Adrift in New York: Tom and Florence Braving the World, Jr. Horatio Alger [top fiction books of all time txt] 📗

away.”

“Did he? I don’t see how he could do that. You kept the door bolted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir; but he throwed a piece of paper out’n de window, sayin’ he was kep’ a prisoner here. A young man picked it up, and came to de house to ax about it.”

Curtis looked alarmed.

“What did you say?” he inquired, apprehensively.

“Told him de boy was crazy as a loon—dat he tried to kill his mother las’ week, and had a carvin’-knife hid in his room.”

“Good, Julius! I didn’t give you credit for such a fertile imagination.

“What’s dat, massa?” asked Julius, looking puzzled.

“I didn’t know you were such a skillful liar.”

“Yah! yah!” laughed Julius, quite comprehending this compliment. “I reckon I can twis’ de trufe pretty well, Massa Curtis!”

“You have done well, Julius,” said Curtis, approvingly. “Here’s a dollar!”

The negro was quite effusive in his gratitude.

“What did the young man say?”

“He looked scared. I tol’ him he could go up and see de boy if he wasn’t afeared of the carvin’-knife, but he said he guessed he wouldn’t—he didn’t like crazy folks.”

Curtis laughed heartily.

“So it all ended as it should. Did the boy make any more trouble?”

“Yes; he pounded and kicked till I had to go up and see what was the matter. I didn’t give him no satisfaction, and I guess he went to bed.”

“He ought to be in a deep sleep by this time. I will go up and see. Go up with me, Julius, for I may have to ask you to help me bring him down.”

Though Julius was naturally a coward, he felt quite brave when he had company, and he at once went upstairs with Curtis Waring.

Curtis drew the bolt, and, entering the chamber, his glance fell upon Dodger, fast asleep on the bed.

“I am glad the boy did not undress,” he said. “It will save me a great deal of trouble. Now, Julius, you can take his feet and I will lift his head, and we will take him downstairs.”

“S’pos’n he wakes up, Massa Curtis?”

“He won’t wake up. I took care the sleeping potion should be strong enough to produce profound slumber for eighteen hours.”

“Seems as if he was dead,” said Julius, nervously.

“Tush, you fool! He’s no more dead than you or I.”

The hackman looked curious when the two men appeared with their sleeping burden, and Curtis felt that some explanation was required.

“The boy has a very painful disease,” he said, “and the doctor gave him a sleeping draught. He is going abroad for his health, and, under the circumstances, I think it best not to wake him up. Drive slowly and carefully to Pier No. —, as I don’t want the boy aroused if it can be helped.”

“All right, sir.”

“Julius, you may lock the door and come with me. I shall need your help to get him on board the ship.”

“All right, Massa Curtis.”

“And, mind you, don’t go to sleep in the carriage, you black rascal!” added Curtis, as he saw that the negro found it hard to keep his eyes open.

“All right, massa, I’ll keep awake. How am I to get home?”

“I will instruct the hackman to take you home.”

“Yah, yah; I’ll be ridin’ like a gentleman!”

The journey was successfully accomplished, but it took an hour, for, according to directions, the hackman did not force his pace, but drove slowly, till he reached the North River pier indicated.

At the pier was a large, stanch vessel—the Columbia—bound for San Francisco, around Cape Horn.

All was dark, but the second officer was pacing the deck.

Curtis Waring hailed him.

“What time do you get off?”

“Early to-morrow morning.”

“So the captain told me. I have brought you a passenger.”

“The captain told me about him.”

“Is his stateroom ready?”

“Yes, sir. You are rather late.”

“True; and the boy is asleep, as you will see. He is going to make the voyage for his health, and, as he has been suffering some pain, I thought I would not wake him up. Who will direct me to his stateroom?”

The mate summoned the steward, and Dodger, still unconscious, was brought on board and quietly transferred to the bunk that had been prepared for him.

It was a critical moment for poor Dodger, but he was quite unconscious of it.

“What is the boy’s name?” asked the mate.

“Arthur Grant. The captain has it on his list. Is he on board?”

“Yes; but he is asleep.”

“I do not need to see him. I have transacted all necessary business with him—and paid the passage money. Julius, bring the valise.”

Julius did so.

“This contains the boy’s clothing. Take it to the stateroom, Julius.”

“All right, Massa Curtis.”

“What is your usual time between New York and San Francisco?” asked Curtis, addressing the mate.

“From four to six months. Four months is very short, six months very long. We ought to get there in five months, or perhaps a little sooner, with average weather.”

“Very well. I believe there is no more to be said. Good-night!”

“Good-night, sir.”

“So he is well out of the way for five months!” soliloquized Curtis. “In five months much may happen. Before that time I hope to be in possession of my uncle’s property. Then I can snap my fingers at fate.”

Chapter XXI. A Seasick Passenger.

The good ship Columbia had got fifty miles under way before Dodger opened his eyes.

He looked about him languidly at first, but this feeling was succeeded by the wildest amazement, as his eyes took in his unusual surroundings.

He had gone to sleep on a bed—he found himself on awakening in a ship’s bunk.

He half arose in his birth, but the motion of the vessel and a slight feeling of dizziness compelled him to resume a recumbent position.

“I must be dreaming,” thought Dodger. “It’s very queer. I am dreaming I am at sea. I suppose that explains it.”

He listened and heard the swish of the waters as they beat against the sides of the vessel.

He noted the pitching of the ship, and there was an unsteady feeling in his head, such as those who have gone to sea will readily recall.

Dodger became more and more bewildered.

“If it’s a dream, it’s the most real dream I ever had,” he said to himself.

“This seems like a ship’s cabin,” he continued, looking about him. “I think if I got up I should be seasick. I wonder if people ever get seasick in dreams?”

There was another pitch, and Dodger instinctively clung to the edge of his berth, to save himself from being thrown out.

“Let me see,” he said, trying to collect his scattered recollection. “I went to sleep in a house uptown—a house to which Curtis Waring lured me, and then made me a prisoner. The house was somewhere near One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street. Now it seems as if I was on board a ship. How could I get here? I wish somebody would come in that I could ask.”

As no one came in, Dodger got out of the berth, and tried to stand on the cabin floor.

But before he knew it he was staggering like one intoxicated, and his head began to feel bad, partly, no doubt, on account of the sleeping potion which he had unconsciously taken.

At this moment the steward entered the cabin. “Hello, young man! Have you got up?” he asked.

“Where am I?” asked Dodger, looking at him with a dazed expression.

“Where are you? You’re on the good ship Columbia, to be sure?”

“Are we out to sea?”

“Of course you are.”

“How far from land?”

“Well, about fifty miles, more or less, I should judge.”

“How long have I been here?”

“It seems to me you have a poor memory. You came on board last evening.”

“I suppose Curtis Waring brought me,” said Dodger, beginning to get his bearings.

“There was a gentleman came with you—so the mate told me. I don’t know his name.”

“Where is the ship bound?”

“To San Francisco, around Cape Horn. I supposed you knew that.”

“I never heard of the ship Columbia before, and I never had any idea of making a sea voyage.”

The steward looked surprised.

“I suppose your guardian arranged about that. Didn’t he tell you?”

“I have no guardian.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask Capt. Barnes about that. I know nothing, except that you are a passenger, and that your fare has been paid.”

“My fare paid to San Francisco?” asked Dodger, more and more at sea, both mentally and physically.

“Yes; we don’t take any deadheads on the Columbia.”

“Can you tell me what time it is?”

“About twelve o’clock. Do you feel hungry?”

“N—not very,” returned Dodger, as a ghastly expression came over his face, and he tumbled back into his berth, looking very pale.

The steward smiled.

“I see how it is,” he said; “you are getting initiated.”

“What’s that?” muttered Dodger, feebly.

“You’re going to be seasick. You’ll hardly be able to appear at the dinner table.”

“It makes me sick to think of eating,” said Dodger, feebly.

As he sank back into his berth, all thoughts of his unexpected position gave way to an overpowering feeling of seasickness.

He had never been tried in this way before, and he found the sensation far from agreeable.

“If only the vessel would stop pitching,” he groaned. “Oh, how happy I should be if I were on dry land.”

But the vessel wouldn’t stop—even for a minute.

The motion, on the other hand, seemed to increase, as was natural, for they were getting farther and farther from land and were exposed to the more violent winds that swept the open ocean.

There is something about seasickness that swallows up and draws away all minor cares and anxieties, and Dodger was too much affected to consider how or why it was that he so unexpectedly found himself a passenger to California.

“Lie flat on your back,” said the steward. “You will feel better if you do.”

“How long is it going to last?” groaned Dodger, feeling quite miserable.

“Oh, you’ll feel better to-morrow. I’ll bring you some porridge presently. You can get that clown, and it is better to have something on your stomach.”

He was right. The next day Dodger felt considerably better, and ventured to go upon deck. He looked about him in surprise.

There had been a storm, and the waves were white with foam.

As far as the eye could see there was a tumult and an uproar.

The ship was tossed about like a cockle shell. But the sailors went about their work unruffled. It was no new sight for them.

Though his head did not feel exactly right, the strong wind entered Dodger’s lungs, and he felt exhilarated. His eyes brightened, and he began to share in the excitement of the scene.

Pacing the deck was a stout, bronzed seaman, whose dress made it clear even to the inexperienced eyes of Dodger that he was the captain.

“Good-morning, Master Grant,” he said, pleasantly. “Are you getting your sea legs on?”

The name was unfamiliar to Dodger, but he could see that the remark was addressed to him.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Ever been to sea before?”

“No, sir.”

“You’ll get used to it. Bless me, you’ll stand it like an old sailor before we get to ’Frisco.”

“Is it a long voyage, captain?” asked Dodger.

“Five months, probably. We may get there a little sooner. It depends on the winds and weather.”

“Five months,” said Dodger to himself, in a tone of dismay.

The captain laughed.

“It’ll be a grand experience for a lad like you, Arthur!” said the captain, encouragingly.

Arthur! So his name was Arthur! He had just been called Master Grant, so Arthur Grant was his name on board ship.

Dodger was rather glad to have a name provided, for he had only been known as Dodger heretofore, and this name would excite surprise. He had recently felt the need of a name, and didn’t see why this wouldn’t answer his purpose as well as any other.

“I must write it down so as not to forget it,” he resolved. “It would seem queer if I forgot my own name.”

“I shouldn’t enjoy it much if I were going to be seasick all the time,” he answered.

“Oh, a strong, healthy boy like you will soon be all right. You don’t look like an invalid.”

“I never was sick in my life.”

“But your guardian told me he was sending you on a sea voyage for your health.”

“Did Mr. Waring say that?”

“Yes; didn’t you know the object of your sea trip?” asked Capt. Barnes, in surprise.

“No.”

“There may be some tendency to disease in your system—some hereditary tendency,” said the captain, after a pause.

“Were your parents healthy?”

“They—died young,” answered Dodger, hesitatingly.

“That accounts for your guardian’s anxiety. However, you look strong enough, in all conscience; and if you’re not healthy, you will be before the voyage ends.”

“I don’t know what I am to do for clothes,” said Dodger, as a new source of perplexity presented itself. “I can’t get along with one shirt and collar for five months.”

“You will find plenty of clothes in your valise. Hasn’t it been given you?”

“No, sir.”

“You may ask the steward for it. You didn’t