie?" asked Sturdy, at length.

"Yes," said our hero; "it is Mr. Manson, of whom my mother used to hire a room."

"The landlord?"

"Yes."

"And what harm has he ever done to you?"

"I don't know," said Charlie, shaking his head, "unless," and an anxious look came over his face, "he has distressed her for rent since I have been gone."

"Is that so?" demanded the sailor, sternly.

"No, no!" said Peter Manson, hastily. "She left my tenement a good many months ago."

"And where is she now?" asked Charlie, eagerly—for, having just landed, he knew nothing of his mother's whereabouts.

"Then you have not seen her?" asked Randall, with the sudden thought that he might make better terms for himself by selling his knowledge on the subject.

"No," said Charlie. "Is she well? Tell me, I entreat you, if you know."

"I do know," said Randall, composedly, "both where she is and how she has fared."

"Tell me quick."

"That depend upon circumstances. While I am held in custody I have little inducement to do you a favor."

"Sturdy will release you, won't you, Sturdy. Only tell me where my mother is, that I may go to her at once."

"Why," said Bill, cautiously, "I don't know, exactly. He may be trying a game, and giving us information won't be worth anything."

"You can keep me here till you have sent to ascertain if I have told you the truth."

"No, no," said Peter Manson, terrified at the prospect, "don't let him stay here. He would rob me."

"Rob you," sneered Randall; "it looks well in you whose money has been dishonestly gained, to charge me with theft."

"He—you won't mind what he says, gentlemen," said Peter Manson, trembling. "He only says it to spite me."

"To spite you! Yes, you old hunks, I will spite you, and that with a vengeance! Hark you, Sturdy, I have kept this old man's secret long enough, and though I hate you, and that boy there, I believe I hate him worse. If I will reveal to this boy a secret which will insure to him a property of from twenty to thirty thousand dollars, will you agree to let me go, and give me a thousand dollars?"

"Can you do it?" demanded Sturdy, in surprise.

"I can."

"Well, it ain't for me to say, but if I were Charlie here I would close with your terms."

"Don't you believe him," said Peter, terrified. "He is only making a fool of you. He can't do what he says."

Charlie was not a little astonished at the turn affairs had taken.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Bill, "if there might be something in this, as long as the old man seems so afraid the secret will be let out."

"You will find that I have told you the truth," said Randall; "tell me quickly yes or no. If you decline, you will lose more than I shall."

"Then," said Charlie, "I will accept your terms so far as I am concerned."

"And I'll bear witness to it," said Bill, "if you will carry out your part of the agreement."

"That I will do to your satisfaction. The first thing to be explained is, that in carrying this boy to sea I was only acting as the agent of another."

"And that other!"

"Was Peter Manson—the man you see before you."

"It is false," said the miser, turning ghastly pale.

"Moreover," said Randall, "I was well paid for the service. I received a thousand dollars."

"Oh, oh!" cried the old man, swaying backward and forward—"a thousand dollars in bright gold, and I so poor."

"You see he admits it," said Randall.

"And what did he want Charlie carried away for?"

"Reason enough for that. He feared the boy might learn that it was his wealth which he has been hoarding up."

"Mine!" exclaimed Charlie, in unbounded surprise.

"Did you never hear your mother speak of a certain Peter Thornton, who by purloining and making off with twenty thousand dollars caused your grandfather to fail?"

"Yes, often."

"That man is Peter Thornton!" said Randall, pointing with his finger to the miser.

The latter half rose from his seat, and then, as if he had received a mortal wound sank to the floor.

"You require no other confirmation of my words," said the mate.

"Why my lad, you will be a rich man," said Bill Sturdy, his face beaming with satisfaction.

"How glad mother will be!" exclaimed Charlie. "Where is she, Mr. Randall? I want so much to see her."

The mate gave Charlie briefly the information he required, and added, "You will probably need my assistance to establish your claim to the property of which yonder old man has so long deprived you. I shall hold myself at your service, trusting to your honor to pay me the thousand dollars agreed upon."

"You shall not trust in vain, Mr. Randall," said Charlie, promptly. "Place me in possession of what is rightfully mine, and you shall have no reason to complain."

"Very well, I shall stop at the Tremont House for the present. There you or your lawyer will find me. I advise you to employ legal assistance."

"I will do so, and thank you for the suggestion. As soon as I have seen my mother I shall proceed to business."

Randall withdrew, but was quickly followed by Charlie and his friend.

"Where are you going, my lad?" asked the sailor.

"You needn't ask, Bill,—to see my best friend, my mother. It is for her sake that I welcome this fortune. She shall never want any more while I have money. We will have a nice little home, where you shall be welcome, Bill, always and all the time."

Bill pressed the hand of our young hero in his own rough palm, and there was a suspicious moisture about his eyes, but he said nothing.

XXXVII.

REUNITED AT LAST

Mrs. Codman was sitting in a little room opening out from the breakfast-room, which had been appropriated as a sort of study by Bert and herself.

Topsy, the kitten, who had not yet attained the sobriety and demureness of old cat-hood, was running round after her tail.

"Oh, dear," sighed Bert, who was puzzling over a lesson in geography, "I can't study any to-day."

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Codman.

"Oh, I feel so restless."

"That isn't very unusual, is it?" asked her governess, with a smile.

"I feel more so than usual. Something is going to happen, I know."

"Something does happen every day, doesn't there?"

"Well, you know what I mean; something out of the way. I shouldn't wonder if Charlie got home to-day."

"Heaven grant he may!" exclaimed his mother, fervently.

By a strange coincidence—and coincidences do sometimes happen in real life, though not quite so often, perhaps, as in stories,—Mrs. Codman had hardly given utterance to her wish when the bell rang.

Bert jumped from her seat.

"It is he, I know it is!" she exclaimed. "Do let me go to the door."

"You are very fanciful to-day, Bert," said Mrs. Codman. But she did not forbid her going. Bert's earnestness had given birth to a wild hope on her part, that it might be as she had fancied.

Before the loitering servant had a chance to reach the door, Bert had already opened it.

Bill Sturdy and Charlie stood on the steps, Charlie looking handsome and manly, with an eager look on his bright face. Sturdy, it must be owned, looked and felt a little awkward, not being accustomed to call as a visitor at houses as elegant as Mr. Bowman's.

"Oh! this is Charlie, isn't it?" exclaimed Bert, with childish delight, instinctively putting out her hand.

"What, do you know me?" asked Charlie, pleased with this cordial reception, but astonished at being recognized.

"Oh, yes."

"Is my mother here?"

"Yes; I will go and call her. But won't you come in?"

"I would rather you would call her," said Charlie, bashfully.

Bert danced back into the little study.

"I was right, Mrs. Codman," said she, triumphantly, "It is Charlie."

"Has he come?" asked the mother, precipitately, letting fall, as she rose, the astonished kitten, who had clambered into her lap. "Oh, where is he?"

"At the door."

Mrs. Codman waited for no more, but hastened to the door, and, in a moment, the mother was face to face with her lost boy. Of the delight of that meeting, of the numberless questions which each had to ask, with what fond pride the mother noted the increased manliness of Charlie, I cannot speak in detail. Both hearts were full to overflowing with love and gratitude.

Meanwhile Bert was endeavoring, in her way, to entertain Bill Sturdy, who, though no man was braver or more self-reliant among his comrades, felt abashed in the presence of Bert, whom he looked upon as made of finer clay than himself. And, indeed, the beauty and sprightliness of the child made her look like a charming picture, and even Charlie's eyes could not help straying to her, from time to time, while he was talking with his mother.

Bill was perched upon an elegant chair, scarcely daring to rest his whole weight upon it, for fear it might give way under him, swinging his hat awkwardly in his hand.

"You are Bill Sturdy, are you not?" said Bert, determined to become better acquainted.

"How do you know that is my name?" asked Bill, half fancying she must have learned it in some supernatural way.

"Oh, Charlie wrote about you in his letter."

"Did his mother get a letter from him, then?"

"Yes; it was from some place with a hard name. I never can remember those geography names."

"Was it Rio Janeiro?"

"Yes; that was it. What an awful time he must have had! Do you like going to sea?"

"Yes, miss; I feel more at home on the sea than on the land."

"You do! Well, that's funny. I know I should be sea-sick, and that must be horrid."

"Well, it doesn't feel very pleasant," said Bill, with a smile.

"Oh, Mr. Sturdy, did you ever see a whale?"

"Yes, miss, plenty of them."

"I suppose you never came near being swallowed by one—like Jonah, you know?"

"No, miss; I don't think I should like that."

"What lots of adventures you must have had! You must stay to dinner, and afterwards you can tell me of some."

"I don't think I could, thank you, miss, all the same," said Bill, alarmed at the suggestion. "Not but I'd be glad to spin you a yarn some time."

Just then Charlie bethought himself of his companion.

"Mother," said he, "you must let me introduce to you my good friend, Bill Sturdy. You don't know how kind he has been to me."

"I am quite ready to believe it," said Mrs. Codman, holding out her hand quickly.

Bill took it shyly in his.

"I thank you most heartily for all you have done for my dear boy," said she.

"Anybody that wasn't a brute would have done as much, ma'am."

"Then I am afraid there are a great many brutes in the world."

Charlie stopped to dinner, but Bill could not be prevailed upon to do so. "You see, my boy," he explained to Charlie, "it don't come nat'ral; I shouldn't know how to behave. So I'll just go back to my boardinghouse, and you'll find me there after dinner."

XXXVIII.

REACHING PORT

Will the reader imagine a year to have passed?

During the time several things have happened.

In the first place, Mr. Bowman has invited Charlie to become a member of his family.

In the second place, charmed by the beauty and grace, as well as the more valuable qualities of Mrs. Codman, with whom he has had a good chance of becoming acquainted during her residence in his family, he has invited her to become his wife. Mrs. Codman was taken by surprise, but found this proposition not altogether unwelcome. She had become attached to Bert, who added her persuasions to those of her father, and at length her governess promised to assume to her a nearer relation.

Through the testimony of Randall, the identity of Peter Manson with Peter Thornton was fully established, and the law decided that the miser's wealth must go to Charlie and his mother. It was found to exceed the estimate which had been made of it, verging close upon forty thousand dollars. Including interest for twenty years, all this, and more of right, belonged to those who had so long been defrauded of it.

Mrs. Codman could not help pitying the miserable and disconsolate old man, pinched with privation, which had enfeebled him, and made him old before his time. She continued to allow him the use of the old building which he had occupied so many years, and allowed him a certain sum payable on the first of every month, to provide for his wants.

The sudden loss of the gold which he had been hoarding up so long did not kill Peter Manson, but it affected his intellect. The habit of avarice never left him. He saved up nine tenths of his allowance, and starved himself on the remainder. Attempts were made to remedy this by bringing him supplies of fuel and provisions, but these he economized as before. One day, when Charlie looked in to see how he was getting along, he beheld a sight which made him start back in affright.

The old man lay stretched out upon the floor cold and dead, with a few gold pieces firmly clutched in his grasp. He had received a sudden summons while engaged in counting over the little gold he had accumulated from his allowance.

So ended the wasted life of Peter Manson, the miser.

From him we turn to others who have figured in these pages.

Randall received the thousand dollars which had been promised as the reward of his disclosure. It appeared as if prosperity, rather than retribution, was to attend him. He succeeded in obtaining the command of a fine ship, with an excellent salary, and sailed with fair prospects. But his tyrannical habits had not deserted him. His unjustifiable abuse aroused the deadly anger of one of the crew, a man of excitable temper, who, before he could be withheld, plunged a knife into his heart one day, just after punishment, killing him instantly.

As for Captain Brace, he, too, demands a word. Brief mention will suffice. In a fit of ungovernable rage he burst a blood-vessel, and he, too, died instantly, without a moment's preparation, in which to repent of the many wrongs he had committed.

From the sad fate of these miserable men we turn gladly to brighter scenes.

Mrs. Codman, now Mrs. Bowman, has had no cause to regret her second choice. Her husband commands her respect and esteem, and makes her very happy. Charlie is now at an excellent school. After he has completed a liberal course of instruction, he will enter the counting-room of his step-father, where, as we cannot doubt, an honorable and useful career awaits him.

As for Bill Sturdy,—honest, brave, stout-hearted Bill Sturdy,—he could not be persuaded to abandon the sea, but now sails as captain of a vessel belonging to Mr. Bowman. He is unboundedly popular with his crew, whom he treats as comrades in whose welfare he is interested. Whenever he is in port, Captain Sturdy dines once with Mr. Bowman. He feels more at his ease now than when he was only a forecastle hand, but he will always be modest and unassuming. He is a prime favorite with Bert, and always brings her home something when he returns from foreign parts.

It is not ours to read the future; but I should not be surprised, when Charlie grows to manhood, if we should find Bert's early choice of him as her husband prophetic.

So we bid farewell to Charlie Codman. His trials and struggles have come early in life, but now his bark has drifted into smoother waters. The sky above him is cloudless. His character has been strengthened by his combat with adversity. Let us hope that his manhood may redeem the promise of his youth, and be graced by all the noblest attributes of humanity.