Desk and Debit Part 40

"Go into the cook-room, and mind your business there, you scoundrel,"

said the skipper, angrily, as he pointed the pistol at the cook.

"Gorrificious!" muttered the man, as he disappeared.

Marian, indignant at the proposal of Mr. Whippleton, followed the cook, and I was alone with my persecutor. The skipper laid his revolver upon the rudder-head, as though the end of the sensation had come for the present. I was left to my own suffering for the next two hours. Mr.

Whippleton sat at the helm in silence, perhaps brooding upon the plan his busy brain had devised. Occasionally he raised the whiskey bottle to his lips, and drank. I was afraid that his frequent drams would arouse the fiend within him, and induce him to use his revolver upon me. He was intoxicated, and violently irritated against me. My anxiety for my fate was so great that I almost forgot my aching head and painful limbs. I kept very still. No one had thought to give me any breakfast; but I did not feel the need of it, though a cup of tea would doubtless have done me good.

I was still in doubt whether the whiskey bottle would ultimately prove to be my friend or my foe. The skipper maintained his position at the helm till dinner was ready, and then was able to totter into the cabin, when Peter had taken his place. He did not come on deck when he had finished his meal; but Marian soon appeared, and said he had tumbled into one of the berths. He had taken his revolver with him.

"Can't you turn over, Philip?" said she, standing beside me. "I will cut your cords."

"No! Don't do that. Gorrificious! Mr. Whippleton will kill us all."

But I turned over, as far as I was able, and the resolute girl cut the rope that bound my hands together. She had hardly done so before Peter sprang upon her, and hurled her over to the other side of the standing-room. I disengaged my hands; but the line which secured my feet was made fast to a cleat, and when I attempted to rise, I was thrown down upon the floor. Peter leaped upon me, and shouted for Mr.

Whippleton.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE TABLES TURNED, AND THE MARIAN RUNS INTO CHICAGO RIVER.

"Gorrificious!--Mr. Whippleton!" shouted Peter, as he lay down upon me.

"Let him alone, Peter," pleaded Marian, as she rushed to the rope which bound my feet.

"Can't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton will shoot me," answered the cook, in high excitement.

Marian cast off the rope which bound me to the cleat, and then untied my feet; but the negro had placed his knee upon my breast, and held me by the throat with both hands. The condition to which I was reduced was desperate, and only desperate measures could redeem me. I began to struggle, and when my feet were free, I began to use them with considerable vigor. But I was very feeble, and with the advantage he had over me, I was not equal even to the old negro.

The battle was going against me, and I heard the uncertain movements of Mr. Whippleton in the cabin. Marian wrung her hands in despair, when she saw her resolute effort apparently so signally defeated. Out of breath and out of strength, I was compelled to abandon the struggle as useless; but my fair ally was not so demoralized. She took the tin cup, which the negro used for his drams, and pouring some whiskey from the skipper's bottle, she dashed it into the face of the cook, just as Mr.

Whippleton was coming up the steps from the cabin.

"Gorrificious!" yelled the negro, blinded by the potent liquor, and smarting with pain in his eyes.

I made one more desperate effort to free myself, and as Peter was obliged to use his hands for the comfort of his eyes, I easily shook him off this time. At the same instant the crack of the revolver startled me; but I was not hit. Marian stood near me with a large champagne bottle, from which she had poured the whiskey, in her hand. I seized it, and sprang upon Mr. Whippleton as he aimed his pistol at me the second time.

I struck him a heavy blow upon the head with the bottle, and he fell back into the cabin.

My strength seemed to come back, as the prospect brightened before me.

I descended to the cabin, and proceeded to ascertain the condition of Mr. Whippleton.

"Is he dead?" gasped Marian.

"No; I think not," as I felt of his pulse, and then of his breast to see if his heart still beat.

"O, I hope not," cried she, terrified at the tragedy of which she had become a part.

"Gorrificious!" howled Peter, who had been was.h.i.+ng his eyes at the side, and was now able to use them again.

I picked up Mr. Whippleton's pistol, and returned to the standing-room, to guard against any attack on the part of the cook.

"Don't shoot me, Mr. Phil, don't!" cried he.

"I won't, if you behave yourself; but if you don't obey all my orders, I will put a bullet through your head. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mr. Phil. 'Tain't none of my quarrel, and I don't care nothing at all about it. I obeys orders whoever is in command," he replied, rubbing his eyes with his handkerchief.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SKIPPER WHIPPLETON A PRISONER. Page 301.]

With his aid I lifted the form of Mr. Whippleton from the cabin floor, and we bore it to the seat in the standing-room, where I had lain so many hours. The Marian had come up into the wind when the cook left the helm, and I put her about, heading her to the south-west. Miss Collingsby took the helm at my request. She was pale and excited; but she was firm. For my own part I felt like new man, and the new order of things seemed to soothe the pain I was still suffering.

I examined Mr. Whippleton very carefully again. I felt the beatings of his heart, and I was satisfied that he was not more severely injured than I had been.

I did not intend to make any more mistakes, and with the same cord which had confined my hands, I tied his wrists together behind him. I secured his feet, and made him fast to the jib-sheet cleat. He was now in precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced, and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still; but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in spirits.

"Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he.

"They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr.

Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated myself at the side of Marian.

"No, sir."

"I'm not drunk, Peter."

"No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook.

"If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol beside me, and I shall not go to sleep."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"See that you mind."

"Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions.

I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation; but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with what had been drank and what had been spilled.

"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had partially subsided.

"Better, much better."

"Does your head ache now?"

"It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circ.u.mstances; but I don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl, Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration.

"I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot you."