THE TRIAL TRIP
Immediately after school on the following Monday afternoon Jack and
his chum hastened to what they were pleased to call their “dry-dock.”
Although Tony Santo had calked the worst of the cracks between the
planks under the sloop’s water-line before he actually launched her,
she had taken in a good deal of water during her journey along the
Sangus River and up Cow Creek. It was obvious, therefore, that several
afternoons would be taken up with the task of filling the numerous
small crevices along her hull, although the boat-builder assured them
that the swelling of the wood after she had been afloat a few days
would to some extent remedy this trouble.
The boys went about their task in a thoroughly businesslike manner.
With coats off and shirt-sleeves rolled up, and wearing the oldest
trousers they could find, they applied themselves diligently and
intelligently to their work. Tony, who took a genuine interest in the
affair, devoted an hour or two to them on the first day, teaching the
boys how to use the calking-iron and mallet, how to lay the thin strip
of oakum along the defective seam, and how to ram it into the cavity
without injuring the boat itself. Also, they learned to distinguish
between a seam which needed calking and one which did not.
After putting them through their short apprenticeship, the boat-builder
sat on an upturned box, lighted his pipe with deliberation, and for a
while watched his pupils at work.
“Steady, there!” he said. “Don’t try to go too fast. You’re not out to
make a record. Not too hard with the mallet, or you may do more harm
than good. That’s the style!”
As the tide had receded it had left the vessel canting over on her
starboard side, and Tony had told the repair gang to take one seam
at a time, working from stem to stern as far as possible, for the
_Sea-Lark_ was high and dry only at low water.
“Now I guess you’re all right, and I’ll leave you to it,” said Tony at
length. “How long are you going to keep it up?”
“Till supper-time,” replied Jack, tapping away industriously with the
mallet in his right hand, while with his left he held up the small iron
which rammed the oakum home.
“You’ll be wanting some paint for this boat soon,” said Tony, with a
mysterious smile. “Now, if you keep on with what you’re doing till it’s
time to knock off for supper, I’ll――I’ll make you a present of all the
paint you need.”
Jack, wondering what the joke was, turned to the boat-builder.
“Do you mean that?” he asked. “What’s the catch?”
“You’ll find out,” replied Tony. “What does that mallet weigh?”
“About four pounds,” guessed Jack.
“Three and a half,” said Tony. “And what does that other little
thing――the iron――weigh?”
“Oh, a quarter of a pound.”
“Just right,” said Tony. “Now, which arm will get tired first, the one
you are holding the mallet with, or the one you’re using for the iron?”
“Which do you think, George?” asked the skipper, with caution.
“Why, the mallet arm,” suggested George promptly. “That thing weighs
about ten times as much as the iron.”
“That’s my guess too,” said Jack.
“Well, well, we’ll see,” said Tony, the smile having developed into a
broad grin as he sauntered off to his own work in the near-by boat-yard.
For a while the boys were too intent on their occupation to carry on
much conversation. They worked side by side, each taking a separate
seam, and each glancing occasionally at the work of the other.
“Have you ever done any calking before?” Jack asked when they had been
plugging at it for some time.
“Not a calk!” replied the youthful mate.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Lots!” replied George. “Which arm are you having most of the fun
in――the right or the left?”
Jack stole a glance at his companion, who was now standing with both
his arms hanging down.
“Your dad said this little iron only weighed four ounces,” observed
Jack, lowering the implement, and rubbing his shoulder. “What’s
happened to the thing? It seems to weigh more than the mallet now.”
Just then Tony strolled back and caught them both resting.
“Are you going to buy that paint, or am I?” he asked quizzically.
“I’m afraid it’ll have to be me,” replied Jack. “I could keep on with
the hammering, but it’s holding up this little iron all the time that
bothers me.”
“It tries anybody, men included, at first,” said Tony. “Don’t do too
much to-day and then you won’t be too stiff to work to-morrow. You’ll
soon get used to it, though. There’s a lot of scrubbing to be done on
the deck, so I’d switch off and get busy with the soap and water for a
change.”
The inside of the cabin was just as the boys had finished scraping it
out with a shovel, so here considerable time had to be spent before a
coat of paint could be put on the woodwork. Where the paint was coming
from Jack, so far, had not the least notion. He had already discovered,
to his dismay, that paint was an extremely expensive article for one
whose total capital did not touch the five-dollar mark, especially
when pounds and pounds of the stuff were needed to put even a single
coat on sparingly. There were precisely two reasons why he would not
attempt to get the necessary money by borrowing from George. One was
that he had a constitutional dislike to borrowing. The other was that
George would be unable to lend it; for George had not yet learned the
wisdom of reserving a little of his spending-money for a rainy day.
There was a way out of the difficulty, of course, for the skipper of
the _Sea-Lark_. He could find a job somewhere. But that would take
precious time. He was prepared to do it if necessary, but hated the
idea of postponing the preparation of the sloop for her maiden voyage
until he could earn enough money to give her a new “dress.” However,
there was plenty to occupy his attention for the present, and he was
an incurable optimist, so he felt convinced the paint would roll up in
some unexpected fashion, after all.
Next day both Jack and the mate were stiff in the shoulder, but they
set to work as early as possible in the afternoon, doing an hour’s
calking first and then turning to with the scrubbing-brushes. There
were two sleeping-bunks besides lockers in the cabin, all of which
had to be swabbed down and then scrubbed. In the middle of this
performance, while Jack was on his knees, working away in a corner,
he noticed that the sound of the other scrubbing-brush had ceased,
and turned to ascertain the cause. He discovered his henchman lying,
apparently fast asleep, in one of the bunks.
“What’s the matter? Are you all right, George?” he asked anxiously,
springing to his feet.
“Eh? What’s that?” queried George, as though just awakened from deepest
slumber.
“Tired?” asked the skipper.
“Why, no; not specially,” replied his chum.
“What’s the idea, then? Come on.”
“Well, I’ve just remembered something,” replied George. “I signed
on this ship as chief mate, didn’t I? Well, the chief mate is the
navigating officer, isn’t he? I’ve got to know all about the currents
and the rocks and charts and stars, and nothing was said, when I was
engaged, about me having to scrub the――”
“George Santo,” the skipper began in his best deep voice, “if you’re
not out of that in ten seconds you’ll know more about stars than you’ve
ever seen in your life. I’m going to empty this bucket of water over
that bunk when I say three. One――two――”
With a second to spare, the mate displayed remarkable agility in
descending, and became desperately busy once more, to avoid the
captain’s wrath.
It was a full week before the last of the calking was done, and Tony,
after a careful inspection, declared it to be perfectly satisfactory.
He added a touch here and there where a little more oakum was needed,
and then provided a bucket of tar and a brush, telling Jack to daub her
hull over completely, beneath the water-line.
Although still far from being finished, the _Sea-Lark_ began to assume
the part of a real boat in Jack’s estimation. She was no longer the
leaky old sieve which he and George had played on through two summers.
He was realizing, for the first time in his life, the real satisfaction
which comes from conscientious labor. The calking of those leaks in the
seams had been done with infinite care and at the cost of many an ache
and pain. His hands were blistered and calloused from work to which he
was not accustomed, but it was with a growing sense of pride in his
handiwork that he viewed the sloop. At times he was a little impatient,
for the days were rushing past and June was fast approaching, but
nevertheless he did not shirk any of the harder toil which he might
have left half done. It was his firm determination that the boat
should be as satisfactory as he could make her. Nor, despite his
joking, was George Santo inclined to skip the less pleasant portions of
their task.
After the bottom of the sloop had been tarred, and the whole of
the deck and cabin scrubbed, Jack, on the advice of Cap’n Crumbie,
invested in a bundle of sandpaper, and another three days were spent
scraping and smoothing down the woodwork, which had become roughened
in places by long exposure. Cap’n Crumbie walked from the wharf to see
how they were getting on with the _Sea-Lark_, and Jack took him into
consultation on the pressing subject of paint.
The watchman meditatively ran a stubby forefinger through his whiskers.
“Aye, she’s bleached for fair,” he said. “She won’t sail no better with
paint on her woodwork, but she’ll look a world different. As you say,
though, paint’s expensive, and it’ll take a tidy bit to give her even
one thin coat.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be the _best_ kind of paint, Cap’n,” Jack
said. “If only I could get hold of some old stuff, it would do. I’m
not so very particular about the color.”
“_I’ve_ got it!” cried the watchman, suddenly, beaming. “You go up and
see Dan Staples, the house-painter. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll fix
you up all right. I remember now they’ve got a tub up there where they
throw all the old dried-up skins and bits of waste paint, same as they
do in all paint shops. It won’t cost you much. I guess he’ll be able
to let you have all you want for about a dollar. It’ll be a bit o’
trouble, but as you ain’t too particular about the color, you couldn’t
get anything better to suit you. Put it in an old pan and melt it over
a fire. Then strain it, and you’ll have as good paint as you’d want.
Maybe it’ll be reddish, or maybe it’ll be grayish; and maybe you won’t
be able to find a name for it; but that won’t break your heart, huh?”
“That’s fine!” said Jack. “I’ll go up and see him now.”
The captain of the _Sea-Lark_ found Mr. Staples in his workshop, and
when Jack explained his mission the painter filled a generously sized
can with scraps and skins out of the tub, for which Jack paid him fifty
cents.
The rest of the afternoon was devoted to the task of melting this
down over a small stove in the boat-yard, and after straining it the
boys found they had many pounds of a brownish-colored paint, a little
nondescript as to hue, perhaps, but nevertheless, as Cap’n Crumbie had
prophesied, perfectly good paint. The tarring along the sides of the
sloop below the water-line had been finished off evenly, and the boys
now proceeded to slap a coat of the Staples mixture from the top of the
black line to the top of the low rail which ran the full length of the
_Sea-Lark’s_ deck; and by the time this had been accomplished the sloop
was indeed transformed into something of her old glory. Jack would have
turned next to the painting of the cabin and the deck itself, but here
Tony wisely interfered.
“You don’t want to do that till the rough work’s all finished,” he
said, “or everything will get scratched up. I’ve got the mast to put
in, and there’s a week’s carpentering ahead of you yet. You’ll want two
or three new cleats. And what about belaying-pins? They’re all gone.”
“Oh, yes, we must have at least _one_ belaying-pin!” exclaimed Jack,
with a humorous glance at the mate. “Tell me, Mr. Santo, aren’t they
the little round sticks that go into the mast rail there, to belay the
halyards on?”
“That’s the idea; but they’ve all got lost. You can easily make them.”
“And I want the marlinespike,” chirped George. “I think every mate
should have at least one of those if the captain is going to have half
a dozen belaying-pins.”
“Do you know what a marlinespike is?” queried Tony, puzzled.
“It’s something a sailmaker uses, isn’t it?” asked George.
“Yes, a metal spike about six or seven inches long.”
“Just what I need!” said George.
“I guess there’s enough carpentering work to keep you busy for a
while,” said Tony, “unless you’re more handy with tools than George is.”
“George Santo,” said Jack, severely, when they were alone a moment
later, “you’re a fraud, and I could have you arrested.”
“What for?” asked George, with a grin.
“You shipped on this vessel as a fully qualified mate and highly
skilled carpenter. You heard what your own father said about you.”
“Well, sir, I needed the money,” pleaded George.
“This company is run on business lines, Mr. Mate,” declared the
captain. “You’ll either learn to do your share of carpentering right
now or I’ll sue you for false pretenses.”
“Please, sir, when I go across in the ferry as mate do I have to pay
ten cents fare, too?” asked George.
“Silence!――or I’ll clap you in irons!” roared the skipper. “Come on,
and use your head. I’ve never made a cleat in my life, and I suspect
you know more about that sort of thing than I do. Let’s make a start.”
Two or three short pieces of oak were found in the boat-shed, and after
the third or fourth attempt the boys managed to fashion sufficient
serviceable cleats to replace those which had been broken. The rail
also was repaired, although Tony’s professional opinion of the way that
job had been done was not startlingly complimentary.
“It looks like a piece of George’s work,” he said. “Now, ’fess up, who
did it?”
“We’re both guilty,” explained Jack.
“Well, it’s a pretty difficult thing to do unless you’re a regular
ship’s carpenter,” admitted Tony. “It’ll pass, for the present, but
some day soon, when I have time, I’ll fix it properly for you.”
The boys cut the belaying-pins out of oak, and then little remained for
them to do until the expert services of Tony had been called in. The
most important part of his share was to place in her again the sloop’s
old discarded mast, a good, serviceable spar which towered to a height
of thirty-five feet.
“It’s as high as anything you could want,” said Tony. “That mast did
service in her for two years, till Mr. Farnham got the notion into his
head that he wanted a bigger spread of canvas on her. Lucky for you
lads this mast wasn’t five or ten feet longer, or I should have used it
in another boat long ago.”
“What about a mains’l and a jib, Dad?” suggested George. “You’ve got
plenty of junk lying around in the shed. May we use what we need?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, son,” replied Tony. “I could have fixed
you up, perhaps, with some rags of sails that aren’t any particular
good, but I don’t know that I’m specially anxious to have you two
blowing about outside the breakwater, depending on rags. You might
be all right with them, but it isn’t wise to take any chances in a
sailing-vessel. Now, I have a couple of sails that would just about fit
this sloop after a mite of alteration. They’re not new, and they’re not
junk. I could get about fifteen dollars for them this summer, but if
you’d like to take them and pay me after you’ve earned the money with
your ferry, you can have them for ten. What do you say?”
“Why, that’s great!” said Jack. “Thank you ever so much.”
“All right. Call it a deal. Now, there’s a block or two you’ll have to
scare up, and halyards and mast-hoops. You can’t go half an inch away
from shore on a sailing-trip without all these things. Mast-hoops you
needn’t worry about. There are plenty of old ones kicking about here.
On a pinch I might even rake out a couple of blocks. They mayn’t be
just the size you ought to have for elegance, but you’ll get by with
them. I don’t see how you can manage without buying halyards, though.
You’ll want――oh, about four hundred feet or so of fifteen-thread
manila. I can’t afford to give you good manila rope. It costs money.”
“I have three dollars left,” put in Jack.
“Well, well, you won’t get enough new manila to fit your little ship
out with that, but I dare say I can find enough second-hand halyards
for three dollars to give you a start. If you’ll give me a hand I’ll
have a peek at those sails now.”
The jib which Tony produced fitted the _Sea-Lark_ perfectly, but the
mainsail had three sets of reef-points, and it needed to be cut away
at the single reef. This operation took the whole of a Saturday to
accomplish, for there was a considerable amount of sewing to do, and
neither Jack nor his companion proved to be quick with the cumbersome
sailmaker’s needle. Meanwhile, however, the mast had been stepped,
and at last the sloop was really beginning to look like her old self.
Halyards were rove, blocks put into position, a new wire jib-stay
rigged from the top of the mast to the end of the bowsprit, and a
bobstay had to be furnished. Then a coat of paint was spread over
the deck and the rest of the woodwork. When the last detail in the
refitting of the _Sea-Lark_ had been attended to and the paint was dry,
Tony Santo, after a final survey which could hardly have been more
thorough had the sloop been a government war-ship about to depart on
her speed trials, declared that she was as sound as a bell and fit to
weather a young hurricane.
It was, without question, the proudest moment in Jack’s life when the
boat was gently pushed off the sandy bank of Cow Creek. Jack’s father
was there to see it, having left his bookkeeping for the occasion.
“I’d like to go with you on your first trip, lad,” he said, “but I’m
afraid I can’t spare the time.”
Sailing was an old accomplishment for both the captain and his young
mate, but most of their experience in that direction had been gained
in dories, which compared with taking the _Sea-Lark_ out on a trip was
child’s play. The _Sea-Lark_ was not, however, too large for two to
handle. Other sloops even larger were wont to flit about the waters of
Greenport harbor in the summer with only two persons aboard, and there
was one, fifty feet over all, which one man usually handled alone. She,
however, was a “freak” ship, and her owner had to dance around like a
pea in a hot frying-pan when an emergency arose.
Tony Santo accompanied the boys on their experimental trip, partly
because there was a long, winding journey for the sloop to make down
Cow Creek, through the upper reach of the Sangus River, and finally
through the canal. Partly, also, Tony went to make sure that they were
all right. And partly he went for the fun of the thing, because Tony
was only twenty years older than his son, and there was enough of the
boy left in him to appreciate some of the thrill which was stirred in
the lads by this their greatest adventure.
A westerly breeze was blowing, which necessitated the sloop being towed
until she came to within about four miles of the sea, and then a clear
run lay before them. Their dory trailed behind and Tony took the spokes
of the sloop’s wheel in his hands.
“Now, lads,” he said. “Let’s shake out a bit of canvas. Mains’l first.
Don’t get excited. Take it easy. There’s plenty of time. Both together.
Heave! That’s the style. It wasn’t so hard, after all, was it? Either
one of you will be able to do that by himself if necessary. And it may
be necessary too, some day. Belay there. Make those halyards good and
secure. Now, up with the jib. Be smart, or we’ll run her aground yet.
Trim aft the jib-sheet. That’s fine. Belay!”
The breeze filled the sails, and the sloop leaned over slightly as she
gathered way. Jack’s eyes were dancing with pleasure. The _Sea-Lark_
was not only an accomplished fact and afloat, but actually sailing. And
he was her master!
“Isn’t she a beauty!” he asked Tony.
“Pretty fair, pretty fair, I’ll admit that,” replied the boat-builder.
“You’re a lucky lad to have her, but you’ve earned her. I dare say Mr.
Farnham would have given the sloop to any one else if they had thought
of writing to him; only it was you who happened to think of it, and
it’s the people who think of things who get on in this world. Now, this
good-for-nothing son of mine,” and he took George affectionately by
the ear, “never thinks of anything except to get up in the morning and
go back to bed at night; do you, son? Come along, Jack. I know you’re
aching to get to this wheel. I guess it’s quite safe for you to take
her now.”
The owner of the _Sea-Lark_ exchanged places with Tony, and the sloop
ran slowly toward the ocean under his guiding hand. The breeze was
light and steady, and she barely made three knots an hour, but at that
moment Jack would not have exchanged places with the captain of the
finest liner afloat. The gentle swish of water at the stern was as
sweetest music to his ears. The occasional lazy flap of the sails, the
barely perceptible swaying of the deck, the quick turn of the prow in
response to the slightest movement of the spokes in his hands, all were
delights which he was now tasting for the first time in his own boat.
“Well,” said Tony, who had been watching the expression on the
captain’s face, “what do you think of her? Was she worth the trouble?”
“A thousand times!” Jack replied, devoutly.
After negotiating the short canal the sloop passed into the sea, and
then, running south past Gull Island, headed for the end of the
breakwater and the open ocean beyond.
A mile off shore the breeze freshened sufficiently to send the
_Sea-Lark_ bowling along at a fair caper. The swish of water at the
stern became more pronounced. The halyards creaked a little, and
the bow responded even more readily to a movement of the wheel. The
_Sea-Lark_ had come into her own again. She seemed like a living thing.
There was joyousness in the way she danced, as, going further from
shore, she ran into gentle undulating swells, which kissed her as if
welcoming her back to her natural element.
“Let’s see you put her through a few manœuvers,” Tony suggested. “Haul
her by the wind. I’m going to keep still and watch.”
“Close haul your mains’l, Mr. Mate,” ordered Jack.
George sprang to obey, and in came the boom, whereupon Jack headed away
to the southwest.
“That’s right,” declared Tony. “You can come closer to the wind yet.
Come round till the luff of the mains’l begins to lift. That’s the
style. Now put your helm down and go onto the other tack.”
“Mind your head, George!” sang out the captain.
“Aye, aye,” responded the mate; and the _Sea-Lark’s_ nose went straight
up into the wind. The boom swung across the deck, mains’l and jib
flapping in the breeze.
“Stick to it. You’re all right,” cried Tony, pleased with the skill his
apprentices were displaying. “She’ll make it if you give her time.”
Farther the sloop came as the wind got to the other side of her sails.
Quickly she swung about, and then headed straight as an arrow, on the
port tack.
“Now, listen here, boys,” said Tony. “The time may come when you’ll
be compelled to jibe her in an emergency, to avoid a collision. But I
want you to promise that you’ll never do so unless you’re compelled
to, because though it’s all right to do it now, with no wind to speak
of, and me aboard to see that nothing happens, jibing is no sort of
game for two boys to play at in a sloop of this size. While I’m here,
though, I’d like to see you make a shot at it. When you’re ready,
Cap’n.”
Jack, who was on the port tack, having got there from the starboard
tack by the simple and usual course of heading into the wind and
allowing the boat to swing over, now wanted to run before the wind and
while doing so alter his course so that the boom swung over from the
starboard to the port side.
He glanced along the surface of the water to the westward, to see there
was no strong puff of wind coming.
Taking advantage of a temporary lull in the breeze, the sloop swung
round harmlessly.
“Ease off your main sheet!” the skipper ordered. Away ran the boom as a
fresh puff filled the sail; and the _Sea-Lark_ was already winging its
way before the wind.
“That’s all right,” Tony approved. “You’ve got the hang of it. But
remember what I say; that’s a dangerous manœuver if there’s much of a
breeze.”
For another hour or two the boat-builder continued to coach the
boys in the art of sailing; and then, as they ran toward the town,
he declared that they were not likely to come to much harm if they
promised never to go outside the breakwater until he was able to
“certify” them as sufficiently skilled, never to make the sheet fast
with anything but a hitch which could quickly be cast off in case of a
sudden squall sweeping down, and never to sail without a reef taken in
when the whitecaps were making.
The sloop was moored at Garnett and Sayer’s wharf, under the guarding
gaze of Cap’n Crumbie, who had promised Jack he would keep an eye on
her.
“I was watching you,” said that worthy a little later to Jack. “You
seem to handle her all right. But mind you, it’s one thing to sail a
sloop on a day like this, and a song with a different tune when there’s
rough weather.”
Another five days remained before the summer vacation began, and Jack
spent the afternoons making himself more proficient in the art of
handling his new craft. After coming ashore on the last evening, he
and his mate spent an hour or two engaged in some mysterious occupation
at the Santo boat-house. They requisitioned a saw, a hammer, tacks,
part of an old sheet, a five-cent paint-brush, and some paint. Then
they were quiet for a while, working away by the aid of a lantern.
After a while Tony saw them and approached.
“Don’t come here yet, Dad,” urged George.
“What are you two young conspirators up to now?” asked the boat-builder.
“We’re artists, Dad,” replied George, chuckling. And then they were
quiet again.
“There,” said Jack at length. “How’s that?”
“It’ll fetch them, all right,” commented the mate of the _Sea-Lark_,
with complete satisfaction.
It was a perfect summer morning when Holden’s Ferry came into being.
The lightest of breezes came in from the south, leaving a bare ripple
on the placid water of Greenport harbor. The townsfolk were only
just beginning to be astir when two figures emerged from the Santo
boat-yard bearing something which might have been a picture, judging
by its shape and size. One or two persons stared curiously as they
passed, while Cap’n Crumbie――who, though now officially off duty with
the coming of day, was on the wharf as usual――greeted the boys with a
puzzled look.
“What have you got there?” he asked suspiciously.
Jack turned his “picture” so that it faced the watchman, who raised his
eyebrows and took his pipe out of his mouth while he allowed his gaze
to rest on the object. Then he threw back his head and gave vent to a
hearty laugh.
“You’ll do, the pair o’ you!” he said. “Enterprise, that’s what I call
it. Where are you going to put it?”
“On the top of the deck-house,” replied Jack, suiting the action to the
word, and then climbing back upon the wharf to admire the effect.