A RESCUE
The notice was printed with a brush on a piece of sheeting, in a frame
a yard long and a half a yard high:
HOLDEN’S FERRY
TO THE HOTEL LANDING
EVERY HOUR
10 cents
“People can see it, anyway,” commented George.
“And I saw it first, so I’ll be the first passenger,” said Cap’n
Crumbie. “When does the ferry leave?”
“Right away,” replied Jack. “The moment you step aboard I’ll see if
I can knock a bit of life into my crew. Look at him! _Look_ at him,
sitting there on the top of the deck-house laughing, and the ship
crammed with a whole passenger waiting to get across to the Point on
most important business! Watch your step, Cap’n. Dining-saloon forward,
but the cook’s not on duty to-day, so we can’t serve meals. Mr. Mate,
let go that rope for’ard and don’t fall overboard in front of all the
passenger. Run that mains’l up and be lively about it or, shiver my
timbers, I’ll know the reason why! Now, Cap’n Crumbie, if you’re at all
likely to be seasick, you’d better slip down into the cabin and take a
nap. If there’s any danger, I’ll call you.”
“Starboard your helm a bit,” said Cap’n Crumbie. “The only danger I see
is that you’re like to bump into that coal-barge if you don’t keep her
away.” He put out a brawny hand and with a slight pull on the wheel
brought the sloop further away from the collision that had threatened
as the sloop started away from the wharf, not yet fully under control.
“Paint is scarce,” said Jack. “I don’t want to lose any.”
“Not with bumping into one o’ Simon Barker’s boats, you don’t,” agreed
Cap’n Crumbie. “Not that he’d ever think o’ putting paint on the side
o’ one of his ships if tar would do, but I want to warn you right now
that he’s none too friendly. He hasn’t got over that little affair with
your father yet, though I don’t see what _he’s_ got to kick about.
He was down on our wharf yesterday, trying his best to be ugly about
this little sloop. Said she got in the way o’ his craft, he did. He’s
a misery. Don’t you ever leave the _Sea-Lark_ lying in the way o’ his
rotten old boats, or she’ll get crushed for a certainty, if he has
anything to do with it. And he’ll sure make out that it was all your
fault.”
“Thank you for being a passenger,” said Jack, as the vessel edged up
to the hotel landing on the Point. “If you’re not going to stay ashore
long I will wait for you.”
“Ashore! I ain’t going ashore,” replied the watchman. “I just came
across to be able to tell my great-grandchildren, when you’re an old
man, that I was the first to cross the harbor in Holden’s Ferry. Here’s
my twenty cents. Now take me back.”
“I can’t take the money. We sailors always give free passage to old
shipmates,” said Jack. “Why, we should never have had her painted if it
hadn’t been for you, Cap’n! Besides, you’re one of the crew, in a way.
Didn’t you say you were going to keep an eye on her? Yes, you’re our
watchman. Couldn’t dream of taking the money.”
“Son, I hired this ship for the trip,” replied Cap’n Crumbie, “and when
you two have gone and drowned yourselves some fine day I don’t want
it on my conscience that there’s twenty cents I owe you. When you’ve
been at sea as long as I have you won’t so much mind letting people pay
their fare.”
“All right, Cap’n,” Jack responded. “George, half of this goes to you,
for luck. Push her off there. Wait a second. Here comes a passenger, I
believe.”
Walking down to the landing was a tall boy, about Jack’s age.
“Ahoy, there! Going across in the ferry?” Cap’n Crumbie hailed.
The prospective passenger did not reply, but came straight to the
landing, and, with a puzzled expression, ran his eyes over the
_Sea-Lark_.
“What have you got there?” he asked. There was something about either
the question or the way in which it was put that rather irritated the
captain of the sloop. However, he did not openly show his resentment.
“A ferry-boat, across to the town,” he replied. “Are you coming?”
“Queer sort of boat to use for a ferry, isn’t she?” asked the stranger.
“Why?” asked Jack, who saw nothing whatever queer about his beloved
craft. Obviously the strange boy was one of the “summer folk,” and city
bred at that, probably knowing no more about sailing-craft than the
keeper of a dime museum would.
The boy on the wharf began to laugh, and Jack’s cheeks flushed.
“Are you the chap who wrote to Mr. Farnham in New York about the
_Sea-Lark_?” the stranger asked.
“That,” replied the skipper with youthful dignity, “is my business.
Push off, George.”
“And who might the young pup be?” asked Cap’n Crumbie, as they sailed
leisurely back to Garnett and Sayer’s wharf. “Never seen him before, as
far as I rec’lect, and yet his face is kind o’ familiar.”
“I don’t know him,” said Jack. “And if he’s trying to be funny at the
expense of this boat, I don’t want to know him. There’s nothing queer
about her, is there, Cap’n?”
“Queer! I should say not! Maybe the color o’ the paint offends his
artistic eye; or then again maybe he’s only jealous.”
“Well, summer visitor or not, if he doesn’t stop trying to make fun of
the sloop I’ll give him a licking,” declared Jack.
“Or let him come on board as a passenger,” grinned the watchman, “and
take his money, and then drop him overboard half-way over.”
That morning only two other passengers crossed in the ferry, one of
them a lady who had a small hand-bag with her and insisted on paying
Jack fifty cents for his services, and the other a portly man who wore
three diamond rings and, after handing Jack a quarter at the hotel
landing, waiting in the boat, apparently as a guarantee of good faith,
while the boy hunted for change, and finished up by pocketing the
fifteen cents and complaining bitterly about the lad running a public
ferry and not being able to change a quarter.
Business did not improve much during the rest of the day, and the owner
of the ferry was a trifle disappointed.
“They don’t seem to be coming with a rush,” he said to Cap’n Crumbie.
“For the land’s sake, give ’em a chance!” replied the watchman. “Here
you are, not in business more than an hour or two, and complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” Jack protested. “I was only wondering whether
it was going to be a success, after all.”
“Can’t you wait about five minutes till somebody besides us gets wind
o’ the ferry?” spluttered the old man. “Give ’em time, son, give ’em
time. Why, the season hasn’t half begun yet. Most of the cottages
along the shore are still empty. Another week or two will make a
difference; you see if it don’t.”
Sure enough, business did “look up” a few days later, much to the
satisfaction of both Jack and his father. Mr. Holden, though he had
never discouraged the boy in his project, had always been a little
skeptical as to whether the ferry would bring much grist to the mill,
but he now grew really enthusiastic, for there were times when the
_Sea-Lark_ carried as many as fifteen people at a time. To some extent
Cap’n Crumbie was responsible for the boy’s success in the early stages
of the ferry’s career, as he rarely allowed a party of sight-seers to
wander down to his wharf without urging them to make the trip in the
_Sea-Lark_.
“Wunnerful sight over there on the Point,” he would say. “You get a
view from there that ain’t equaled in all New England. Ferry-boat won’t
be more’n a few minutes, sir, before it’s back, and it’s a fine day for
a sail.”
“I shall have to give you a commission,” declared Jack, once, after
the watchman had detained almost a boat-load of people until his return.
“Now, don’t talk foolish,” replied Cap’n Crumbie. “It’s just to keep me
from gettin’ tired o’ myself. Some night maybe I’ll borrow the sloop
and take a party for a moonlight trip round Indian Head. Meanwhile, I
can’t stand here and see you losing good money.”
“That’s a bargain, Cap’n Crumbie,” replied Jack. “Any evening you want
the _Sea-Lark_ you just mention it.”
That afternoon Jack left the hotel landing with several passengers,
including the lady who had given him fifty cents on the first day.
She was going into the town shopping, but Jack noticed that she stood
for a moment on the wharf before embarking, and wore a rather anxious
expression as she looked out toward a canoe that was being paddled
about in the vicinity of Gull Island.
“Don’t you think the wind is a little too strong for any one to be out
there in a canoe?” she asked.
The skipper glanced at the little craft bobbing up and down in the
distance.
“Well, it depends on how well you can handle a canoe,” he replied.
“There’s a fresh breeze, though, and it’s kind of choppy.”
Jack had been thinking of taking a reef in his mainsail, but a few
moments later he was glad he hadn’t. He had run about a cable’s length
from the landing, and the passengers were watching a salt-bark slowly
drifting to anchorage, when his eyes happened to alight on the canoe.
It was perhaps half a mile away, and Jack’s thoughts were on the
navigation of his own boat, but the brief glance showed him something
amiss. With a shout to George to haul in the sheet, he put the helm
hard over and jibed the _Sea-Lark_, rather than make the turn in a
safer but slower way. There was a stiff wind blowing, and the boom
swept across the deck with a rattle and a bang, fetching up on the
other side with a wrench. But the gear stood the strain, and the sloop
was now racing in the direction of the canoe, which had capsized.
There was a sudden cry of alarm from the lady. “He’s drowning! He’s
drowning!” Every vestige of color was gone from her face, as, leaning
forward, she stared in horror across the water. “It’s Rodney! It’s my
boy!”
“Lay hold of that boat-hook, George,” sang out the captain. And then,
“We’ll get him in time, ma’am,” he added reassuringly to the distracted
mother.
The _Sea-Lark_ leaned to the breeze and flew on her mission of rescue.
That she would arrive none too soon was evident to all on board.
Apparently the boy in the water was no swimmer, and his floundering
efforts were barely keeping his head above the surface. A choking
appeal for help came across the rapidly narrowing water that intervened.
“Take the wheel, George!” Jack spoke crisply, imperatively. “Keep her
straight!” As he spoke he slipped off jacket and shoes. “The moment I
jump swing her ’round. You, sir,” he added, to one of the passengers,
“be ready to reach out to me with this boat-hook.”
Another twenty feet! Ten! And then the boy in the water, with a
despairing cry, sank from sight. Jack, poised at the bow, shot over
the side as the _Sea-Lark_ sped past.
Down he went into the green depths. A few yards away a blurred shape
showed dimly and he swam gropingly toward it. Then his hands found what
they sought and in a moment his head was above water again. Kicking out
with all his strength, and sweeping his right hand through the green
water, he clung on to the half-drowned canoeist with his left, until
the sloop, with fluttering sail, loomed beside him.
A minute later the two dripping figures were on the deck.
The canoeist opened his eyes and looked up at the woman who was now
kneeling beside him. He tried to raise himself on his elbow, but sank
back, gasping for a few moments.
“Hello, Mother! I――I’m all right,” he said presently. “Just a minute,
till I get my breath back. Hope I haven’t scared you, but I――I wasn’t
going to drown.”
Then he sat up, somewhat limply, and looked around. The captain, with
water running from his clothing, was assisting George to recover the
canoe and paddle. As soon as this had been accomplished, he turned his
attention to the boy he had rescued, and for the first time recognized
him.
“Well, how do you feel?” Jack asked, bearing no ill feeling.
“Pretty fair, thanks,” replied the other. “I think I’m still full up
to the neck with water, though. I’m awfully obliged to you. I tried to
catch hold of the paddle, but I couldn’t quite make it. Then I saw your
boat coming, but it seemed ever so far away. I’d have been――” he was
going to say “drowned by now,” but checked himself as his mother was
there――“down there yet if you hadn’t come to the rescue.”
“That’s all right,” Jack replied. “Glad to have been able to help.”
Then, as the canoeist seemed to have almost recovered, he added:
“Only――only, just as a favor, don’t laugh at this boat again, please!”
A puzzled look came into the other’s face.
“Laugh at her?” he queried.
“Yes,” replied Jack, “and you said she was a queer sort of boat to use
for a ferry.”
“Oh, I remember now,” said the owner of the canoe. “But don’t you know
why it seemed queer to me?” Jack shook his head. “Why, you see, this
was my father’s sloop, for a long time, and all I meant was that it
seemed queer to me to see her being used as a ferry-boat. I used to
sail about in her with my dad three years ago, and many a time I held
that wheel you’re steering with. I used to feel that she was my boat,
though of course, really, she was nothing of the kind. My name is
Rodney Farnham, and this is my mother.”
Jack felt a little sheepish because of the resentment he had shown, and
after Rodney Farnham’s frank explanation he began to reconsider his
opinion of the lad.
“I didn’t understand,” he said. “Sorry if I was rude. I haven’t seen
Mr. Farnham yet, but I want to, to tell him how glad I am he gave me
the boat. I wrote to tell him I’d got her afloat, but he didn’t reply.”
“Dad’s a pretty busy man when he’s in New York, and I guess he hasn’t
had too much time to write. You may be sure he meant to look you up
when he came down to Greenport, though,” replied Rod. “We have a
motor-boat now, and you must come for a run in her with me some day;
but I’m jolly glad he gave you the old _Sea-Lark_, or I might still be
floating around back there.”
“It was very fortunate,” Mrs. Farnham agreed. “My husband will be
doubly anxious to see you now. I shall write to him to-night, telling
him what happened. He will probably be with us next week.”
“When he comes I’d like to take you all for a sail. That is, if you
would care to go. You’d be quite safe,” said Jack.
“I’m sure we should, judging from what I’ve seen of your seamanship
to-day,” replied Mrs. Farnham. “And it is very kind of you to ask us.
I’m sure we would all love to go with you.”
When the sloop touched Garnett and Sayer’s wharf Mrs. Farnham, on
assuring herself that Rodney was no worse after his immersion, stepped
ashore.
“I didn’t like to say so in front of Mother,” remarked Rod, as soon
as the sloop was heading back toward the Point, “but that was the
narrowest escape I’ve ever had in my life. I’d got to the stage where
I didn’t know much. By the way, I hope you’re doing good business with
the sloop.”
“Not bad,” replied the captain. “It was fairly slow at first, but the
town is pretty full of visitors now, and all the cottages on the Point
are open.”
“It must have cost you a lot to get her fixed up like this,” Rod said,
giving the vessel a comprehensive glance.
Jack smiled, and shook his head.
“It might have, if we hadn’t done the work ourselves,” he replied.
“George Santo, here, helped me a lot, and we did the whole thing
ourselves, except fixing the mast and rigging, of course.”
“But you’ve had her painted,” said Rod.
“We did that, too,” replied the skipper. “It cost us just fifty cents,
but we got the paint at a special bargain. The sails and halyards were
all I really had to buy, and I made almost enough at the ferry in the
first week to pay for those.”
“Well, she looks splendid,” said Rod, stepping off at the hotel
landing. “And――and, I’m awfully glad Dad gave her to you!”