by Oliver Optic
The marriage was deferred till the next year, when Edward's father and mother made a winter tour to New Orleans. The great event was duly chronicled in the newspapers, and the young couple made a bridal tour to Europe, where they spent a year. On their return an elegant residence, next to the Honorable Mr. Montague's, in one of the finest towns on Penobscot Bay, awaited them.
Edward practised law in a mild way, but never made any great figure in his profession. He was an officer in the war, has been to the state legislature as a representative, and the honors of a senatorship are still before him. Like the other distinguished men we have introduced, he is the father of only one child by his second marriage, a pretty daughter, who is the idol of both parents, and particularly of the Honorable Mr. Montague.
Edward Montague has all of this world's goods which are required to make a man happy, he has a beautiful and loving wife, a beautiful and affectionate daughter, a kind and indulgent father still. All the world regards him as a happy man; but he is not entirely so, for he cannot be satisfied with his past life. He cannot help thinking of the deception he practised upon his father, and still fears that some unexpected event will disclose his misconduct. His wife shares his great secret, for, before he married her, a sense of honor compelled him to make her his confidante, which he did in the presence of her brother, who vouched for the truth of all he said. He can never be entirely at peace while his father lives.
Mrs. Wayland married again, but Edward continued to send her at the rate of ten dollars a week for the care of his son, who still passes as her own child. After this marriage of the nurse, the father of the boy was vexed by a new fear. He saw that it was possible for her husband to probe the secret through his letters and remittances; so he ceased to write letters, or to send money by mail as before. Once a year, when Tom Barkesdale came north to spend his summer vacation, he sent him with the money to deliver into her own hands.
Strange as it may seem, Edward has not seen his boy since he parted with him on board of the steamer at Havana. When he thinks of the little one he cannot but reproach himself for the past. He feels that he has wronged the boy, and fears that his own emotions might betray him in the presence of the child. He is vexed by a score of fears which he cannot define. The guide and standard of his life is honor rather than religious principle, which is the only safe guide and standard. His conscience reproaches him for what he has done and for what he has left undone. He feels that he has dishonored the memory of his lost wife, and that his conduct is a continued wrong to his child. Like thousands of others, he shuns that which might lead him into the path of truth and right. He pays liberally for the support of his boy, and tries to persuade himself that he is doing all that honor requires of him.
All this is but the introduction to our story; and with the next chapter we step over a period of more than a dozen years.
CHAPTER III.
LITTLE BOBTAIL.
"What have you done with it, Robert?" demanded Ezekiel Taylor, a coarse, rough man of forty, who was partially intoxicated and very angry. "You and your mother've hid that jug of rum."
Robert looked at Mrs. Taylor, who was making bread at the table, but he did not deem it prudent to make any reply. That jug was the evil genius of the little household. It had transformed Ezekiel Taylor from an honest, industrious, and thriving man, into a mean, lazy, and thriftless drunkard. It had brought misery and contention into the little house which he had bought and paid for before his marriage. He was a cooper by trade, and had set up in business for himself; but his dissolute habit had robbed him of his shop, and reduced him first to a journeyman and then to a vagabond. He earned hardly enough to pay for the liquor he consumed; but, somehow,—and how was the mystery which perplexed everybody who knew the Taylors,—the family always had enough to eat and good clothes to wear. Years before, he had, under the pretence of buying a shop in which to set up in business again, mortgaged his house for five hundred dollars, and his wife had signed away her right of dower in the premises, without a suspicion of anything wrong. But the money was quickly squandered, and Squire Gilfilian, who had the mortgage, threatened to take the place, though the interest was paid with tolerable regularity by the wife.
Ezekiel worked a little when he was sober; but a day of industry was sure to be followed by a spree. He could procure a few drinks at the saloons; but as soon as he began to be tipsy, even the saloon keepers refused to furnish him more, for the public sentiment of the place fiercely condemned them. The cooper had worked a day and obtained a jug of rum. After breakfast he had gone into the village and drank two or three times, and when he could procure no more liquor there, he came home to continue his spree on the stock he had before laid in. The jug had been concealed in the wood-shed, where Robert had discovered it. It suggested evil to himself and his mother, abuse and even personal violence. As he afterwards explained it, he saw a storm brewing, and, like a prudent sailor, he had prepared for it, or prepared to avert it, by taking the jug down to the steamboat wharf and dropping it upon the rocks below, where the rising tide soon covered the pieces, and for a time concealed the evidences of the deed.
"What have you done with it, you villain?" repeated the angry head of the family, looking first at the boy and then at his wife.
"I haven't seen it, and didn't know you had any jug," replied Mrs. Taylor.
"Don't lie to me about it," stormed Ezekiel. "You can't fool me. I left that jug in the wood-shed, and 'tain't there now. It couldn't have gone off without any help."
"I haven't touched it," repeated Mrs. Taylor.
"Yes, you have; you know you have," added the tippler, demonstrating with a clinched fist towards her.
"I tell you I haven't seen it."
"I say you have," said Ezekiel, shaking his fist in her face; "you know you have; and if you don't tell me what you've done with it, it'll go hard with you."
"She hasn't seen it, and don't know anything at all about it," interposed Robert, in order to turn the wrath of the inebriate from his mother.
"Then you do, you villain," said Ezekiel, turning sharply upon the youth.
The boy did not make any reply.
"What have you done with it?" cried the angry cooper.
"Mother knows nothing at all about it; she hasn't touched it, and didn't know there was any jug there."
Mrs. Taylor suspended work and looked earnestly at the boy. She understood by his manner that he had removed the jug, and she dreaded the consequences of her husband's wrath. Ezekiel continued to repeat his question in his drunken frenzy, and to demonstrate violently with his fist at the youth. He turned again upon his wife, and accused her of being a party to the removal of the jug; but Robert's only object seemed to be to shield her from his wrath.
"I tell you again she don't know anything at all about it," said he, at last. "I did the business myself; and that jug has gone up. It won't hold any more rum."
"What did you do with it, you villain?" gasped Ezekiel.
"I dropped it off the railroad wharf upon the rocks; and there isn't a piece left of it big enough to stop a mouse hole."
"You did—did you?"
"I did," added Robert, desperately, as he braced himself to brave the consequences of his bold deed.
"What business had you to meddle with my property?" demanded Ezekiel, furiously.
"It was a kind of property that don't make any man the richer," replied the youth.
"Who told you to do it?" asked the inebriate, glancing at his wife.
"No one told me, and no one knew anything about it."
"Then I'll teach you to steal my property! I'll take it out of your hide, you rascal."
"There isn't any of it in my hide, and I don't mean there ever shall be."
Ezekiel took down a clothes-stick which was hanging against the wall, and with it he made a dive and a plunge at Robert. The boy was too active to be caught by a man whose footing was none too steady. He easily dodged the blows which were aimed at him, till the tippler, out o
f breath from his exertions, placed himself before the door to prevent the escape of the culprit, and there rested himself from the fatigue of the onslaught.
"Don't you strike that boy," said Mrs. Taylor, warmly; and she had before essayed to suspend the strife.
"Yes I will! I'll flog him within an inch of his life. I'll teach him to meddle with my property," gasped Ezekiel.
"If you do, I'll leave this house, and never come into it again. I won't have no such goings on where I am," said the woman, warmly and energetically.
"That's right, mother; you leave," added Robert, who had remained in the room only to turn the wrath of the husband from her to himself.
"He shan't hurt you, Robert. I'll stand up for you to the end," added Mrs. Taylor, as she passed into her chamber, which was next to the "living-room."
"I don't care who goes, nor who stays. I ain't a going to have any such works as this," continued Ezekiel, as he gathered himself up for another attack. "I ain't a going to have my property, that cost money, destroyed, and you won't want to do such a thing again, I can tell you."
The angry man rushed towards Robert, who stood near the door which opened into the front entry; but he knew that it was locked, and so he did not attempt to escape in that direction. Being in the corner, his furious assailant attempted to pin him there; but Robert, by a flank movement, reached the door which led to the wood-shed, and passed out. He was closely pursued by Ezekiel; but the tipsy man might as well have attempted to catch a wild antelope. The boy dodged around the wood-shed and other buildings till he had thrown his pursuer off the track; then he went to the back window of his mother's chamber to assure himself that she was still safe. She was putting on her bonnet and shawl, with the evident intention of leaving the house.
"Did he strike you, Robert?" she asked, through the open window, with more of indignation than terror in her manner.
"Not he," replied Robert. "I can keep out of his way easy enough."
"Don't go near him again—that's a good boy. There's no knowing what he may do. He's as ugly as sin when he has had two or three glasses and wants more."
"But where are you going, mother?" asked the boy.
"I don't know where to go yet; but I'm not going to stay here to-day. I can't bear it any longer. You will keep out of his way—won't you, Robert?"
"I'm not afraid of him; but I'm going out a fishing as soon as the tide makes enough to get the boat off."
"Well, I'll go up and spend the day with Mrs. Paine," added Mrs. Taylor. "I hope your father will get over it before night."
"I've got about enough of this, mother; and if it wasn't for you, I'd clear out this very day."
"Don't leave me yet, Robert," pleaded the poor woman. "I mean to leave him myself if he don't behave better. He shan't abuse you."
"I don't mean he shall. But I think I can take care of myself better than you can of yourself."
Mrs. Taylor did not think so; but she did not dispute the point. The approach of Ezekiel caused the youth to beat another retreat; but, from the other side of the street, he saw his mother leave the house and walk towards the village. Satisfied that she was safe from the wrath of her brutal husband, he soon followed her, though he did not overtake her, for his course, after a short distance, led him in another direction.
"I'm glad that man is not my father," muttered Robert to himself, as he walked towards the village.
A knowledge of this fact had come to him only a few days before, and it was a great relief to him, for certainly there was no meaner man in Camden than Ezekiel Taylor. He was sorry that he had ever been permitted even to bear his name. He was sixteen years old, though, for his age, he was rather short. But he was a stout, wiry, athletic little fellow. He was just as much puzzled as the rest of the town's people to know how his mother contrived to feed and clothe herself and him, when it was patent to everybody that her husband spent all that he earned for rum. She always had money enough to buy a beefsteak and to pay her store bill. When everything seemed to have "gone to the dogs," and his last suit of clothes was out at the elbows, she astonished him by getting a new suit. The coat had very brief skirts, after the fashion then prevailing. On his short, stubbed form, it gave him a peculiar appearance, which promptly attracted the attention of his companions, when he went to church and Sunday school, after a long absence caused by the want of suitable clothing. The boys called him "Bob Taylor;" but when this coat appeared, they cut off one syllable, and made his cognomen "Bobtail," which soon became "Little Bobtail," for he was often called little Bob Taylor before, by the larger boys.
Robert was disposed to resent all these liberties with his name; but as Squire Gilfilian, the hotel keeper, and the deputy collector of the port, good-naturedly adopted the fashion of the youngsters, he was compelled to acquiesce. After all, there was not much difference between Little Bobtail and little Bob Taylor, certainly not enough to quarrel about.
Robert went to the post-office, not because he expected any letters,—for he had no correspondence,—but because a great many people went there when the mail arrived. He was always ready to make a quarter when an opportunity presented. He spent half his time on the water in the summer, and knew all about a boat. Sometimes the strangers at the hotel wanted him to go out with them, and indicate the best places to catch cod, haddock, and mackerel, and sometimes there was an errand to be done.
"Little Bobtail!" shouted the post-master through his window, as Robert entered the office.
He went up to the window, and asked what was wanted.
"Here is a letter for Squire Gilfilian, who was in a desperate hurry to get it, if one came," added the post-master. "Will you carry it up to his office?"
"Yes, sir," replied Little Bobtail, promptly.
"Here is another for Captain Chinks. I think he is at the squire's office, for they just went up the street together. You may as well take it along."
Robert took the two letters, and hastened to the squire's office. As he entered, Captain Chinks came out of the rear apartment, where the lawyer held his private conferences with his clients.
"Here's a letter for you, sir," said Robert, as he handed one of them to the captain, who immediately tore it open.
"Thank you, Little Bobtail," said Captain Chinks, taking a quarter in scrip from his vest pocket, and giving it to him.
"I am very much obliged to you, Captain Chinks," replied Robert, glad to earn a quarter so easily. "Is Squire Gilfilian in that room?"
"Yes; but he's busy."
"I have a letter for him."
"Put it on the table, and he will find it when he comes out; on his writing desk there."
Little Bobtail tossed the letter on the desk, and left the office, thinking only of the quarter he had just made, and how he should invest it to the best advantage in provisioning the old boat with which he intended to go a fishing that day. A sheet of gingerbread and a "hunk of cheese," as he expressed it, seemed to suit the emergencies of the occasion; and after purchasing these articles, he walked down the road leading to the Portland steamboat wharf. He had gone but a short distance before he overtook Captain Chinks, who was reading the letter he just received as he walked along the plank sidewalk.
Captain Chinks, who was, possibly, a distant relative of him of the horse-marines, though his name had become corrupted, was a man of doubtful reputation. The officials of the custom-house kept a sharp eye upon him, and endeavored to connect him with certain irregular transactions, whereby sundry cases of brandy and sundry boxes of cigars had come into Camden without paying tribute to the majesty of the custom-house. The goods were seized, and duly confiscated; but there was a link wanting in the chain of testimony which connected Captain Chinks with the affair. Robert supposed he had been consulting Squire Gilfilian about the matter; and the youth judged from the angry look of the captain that the lawyer had not been able to afford him any satisfaction.
Captain Chinks read his letter, and made his way down to the steamboat wharf. As Bobtail ran his old
boat by the end of the pier, he saw the man of doubtful reputation go on board of the steamer, and noticed him on her deck when she started.
That afternoon Robert sold a good mess of fish at the market, and went home to the cottage, which was on the road leading to the steamboat wharf. Ezekiel was not there, but his mother was. As the tippler could not obtain the liquor for a spree, he had become sober. He went to work the next day, and a temporary peace was patched up. He offered no violence to the boy while he was sober, but this was only for a brief period. In a few days he obtained another jug of rum, and Robert and his mother were obliged to abandon the house to him.
On this afternoon Robert went to the post-office as usual. He had not been on the water since the day he had carried the letters to Squire Gilfilian's office, for the reason that he could not obtain a boat, for he was not the owner of the old craft in which he generally sailed. She belonged to a boatman by the name of Prince, who managed a larger Newport boat, in which he conveyed passengers from the hotel, and others, upon excursions on the bay. Anybody who wanted the old boat took her, without the formality of asking the owner's leave, though Robert, being a boy, was not quite so independent as others; but Prince was a good fellow, and allowed him to use her whenever she was not taken by somebody else. But Robert had borrowed her for the day, and secured her near the cottage the night before, so that she could not be used till the tide served.
"Little Bobtail!" shouted the post-master.
"What, sir?"
"Didn't I give you a letter for Squire Gilfilian, about a week ago?"
"Yes, sir, you did."
