TELLS OF A VOYAGE AND A SHIPWRECK
They awoke shortly before seven, aching and chilled and stiff, to find
the sun pouring in through the windows of the hut.
“He’s gone,” said Bob.
“Who?” asked Nelson sleepily.
“Our hobo friend.”
Sure enough, the corner was empty. Nelson felt quickly for the money,
found it intact, and glanced about.
“Well, he hasn’t taken anything.”
“He kept his word, poor chap,” said Dan.
“He did take one thing, though,” said Bob dryly, kicking over the
rubbish at the end of the room.
“What?” they demanded anxiously.
“The bottle.”
They left the hut as soon as the packs were tied up, and retraced their
steps to the railroad track. On every hand were signs of the storm’s
ravages. The sides of the old gravel pit were rutted deeply, and layers
of sand and pebbles overlay the turf. Even the track had suffered in
places, and a quarter of a mile toward Beach Neck they came across a
section gang patching up a washout. By half-past seven they were seated
at a table in the dining room of the little hotel eating like wood
choppers. Through the windows beside them Great Peconic Bay glistened
in the morning sunlight.
“There’s one good thing about missing your supper,” said Tom, his mouth
full of oatmeal, “and that is that it gives you a dandy appetite for
breakfast.”
They did sixteen miles that day over fairly good roads and through an
interesting country. It was a fresh, brisk day with just enough warmth
in the sunshine. They skirted picturesque inlets, and crossed bridges
over tiny coves in which fishing boats and other craft lay hauled up
amid the beach grass. In the late afternoon they reached Sag Harbor,
found a hotel, visited the post office, got their mail, and ate a
hearty supper. Bedtime arrived early that evening, for none of them had
rested very much the night before, and they were pretty sleepy. Bob
managed to write a letter, but the others begged off until morning.
A good ten hours of sleep left them feeling “fine and dandy,” to quote
Dan, and after breakfast and letter writing had been attended to they
set out to see the town. They found plenty to interest them, and if
this were an instructive narrative I should tell you some of the
things they saw. But as it isn’t, I’m going to leave them alone until
dinner time.
After that meal had been disposed of with hearty good will, they packed
their knapsacks again, and set about crossing to the north shore. Tom
was for stopping at Shelter Island, but it was already the sixteenth of
the month, and it behooved them to turn their faces homeward if they
were to report at their schools on time. They learned that the regular
ferry would take them to Greenport or Orient, but those places were too
far east. So they studied the situation with the aid of a map in the
office of the hotel.
“What we want to do,” said Bob, “is to get to Southold or Peconic. That
will save us six or eight miles over Greenport.”
“Well,” suggested Dan, “we’ve got plenty of money now, so let’s get
some one to sail us over. Or what’s the matter with sailing straight
down the bay all the way to this place here; what’s the name of it?
Jamesport?”
“It would take all night,” answered Bob. “It must be a good sixteen
miles, and with this breeze----”
“Don’t you worry about the breeze,” said Nelson. “There’s going to be
more of it pretty soon. But, considering the fact that we’re supposed
to be on a walking trip, Dan, sailing sixteen miles of the way sounds a
bit funny.”
“What was the place you said, Bob?” Tom asked.
“I said Southold or Peconic, Peconic for choice because it’s farther
west. If we’re going to get back to New York on the twentieth as we
agreed, we’ve got to cover ground during the next few days, and every
mile counts. You see we’ve lost three days since we started. We want
to stop back at Barrington to see Jerry, and I think we’d ought to get
there about Tuesday noon. Then Wednesday morning we can go on to Cold
Spring, or wherever that steamboat line starts from, and take the boat
to New York.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Dan. “Let’s ask Whiskers, the clerk, about a
sailboat.”
The gentleman so disrespectfully alluded to by Dan had rather hazy
ideas on the subject of boat hiring, but finally advised them to “take
the straight road down to the Point and ask about.”
Maybe they got off the straight road; at any rate they never found
“the Point.” Instead they came out on the side of a little cove where
a ramshackle boathouse, a thirty-foot sloop at anchor, and a few boats
hauled up on the beach were the principal objects in sight. But as they
drew nearer there came a sound of hammering from the shanty, and when
they reached the door they found it inhabited by a man and a boy. The
man looked like a fisherman, and the boy--well, the boy looked like a
ninny. But, perhaps, that was largely because from the time the Four
darkened the door until they went out he held his mouth open every
moment.
“How do you do?” said Bob. “We want to get across to Peconic this
afternoon. There are four of us and we’ll pay a fair price. Can you
take us over?”
The man looked up momentarily from the lobster pot he was mending and
shook his head.
“No, I guess not,” he replied calmly.
Bob waited, but apparently nothing more was forthcoming.
“It would be worth two dollars to us,” he hazarded.
“’Twould be worth three to me,” answered the man.
“Well, call it three,” said Bob.
“Or maybe four,” continued the other as though Bob had not spoken. Bob
glanced doubtfully at the others, who nodded.
“We’ll pay four, although it seems a good deal.”
“Southold, you said?” asked the fisherman.
“No, Peconic.”
“Oh, Peconic, eh?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Now, that’s
different bait. You see, the wind’s sorter bad for a trip over to
Peconic.”
“We’ll risk the wind,” answered Nelson.
“Yes, but it’s gettin’ to look pret-ty squally, an’ I don’t b’lieve I’d
want to risk the boat.”
There was a whispered consultation, and finally Bob said: “Now, look
here, we’ve got to get across, and you might as well take us as anyone
else. We’ll pay you five dollars.”
“I couldn’t go myself,” answered the man. “But my boy here can go if he
wants to. Want to take these gentlemen across, Will?”
The boy, his mouth still open, nodded silently.
“All right. You better hurry, ’cause there’s goin’ to be a bit of a
blow toward night. You go along with him an’ he’ll sail you across.”
“Thank you,” answered Bob. “Shall I pay you now?”
“Not till you gets the goods, sir,” was the answer. “When you gets to
Peconic landing you give the money to Will; an’ tell him not to lose
it; though I rather guess he will, just the same.”
They started out, but the fisherman called them back.
“How much were you going to give him?” he asked.
Bob sighed despairingly.
“Five dollars. That was the agreement.”
“Don’t you do it. Give him three; that’s all it’s worth.”
“Oh, I understood you to say----”
“I said three or _maybe_ four. Well, it’s three. That suit you?”
“Yes, indeed. Much obliged.”
“You’re welcome. An’ say!”
“Yes,” answered Bob, pausing again.
“That boy o’ mine’s about the forgetfulest you ever saw. If you
capsize, just remind him to swim, will you? Like as not he wouldn’t
think of it till it was too late.”
Bob agreed laughingly, and the fisherman turned back gravely to his
work. When they got to the little pier, Will was awaiting them in the
rowboat. They piled in and were rowed out to the sloop. Once on board,
Will showed to better advantage. He closed his mouth and looked almost
intelligent, although Nelson confided to Bob that if it came on a blow
he thought the best thing to do would be to pitch Will overboard and
sail themselves. Will cast off the mooring, hoisted the mainsail with
Nelson’s assistance, and they drifted out of the cove. Once around
the point of the land, the breeze filled the sail and they moved
more briskly. Will put up the jib then, and the boys made themselves
comfortable. Dan and Nelson stretched themselves out in the lee of the
sail, and Bob and Tom remained in the little cockpit, the former trying
to engage Will in conversation. But Will was not brilliant at that,
and his replies to the other’s questions consisted invariably of “No,”
“Yes,” and “I guess so.”
There was a fair, if somewhat fluky, breeze out of the south, and after
they had crept through the narrows between the mainland and Shelter
Island it was a matter of short tacking. The sun had gone in under the
light clouds, and Nelson cast frequent glances about them.
“What are you looking for?” asked Dan lazily.
“Squalls,” was the answer. “And we’ll get them before long unless I’m
mistaken.”
“Can’t cut much ice in here, can they?”
“I don’t know, but I should think they might kick up quite a fuss.”
“Oh, well, we’ve got land all around us,” said Dan.
“Yes, that’s the trouble. There isn’t room enough to turn around in
without hitting something. And as for that idiot there at the tiller, I
wouldn’t trust him to drive a canal boat.”
“Oh, let her blow,” said Dan. “Maybe it’ll blow us down to Jamestown.”
“If those clouds over there in the northeast mean anything,” answered
Nelson, “we’re more likely to get blown back toward Beach Neck.”
“Well,” laughed the other, “we don’t have to pay unless he gets us to
Peconic. Think of the saving!”
There was a long spit of sand stretching out from the mainland, and as
the boom swung over and they headed into the dying breeze the boat’s
nose pointed straight for the end of it. Nelson glanced back. Over near
the Shelter Island shore the sea was ruffled with cat’s-paws. Here,
however, the last breath of air seemed to have died out.
“Say, you’d better bring her around to starboard,” he shouted. “That
looks mighty like a squall back there.”
Will looked over his shoulder uneasily and shoved the helm over. At
that moment the first breath of wind from the new quarter struck them,
and the sloop heeled over until Dan had to grab at the mast to keep
from rolling off. The next instant the sheet paid out, and the sloop
righted. Then came a burst of wind that sent Dan and Nelson down to the
cockpit, and took the sloop through the water at a lively clip. They
were free of the sand spit now, and again the helm went over, and the
boat pointed for the channel between the spit and the north shore.
“Maybe we’d better reef some,” said Will questioningly.
“I know blamed well we had,” muttered Nelson, as he climbed out of
the cockpit and set to work. “Lend a hand, Dan!” he called. They took
two reefs in the mainsail, not without difficulty, and crawled back.
It was getting darker now, and there were ugly pale-green streaks on
the water. But with the wind almost astern and the channel dead ahead,
there was no need of present worry. The squall was not a heavy one, and
might soon blow over. If it didn’t they would have difficulty, Nelson
was certain, in getting into Peconic. Presently they were past the end
of the sand spit, and Nelson, for one, breathed easier. The boy at the
helm eased her off a little, and then swung her around into the wind.
At the same instant a terrific gust of wind struck them, the sloop fell
off, the mainsail swung out to starboard, and Nelson made a leap at the
tiller.
“Give me that thing, you idiot!” he muttered. “Let go your jib unless
you want to have us all in the water!”
The boy was plainly rattled and somewhat scared, but he managed to obey.
“Now lower away on that mainsail,” continued Nelson. “I don’t know much
about this old tub, and I’m not going to take any chances. We’ll try
bare poles while this lasts!”
The wind was roaring around them now, and the sloop was heeling over
under the force of it. Dan and Bob lent assistance, and in a trice the
mainsail was down and secured. The sloop found her keel again. “Now put
up that jib again,” said Nelson. “I guess we’d better keep her headed
right, though I’m blest if I know where she’s going!”
“Here comes the rain!” cried Tom, and the next moment they got it.
Ponchos were hurriedly donned, and Barry, shivering and frightened,
crept under the seat. The shores were suddenly blotted from sight in
the whirling gray mists. The sloop scudded along through the leaping
waves at breathless pace. Nelson called to Will.
“Here, you take this tiller,” he said. “You know a heap more about this
bay than I do.”
But the boy only shook his head.
“What?” demanded Nelson angrily.
“I don’t know where we are,” muttered the other.
“Well, do you think I do? You take hold here or we’ll pitch you
overboard.”
Will crept back and took the tiller, his face white with fright.
“Hold her where she is,” said Nelson. “Where was that land the last
time you saw it, Dan?”
“About over there,” answered Dan, pointing.
“That’s what I think. Starboard a little, Will! That’ll do; hold her
so! We’ll keep her into the wind as much as we can. I wonder whether
that old jib is doing us any good. Wish I knew more about sailboats.
If this was a launch, I could manage her. Keep your eyes open, you
fellows. We may strike Brooklyn or Jersey City any old moment.”
The worst of the rain passed, but the wind held on fiercely. Now and
then, or so they thought, they caught glimpses of the land to the
southeast of them, apparently about two miles distant.
“One thing’s certain,” said Nelson presently. “We won’t see Peconic
to-night. We must be two or three miles past that place already. Isn’t
there an island down ahead somewhere?” he asked of Will.
“Yes, sir, Robin’s Island.”
“How far from here, do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you think? I didn’t suppose you knew.”
“Maybe four or five miles.”
“That’s good,” said Nelson. “Maybe the storm will die out before we get
to it. I’d hate to be arrested for knocking the paint off an island.”
“Very careless of Robin to leave his old island around like this,” said
Dan, in a pathetic attempt to be merry.
“What’s that noise?” asked Tom.
They listened, and,
“Them’s waves!” cried Will. “We’re runnin’ aground!”
“Hard aport!” cried Nelson. Will obeyed, and Nelson seized the jib
sheet. Slowly, prancing and rolling, the sloop’s head came around. The
sound of surf was plainly to be heard.
“It’s that blamed old island!” growled Dan. Nelson nodded, his eyes on
the boat. She began to draw away on her new tack, but it was slow work.
At times the surf sounded almost beside them, at times it became faint
and distant, as the wind lulled or increased. Two or three minutes
passed during which the Four, standing and peering through the rain
with straining eyes, waited the outcome. Then, suddenly, the boat’s
head swirled around, Tom and Dan were thrown into a heap against the
side of the cockpit, and the water streamed in over the washboard.
Barry yelped with terror, and Will joined him.
[Illustration: “Suddenly the boat’s head swirled around.”]
“She’s goin’ over!” he cried. “She’s sinkin’!”
“Cut it out!” thundered Nelson. “Get back there! Take that tiller! What
did you leave it for?”
“I--I forgot!” whined Will.
“Forgot! Great Scott! I’d like to--to-- Hard over now! Port, you idiot,
port!”
But the water was shoaling every instant and, try as he might, Nelson
could not get the boat’s head about. The sound of the pounding surf
increased, and the water about them leaped and dashed. The sloop was
blown, tossing and rolling, on through a maelstrom of angry white
waters.
“Get that jib down, Dan!” called Nelson, and, clutching and swaying,
struggled to the bow. Down came the fluttering, whipping canvas, and,
with a heave, Nelson sent the anchor over. The sloop drifted side on
for a space, and then pointed her nose to the tempest.
“Is it holding?” called Bob.
“No,” answered Nelson. “I didn’t think it would. Get ready to take to
the water if you have to, fellows. We can make the beach all right.
I can see it, now and then, dead ahead there. Maybe, though, we can
manage to stick on here.”
For a minute longer the sloop drifted on, tossed about on the leaping
waves, then there was a jar, her bow swung around, and she listed to
starboard. The waves flattened themselves against her upturned side,
and drenched the occupants.
“She’s aground at the stern,” said Nelson quietly. “I guess we’ll have
to get out of this. And we might as well do it now as later. We can’t
get much wetter. Here, you, get up out of that and swim!”
“I can’t!” whined Will. He was huddled in a corner of the cockpit,
white and trembling.
“Can’t swim!” echoed Dan incredulously. “Well, if that isn’t the limit!”
“Kick that coil of rope over here,” said Nelson, ducking from a wave
that came washing over them. Dan obeyed. Nelson passed the end around
Will, under his arms, and knotted it. “When I tell you to jump, you
jump; understand?”
There was no answer, and Nelson waited for none.
“I’ll race you ashore, Dan,” he cried.
“All right! Coming, Bob? Coming, Tom?”
“You bu-bu-bet!” answered Tom. Bob, who held Barry in his arms, nodded.
“Think Barry can make it, Dan?” he asked.
“I’ll take him,” said Dan. “I hate to leave my coat and shoes behind,
though.”
“We’ll have to,” said Nelson. “Wait! I saw a cod line here somewhere,
didn’t I?”
“Here it is,” answered Tom.
“Good! We’ll make a bundle of the clothes, lash ’em together well, and
maybe we can get ’em ashore.”
So they did it, stumbling and gasping under the assault of the waves
that broke against the boat and dashed across, drenching them from head
to feet. Finally all was ready.
“Here goes,” said Nelson, climbing out of the cockpit and balancing
himself for an instant on the sloping, heaving deck. Then he leaped
far out into the water. Dan was after him in the instant. Bob threw
the bundle of clothes out, for the other end of the line was fastened
around Nelson’s waist. Then Tom followed. Bob caught a glimpse of
Barry’s wet head and frightened eyes as Dan arose to the surface and
struck out for the shore. Bob knotted about him the rope to which Will
was lashed, and turned to the boy.
“When I call for you to jump, you jump,” he said. “You needn’t be
afraid; we’ll haul you in all right.”
Will looked at him silently with wide, terror-stricken eyes, and
made no answer. Twenty yards away three dark objects appeared and
disappeared in the green-and-white ferment. Bob climbed to the rail and
leaped. The waves tried their best to smother him when he came up to
the surface, but he fought for breath, and the rest was not difficult.
Wind and tide set strongly toward the land, and he could not have
helped going there had he tried. It seemed scarcely a minute before he
felt the beach under him, and was tossed, gasping and struggling in a
white smother, into the arms of Dan, who had waded out toward him. He
climbed to his feet, and unknotted the rope.
“Now, all together,” he said. “Jump!”
The boat was an indistinct blur, some two hundred yards out, and as
they shouted they strained their eyes for sight of the fisherman’s
boy. But they couldn’t see surely, and after an instant they pulled
vigorously on the rope. It came fast.
“He must be swimming,” said Tom.
“Swimming!” answered Nelson in angry disgust. “The fool has untied the
line!”