“I am disposed of at last, am I? I rather think not. I have the free use of my hands and feet, and if there’s any opening in this state-room large enough for a squirrel to squeeze through, I shall be out of here in less than five minutes. There’s the transom; I’ll try that.”

Thus spoke Fred Craven, who, with his hands in his pockets, was standing in the middle of his new prison, listening to the retreating footsteps of the men who had just placed him there. He had heard Captain Conway’s sigh of relief, and caught the words he uttered when the door was locked upon him, and his soliloquy showed what he thought of the matter. He had not met with a single adventure during his captivity among the smugglers. Shorty after the Stella sailed from Lost Island he was released from the hold, and allowed the freedom of the deck. He messed with the crew, and, for want of some better way of passing the time, performed the duties of foremast hand as regularly and faithfully as though he had shipped for the voyage. He saw nothing of Mr. Bell, who remained in his cabin day and night, and had but little to say to any of the schooner’s company. His mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of escape, and on more than one occasion, during the silence of the mid-watch, had he crept stealthily from his bunk in the forecastle and taken his stand by the rail, looking out at the angry waves which tossed the schooner so wildly about, hardly able to resist an insane desire to seize a life-buoy or handspike and spring into them. But prudence always stepped in in time to prevent him from doing anything rash, and finally curbing his impatience as well as he could he accepted the situation, working hard to keep his thoughts from wandering back to his home and friends, and constantly cheered by the hope that when once the shores of Cuba were sighted something would turn up in his favor. But he was doomed to disappointment. No sooner had the headlands at the entrance to the harbor of Port Platte appeared in view than he was ordered into the hold by Captain Conway, and secured beyond all possibility of escape. In the afternoon, however, he was again brought out, and, after listening to a long speech from Mr. Bell, the object of which was to make known to him the fact that he was to be taken ashore, and that his bodily comfort depended upon his observing the strictest silence, he was compelled to accompany him and the captain up the hill toward the village.

Featherweight thought he was now about to be turned over to the Spanish sea-captain, and so he was (only the captain, as it turned out, was an American who, for money, had undertaking to land Fred in some remote corner of the world); but first he had a part to perform, and that was to entice the crew of the Banner ashore in pursuit of him. As he slowly mounted the hill, he cast his eyes toward the Gulf, thinking the while of the quiet, pleasant little home, and the loving hearts he had left so far beyond it, and was greatly astonished to see a vessel, which looked exactly like the Banner, coming in. He did not know what had happened in the cove at Lost Island, and neither had he dreamed that Walter and his crew, bent on releasing him, had followed him for more than six hundred miles through a storm, the like of which they had never experienced before. He had not now the faintest idea that such was the case. What then must have been his amazement when he saw the vessel which had attracted his attention, haul suddenly into the shore and deposit Walter and Perk on the wharf? He saw the two boys as they followed him up the hill, and waved his handkerchief to them; and knowing just how courageous and determined they were, made up his mind that the moment of his deliverance was not far distant. But once more his hopes were dashed to the ground. His captors concealed themselves and him in a doorway until the pursuers had passed, and then the captain conducted him on board the ship and gave him into the hands of his new jailer. But Fred was resolved that he would not stay there. The ship was lying alongside the wharf; he was not bound, and if he could only work his way out of the state-room, it would be an easy matter to jump through one of the cabin windows into the water, and strike out for shore. The knowledge that there were friends at no great distance, ready and willing to assist him, encouraged him to make the attempt. There was not a moment to be lost. Mr. Bell had taken up more than two hours by his manoeuvres on shore; it was beginning to grow dark, the captain and all his crew were busy getting the ship under way, and the effort must be made before she left the wharf.

The first thing to which Fred directed his attention, was the transom—a narrow window over the door, opening into the cabin—and the next, a huge sea-chest which was stowed away under the bunk. To drag this chest from its place, and tip it upon one end under the transom, was an operation which did not occupy many minutes of time. When he sprang upon it, he found that his head was on a level with the window. There was no one in the cabin. With a beating heart he turned the button, but that was as far as he could go—an obstacle appeared. His new jailer had neglected no precautions for his safe keeping, for the transom was screwed down.

“Well, what of it?” soliloquized Featherweight, not in the least disheartened by this discovery. “There’s more than one way to do things. I have the advantage of being smaller than most fellows of my age, and I can make my way through cracks in which an ordinary boy would stick fast. I believe I could even get through the key-hole, if it was just a trifle larger.”

While he was speaking he took his knife from his pocket, and attacked the putty with which one of the window-panes was secured. After a few quick passes it was all removed, and placing the blade of his knife beneath the glass, Featherweight forced it out of its place, and carefully laid it upon the chest. The opening thus made was not more than nine inches long and six wide, but it was large enough to admit the passage of Fred’s little body, with some space to spare. After again reconnoitering the cabin, he thrust one of his legs through, then the other, and after a little squirming and some severe scratches from the sharp edges of the sash, he dropped down upon his feet. No sooner was he fairly landed than he ran to one of the stern windows of the cabin, threw it open, and without an instant’s hesitation plunged into the water. But he did not strike out for the wharf as he had intended to do, for something caught his attention as he was descending through the air, and riveted his gaze. It was a large yacht, which was slowly passing up the harbor. He looked at her a moment, and then, with a cry of delight, swam toward her with all the speed he was capable of; but, before he had made a dozen strokes, a hoarse ejaculation from some one on the deck of the ship announced that he was discovered. He looked up, and saw the master of the vessel bending over the rail. “Good-bye, old fellow!” shouted Fred. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll not take passage with you this trip. If it is all the same to you I’ll wait until the next.”

For a moment the captain’s astonishment was so great that he could neither move nor speak. He could not understand how his prisoner had effected his escape, after the care he had taken to secure him; and while he was thinking about it, Fred was improving every second of the time, and making astonishing headway through the water. The captain was not long in discovering this, and then he began to bustle about the deck in a state of great excitement.

“Avast there!” he cried. “Come back here, or I will wear a rope’s end out on you.” Then seeing that the swimmer paid no attention to his threat, he turned to his crew and ordered some of them to follow him into the yawl, which was made fast to the stern of the ship.

Fred heard the command and swam faster than ever, stopping now and then, however, to raise himself as far as he could out of the water, and wave his hand toward the yacht. He tried to shout, but his excitement seemed to have taken away his voice, for he could not utter a syllable. But for all that he was seen, and his discovery seemed to produce no little commotion on the deck of the yacht. Several of her crew, led by a short, powerful-looking man, who wore a jaunty tarpaulin and wide collar, and carried a spy-glass in his hand, rushed to the rail; and the latter, after levelling his glass first at him and then at the ship, turned and issued some orders in a voice so loud and clear that Featherweight caught every word. There was no mistaking that voice or those shoulders, and neither was there any mistake possible in regard to the yacht, for there never was another like her. She was the Lookout; the man with the broad shoulders and stentorian voice was Uncle Dick; and of those who accompanied him to the side one was Fred’s own father. The yacht at once changed her course and stood toward the fugitive, and the bustle on her deck and the rapid orders that were issued, told him that her boat was being manned. Would it arrive before the yawl that was now putting off from the ship? Featherweight asked and answered this question in the same breath. As far as he was concerned it made no difference whether it did or not. His father had not followed him clear to Cuba to see another man make a prisoner of him, and as he was backed up by Uncle Dick and his crew, the matter could end in but one way.

“In bow!” commanded a stern voice behind him a few seconds later. “Parker, stand up, and fasten into his collar with the boat-hook.”

The sharp, hissing sound which a boat makes when passing rapidly through the water, fell upon Fred’s ear at this moment, and looking over his shoulder, he found the ship’s yawl close upon him. He saw the bowman draw in his oar, and rise to his feet with the boat-hook in his hand, and an instant afterward his collar was drawn tight about his neck, his progress suddenly stopped, and then he was pulled back through the water and hauled into the yawl.

“I’ll teach you to obey orders, my lad,” said the captain, as he pushed Featherweight roughly down upon one of the thwarts. “I’ll show you that a boy who comes aboard my vessel of his own free will, and ships for a voyage, and receives his advance fair and square, can’t desert when he feels so inclined. You’ll sup sorrow for this.”

This remark was doubtless made for the benefit of the yawl’s crew, none of whom were aware of the circumstances under which Fred had been brought on board the ship. The prisoner made no reply, but took his seat with the utmost composure, wiped the water from his face and looked toward the yacht. Her boat was just coming in sight around her stern. It was pulled by a sturdy crew, who bent to the oars as if they meant business. In the stern sheets sat Uncle Dick and Mr. Craven.

“I wonder what that schooner’s boat is out for,” said the captain, suddenly becoming aware that he was pursued.

“I suppose they saw me in the water, and thought they would pick me up,” observed Featherweight.

“Well, you are picked up already, and they can go back and attend to their own business. You belong to me.”

The captain said this in an indifferent tone, and settled back in his seat as if he had disposed of the matter; but it was plain that he was very much interested in the proceedings of the boat behind him. Now that the swimmer was picked up, he looked to see her turn back; but she did nothing of the kind. She came straight on in the wake of his yawl, and gained with every stroke of her crew. The captain’s interest presently became uneasiness; and when at last the pursuing boat dashed up alongside, and her crew seized the gunwale of his yawl, his face was white with alarm. The instant the two boats touched, Fred was on his feet, and the next, his father’s arms were about him. The captain heard the words “Father!” and “My son!” and then his under jaw dropped down, and his eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets. But he tried to keep up some show of courage and authority. “Hold on, there!” he exclaimed. “Hand that boy back here. He is one of my crew, who is trying to desert me.”

“We happen to know a story worth two of that,” said Uncle Dick, eying the captain until the latter quailed under his stern glance. “That boy is my friend’s son. I’ll trouble you to step into this boat.”

“Is he, really?” said the captain, pretending not to hear Uncle Dick’s order. “In that case I will let him off for a consideration.”

“All the money you will receive for your share in this business, has been paid to you by Mr. Bell, whom we shall have arrested in less than ten minutes. Step into this boat.”

“What for?”

“Because we have use for you.”

“And what if I don’t choose to do it?”

“Then I shall take you up bodily and throw you in,” said the old sailor, rising to his feet in just the right mood to carry his threat into execution.

“If you don’t wish to suffer with your employer,” said Mr. Craven, who was much calmer than any one else in Uncle Dick’s boat, “you had better come with us peaceably.”

The captain protested, and tried to assume a look of injured innocence, but it did not avail him. The two stern-looking men who were confronting him would not be denied, and Fred’s jailer finally stepped into Uncle Dick’s boat, and was carried on board the yacht, while his own crew, who had listened with wonder to all that passed, pulled back to the ship.

There were twenty men on board the Lookout, all old friends of Uncle Dick and Mr. Craven, who had volunteered to act as the crew, and assist in rescuing the prisoner if they overtook the smugglers, and these came forward in a body to welcome Fred as he sprang over the side. As he was handed about from one to another, hurried inquiries were made concerning the crew of the Banner, but Featherweight had no information to give. He had seen but two of them since his capture by the smugglers, and they had remained in sight scarcely more than five minutes. Where they went after they disappeared from his view, and what they did, he had no means of knowing.

“Never mind,” said Uncle Dick. “We are after a gentleman who knows all about it; and we intend to make him tell, too.”

The gentleman referred to was of course Mr. Bell. He saw the Lookout when she came into the harbor, and her appearance was all that was needed to show him that his affairs were getting into a desperate state. His game of deception was over now. He might prove more than a match for half a dozen inexperienced boys, but he knew that in the crew of the yacht, and especially in her commander and his brother, he would find his equals. He saw all that happened when Uncle Dick’s boat came up with that of the captain of the ship; and when the latter gentleman was carried away a prisoner, and the yacht once more began to move up the harbor, directing her course toward the place where the Stella lay, he knew that it was high time he was bestirring himself. Without saying a word to any one, he jumped ashore, and made his way along the wharf. It was now dark, and although Mr. Bell could scarcely see or think of anything but the Lookout, he did not fail to discover something which made it clear to him that Uncle Dick and his friends had been wasting no time since they came into the harbor. It was a squad of soldiers who were marching quickly along the wharf, led by Mr. Gaylord, Mr. Chase, and a custom-house officer with whom he was well acquainted. As they had not seen him, Mr. Bell easily avoided them, and as soon as they passed, hurried through the gate and up the hill out of sight. Had he waited to see what they were going to do, he would have found that they boarded his vessel from one side, at the same moment that the crew of the Lookout came pouring over the other.

“Now, then, Mr. Officer,” said Walter’s father, as he sprang upon the Stella’s deck, “here she is. Doesn’t she look more like a smuggler than that little yacht? Hallo! Here’s somebody who can tell us all about her,” he added, seizing Fred’s hand and shaking it so cordially, that the boy felt the effects of his grip for half an hour afterward.

“I can show you where the arms and ammunition are,” replied Featherweight, “and I suppose that’s what you want to know. I am sorry to say that I can’t tell you anything about Walter and the rest,” he added, in reply to Mr. Gaylord’s question. “Find Mr. Bell and Captain Conway, and make them tell.”

At this moment, the master of the Stella appeared at the top of the companion ladder. Hearing the noise made by the boarding parties, he had come up to see what was the matter. One look must have been enough for him, for, without making a single inquiry, he turned and went down into his cabin again.

The first duty of the officer in command of the soldiers, was to direct that no one should be allowed to leave the vessel, and his second to accompany Fred Craven into the hold. Since the boy had last been there, the cargo had been broken out and stowed again, so as to conceal the secret hatchway; but Fred knew just where to find it, and there were men enough close at hand to remove the heavy boxes and hogsheads that covered it. In a very few minutes, a space was cleared in the middle of the hold, an axe was brought by one of the party, and the hatch forced up, disclosing to view the interior of the prison in which Fred had passed many a gloomy hour. The officer opened his eyes in surprise at the sight he beheld. He made an examination of the contents of a few of the boxes and bales, all of which were consigned to Don Casper Nevis, and then hurrying on deck, ordered every one of the crew of the Stella under arrest. The principal man, however, and the one he was most anxious to secure, was nowhere to be found. A thorough search of the town and the roads leading from it was at once ordered, all the crew of the Lookout volunteering to assist, except Uncle Dick and the other relatives of the missing boys, who went into the cabin to question Captain Conway. They were not as successful in their attempts to gain information as they had hoped to be. The captain, thoroughly cowed and anxious to propitiate his captors, answered all their inquiries as well as he could, and revealed to them the plans Mr. Bell had that afternoon put into operation. He knew that the Banner had been stolen by Pierre and the deserters, who intended to go to Havana in her, but he could not tell what had become of the boys. Chase and Wilson had been decoyed out to Don Casper’s house by a note which they thought came from Walter, and no doubt they were still there. Perhaps, too, they knew where the rest of the missing crew could be found.

While the conversation was going on, the party in the cabin heard the roar of the guns of the fort, and saw the frigate get under way and leave the harbor. This was enough to put Uncle Dick and his friends on nettles. They did not want to remain there inactive, while the Banner was in danger (how greatly would their anxiety have been increased, had they known that Walter and his companions were in as much danger, at that moment, as those who stole their vessel), but their crew were all ashore looking for Mr. Bell, and so was the custom-house officer, and they were obliged to await their return. At the end of an hour, their suspense was relieved by the arrival of the official and some of the Lookout’s company. Their search had been successful—the fugitive leader of the smugglers having been overtaken and captured while on his way to Don Casper’s house. The officers had pumped him most effectually, and learning that he had been deceived as to the character of the Banner, and that the precautions he had taken to prevent her leaving the port, would most likely insure her destruction, he was anxious to do all in his power to save her. He readily complied with Uncle Dick’s request to sail with him in pursuit of the frigate, and greatly relieved the fears of Mr. Chase, by assuring him that what he had heard from Mr. Bell, made him confident that his son would be found at Don Casper’s.

The rescued boy was the hero of the hour. While the Lookout was flying over the Gulf toward the bay at the rear of the Don’s plantation, he was entertaining a group of eager listeners by recounting the various exciting events that had happened since the day of the “Wild Hog Hunt.” But it was not long before he was obliged to give place to those who had adventures more exciting than his own to relate. The officer of the deck, whom Uncle Dick had instructed to keep a lookout for the frigate, came down to report that there were lights ahead: and that, although but a short distance away, they had only just appeared in view—a fact which, according to his way of thinking, proved something.

“It does, indeed,” said the custom-house officer. “Why should a vessel be under way on such a night as this without showing lights? She’s another smuggler. Captain, you will oblige me by going as close to her as you can.”

If the approaching vessel was engaged in honest business she was certainly acting in a very suspicious manner. So thought Uncle Dick, after he had watched her lights for a few minutes. She stood first on one tack, and then on the other, as if trying to dodge the Lookout, and this made the old sailor all the more determined that she should not do it. He kept his vessel headed as straight for her as she could go; the custom-house official stood by, rubbing his hands in great glee, and telling himself that another smuggler’s course was almost run; and the crew leaned over the rail, straining their eyes through the darkness, and waiting impatiently to obtain the first glimpse of the stranger. She came into view at last—a modest-looking little craft, with two boys perched upon the main cross-trees, busy with a broken topmast. The old sailor and his brother started as if they had been shot, and the former seizing his trumpet, sprang upon the rail, steadying himself by the fore shrouds. “Walter!” he yelled.

“Uncle Dick!” came the answer, after a moment’s pause, in surprised and joyous accents.

After this there was a long silence. Walter, having answered the hail, had not another word to say, and neither had the Lookout’s commander or any of his crew, whose amazement and delight were too great for utterance. They seemed unable to remove their eyes from the little yacht. What adventures had she passed through since they last saw her? She had sailed hundreds of miles over a stormy gulf to a country that none of her crew had ever visited before, had been shot at by the heavy guns of the fort, chased by a frigate, and stolen by deserters, and there she was, looking little the worse for her rough experience. At length Uncle Dick’s voice broke the silence. “Are you all safe?” he inquired.

He asked this question in a trembling voice, grasping the shrouds with a firmer hold, and bending forward a little as if to meet a shock from some invisible source, while his crew held their breath, and listened eagerly for the reply.

“Yes, sir; all except Chase. He is not with us. He must be at Don Casper’s.”

“Thank Heaven!” was the involuntary ejaculation of everyone of the Lookout’s company. “To go through so much and come out with the loss of only one of the crew, who may yet be found alive and well! It is wonderful!”

Uncle Dick’s face wore an expression that no one had ever seen there before, and his voice was husky as he seized his brother’s hand, and wringing it energetically, asked what was to be done now? Mr. Gaylord and the officer advised an immediate return to Don Casper’s; and in obedience to Uncle Dick’s orders, the Lookout again filled away, and the Banner came about, and followed in her wake.

The adventures we have attempted to describe in this volume comprise all the exciting events in the history of the Club’s short sojourn in Cuba, but by no means all the interesting ones. If time would permit, we might enter into minute details concerning the grand re-union that took place in the cabin of the Lookout shortly after she and the Banner entered the bay, and anchored at the stern of the frigate. It was a happy meeting, in spite of the gloom thrown over it by the absence of Chase, and the consequent anxiety and distress of his father. Wilson was obliged to tell, over and over again, all he knew about the missing boy. He held his auditors spell-bound for half an hour, and when he finished his story, Walter began. Among the listeners was the captain of the iron-clad; and when the young commander told how narrowly he had escaped discovery and capture when the man-of-war was entering the bay, the officer patted him on the head and said that he was a brave lad and a good sailor.

Uncle Dick and his crew were highly indignant over what had happened in the cove at Lost Island. They had heard it all from the master of the revenue cutter. The old sailor and his brother, who, it will be remembered, were in the woods searching for Featherweight when the Banner began her cruise, returned home at daylight, and learning from Mrs. Gaylord where the boys had gone, they hurried to Bellville, raised a crew for the Lookout, and put to sea. Before they had gone far they found the John Basset, drifting helplessly about on the waves, her engine being disabled. That explained why she did not make her appearance at Lost Island. Uncle Dick took Mr. Chase and Mr. Craven aboard his own vessel, listened in amazement to their story, and shortly afterward met the cutter. He held a long consultation with her captain, who, after describing what had taken place in the cove, told him that the last he saw of the Banner she was following after the Stella, which had set sail for Cuba. Uncle Dick at once filled away in pursuit; but being too old to believe that a vessel carrying contraband goods would go to so large a port as Havana, ran down until land was sighted, and then held along the coast, carefully examining every bay and inlet. As the Lookout was a much swifter vessel than the Stella, he gained time enough to do all this work, and to reach Port Platte on the evening of the same day the smuggler arrived there.

Mutual explanations being ended, the entire party, accompanied by a squad from the frigate, went ashore to look for Chase. They searched high and low (the Club found time to peep into the wine cellar where he and Wilson had been confined), but could find nothing of him. At daylight the three vessels sailed in company for Port Platte, and the whole of that day and the succeeding one was spent in fruitless search. Chase had disappeared as utterly as if he had never had an existence. Being satisfied at last that he had shipped on board some vessel bound for the States, his father consented to sail with his friends for Bellville. They reached the village without any mishap, and in ample season for the Club to perfect numerous plans for their amusement during the holidays. Some interesting events happened about that time—one especially which threw our heroes into ecstacies—and what they were, shall be told in “The Sportsman’s Club among the Trappers.”

THE END.

Famous Castlemon Books.

No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than “Harry Castlemon,” every book by him is sure to meet with hearty reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity leads his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “for more.”

By Harry Castlemon.