Robert Coverdale's Struggle: or, on the Wave of Success

CHAPTER X
ROBERT COMPLETES THE RAFT

"What do you want of me?" asked George superciliously.

"Will you come to shore and take me into your boat?" asked Robert eagerly.

"Why should I? You have no claims on me," said George. "Indeed, I don't know you."

"I was at Mr. Irving's this morning, playing croquet with Herbert."

"I am aware of that, but that is no reason why I should take you into my boat. I prefer to be alone."

If Robert had not been in such a strait he would not have pressed the request, but he was not sure when there would be another chance to leave the island, and he persisted.

"You don't understand how I am situated," he said. "I wouldn't ask such a favor if I were not obliged to, but I have no other way of getting back. If you don't take me in, I shall probably be obliged to stay here all night."

"How did you come here?" asked George, his curiosity aroused.

"I came in a boat with my uncle."

"Then you can go back with him."

"He has gone back already. He is offended with me because I won't do something which he has no right to ask, and he has left me here purposely."

"Isn't your uncle a fisherman?"

"Yes."

"I don't care to associate with a fisherman's boy," said George.

Robert had never before met a boy so disagreeable as George, and his face flushed with anger and mortified pride.

"I don't think you are any better than Herbert," he said, "and he is willing to associate with me, though I am a fisherman's boy."

"I don't think much of his taste, and so I told him," said George. "My father is richer than Mr. Irving," he added proudly.

"Do you refuse to take me in your boat then?" asked Robert.

"I certainly do."

"Although I may be compelled to stay here all night?"

"That's nothing to me."

Robert was silent a moment. He didn't like to have any quarrel with

Herbert's cousin, but he was a boy of spirit, and he could not let

George leave without giving vent to his feeling.

"George Randolph," he broke out, "I don't care whether your father is worth a million; it doesn't make you a gentleman. You are a mean, contemptible fellow!"

"How dare you talk to me in that way, you young fisherman?" gasped

George in astonishment and wrath.

"Because I think it will do you good to hear the truth," said Robert hotly. "You are the meanest fellow I ever met, and if I were Herbert Irving I'd pack you back to the city by the first train."

"You impudent rascal!" exclaimed George. "I've a good mind to come on shore and give you a flogging!"

"I wish you'd try it," said Robert significantly. "You might find yourself no match for a fisherman's boy."

"I suppose you'd like to get me on shore so that you might run off with my boat?" sneered George.

"I wouldn't leave you on the island, at any rate, if I did secure the boat," said Robert.

"Well, I won't gratify you," returned George, "I don't care to have my boat soiled by such a passenger."

"You'll get paid for your meanness some time, George Randolph."

"I've taken too much notice of you already, you low fisherman," said

George. "I hope you'll have a good time staying here all night."

He began to row away, and as his boat receded Robert saw departing with it the best chance he had yet had of escape from his irksome captivity.

"I didn't suppose any boy could be so contemptibly mean," he reflected as his glance followed the boat, which gradually grew smaller and smaller as it drew near the mainland. "I don't think I'm fond of quarreling, but I wish I could get hold of that boy for five minutes."

Robert's indignation was natural, but it was ineffective. He might breathe out threats, but while he was a prisoner his aristocratic foe was riding quickly over the waves.

"He rows well," thought our hero, willing to do George justice in that respect. "I didn't think a city boy could row so well. I don't believe I could row any better myself, though I've been used to a boat ever since I was six years old."

But it would not do to spend all the afternoon in watching George and his boat or he would lose all chance of getting away himself before nightfall.

With a sigh he resumed work on the raft which he had hoped he could afford to dispense with and finally got it so far completed that he thought he might trust himself on it.

Robert was a little solicitous about the strength of his raft. It must be admitted that, though he had done the best he could, it was rather a rickety concern. If the nails had been all whole and new and he had had a good hammer and strong boards he could easily have made a satisfactory raft.

But the materials at his command were by no means of the best. The nails were nearly all rusty, some were snapped off in the middle and his stone did not work with the precision of a regular hammer.

"If it will only hold together till I can get to shore," he thought, "I won't care if it goes to pieces the next minute. It seems a little shaky, though. I must try to find a few more nails. It may increase the strength of it."

There was an end of a beam projecting from the sand, just at his feet.

Robert expected that probably he might by unearthing it find somewhere about it a few nails, and he accordingly commenced operations.

If he had had a shovel or a spade, he could have worked to better advantage, but as it was he was forced to content himself with a large shell which he picked up near the shore.

Soon he had excavated a considerable amount of sand and brought to the surface a considerable part of the buried beam. It was at this point that he felt the shell strike something hard.

"I suppose it is a stone," thought Robert.

And he continued his work with the object of getting it out of the way.

It was not long before the object was exposed to view.

What was Robert's surprise and excitement to find it an ivory portemonnaie, very much soiled and discolored by sea water!

Now, I suppose no one can find a purse or pocketbook without feeling his pulse a little quickened, especially where, as in Robert's case, money is so much needed.

He immediately opened the portemonnaie, and to his great delight found that it contained several gold pieces.

As my readers will feel curious to know the extent of his good luck, I will state definitely the amount of his discovery. There were two gold ten-dollar pieces, two of five, one two-dollar-and-a-half piece and fifty cents in silver. In all there were thirty-three dollars in gold and silver.

Robert's delight may be imagined. If he had felt in luck the day before, when he had been paid two dollars, how much more was he elated by a sum which to him seemed almost a fortune!

"I am glad George didn't take me on board his boat," he reflected. "If he had, I should never have found this money. Now, I don't care if I do stay here all night. Uncle had little idea what service he was doing me when he left me alone on Egg Island."

Though Robert expressed his willingness to spend the night on Egg Island, he soon became eager to get home so that he could exhibit to his aunt the evidence of his extraordinary luck.

He anticipated the joy of the poor woman as she saw assured to her for weeks to come a degree of comfort to which for a long time she had been unaccustomed.

Robert examined his raft once more and resolved to proceed to make it ready for service. It took longer than he anticipated, and it was nearly two hours later before he ventured to launch it. He used a board for a paddle, and on his frail craft he embarked, with a bold heart, for the mainland.

CHAPTER XI
A FRIEND GOES TO THE RESCUE

Leaving Robert for a time, we will accompany George Randolph on his homeward trip.

George did not at all enjoy the plain speaking he had heard from Robert. The more he thought of it the more his pride was outraged and the more deeply he was incensed.

"The low-lived fellow!" he exclaimed as he was rowing home. "I never heard of such impudence before. He actually seemed to think that I would take as a passenger a common fisherman's boy. I haven't sunk as low as that."

George was brought up to have a high opinion of himself and his position. He really thought that he was made of a different sort of clay than the poor boys with whom he was brought in contact, and his foolish parents encouraged him in this foolish belief.

Probably he would have been very much shocked if it had become known that his own grandfather was an honest mechanic, who was compelled to live in a very humble way.

George chose to forget this or to keep it out of sight, as it might have embarrassed him when he was making his high social pretensions.

Falsely trained as he had been, and with a strong tendency to selfishness, George had no difficulty in persuading himself that he had done exactly right in rebuking the forwardness of his humble acquaintance.

"He isn't fit to associate with a gentleman," he said to himself. "What business is it of mine that he has to stay on the island all night? If his uncle left him there, I dare say he deserved it."

George did not immediately land when he reached the beach, but floated here and there at will, enjoying the delightful sea breeze which set in from seaward. At length, however, he became tired and landed. The boat did not belong to him, but was hired of a fisherman living near by, who had an extra boat.

The owner of the boat was on hand when George landed. He was, though a fisherman, a man of good, sound common sense, who read a good deal in his leisure moments and was therefore well informed. Like many other New England men of low position, he was superior to his humble station and was capable of acquitting himself creditably in a much higher sphere. It is from persons of his class that our prominent men are often recruited.

It may be mentioned here that, though George's father, as he liked to boast, was a rich man, the boy himself was very mean in money matters and seldom willing to pay a fair price for anything. He was not above driving a close bargain, and to save five cents would dispute for half an hour.

"So you've got back young man?" said Ben Bence, the fisherman. "Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"Quite fair," answered George in a patronizing tone. "I rowed over to

Egg Island and back."

"That's doing very well for a city boy," said the fisherman.

"I should think it was good for any boy or man either," said George, annoyed at this depreciation of his great achievement.

Bence laughed.

"Why," said he, "I'm out for four or five hours sometimes. I don't think anything of rowing from fifteen to twenty miles, while you have rowed only six."

"I don't expect to row as far as a man," said George, rather taken down.

"The best rower round here among the boys is Bob Coverdaie," said the fisherman.

"What can he do?" asked George with a sneer.

"He can row ten miles without feeling it," said Bence.

"Does he say so?" asked George in a meaning tone.

"No, but I have seen him do it. He's been out with me more than once.

He's a muscular boy, Bob is. Do you know him?"

"I have seen him," answered George distantly.

"He's a great chum of your cousin, Herbert Irving," said Bence, "and so

I thought you might have met him."

This subject was not to George's taste, and he proceeded to change it.

"Well, my good man," he said patronizingly, "how much do I owe you?"

"So I am your good man?" repeated Ben Bence with an amused smile. "I am much obliged to you, I am sure. Well, you were gone about two hours, I reckon."

"I don't think it was quite as much as that," said George.

"I guess twenty-five cents will about pay me."

"Twenty-five cents!" repeated George, all his meanness asserting itself.

"I think that is a very high price!"

"Did you expect to get the boat for nothing?" asked the fisherman, surprised.

"Of course not. I wouldn't be beholden to a fisherman," George said haughtily.

"Indeed! How much did you calculate to pay?"

"I think twenty cents is enough."

"Then the only difference between us is five cents?"

"Yes."

"Then you can pay me twenty cents. I can live without the extra five cents."

George, pleased at gaining his point, put two ten-cent pieces in the hands of the owner of the boat, saying:

"I don't care about the five cents, of course, but I don't like to pay too much."

"I understand, Master Randolph," said the fisherman with a quizzical smile. "In your position, of course, you need to be economical."

"What do you mean?" asked George with a flushed face.

"Oh, nothing!" answered Ben Bence, smiling.

The smile made George uncomfortable. Was it possible that this common fisherman was laughing at him? But, of course, that did not matter, and he had saved his five cents.

George got home in time for supper, but it was not till after supper that he mentioned to Herbert:

"I saw that young fisherman this afternoon."

"What young fisherman?"

"The one you played croquet with this morning."

"Oh, Bob Coverdale! Where did you see him?" asked Herbert with interest.

"On Egg Island."

"How came he there?" inquired Herbert, rather surprised.

"He went there in a boat with his uncle. I expect he's there now."

"Why should he stay over there so long?"

"It's a rich joke," said George, laughing. "It seems his uncle was mad with him and landed him there as a punishment. He's got to stay there all night."

"I don't see anything so very amusing in that," said Herbert, who was now thoroughly interested.

"He wanted me to take him off," proceeded George. "He was trying to build a raft. I told him he'd better keep at it."

If George had watched the countenance of his cousin he would have seen that Herbert was very angry, but he was so amused by the thought of Robert's perplexity that he did not notice.

"Do you mean to say that you refused to take him off?" demanded Herbert in a quick, stern tone that arrested George's attention.

"Of course I did! What claim had he on me?"

"And you deliberately left him there, when it would have been no trouble to give him a passage back?"

"Really, Herbert, I don't like your way of speaking. It was my boat – or, at least, I was paying for the use of it – and I didn't choose to take him as a passenger."

"George Randolph, do you want to know my opinion of you?" asked Herbert hotly.

"What do you mean?" stammered George.

"I mean this, that I am ashamed of you. You are the most contemptibly mean fellow I ever met, and I am heartily sorry there is any relationship between us."

"I consider that an insult!" exclaimed George, pale with anger.

"I am glad you do. I mean it as such. Just tell my mother I won't be back till late in the evening."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to get a boat and row to Egg Island for Bob Coverdale," and

Herbert dashed up the street in the direction of the beach.

"He must be crazy!" muttered George, looking after his cousin.

Herbert Irving reached the beach and sought out Ben Bence.

"Mr. Bence," he said, "I want to go to Egg Island. If you can spare the time, come with me and I'll pay you for your time."

"What are you going for, Master Herbert?"

Upon this Herbert explained the object of his trip.

"Now, will you go?" he asked.

"Yes," answered the fisherman heartily, "I'll go and won't charge you a cent for the boat or my time. Bob Coverdale's a favorite of mine, and I'm sorry his uncle treats him so badly."

Strong, sturdy strokes soon brought them to the island.

"Bob! Where are you. Bob?" called Herbert.

There was no answer. The island was so small that he would have been seen if he had been there.

"He must have got off," said Herbert. "George said he was building a raft."

"Then I mistrust something's happened to the poor boy," said Bence gravely. "He couldn't build a raft here that would hold together till he reached the mainland."

Herbert turned pale.

"I hope it isn't so bad as that," he said. "Let us row back as quick as we can!"

CHAPTER XII
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

As they were rowing back they scanned the sea in every direction, but nowhere did they discover any signs of Robert or his raft.

"Perhaps," suggested Herbert, breaking a long silence, "Bob is already at home."

He looked inquiringly in the face of his companion to see what he thought of the chances.

"Mayhap he is," said Ben Bence slowly, "but I mistrust he found it too rough for the raft."

"In that case – " said Herbert anxiously and stopped without answering the question.

"In that case the poor boy's at the bottom of the sea, it's likely."

"He could swim, Mr. Bence."

"Yes, but the tide would be too strong for him. Just about now there's a fearful undertow. I couldn't swim against it myself, let alone a boy."

"If anything has happened to him it's his uncle's fault," said Herbert.

"John Trafton will have to answer for it," said the fisherman sternly.

"There ain't one of us that don't love Bob. He's a downright good boy,

Bob Coverdale is, and a smart boy, too."

"If he's lost I will never have anything more to do with George

Randolph. I will ask mother to pack him back to Boston to-morrow."

"George ain't a mite like you," said Ben Bence.

"I hope not," returned Herbert hastily. "He's one of the meanest boys I ever met. He might just as well have taken poor Bob off the island this afternoon, if he hadn't been so spiteful and ugly."

"It would serve him right to leave him there a while himself," suggested

Bence.

"I agree with you."

There was another pause. Each was troubled by anxious thoughts about the missing boy.

When they reached the shore Herbert said:

"I'm going to Mr. Trafton's to see if Bob has got home."

"I'll go with you," said the fisherman briefly.

They reached the humble cabin of the Traftons and knocked at the door.

Mrs. Trafton opened it.

"Good evening, Mr. Bence," she said. "I believe this young gentleman is

Master Herbert Irving? I have often heard Robert speak of him."

"Is Robert at home?" asked Herbert eagerly.

"No, he has been away all day," answered his aunt.

"Do you know where he is?" inquired Ben Bence soberly.

"Mr. Trafton wouldn't tell me. He said he had sent him away on some errand, but I don't see where he could have gone, to stay so long."

It was clear Mrs. Trafton knew nothing of the trick which had been played upon her nephew.

"Tell her, Mr. Bence," said Herbert, turning to his companion.

"Has anything happened to Robert?" asked Mrs. Trafton, turning pale.

They told her how her husband had conveyed Robert to Egg Island and then treacherously left him there, to get off as he might.

"Was there any difficulty between Bob and his uncle?" asked Ben Bence.

"Yes; the boy had a little money which had been given him and my husband ordered him to give it up to him. He'd have done it, if he hadn't wanted to spend it for me. He was always a considerate boy, and I don't know what I should have done without him. Mr. Bence, I know it's a good deal to ask, but I can't bear to think of Robert staying on the island all night. Would you mind rowing over and bringing him back?"

As yet Mrs. Trafton did not understand that any greater peril menaced her nephew.

"Mrs. Trafton, we have just been over to Egg Island," said the fisherman.

"And didn't you find him?"

"No; he was not there."

"But how could he get off?"

"He was seen this afternoon making a raft from the old timbers he found in the wreck. He must have put to sea on it."

"Then why is he not here?"

"The sea was rough, and – "

Mrs. Trafton, who had been standing, sank into a chair with a startled look.

"You don't think my boy is lost?"

"I hate to think so, Mrs. Trafton, but it may be."

From grief there was a quick transition to righteous indignation.

"If the poor boy is drowned, I charge John Trafton with his death!" said the grief-stricken woman with an energy startling for one of her usually calm temperament.

"What's this about John Trafton?" demanded a rough voice.

It was John Trafton himself, who, unobserved, had reached the door of the cabin.

Ben Bence and Herbert shrank from him with natural aversion.

"So you're talking against me behind my back, are you?" asked Trafton, looking from one to the other with a scowl.

His wife rose to her feet and turned upon him a glance such as he had never met before.

"What have you done with Robert, John Trafton?" she demanded sternly.

"Oh! that's it, is it?" he said, laughing shortly. "I've served him as he deserved."

"What have you done with him?" she continued in a slow, measured voice.

"You needn't come any tragedy over me, old woman!" he answered with annoyance. "I left him on Egg Island to punish him for disobeying me!"

"I charge you with his murder!" she continued, confronting him with a courage quite new to her.

"Murder!" he repeated, starting. "Come, now, that's a little too strong!

Leaving him on Egg Island isn't murdering him. You talk like a fool!"

"Trafton," said Ben Bence gravely, "there is reason to think that your nephew put off from the island on a raft, which he made himself, and that the raft went to pieces."

For the first time John Trafton's brown face lost its color.

"You don't mean to say Bob's drowned?" he ejaculated.

"There is reason to fear that he may be."

"I'll bet he's on the island now."

"We have just been there and he is not there."

At length Trafton began to see that the situation was a grave one, and he began to exculpate himself.

"If he was such a fool as to put to sea on a crazy raft it ain't my fault," he said. "I couldn't help it, could I?"

"If you hadn't left him there he would still be alive and well."

John Trafton pulled out his red cotton handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead, on which the beads of perspiration were gathering.

"Of course I wouldn't have left him there if I'd known what he would do," he muttered.

"Did you mean to leave him there all night?" asked Bence.

"Yes, I meant it as a lesson to him," said the fisherman.

"A lesson to him? You are a fine man to give a lesson to him! You, who spend all your earnings for drink and leave me to starve! John Trafton, I charge you with the death of poor Robert!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafton with startling emphasis.

Perhaps nothing more contributed to overwhelm John Trafton than the wonderful change which had taken place in his usually gentle and submissive wife. He returned her accusing glance with a look of deprecation.

"Come now, Jane, be a little reasonable," he said. "You're very much mistaken. It was only in fun I left him. I thought it would be a good joke to leave him on the island all night. Say something for me, Ben – there's a good fellow."

But Ben Bence was not disposed to waste any sympathy on John Trafton. He was glad to see Trafton brought to judgment and felt like deepening his sense of guilt rather than lightening it.

"Your wife is right," he said gravely. "If poor Bob is dead, you are guilty of his death in the sight of God."

"But he isn't dead! It's all a false alarm. I'll get my boat and row over to the island myself. Very likely he had gone to sleep among the bushes and that prevented your seeing him."

There was a bare possibility of this, but Ben Bence had little faith in it.

"Go, if you like," he said. "If you find him, it will lift a great weight from your conscience."

John Trafton dashed to the shore, flung himself into his boat, and, with feverish haste, began to row toward the island. He bitterly repented now the act which had involved him in such grave responsibility.

He was perfectly sober, for his credit at the tavern was temporarily exhausted.

Of course those who remained behind in the cabin had no hope of Robert being found. They were forced to believe that the raft had gone to pieces and the poor boy, in his efforts to reach the shore, had been swept back into the ocean by the treacherous undertow and was now lying stiff and stark at the bottom of the sea.

"What shall I ever do without Robert?" said Mrs. Trafton, her defiant mood changing, at her husband's departure, to an outburst of grief. "He was all I had to live for."

"You have your husband," suggested Ben Bence doubtfully.

"My husband!" she repeated drearily. "You know how little company he is for me and how little he does to make me comfortable and happy. I will never forgive him for this day's work."

Ben Bence, who was a just man, ventured to represent that Trafton did not foresee the result of his action; but, in the sharpness of her bereavement, Mrs. Trafton would find no excuse for him.

Herbert, too, looked pale and distressed. He had a genuine attachment for Robert, whose good qualities he was able to recognize and appreciate, even if he was a fisherman's nephew.

He, too, thought sorrowfully of his poor friend, snatched from life and swept by the cruel and remorseless sea to an ocean grave. He, too, had his object of resentment.

But for George Randolph, he reflected, Robert would now be alive and well, and he resolved to visit George with his severest reproaches.

While all were plunged in a similar grief a strange thing happened.

The door of the cabin was closed by John Trafton as he went out.

Suddenly there was heard a scratching at the door, and a sound was heard as of a dog trying to excite attention.

"It must be my dog Dash," said Herbert. "I wonder how he found me out?"

He advanced to the door and opened it. Before him stood a dog, but it was not Dash. It was a large black dog, with an expression of intelligence almost human. He had in his mouth what appeared to be a scrap of writing paper. This he dropped on the ground when he saw that he had attracted Herbert's attention.

"What does this mean?" thought Herbert in great surprise, "and where does this dog come from?"

He stooped and picked up the paper, greatly to the dog's apparent satisfaction. It was folded in the middle and contained, written in pencil, the following message, which, not being directed to any one in particular, Herbert felt at liberty to read:

"Feel no anxiety about Robert Coverdale. He is safe!"

Herbert read the message, the dog uttered a quick bark of satisfaction, and, turning, ran down the cliff to the beach.

Herbert was so excited and delighted at the news of his friend's safety that he gave no further attention to the strange messenger, but hurried into the cabin.

"Mrs. Trafton – Mr. Bence!" he exclaimed, "Bob is safe!"

"What do you mean? What have you heard?" they asked quickly.

"Read this!" answered Herbert, giving Mrs. Trafton the scrap of paper.

"Who brought it?" she asked, bewildered.

"A dog."

Ben Bence quickly asked:

"What do you mean?"

"I know nothing more than that a large black dog came to the door with this in his mouth, which he dropped at my feet."

"That is very strange," said Bence.

He opened the door and looked out, but no dog was to be seen.

"Do you believe this? Can it be true?" asked Mrs. Trafton.

"I believe it is true, though I can't explain it," answered Ben. "Some dogs are wonderfully trained. I don't know whom this dog belongs to, but whoever it is he doubtless has Robert under his care. Let us be thankful that he has been saved."

"But why don't he come home?" asked Mrs. Trafton. "Where can he be?"

"He was probably rescued in an exhausted condition. Cheer up, Mrs.

Trafton. You will no doubt see your boy to-morrow."

"I feel like giving three cheers, Mr. Bence," said Herbert.

"Then give 'em, boy, and I'll help you!" said old Ben.

The three cheers were given with a will, and Herbert went home, his heart much lighter than it had been ten minutes before.