INTO PORT
As they drew closer to the other boat the boys saw that she was a fine
big cruiser with a lot of beam and a length of probably forty feet. Her
cabin extended almost the length of the hull and in the small cockpit
at the stern two men were to be seen. One was apparently engaged in
some task that hid all but his head and shoulders, and the other,
clinging to a railing, held a megaphone to his mouth as the _Urnove_
came up to leeward.
“We’ve broken our shaft,” came the voice across the water. “Can you
give us a tow?”
“Yes,” called Toby in answer, “if you’ve got a line that’ll hold. I’ll
come about and run in close to you. Have your line ready.”
The other waved his megaphone in assent and the _Urnove_, plunging
past, made a wide turn and once more approached. “Stand by with the
boat-hook, Arn,” said Toby, “in case we don’t catch it. Don’t fall
overboard, though! Ready, now!”
The little launch again drew close to the cruiser, Toby steering her
to the leeward and as near as he dared venture. The second occupant
of the big boat had given up his task and was bracing himself in the
cockpit with a coil of rope in his hands.
“Heave it!” called Toby.
The coil shot across the few yards of water straight for the _Urnove’s_
bow, but the wind seized and deflected it and, although Arnold did his
best with the boat-hook, they missed it.
Coming around again was wet business, and plugging back in the teeth of
the wind and water was none too easy. Those on the cruiser were ready
for another attempt and as the _Urnove_ plunged slowly past the coil
was again thrown and this time Arnold got it and in a moment had made
it fast to the stern cleat. On the other boat――the name on the bow was
_Sinbad_――one of the crew crept forward along the heaving, slippery
deck and secured the cable at the bow. Meanwhile the second occupant of
the boat was speaking through cupped hands.
“Much obliged, you fellows! Can you make Cutchogue Harbor?”
“No,” called Toby. “We’ll tow you to Johnstown, over there, or into
Greenhaven. Which do you say?”
“That won’t do, thanks. We’ve got to get to Cutchogue. This boat’ll
tow easily,” insisted the man. “Name your own price, like a good
fellow. It’s mighty important that we get to Cutchogue. Come on now!
Can’t you do it for us? Any figure you say and we’ll pay you the minute
we get there!”
Toby, keeping the _Urnove’s_ bows to the sea, reflected a moment. Then
he turned questioningly to Arnold.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Let’s try it!” said Arnold eagerly. “It’ll be a lark!”
“If we don’t founder doing it,” replied Toby grimly. “All right. I’m
game.” He shouted across to the cruiser then. “Glad to take you to
Greenhaven or anywhere down here for nothing,” he called. “But if you
want to go to Cutchogue I’ll have to charge you something. I won’t
promise to get you there, either, but I’ll do my best.”
“Good boy!” was the response. “What’s your figure?”
Toby turned quickly to Arnold. “What’s twenty-five from seventy?” he
demanded.
“What?” gasped Arnold blankly.
But Toby had solved the problem himself. “Forty-five dollars,” he
shouted.
“Go to it, feller!” The man waved his hand gayly. “You’re a sportsman!”
“All right,” answered Toby. “Give me plenty of cable. Here goes!”
Toby speeded up the engine, the cable tightened, the _Urnove’s_
propeller thrashed and churned as the weight of the bigger boat was
felt, and for a moment, while the stout rope strained and dripped
water, the outcome appeared in doubt. Then, however, the _Sinbad’s_ bow
swung slowly around, the line slackened a little, tautened again and
the _Urnove_, with her engine chugging madly and the waves tossing her
about, moved ahead.
Once under way, Toby slowed the engine down and headed straight into
the seas. With that load astern the little launch shipped water at
every plunge and Toby knew that his safest course was to make dead
into the weather until he had reached the lee of Robins Island. There
he could run northwest and, once around the end of the island, find
smoother seas off New Suffolk where Nassau Point would break the force
of wind and tide. But it was a good five miles to the southernmost end
of the island and his course took him down the very middle of the bay.
There was no longer any question of keeping dry, for the spray flew
over the bows at every dip and now and then a full-sized wave rushed
in, cascading over the seat and running astern to where Arnold was
busy, bailer in hand. Toby steered with the starboard wheel, where he
had the engine within arm’s reach, but steering the _Urnove_ with tons
of weight holding her stern down was a different matter from steering
her under ordinary conditions, and Toby had his hands full. Behind
them, at the end of the dipping line, came the _Sinbad_, swaying and
plunging about, and looking, in the fast-gathering dusk, like some
wounded and helpless sea-monster. Arnold, abandoning his bailer for a
moment, crept forward to Toby’s side.
“What are we making?” he asked.
Toby looked back at the running water. “About four miles, I guess,” he
answered.
“It’ll take us two hours, then. How about lights?”
“Better try, Arn. Maybe if you squeeze down and get your match inside
the locker you can do it. If you can’t we’ll just have to risk it.
They’ll light up on the cruiser pretty quick, I guess. Got matches?”
Arnold nodded and set about his task. Lying flat on the wet flooring,
lantern and matches held under a seat locker, he finally met with
success. Darkness came early that September evening, and long before
the lights on Robins Island appeared ahead the _Sinbad_ was lost to
sight save for her lanterns. Arnold, too, had to fight, for water
entered the _Urnove_ not only over the gunwale but up through opening
seams in her hull, and from the time darkness fell and the distant
lights on shore twinkled through the night he had to bail incessantly
to keep the water from gaining. Both boys were wet to their skins
now and the searching wind, straight from the northeast, set them
shivering. Arnold envied the occupants of the _Sinbad_, who, at least,
had the protection of their cabin. He and Toby swapped jobs after
awhile, Arnold taking the wheel and Toby the wooden bailer. They set
the roughest seas about a half-hour after their start, by which time
the bay had widened out and the wind, sweeping wildly down from Little
Peconic, tumbled the water into a sea that might have daunted the
skipper of a larger craft than the tiny _Urnove_. More than once, if
truth is told, Arnold’s heart scampered up into his throat as some more
than ordinarily ugly wave smashed at the launch, lifted it sickeningly,
dropped it with a contemptuous bang and rushed madly astern. He was
secretly relieved when darkness settled down. Probably conditions were
just as bad, but they were hidden from sight.
It was about six o’clock when Toby’s longing gaze was rewarded by the
flicker of a distant light which told him that they were drawing near
to Robins Island. A few minutes later there was a barely perceptible
decrease in the pitching of the launch and the wind blew with less
force. Toby ran on until within what he believed to be a quarter of a
mile from the shore and then swung the _Urnove_ to port and, in calmer
water now, ran toward the northern end of the island. Presently Arnold,
who had gone back to bailing at the approach to land, shouted from the
stern.
“Lights, Toby! Is that Cutchogue?”
“New Suffolk. Cutchogue’s beyond.”
“How much further is it?”
“The harbor’s about a mile around this point. I’m swinging around now.”
“Hooray!” yelled Arnold. “Oh, you harbor!”
Nassau Point, which stretches far into Little Peconic Bay beyond the
harbor south, broke the force of wind and tide and after they left the
lights along the water-front at New Suffolk behind they had smooth
sailing. They towed the _Sinbad_ well up into the harbor and at last
Toby took the megaphone and hailed the cruiser.
“All right here?” he asked. “I don’t know this place very well.”
“All right, thanks,” came the answer. “Cast off when you’re ready.”
Simultaneously the boys heard the splash of the _Sinbad’s_ anchor. Toby
threw off the line from the stern and, picking his way carefully, swung
around and approached the anchored boat.
“Pass us a line,” called one of the men, “and come aboard, boys.”
A moment later, murmuring apologies for their dripping clothes and
blinking at the light, they stepped down into the snug cabin.
“Throw your oilskins off and get warmed up,” instructed one of their
hosts. “I’d offer you some dry things if I had them. We’ll have some
hot coffee ready in a shake, and that’ll do you a lot of good, I guess.”
Toby viewed the magnificence of that cabin with awed interest, but
Arnold was gazing at the younger of the two men before them. He was not
more than twenty-one, it appeared, while his companion was probably
three years older. Both were fine, gentlemanly looking chaps in spite
of their old sweaters and khaki trousers and generally dilapidated
appearance. The older one was already busying himself at the little
stove up forward, but it was he who took up the tale again.
“We’re awfully grateful to you chaps,” he said earnestly. “And you
did a mighty plucky stunt. Frankly, I didn’t believe we’d get here. We
broke our propeller shaft about three o’clock and drifted all the way
down from Franklinville to where you found us. We thought for a while
we’d be able to collar around the break and limp home, but it was no
go. I dare say you thought we were a bit fussy in insisting on getting
up here, but the fact is we’ve got to light out the first thing in the
morning and there’s a chap we know who’ll tinker us up tonight. You
fellows won’t want to go back, I guess, until the traveling’s better.
We can bunk you down here just as well as not.”
“I guess we’d better go home, thanks,” said Toby. “Our folks don’t know
where we are, you see.”
“How about telephoning from the village?” asked the other man. “You
live in Greenhaven, don’t you?”
“I do,” replied Toby. “Deering lives on Spanish Head. I guess we’d
better go back. It won’t be bad with the wind astern.”
“Well, you’re a plucky pair,” replied the other admiringly. “I wouldn’t
make that trip again in that boat of yours for a lot of money. That
reminds me, by the way.” He went to a locker and brought forth a purse.
“We’d better settle while we think of it. There’s one thing, though, I
would like to know,” he went on, smiling at Toby as he counted out the
money. “Why did you ask forty-five dollars instead of fifty? Just how
did you arrive at that figure? It’s puzzled me ever since.”
Toby hesitated. Then: “I needed forty-five, sir, and I thought it
wouldn’t be too much to ask.”
“It wasn’t! Not a cent! All right. Here you are then, but I’d just as
leave make it fifty――er――what’s your name, by the way?”
“Mine’s Tucker, and his is Deering.”
“Good names, both. My friend’s name there is Loring, and mine――――”
“Is Pennimore,” supplied Arnold.
“Yes, but how did you know?” asked the other in surprise.
“I’ve seen you a good many times, sir, around Yardley.”
“Oh, you’re a Yardley Hall fellow, eh? Well met, Deering! So am I. That
is, I used to be. Loring’s another. Funny to meet you chaps like this.
Hear that, Alf? These fellows are Yardley chaps! Or one of them is. How
about you, Tucker?”
“I’m entering this year, sir.”
“Good stuff! Now listen, you fellows. You know where I live, Deering.
Come and see me when you get there. I’ll be back pretty nearly as soon
as you are. Bring Tucker with you. Don’t forget, eh?”
“No, thanks, I’ll be glad to,” said Arnold. “Is――is Mr. Loring the one
who used to play quarterback on the team?”
“I am,” laughed Mr. Loring. “Don’t tell me that my fame still survives,
Deering!”
“Yes, sir. Besides, I’ve seen your picture in the gym lots of times.”
“And you’ve been gone――how long is it, Alf? Six years, eh? That’s fame
as is fame!”
“Shut up,” replied the other, laughing, “and drink this. Find another
cup, Gerald, will you? Sorry we can’t offer you anything better than
canned cow, fellows. Dig into those biscuits, will you? If you’re half
as hungry as I am, you’re starved! I wish to goodness we had some dry
clothes for you. Look here, why not get those things off and wrap a
couple of blankets around you? There are towels in there and you can
rub yourselves dry, you know. Great scheme! Why didn’t you think of
that, Gerald? What good are you, anyway, in a crisis?”
“I don’t mind wet clothes,” answered Toby. “And it wouldn’t be much
good to get dry and then put our clothes on again.”
“All right, but pull this blanket around you until you get ready to
start back. It’ll keep you warm meanwhile. Have some more sugar,
Deering?”
In spite of their wet garments that was a very jolly half-hour that the
two boys spent in the cabin of the _Sinbad_. They each had two cups of
really excellent coffee and as many biscuits as they could eat. And
they had a fine time talking about Yardley Hall, and listening to the
reminiscences of their hosts. They learned that the _Sinbad_ belonged
to Mr. Loring and that the two had spent a month cruising along the
coast from Maine to Long Island without a mishap until that afternoon.
It was nearly nine when they donned their oilskins again and climbed
back into the _Urnove_. The _Sinbad’s_ crew once more expressed their
gratitude, shook hands and wished them a safe voyage, Mr. Pennimore
reminding them that they were to come and see him when they got to
Yardley. Then the _Urnove_ chugged off again in the darkness, picking
her way between anchored craft, and the lights on the cruiser dwindled
away astern.
Arnold found plenty of bailing to do for awhile, but it didn’t keep
him from talking a streak until they were out of the protection of
the land and the wind drowned his voice. The return trip was far less
strenuous. Free of her tow, the little launch held her head well out
of water and, since the sea was following instead of charging at their
bow, they kept fairly dry. It was well short of ten when, at last, the
launch reached the smoother water of Greenhaven Harbor and still lacked
five minutes of the hour when, tired and wet but happy, they entered
Toby’s house to the great relief of his folks. Arnold had stopped at
the drug store and telephoned to the Head and before they had ended
their story of the rescue of the _Sinbad_ the automobile was waiting to
whisk him home. Toby went to the car with him and after Arnold had said
good-night and was moving off he called to the driver.
“Wait a minute, Peter! I say, Toby, why did you ask him forty-five
dollars instead of fifty? I didn’t get that any more than he did!”
“Why, because I was shy seventy dollars of enough to go to school,”
answered Toby calmly. “Dad promised me twenty-five, you know, and that
left forty-five. Now I’ve got enough. Good-night!”
Two days later Toby and Phebe stood on the station platform at
Riverport saying good-by to Arnold. Arnold’s father had left for New
York earlier in the day in the automobile, Arnold’s aunt was safely
ensconced in the parlor car and Arnold himself was waving from the
last platform as the bell clanged and the train slowly moved away.
“Good-by, Phebe! I’ve had a fine old time! Say good-by to your father
and mother again for me. Good-by, Toby, old scout! See you in a week or
so. Don’t forget to write.” Arnold had to shout now at the top of his
lungs. “And don’t――forget――to come!”
“I’ll be there!” called Toby. “I’ll be there if I have to walk!”
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
follow the text that they illustrate.
――Obvious printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were
silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
End of Project Gutenberg's Keeping His Course, by Ralph Henry Barbour