by Oliver Optic
"I didn't till the man identified the bill," replied the squire. "Mrs. Taylor gave me the bill in the morning, and while I was writing her release, Mr. Slipwing came into the office. When the woman paid me the money, I couldn't help wondering where she got so large a bill. Happening to think of her son's connection with the letter, it occurred to me that he had opened that letter. Slipwing described the bill before he saw it, so as fully to identify it. Of course I was entirely satisfied then that Bobtail had stolen the letter."
"I don't blame you for thinking so," said the skipper.
"It looked like a plain case; but it is singular how that bill came back to me. You went off to Mount Desert that day, Captain Chinks."
"Yes; I expected a lot of stuff from the provinces. I went to Bar Harbor, and bought the boat."
"And you paid the bill from the letter for the boat? Now, that brings up another question. The bill belonged to me, and I claim it. What Mrs. Taylor paid me amounts to nothing."
"I don't believe you can make that go, Squire Gilfilian," said Mr. Hines. "If I mistake not, there's a decision the other way."
"I shall try it, at any rate," added the squire.
"No, you needn't," interposed Captain Chinks. "I will make it good myself."
"That will settle the case," replied the squire, who knew that his client had the means to do so.
"If Mrs. Taylor must make good the loss to you, then Colonel Montague must make it good to her, and Mr. Gordon to the colonel. If the payment in stolen money was not legal, there was no sale of the boat, and she still belongs to Mr. Gordon," continued Mr. Hines. "In the mean time the government has seized her for violation of the revenue laws, and the case is decidedly mixed."
"I will pay the squire the five hundred dollars," added the smuggler.
"And lose your boat besides?" queried the squire.
"What's the use? You can't fight against the government. The custom-house officers have the boat and the stuff."
"What stuff?" asked the squire.
"A lot of brandy that I could have sold for over a thousand dollars, which didn't cost me four hundred. It would bring fifteen hundred at retail."
"O ho!" said the squire, opening his eyes.
"I'm caught, and I may as well make the best of it. I used to think this sort of business paid, but I don't think so now. I shall lose my boat, the money I paid for the stuff, and have to pay a fine of a thousand dollars besides. That makes me about two thousand out—half of all I'm worth, besides my farm; and all because Little Bobtail wouldn't make a trade with me. I as good as offered to give him the boat, if he would return the stuff; and I reckon he'll wish he had when you take the boat away from him, for he has been making money with her."
"No, he won't," said Mr. Hines, decidedly. "He gave the information that led to the seizure of the goods, and his share of the fine and forfeiture will be at least five hundred dollars, and he can buy the boat."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the skipper, opening his eyes. "I had no idea I was to make anything out of this business. But I am in love with this boat; and if I get her, I shall be the happiest fellow on Penobscot Bay."
"You will have her; and we'll manage it so that you shall have the use of her till she is sold," added Mr. Hines.
Captain Chinks was no longer a man of doubtful reputation. His contraband operations were capable of proof without his confession, and his reputation as a dishonest man was now fully established. The Skylark arrived at Rockland in a couple of hours. The United States deputy marshal arrested Captain Chinks; but he was liberated on bail furnished by Squire Gilfilian. The Skylark was seized, and Mr. Hines appointed keeper; and, on his own responsibility, he permitted Bobtail to have the use of her.
The detective had fully sifted the captain's method of operating. He was in company with a "Blue Nose" fisherman, who used to run the goods down to the coast of Maine, where his partner took them into his boat, usually in the night, or under the lee of some uninhabited island. Another lot was on its way, but the captain concluded to have them properly entered, and paid the duties.
When Bobtail returned from the custom-house in Rockland to the Skylark, he found Mr. Tom Barkesdale on board of her, waiting for him. This gentleman had come down to Camden in the steamer, and finding that the boy had gone to Rockland, he obtained a team, and drove to that place, where he found the Skylark at the wharf. Monkey did not know where the skipper had gone; but he soon appeared with all his passengers, for the business had not detained them more than an hour. But Mr. Barkesdale was not inclined to "tell him all" in the presence of so many persons. He finally, after much persuasion, induced Bobtail to return with him in his buggy, while Mr. Hines sailed the Skylark back to Camden. Nothing but the assurance that the business was of the utmost importance could prevail upon the skipper to leave the yacht; and much he wondered what that business could be. They walked up to the hotel together, but, as yet, Mr. Barkesdale said nothing.
"I think you have worn that bobtail coat about long enough," said the gentleman, when they came to Main Street.
"I have a better suit at home."
"What color is it?"
"Blue, sir."
"That will hardly answer. You must go up to Belfast with me, and attend the funeral of Mr. Montague."
"I?"
"Yes; the family are all very much interested in you. You need a black suit, and we will get one here," added Mr. Barkesdale, as they entered the best clothing store on the street.
The finest suit that could be obtained was purchased; and it was supplemented, at other stores, with a cap, nice shoes, black kid gloves, and other furnishing goods. Bobtail protested against the gloves; he did not want any gloves in summer; never wore them, except in winter. But Mr. Barkesdale said he must wear them at the funeral, if he never did again.
"I don't see why I should be rigged up in all these togs, to go to the funeral of a man I never saw but twice in my life," said Bobtail, as they seated themselves in the buggy.
"You don't know much," laughed Mr. Barkesdale.
"I know I don't."
"You don't even know your own name."
"Everybody calls me Little Bobtail, and it wouldn't be strange if I forgot my own name," replied the boy.
"I'm told your father's habits are not very good."
"Zeke Taylor's? He isn't my father; he is my mother's second husband; and my father died when I was small."
"Your mother must have a hard time of it with a drunken husband."
"That's so; I wish she would leave him; and I think she will, for he don't do much, and spends all he gets for rum. He's ugly, too, and tries to get her money away from her."
"Then your mother has money of her own?"
"I don't know; there's something strange about it," replied Bobtail, looking into the face of his companion, and wondering what he was "driving at." "Zeke says she has money hid away from him."
"Then you have thought of the matter?"
"Well, I can't see, for the life of me, how she supports the family."
"Well you don't know much—not even your own name," laughed Mr. Barkesdale again.
"I know that my father's name was Wayland, and by rights mine ought to be Wayland."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Of course I am. I know what my mother told me. I was born in the Island of Cuba."
"That's true, but not the rest of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Your name is not Wayland."
"What is it, then?" asked Bobtail, amazed beyond expression.
"Your name is Robert Barkesdale Montague—the middle name after me."
"You don't mean so!"
"I do; and when you see your mother, as you call her, she will tell you the same thing."
"Isn't she my mother?" asked Bobtail,—or rather Robert, as we shall insist upon calling him now,—with a gasp of astonishment.
"She is not; she is a very worthy woman, but she is not your mother."
"Well, who is my m
other?"
"The first Mrs. Montague, of course; she died in Cuba when you were only a few months old. Mrs. Wayland—as she was then—was your nurse. She has brought you up, and brought you up very well too, for it appears that you are an honest, good boy, noble, brave, and intelligent."
"But what's the reason I never knew anything about this before?" asked the puzzled youth.
"I'll tell you;" and Mr. Barkesdale told the story which is related in the first two chapters.
"I supposed I had a mother, but no father. It turns out just the other way," said Robert, rubbing his throbbing head.
"And your father is one of the best men in the world."
"Mrs. Taylor is one of the best women in the world; and I shall be sorry to leave her. I don't like to believe she is not my mother, after all she has done for me. I don't believe she ever spoke a cross word to me in her life;" and the tears started in the boy's eyes.
"I don't think you will have to leave her. Your father will take her up to Belfast."
"And all the money came from my father?"
"Yes; I have carried a great deal to her myself."
Robert Montague continued to ask questions till the buggy stopped before the door of the cottage in Camden. Mrs. Taylor wept, and the boy wept, as they met. He wished that the truth had not been revealed to him. Mr. Barkesdale went to the hotel, and Robert spent the evening with Mrs. Taylor. Ezekiel was at home, and sober. He was permitted to know where the money which had perplexed him so much came from; and, as the son of Colonel Montague, he regarded Robert with respect and deference.
Mrs. Taylor and Robert took the steamer for Belfast the next morning, with Mr. Barkesdale. The boy was dressed in his black suit, and looked like another person. Colonel Montague's carriage was waiting for them when the steamer arrived. As Robert entered the elegant mansion, now "the house of mourning," he could hardly control his violent emotion. Mr. Barkesdale conducted him and Mrs. Taylor to the library, where the colonel was alone. As they entered, he walked towards his son, grasped him by the hand, and turning away his face, wept bitterly. Robert could not help weeping in sympathy.
"You know now that you are my son," said he, when he was able to speak.
"Mr. Barkesdale told me all about it."
"You are my son, and I am proud of you; but I have been a coward, Robert," added the colonel, with anguish. "I have wronged my father, who lies dead in the house; and I have wronged you, my son."
"No, sir; you haven't wronged me," protested Robert.
"I have kept you out of your birthright for sixteen years."
"I couldn't have been any better off than I was with Mrs. Taylor," replied the boy, turning to the woman.
The colonel took her hand, and expressed his gratitude to her for all she had done.
"He is a good boy, and I wish he was my son," said Mrs. Taylor. "I can't bear to think of losing him."
"You shall not be separated, and he and I both will see that you never want for anything while you live."
Mrs. Montague and Grace were sent for, and presently appeared.
"I am glad to see you, my boy," said the lady, as she took both his hands. "You are my son now."
"And did you know I was Colonel Montague's son before?" asked Robert.
"I knew it before I was married to him," she replied. "My husband always reproached himself—and now more than ever—because he concealed his first marriage from his father; but my brother and I always thought it right for him to do so."
"I know it was wrong," added the colonel, bitterly.
"Undoubtedly it was wrong in the abstract, but it was the least of two evils," said Mr. Barkesdale.
"Now you are my brother, I shall kiss you again," was the greeting of Grace, as she suited the action to the word.
The rest of the day was spent in talking over the events of the past, and Robert Montague was duly installed as a member of the household. The funeral took place the next day, and hundreds of people stared at the boy who rode with the other members of the family in the first carriage, and wondered why he was there. In a few days the strange story was fully circulated both in Belfast and in Camden.
On the day after the funeral Robert returned to his former home with Mrs. Taylor. He was greeted by his friends with a deference which made him feel very awkward; and when he went on board of the Skylark, Monkey hardly dared to speak to him. But he soon convinced all that his altered fortunes had not changed his heart. He was more amazed himself than other people were to find himself the son of one of the richest and most distinguished men in the state. He returned to his new home in the Skylark on the same day, and arrived soon enough to give Grace a sail in the yacht before dark.
In due time Robert attended the trial of Captain Chinks, who pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to a year's imprisonment for opening the letter and stealing the money. The yacht and the liquor were condemned and sold. The captain was fined a thousand dollars; and it was said that he got off easy because he pleaded guilty. Colonel Montague bought the Skylark when she was sold, with his son's share of "the moiety of the penalty and forfeiture." With his father as a passenger, Robert sailed the yacht home.
The Penobscot was got off by the sailing-master and crew at the next tide after she went on the ledge. Buoyed up with casks she was towed to Belfast, where she was put on the ways, and made as good as new.
"I thought your sailing-master was rather reckless that night," said Robert, one day, as they passed the Penobscot on the ways, and were discussing the mishap.
"It was not his fault. The wheel broke down," replied the colonel.
"I didn't know the wheel broke."
"Yes; that was the trouble; but if it had been the sailing-master's fault, I wouldn't have said a word, after he saved my father. He's a brave fellow; he is like you, my son. If you had been less brave, Robert, Grace would certainly have been drowned, or killed on the rocks."
Colonel Montague shuddered as he thought of such a calamity, and then gazed with admiration upon his son.
"I would have done that any time for the fun of it," laughed Robert.
"It was hard for me, when we met on the deck of the Penobscot, to keep from telling you the truth—that you were my son."
"It's all right now."
The conversation turned to Mrs. Taylor. Colonel Montague wanted to take her into his family, but her drunken husband was in the way of such a step. On one of her trips down the bay the Skylark put into Camden, and Robert and his father called upon her.
"I'm all alone now," said Mrs. Taylor, after she had exchanged greetings with her visitors.
"Why, where is Ezekiel?" asked Robert.
"He went off a-fishing yesterday in Prince's boat, and caught a great fare of mackerel. He sold them for nine dollars, and of course he has been intoxicated ever since. This afternoon he got into a quarrel with Moses Pitkins, and struck him with a club. Both of them were drunk, and they say Moses is so badly hurt that he may die. Ezekiel was taken up, and sent over to Rockland."
"Then you had better go with us to Belfast, Mrs. Taylor," added Colonel Montague.
Robert begged her to do so, and she consented. Squire Simonton was engaged to defend Ezekiel when his trial came off. Mrs. Taylor went to Belfast in the Skylark, and was kindly welcomed at the elegant mansion.
Moses Pitkins did not die, but Ezekiel was sentenced to two months' imprisonment. Squire Simonton labored diligently with him to abandon his cups; but the two months' abstinence did him more good than the arguments, able and kind as they were. When he was discharged he returned to Camden to find his home deserted. Squire Simonton renewed his efforts to secure the reform of the toper. He assured Ezekiel that his wife would not live with him if he continued to be intemperate. He promised faithfully never to drink a drop, and the squire kept an eye on him. He let the house to Prince, and boarded with him. He went to work at his trade, and people said Ezekiel Taylor was a new man since he came out of prison. Mrs. Taylor heard of his good behavior, and came down to see
him. He promised her faithfully that he would never drink another drop. Colonel Montague had given her a beautiful little cottage near his own house, handsomely furnished, when the reports indicated that Ezekiel had actually reformed. Having satisfied herself of the truth of the report, she invited him to his new home. Thus far he has kept his promise, and both are happy in their new residence, which Robert visits every day, and sometimes oftener.
Mr. Walker and his family spent a week with the Montagues, in September, after Mr. Barkesdale had gone. Though picnics and pleasure parties were not in order so soon after the death of the Hon. Mr. Montague, Robert took Grace and Emily out to sail every day in the Skylark; and up to this date, he thinks Miss Walker is the prettiest girl in the State of Maine. He may change his mind within ten years; but if he does not, she will probably have an opportunity to accept or refuse his hand.
Monkey was retained for service in the Skylark during the rest of the season. He still thinks his friend, the skipper, is the greatest man in the world. He sends a portion of his wages to his mother, and in the fall moved her up to Belfast. Robert goes to Camden occasionally, and always calls upon Mr. Simonton, who invariably gives him a cheerful welcome. His views in regard to smuggling are very definite now, and, as Robert Barkesdale Montague, he believes that fidelity to principle is the only safe rule of life, whether it brings worldly prosperity or adversity, as did Little Bobtail.
NEW AND ATTRACTIVE PUBLICATIONS
OF
LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers,
BOSTON,
LEE, SHEPARD, AND DILLINGHAM, New York.
OLIVER OPTIC'S NEW BOOKS.
MONEY-MAKER; or, The Victory of the Basilisk. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
THE YACHT CLUB; or, The Young Boat-Builder. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
LITTLE BOBTAIL; or, The Wreck of the Penobscot. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
THE COMING WAVE; or, The Hidden Treasure of High Rock. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50.
THE YACHT CLUB SERIES. 4 vols. In neat box. Per vol., $1.50.
