Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
THE GO AHEAD BOYS
ON
SMUGGLERS' ISLAND
BY
ROSS KAY
Author of "The Search for the Spy," "The Air Scout,"
"Dodging the North Sea Mines," "With Joffre
on the Battle Line," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY
R. EMMETT OWEN_
I leave this rule for others when I'm dead;
Be always sure you're right--THEN GO AHEAD.
--_Davy Crockett's Motto._
NEW YORK
BARSE & HOPKINS
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1916,
by
BARSE & HOPKINS
PREFACE
A basis of fact underlies many of the incidents incorporated in this
story. Even the letters are very like those received by one of the
official agents of the United States Treasury. Occasional use has been
made of the work entitled, "Defrauding the Government." Out of his
material the writer has tried to present a tale that should be stirring
and yet wholesome, having plenty of action, but free from sensationalism.
Naturally, changes in characters and localities have been freely made. If
his young readers shall be interested in the story and shall draw the
conclusion that any attempt to defraud the Government reacts in harsher
form upon the one who tried to evade the laws, a part at least of his
purpose will have been accomplished.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I An Early Morning Party 11
II The Landing on the Canadian Shore 20
III A Mysterious House 30
IV The Coming of the "Gadabout" 39
V A Perplexing Letter 48
VI An Addition to the Party 57
VII Once More on Cockburn Island 67
VIII Left Behind 76
IX The Lost Skiff 85
X The Flight of the "Gadabout" 93
XI Alone on the Lake 101
XII The Search in the Night 109
XIII A Fresh Arrival 117
XIV Another Mysterious Letter 126
XV A Signal of Distress 136
XVI The Sinking Skiff 144
XVII The Rescue of the "Gadabout" 152
XVIII The Search for the Lost Boys 160
XIX Suspicious Characters 168
XX Penniless 178
XXI A Vague Hint 188
XXII A Passenger for Cockburn Island 198
XXIII An Unexpected Meeting 207
XXIV Two Boats 217
XXV A Small Box 226
XXVI Conclusion 236
THE GO AHEAD BOYS ON
SMUGGLERS' ISLAND
CHAPTER I
AN EARLY MORNING PARTY
"I never saw such a morning!"
"I never did either. I am glad I am alive!"
"So am I. It is worth something to be up here where the air is so strong
that you can almost bite it off. When we left Mackinac this morning one
could hardly tell whether the island was upside down or not. He could see
the reflections just as clearly in the water as he could see the island
above."
"I wonder what would happen if a fire should break out on the island?"
"Probably it would burn, just as it does everywhere else. They did have a
fire over there once and they say the whole island burned down."
"This is the place for the simple life!"
"Yes, it is a good place for the simple life, but to my mind there is a
great difference between a simple life and an idiotic life."
It was an hour before sunrise in a morning in July. The conversation
which has been recorded occurred on board a beautiful little motor-boat
named the _Gadabout_. Assisting the captain and owner in the management
of the fleet little craft was a young man, whose name sounded to the boys
very much like Eph, when they heard the owner of the boat address him.
On board the motor-boat were four boys among whom conversation did not
lag. The one who had perhaps the most to say was Fred Button. He was a
tiny, little fellow, though his round face and rounder body gave him the
appearance, as one of his friends described it, of a young bantam. He was
familiarly known among his companions sometimes by the nick-name of Stub,
or more often was called Peewee, or Pygmy, the last appellation sometimes
being affectionately shortened into pyggie, or even pyg.
Seated next to him was John Clemens, a boy already six feet three inches
tall, though he had not yet attained his eighteenth birthday. Familiarly
he was known as String and frequently, when he and Fred Button, who were
warm friends, were together they were referred to as the "long and short
of it."
On the opposite seat was Grant Jones, a clear headed, self-contained boy
of the same age as his companions. A leader in his class in school and
active on the athletic field, he had won for himself the nickname of
Socrates, which frequently was shortened to Soc. The fourth member of the
group was George Washington Sanders, a boy whose good-nature and witty
remarks had made him a favorite among his friends. In honor of the name
which he bore he sometimes had been referred to as the father of his
country, which distinction was occasionally shortened to Papa, or even to
Pop.
The owner and captain of the swift little craft was an elderly man, whose
whiskers and hair formed an unbroken circle about his tanned face. Both
he and Eph, when occasion required, served as oarsmen in the two skiffs
which the swift _Gadabout_ was towing. The light little boats were far
astern, each being held in its place by a long rope made fast to the
_Gadabout_.
"Whew!" said Fred Button, rising and stretching himself, "I hope we'll
get some fish to-day. How far do we have to go?" he added, addressing the
captain as he spoke.
"It depends a little upon where you want to go to," drawled the captain
in response, without turning his head as he replied.
"I thought it was understood," continued Fred, "that we were going to the
channel between Drummond Island and Cockburn Island."
"Ye'll have to show your papers, if you fish over on the Canadian side,"
growled the captain.
"We shan't fish on the Canadian side," spoke up Grant Jones. "We'll leave
it to you to keep us in American waters."
"That's right," added John. "If we get caught on the Canadian side,
Captain, we'll hold you responsible for it."
"Humph," growled the captain, "we'll see what we'll see."
Meanwhile the sun had risen and like a huge ball of fire was casting its
beams across the smooth waters of Lake Huron. Scarcely a ripple was to be
seen as the boat sped forward. The day promised to be unusually warm, but
as yet the air was cool, and the spirits of the boys, after their early
breakfast, were all high.
"We've got to get some of these fish to-day," broke in George Sanders.
"We didn't get many the other day."
"We weren't far enough away from Mackinac," said Fred.
"I've usually noticed," suggested Grant, "that the best fishing grounds
are always a good ways away from where you're staying. The further away
they are, the better they are."
"I've noticed that too," laughed George. "In fact there are a good many
funny things in this world. I wonder what people speak of a family jar
for."
"What do you mean?" inquired Fred.
"I mean just what I say. I heard a family jar this morning."
"I don't understand you," persisted Fred.
"Why, there was a family having a jar in the room next to mine. Only I
think it was a little more than a family jar, it was more of a family
churn, it was such a big one. There seemed to be such a very decided
difference of opinion that the jar wouldn't hold all that they were
saying."
"You shouldn't listen to such things," said Fred.
"'Listen'! 'Listen'! Why that was the very thing I was trying not to do,
but I guess anybody on Mackinac Island could have heard them, if he had
stopped."
"Who were the people?" inquired George.
"I don't know their names. The man is the one that wears that ice-cream
suit when he goes fishing."
"Oh, yes, I know him," laughed Grant. "I have observed several times that
the immaculateness of his manipulators has not been extremely
noticeable."
"That's right," laughed John. "There seems to be a superincrustation of
unnecessary geological deposits that doubtless are due to his
transcontinental pedestrianism."
"Why, did he have to tramp across the continent to get here?" laughed
George.
"I guess so. I know more about them than I wish I did, but I don't know
enough to know that."
"I noticed," said Fred, "yesterday afternoon when he came in that his
lips looked like Alkali Pete's."
"What was the matter with Alkali Pete's lips?" demanded George.
"They were seldom closed and there were great crevasses in them, cracked
by the alkali."
"I am taking your word for it," said John, "but I confess I don't know
what you're talking about. I'm a good deal more interested in the fish
we're going to get."
"'We're going to get.' I like that. Does String really think he is going
to catch any fish?" said George, turning to his companions as he spoke.
"His attenuated form doesn't look to me as if it would be able to stand
the strain of landing the fish some of us are going to catch to-day.
About the only thing I think String will ever catch will be a crab."
"String, how old are you?" demanded Grant abruptly.
"I'm eighteen in October."
"When will you be ten?"
"I don't understand your language," replied John. "In your superlunary
efforts to appear intellectual you sometimes state things that are
incomprehensible, even to people of my limited intellectual parts."
"Oh, quit!" broke in Fred, "don't spoil the day and scare the fish away.
I want to tell you about Professor Jackson. You know him, don't you?"
"Yes," replied Grant, "he's the man who came on Monday, isn't he? The man
who is making investigations of the island, digging up all sorts of
relics?"
"That's the man," acknowledged Fred. "Yesterday he dug up some cannon
balls. He said they were relics of the French and Indian war."
"They were all right," said George. "I know, for one of the guides told
me that they were the same balls that had been dug up by every old fellow
for the last twenty-five years."
"A new crop?" laughed Fred.
"Not at all. They are the same old cannon balls. They plant them every
spring and give pleasure to some of these old fellows, who are traveling
around the island in their gentle, antiquated gait looking for things
that belonged to our grandfathers. They give them the childish pleasure
of making 'discoveries' every year."
"I should think they would take the balls away with them," suggested
John.
"No, they leave them for the historical interest they provide for the
visitors. You go up to the reception room and you'll find some there now
in the glass case. They are a part of the same crop."
"That's all right," laughed Grant. "It's an easy way to keep the old
people interested."
By this time the _Gadabout_ had gained the lower point of Drummond
Island, thirty-five miles from the place from which they had started more
than two hours before this time. Across the narrow channel they saw the
shores of Cockburn Island. The latter was within the Canadian boundaries
and as the captain of the _Gadabout_ had explained, the boys would not be
permitted to fish in the waters along its shore without a special permit
from the Canadian officials.
The shore which they were approaching apparently had no buildings of any
kind. There were high bluffs and rocky points, but no house was within
sight.
"Captain," called Fred, "why are you taking us to this island?"
"I'm not taking you to this island," responded the captain. "I'm going to
take you past it. I'm not fool enough to try to dodge the Canadian laws."
Both the captain and his mate were watching the shore of the island,
which every moment was becoming more distinct.
Unexpectedly on a bluff far to the left a man was seen standing and
suddenly he appeared to become aware of the approaching _Gadabout_.
Turning abruptly about he several times waved a white cloth, which he
held in his hand, to parties that apparently were behind him. Then, once
more facing the waters, he again waved the cloth. Instantly and with a
grin of satisfaction appearing on his face the captain changed the course
of his motor boat.
The four boys glanced blankly at one another and for a brief time no one
spoke.
It was later when they learned that the signal which they had observed
was to mean much, both in excitement and adventure, for all four of the
boys on board the _Gadabout_.