No Moss: or, The Career of a Rolling Stone. Castlemon Harry

incident happened about two weeks before the commencement of our story, and, during that time, an event occurred that caused considerable excitement in the village, and relieved the lieutenant of a great load of anxiety. It was the sudden and mysterious disappearance of the members of the Crusoe band. Tom Newcombe went up to bed, one night, as usual, and, the next morning, he was gone; and so was his shot-gun, and fishing-tackle, and a good portion of his clothing. Xury, Jack Spaniard, Friday, and Will Atkins were also missing; and, what was more, nothing had ever been seen or heard of them since their departure. They had disappeared as completely as though they had never existed at all. The event had been a nine-days' wonder, but now nearly every one, except the students, had ceased to talk about it. Their curiosity had been aroused, and they left no stone unturned in their efforts to find the means of satisfying it. They made inquiries of every body, guessed, wondered, and speculated, but all to no purpose; for even the talkative Tom Newcombe had left the village without giving any one so much as a hint of his intended movements. On the evening in question, some of the crew started the all-absorbing topic by saying, as they had probably done twenty times before, that they could not imagine what had become of Tom, or what his object could have been in running away. As far as the object he had in view was concerned, Harry also confessed ignorance; but said he believed Tom had started with the Crusoe band for the North Pole. The boatswain was sure that he was on his way to South America; and one of the quartermasters thought his face was turned toward the Rocky Mountains.

      "Now, fellows, I'll tell you all about it," said Jackson, who, if he ever forgot the Crusoe men, had only to look at his hand, which bore a long, ragged scar from the wound made by the bayonet that had been thrust through it: "In the first place, imagine the most impossible enterprise in the world – something that nobody but Tom Newcombe would ever think of attempting; in the second, make up your minds which is the most outlandish place on the globe; then put the two together, and you have the key to his last movement."

      "I wonder if he is the leader of the expedition!" said one of the midshipmen; "perhaps Sam Barton has turned up again."

      "Impossible! he could not have lived two minutes in those waves."

      "Well, we know one thing," said Harry; "and that is, we are rid of our arch enemy, and the yacht is safe. But I would give something to know what his new idea was."

      "Quartermaster, strike eight bells," said the officer of the deck.

      The movements that followed this order, showed how successful the lieutenant had been in his efforts to establish discipline among the noisy, fun-loving boys who composed his crew. Scarcely had the bell been struck, when the desperate broadsword fight, that had been going on on the forecastle for the last quarter of an hour, was brought to a close; dumb-bells, Indian clubs, and checkerboards quickly disappeared; the star-gazers came down out of the rigging; the quartermaster once more put his spy-glass under his arm, and began planking the deck; and quietness and order took the place of the confusion and noise that had reigned supreme a moment before. The hammocks were piped, the anchor watch set, the boatswain's whistle was heard again, followed by the injunction, "Keep silence, fore and aft!" and the crew of the yacht was disposed of for the night. The officers went into the cabin, and those who were to stand watch that night soon turned in; while the others, never forgetting the rivals on shore who were working night and day to dislodge them, resumed their books. On the berth-deck the lights were turned down too low to admit of study, the rules forbade conversation, and the only thing the students could do was to tumble into their hammocks.

      "Now, then," whispered the boatswain's mate, as he settled himself comfortably between the blankets, "I wonder if that lieutenant will allow us to sleep in peace to-night. He hasn't called us up to put out a fire for two weeks."

      Among other things in which Harry had drilled his men until they were almost perfect, was fire quarters; and he had rung so many alarms that the students began to call him the "fire lieutenant." Of course he never took them away from their studies, but he had an uncomfortable habit of calling them up in the night. Harry sometimes pored over his books until nearly twelve o'clock; and when every one, except himself and the officers and men on watch was asleep, he would come out of his cabin and ring the ship's bell as if his life depended upon it. The crew would tumble out of their hammocks and hurry to their stations, some manning the pump, and others getting out the hose and buckets, and all of them growling lustily to themselves, because they knew there was not a spark of fire on board the vessel. These false alarms, although annoying to the students, had the effect of making them thoroughly posted in their duties; and Harry was satisfied, that if, by any accident, his little vessel should really catch on fire, the practice the crew had had would enable them to save her. He afterward had reason to congratulate himself that he had been so particular on this point.

      At one o'clock, every one on board the Storm King, except the officers of the deck, quartermaster, and the two seamen who stood the anchor watch, was sound asleep. The night was very dark – so dark that the watch did not see a skiff which approached the vessel, propelled by slow, noiseless strokes. But the skiff was there, and, when it had been brought alongside the yacht, the bow-oarsman arose to his feet, and fastened into the fore-chains with a boat-hook, after which, a figure in the stern sheets placed his hands upon the rail, and drew himself up until he had obtained a view of the vessel's deck. He could not see much on account of the darkness, but his ears told him that the presence of himself and companions was unsuspected; and, having satisfied himself on this point, the visitor, whoever he was, clambered carefully over the rail, and a moment afterward was crouching on deck at the head of the ladder which led down into the forecastle.

      "What's that?" exclaimed one of the watch, suddenly interrupting the story he was relating to his companion.

      "I didn't hear any thing," replied the other.

      "Well, I imagined I did. Every dark night that I stand watch, I think of the Crusoe band."

      "O, they're a hundred miles from here by this time – perhaps more. Go on with your yarn."

      The young sailor listened a moment, but as the sound which had attracted his attention was not repeated, he resumed his story; whereupon, the figure at the hatchway arose to his feet, and stealthily descended the ladder. He was gone about five minutes, and then re-appeared, crawled noiselessly across the deck, and had just placed his hands upon the rail, when he was discovered by one of the watch.

      "Hallo! Boat – ship – I mean, man – ahoy!" shouted the young tar, evidently at a loss to determine how he ought to hail a stranger found on deck of his vessel, under such circumstances.

      Both the watch made a rush for the mysterious visitor, who disappeared over the rail like a flash; and, by the time they reached the side, he was in his boat, which was moving off into the darkness. But he did not get away in time to escape recognition by the watch, both of whom stood for an instant as if petrified, and then called out, in amazement and alarm,

      "Tom Newcombe!"

      "Where?" exclaimed Jackson, the officer of the deck, hurrying forward.

      "In his boat there, sir, with half a dozen other fellows. He has been on board the vessel; we caught sight of him just as he was climbing over the rail."

      The officer was thunderstruck. The presence of their evil genius at that hour, and under such circumstances, boded no good to the yacht and her crew, and, for a moment, Jackson stood holding fast to the rail, imagining all sorts of terrible things. He would not have been astonished if the waters of the harbor had suddenly opened to swallow up the vessel and her sleeping company. He even thought he felt the deck rise under his feet, and held his breath, expecting to hear an explosion, and to find himself struggling in the water amid the wreck of the Storm King. But nothing of the kind happened: the yacht remained right side up; and if Tom Newcombe had placed a barrel of gunpowder in her, with a slow-match attached, intending to blow the vessel and her crew to atoms, there might yet be time to frustrate his designs.

      "Quartermaster, spring that rattle!" shouted the officer, as if suddenly awaking out of a sound sleep – "Smith and Simmonds, lower away the jolly-boat."

      Jackson ran below to report the matter to the first lieutenant; the sailors hurried off to execute their orders; and, before Tom Newcombe and his companions were out of sight of the yacht, they heard the rattle