A millionaire at sixteen

“Certainly, my dear fellow, I will answer your questions if I can do so with propriety,” said Mr. Fobbington in reply to Louis.

“Was there any truth in those yarns you reeled off to me on the piazza of the hotel? Probably you could tell me the truths in your story quicker than you could the falsehoods.”

“You are quite right so far as time is concerned, though I did tell you some truth; but the proportion to the lies was ridiculously small,” answered the helmsman with a laugh. “I am a graduate of one of the colleges of Oxford; I spent a year in Paris; I had a fortune of about one-twentieth of the sum I mentioned, but I spent it all in ‘riotous living,’ as the Scripture has it; I never had the least difficulty in spending my income, and should not have had if it had been ten times as great.”

“I am much obliged to you for this frank statement. Perhaps you will allow me to ask a few more questions on other subjects,” continued Louis, who was becoming somewhat accustomed to the situation, and was considering how he should get out of the scrape into which he had so easily tumbled.

“I will permit you to ask any questions you please.”

“Where are my friends who went below?” asked Louis very anxiously.

“I did not expect you would bring a crowd with you when you accepted my friendly invitation, and your two masculine friends are in the way. In fact, their presence on board was really embarrassing; and when they went below to examine the timbers of the vessel, I was under the painful necessity of confining them in the hold by putting on the lower hatch,” returned the wheelman.

Louis realized that he was actually alone for the present. If Uncle Moses had been on board he would have seen that his protégé had an excellent opportunity to practise his calling as a knight-errant; for even in the days of chivalry these worthies had to use their skill, ingenuity, and prowess in getting out of scrapes, as well as in plunging into them. But “Sir Louis” could have conclusively proved that he had not sought this adventure. If he achieved any greatness in the conduct of the affair, it would be “greatness thrust upon him.”

If his mother had not been on board at this moment sick in the cabin, without a suspicion that she was in the power of her villanous husband, he would have felt differently, and might have been in the mood for an adventure. The particular Fate that arranges adventures does not always adapt them to the pleasure and convenience of the hero; and it was a gross error in this instance to put Mrs. Belgrave on board of the vessel. It might have been fun to the knight without her; but it was positive misery to have her in the trap with him.

“Then Captain Ringgold and Felix have not been drowned, had their throats cut, or their brains knocked out?” said Louis, when the disappearance of his friends had been explained.

“That is cruel, my dear Louis, and you shock me. I shall not love you if you talk like that,” replied Frinks, with an intensely deprecatory expression on his face. “We are men of brains, but not of blood. Do not do me the injustice to suppose I would engage in any affair that called for the shedding of blood, or the shedding of brains, for that matter. We simply make your friends comfortable in another part of the vessel; for their presence on deck might lead you to commit some act that would create unpleasantness on board.”

“Precisely so; and I cannot help seeing how kind and considerate you are with me,” added Louis, bestowing a sarcastic look upon his excellent friend. “May I venture to ask where this vessel is bound?”

“She is bound to England, though I cannot now inform you just what port she will make, for that will depend upon circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“The principal one is the pleasure of the captain.”

“In other words, your own pleasure.”

“Bless you, no, my dear Louis! I am not the captain,” protested the wheelman, shaking his head.

“May I ask who is the captain?”

“Captain Wade Farrongate,” replied Frinks without hesitation. “Of course you are aware that he is the husband of the lady in the cabin. I assure you, Louis, I am telling you the strict truth; for it would be useless to lie about a matter you understand better than I do.”

“Fobbington and Farrongate are horses of the same color, and both of them are myths,” said Louis with a palpable sneer.

“Perhaps you can tell me who is the captain of this frisky schooner.”

“I can; one John Scoble is the captain of her.”

“I don’t know him.”

“If you don’t know your commander, I can introduce you to him so far as his character is concerned, for I know him well. John Scoble was a deserter from the British army, and he is a robber, a swindler, an embezzler. There are warrants out for his arrest in New York and New Jersey at the present moment,” said Louis with a good deal of vim.

“That’s an excellent character you give him,” replied Frinks, shrugging his shoulders.

“My mother and my two friends in the hold would tell you the same story, if you wish to examine them.”

“It’s none of my affair, and I shall not trouble myself to look into the matter. I only obey orders, and it makes no difference to me what the captain’s name is.”

“I am not to believe that this schooner is the Oxford, I suppose?” continued the victim.

“Not unless you insist upon it. I took care not to let you see the name on her stern,” replied Frinks.

“She is the Maud, I have no doubt.”

“You are a Yankee, and you guessed right the first time.”

“I have been on board of her before. She has been painted white since I saw her.”

“Three coats,” laughed the wheelman.

“If John Scoble is the captain, what are you, devoted lover of the truth?”

“I am the mate.”

“If you are bound to England, do you intend to take my two male friends with you, Mr. Frinks?” asked Louis, who had learned to “mister” the mate on board of the Blanche.

“I must refer you to the captain for an answer to that question, my dear Louis, for I don’t know what will be done with them. We did not expect them, and did not provide for their accommodation beforehand.”

“I am very much obliged to you for the information you have given me, Mr. Frinks. So far as I can see, what you have told me gives me no advantage if I should desire to make any change in the present situation,” said Louis as he moved away from the wheel.

“If I had supposed it would, I should not have given it you; for I am employed by Captain Farrongate, and it is my duty to be loyal to him,” returned the mate. “But, my little lark, must I remind you that you are on the broad Atlantic, where you can’t swim ashore? You are caught in the captain’s fly-trap, and you can’t do a thing to help yourself. As your true and faithful friend, I advise you not to attempt to squeeze milk out of a paving-stone, for it can’t be done.”

“Certainly it cannot; but the exercise might strengthen the muscles of the hand and arm,” replied the victim as he moved forward.

He looked in at the galley as he passed it, rather to measure the size of the cook than to observe his culinary operations. He was not of large stature, and did not look at all formidable, for his expression was mild and meeching. The victim continued his walk forward, where he found the two seamen seated on the forecastle. They were men of medium size, who might be serviceable in an affray, but Louis did not regard them as invincible.

Like a good general, the victim had carefully estimated the force on the other side, and he went to the open hatch to consider the approaches to the prison of his friends. The wind was north-north-east, and the Maud was beating out of the lower bay of New York. As the schooner tacked, all hands on deck were occupied, and Louis found his opportunity to look at the lower hatch, as the mate called it. The main hatch opened into the between-decks, not often found in small crafts. Directly under it was another, with the hatches on, secured by a broad iron bar, bent to fit the curve. Beneath this closed hatch, if the mate had told him the truth, Captain Ringgold and Felix were imprisoned.

Louis examined the iron bar with interest, and discovered that it was held in place by a large padlock. Of course it was locked, and the key was probably in the mate’s pocket. If he attempted to release the prisoners, it would take a long time to break the lock, and Frinks would sound the alarm if he should jump down the hatch. He would have at least three men upon him in an instant, and it was not prudent to undertake any movement in this direction.

If the victim had examined the between-decks, he would have found that it was fitted up for second-class passengers, with rude berths on the sides. He wondered if there was any means of getting from the cabin to the steerage, as the place was called, or sometimes the fore cabin. He remembered the door he had seen opening from the pantry, and he had a hope that he might effect an entrance by it.

The motion of the schooner was very uneasy, and the wind seemed to be increasing to a gale. The Maud was carrying all her principal sails, and she was making rough weather of it. The sea broke over her at times, and it must soon be necessary to close the main hatch. But it was time for Louis to inquire into the condition of his mother, and he descended the companion-way to the cabin. He looked about him as he entered, but he saw nothing of Scoble, though he was confident he was close at hand. He entered the stateroom, and found his mother in just the position he had left her.

The son wondered if Scoble had been near her; but he could not answer the question. He bent over the sick lady and listened to her breathing. It was very seldom that she was ill, and at these times her son was her only nurse, so that he was not altogether unskilled in the duties of the sickroom.

“Are we going back to the shore, Louis?” she asked, when she was conscious of his presence.

“How do you feel, mother?” inquired he, without answering her question. “I hope you are better.”

“I am a great deal better, my boy; and I should get up if I were not afraid it would make me worse,” replied Mrs. Belgrave, raising her head. “Are we going back to Southfield now?”

This was a hard question to answer. He could not tell her a falsehood, and it would be useless to do so if he could, for she would soon find out for herself the painful truth. It was worse than folly to lie to her; he must tell her the actual situation, and he might just as well do it then as a few hours later. The Maud was bound for England; and Scoble had no doubt bought the vessel for the sole purpose of taking her and her son there.

“You don’t answer me, Louis. Why are you silent?” she asked, fixing an anxious gaze upon him when he hesitated.

“We are not returning to Southfield, mother, I am sorry to say,” replied he, seating himself by her berth, and taking her hand. “You must be very strong and brave, mother, for my news is very disagreeable.”

“What is it, Louis?” she demanded with a gasp.

“This vessel is the Maud; John Scoble is in command of her, and we are bound to England.”

The poor woman covered her face with her hands and said not a word.