FIGHTING A GALE
That night a policeman was placed on Garnett and Sayer’s wharf, in
accordance with the chief’s promise, and when Jack and his mate turned
in, it was with easier minds. Mr. Holden, after hearing of the attack,
endeavored to dissuade Jack from again sleeping on the sloop, but the
boy pointed out that, with the regular watchman and a policeman on
duty, there was small likelihood of further molestation. Mr. Holden at
length agreed, and, as Jack anticipated, they were not disturbed. The
captain awoke soon after four o’clock in the morning and, going up on
deck, saw the watchman and police officer standing at the edge of the
wharf, yarning.
“Well, you haven’t had any more ghosts prowling around, eh?” the
policeman laughed as he caught sight of the lad.
“No, and there aren’t likely to be any if we keep tabs on them this
way,” replied the boy. “Say, Cap’n Crumbie, I hear that the bluefish
have been biting. Where’s the best place to get them?”
“You’re liable to get ’em anywheres outside the breakwater,” the
watchman replied. “A chap came in with a big catch yesterday. He said
he had to go a good ways out, though. You going fishing?”
“I’d love to,” replied Jack. “And George wants to. I’ve half a mind
to slip out for an hour or two before it’s time to begin running the
ferry.”
“Don’t go too far,” warned Cap’n Crumbie, craning his neck as he stared
upward at the sky. “It’s all right at present, but I shouldn’t be
surprised if it came on to blow a mite harder.”
“There’s no wind now, to speak of,” said Jack.
“Not down here,” replied the watchman. “But look at them clouds a mile
or so up. ’Tain’t blowing hard, even there, but I’m just telling you to
keep your eyes open; see?”
“All right, Cap’n, thanks,” said Jack. Then he climbed up on the wharf
and went off in search of bait. Ten minutes later he returned and
aroused his chum.
“All hands on deck!” he cried, popping his head through the
companionway door. “Come on, George. I’ve got the bait. Let’s go get
’em!”
The mate needed no second invitation. In less than sixty seconds he was
hauling on the mainsail halyards, and soon the sloop was standing down
the harbor, a picture of grace as she glided through the smooth water.
There was a gentle northwesterly breeze which gave a bare ripple to the
surface and sent the sloop along like some beautiful lazy bird with
the red hue of dawn staining its wings. Both boys were looking forward
enthusiastically to this treat, which they had promised themselves for
some time. As soon as they reached the open sea a hand-line with a good
heavy lead was dropped astern, and while Jack stood at the helm George
squatted on the deck, facing the trailing wake, in which the bait
danced sixty feet astern.
“Yell out the second you get a strike, and I’ll luff,” said Jack, with
one eye on the sails and another on the intent figure of his chum.
“Aye, aye,” replied George, his face set with grim determination; for
fishing, and especially bluefishing, was the particular joy of his life.
Straight to the south they ran, for a couple of miles, without getting
a bite. Then Jack headed in the direction of Four Fathom Shoal, with
similar results. Round came the sloop once more, the captain taking
her over all the most likely fishing-grounds, and both the lads were
beginning to think that the fish among which the Greenport man had had
such excellent sport the previous day must be miles away by now.
“Luff!” George cried unexpectedly, at the top of his voice, as, with
both hands, he steadied the trailing line.
Up into the wind came the _Sea-Lark_, shaking her sails as though
indignant at being thus checked in the midst of her career, and
George, with his teeth clenched, hung on but was unable to draw in a
foot of line.
“What is it? A whale?” Jack exclaimed with delight, watching the
straining line.
“No. A sardine!” replied George, jerkily, his eyes aflame with
excitement. “Get that boat-hook ready. We’ll need a crane to lift this
fellow out of the water.”
“Don’t hurry him!” Jack urged as his chum began impatiently to try to
haul in.
Suddenly the line began to slip through George’s wet hands. The gamy
fish had made a prodigious rush, but its captor soon managed to check
the runaway, and then the real battle began. Foot by foot the mate drew
his prey toward him, and foot by foot the prey contested the struggle,
until its strength gave out. Then, for a while, as George brought the
line in more quickly, he half feared the fish must have got off the
hook. He had hauled it within four or five yards of the sloop when
the captive began to show fight afresh, and made a mad dash down into
the depths. There was less “punch” in it now, however, and the final
effort did not last long. Soon its bright silvery belly showed clearly
in the water as George drew it nearer. Jack leaned over the side with
the boat-hook, ready to hoist it by the gills.
“It’s a pretty good size――for a sardine,” he commented dryly. “Keep
that line tight, chump! There!”
The boat-hook was firmly caught in the fish’s gills, and with a comical
expression of wonderment the mate saw his prize drawn inboard.
“Why――why, it _is_ a bluefish, I suppose?” he said, surveying the
beautiful creature now flopping about in the bottom of the cockpit.
“I’ve never seen one quite so big as that.”
“It’s twelve or thirteen pounds of bluefish, all in one piece,” replied
Jack, admiringly. “They don’t run to that size very often round about
here. You’re a hero! I don’t believe that when Cap’n Crumbie starts
stuffing the summer visitors with his yarns he ever pretends to have
hauled in a bluefish any larger than that. Bait up, and have another
go.”
But George’s catch had evidently been a solitary straggler, or the
shoal had gone off the feed, for though the sloop sailed to and fro for
three quarters of an hour longer, the bait danced astern unmolested.
“Let’s try for cod,” Jack suggested at length, when it became apparent
that they were wasting their time. Away went the anchor, in fifteen
fathoms of water, and the lads dangled hook and line over the side
patiently for another fifteen minutes.
“Mr. Codfish isn’t at home, either,” Jack declared, beginning to wind
up his line. “We’ll try a little farther off. Up with the mud-hook,
George.”
Half a mile farther to the south they again tried, and not even a
sculpin rewarded their efforts. Jack looked up at the blue sky and
glanced further out to sea.
“We’ll have one more shot at it,” he said. “The weather is holding
good. I’m going to tempt ’em off Knife Rock.”
Again the sloop glided away from the land. The buildings on the Point
became a blur. The squat stone lighthouse stuck up less plainly.
“This is somewhere about the right spot,” Jack said at length. “If we
don’t make a haul inside half an hour or so, though, we shall have to
go, because it’s a good way from here to the harbor, and we shall have
to beat our way back.”
Two minutes later he gave a movement of the wrist, and his face lighted
up.
“Bite?” George inquired.
“Yes, the right kind, too,” replied the captain. “I’d be very much
surprised if that wasn’t a――”
Again he gave a deft movement of the wrist, and then began to draw up
the line. A fish was on, fighting gamely, but, cod-like, its fight
was brief. Jack estimated as he hauled it aboard that it weighed four
pounds.
“It’s a baby compared with your bluefish,” he admitted, baiting up
afresh, “but if we’re going to get sport like this, I’ll hate to leave
it.”
Almost immediately afterward both boys hooked fish at the same time,
and the prospect of the eight-o’clock ferry-boat leaving Garnett and
Sayer’s wharf promptly on time began to look less certain. The minutes
slipped by quickly, and several more captures were made. Then there
came a pause. Jack was on the point of drawing in his line and making
ready for the return run, when a sharp tug drew all his attention,
and during the next quarter of an hour the fish were biting greedily.
So preoccupied was the captain that he did not notice at first that
the gentle breeze, before which they had run out from the harbor, had
freshened considerably.
“We’d better call it a day!” he said at length, reluctantly. “Cap’n
Crumbie was right when he said there was going to be more wind. Lend a
hand here with the anchor, quickly!”
An angry little squall swept over the surface while the boys were
tugging at the cable.
“What’s the matter with the thing!” Jack exclaimed, as the anchor
refused to come up.
“It’s stuck in the sand,” George said. “Give it time.”
But, though the lads strained to the utmost, the anchor refused to
budge.
“Here’s a nice fix!” said Jack, after a while, resting from his
exertions. “Do you know what I believe?”
George shook his head dismally.
“I believe we’ve been fishing right over the place where that schooner
went down last winter. Anyway, the anchor has caught fast on something,
and we sha’n’t see it again till the ocean runs dry.”
“What are you going to do? Cut it adrift?”
“Nothing else to do. Isn’t it a pity! Let’s have one more good haul
first.”
All this time the wind was rapidly gaining force. The boys spent full
twenty minutes, in all, struggling to release their anchor from the
bottom of the sea, and then the skipper drew out his knife and hacked
the manila rope through. The end disappeared over the side with a
splash just as a fresh squall burst upon the sloop.
“Whew! That’s fierce!” exclaimed the elder boy. “She’ll need to be
close-reefed for the job.”
More precious minutes were wasted while the reef-points were being
tied. By the time the mainsail could be hauled half a gale was blowing;
and though they were but a few miles from shore, the sea was rising
ominously. The wind had swung round a little more to the north, making
the task of beating back to Greenport more difficult. Hoping that he
might fall in with a friendly tow, Jack looked around anxiously for
some fishing-vessel bound on the same journey, but as luck would have
it, there was nothing in sight. This gave the boy no serious concern
for a while as he bore away on the starboard tack, heading about
northwest toward the shore, but before long he found the sloop needed
delicate handling to avoid being capsized in the squalls, which now
came in rapid succession. Even with only two thirds of her usual spread
of canvas, the _Sea-Lark_ listed over dangerously under the pressure
of the wind, her lee rail often being under water while her bow was
pounded continually by the rising sea. The worst, however, Jack knew
still lay ahead, for he must soon go about and make a wide sweep to the
northeast, this taking them farther out to sea, where a much rougher
time had to be anticipated. He consulted George on the problem.
“We can either turn ’round and run down the coast to Penley,” he said,
“or we can take a chance and try to work our way back to the harbor.
What do you think? It’s pretty rough, and as soon as we find ourselves
out there we shall get a drenching, for certain.”
“Well, she’ll make it,” replied George, pluckily, though he was wet
through with spume already, and this was his first experience of such
weather out in the open sea. “We don’t want to funk it now, surely.”
“That’s what I think,” replied the captain; “only if you’d rather, I’m
willing to make for Penley.”
“I’m game to try for Greenport, if you are,” the younger boy declared.
“All right. Here goes!” And the plunging sloop swung on the port tack,
heading northeast and out to the open sea. She struggled along for
fifteen minutes or so, but it then became apparent that all was not
going well. To carry more sail was an impossibility, and the sloop’s
maneuvers were not taking her a foot nearer harbor against wind and
sea. Though awkward, the position was not alarming, for it was still
possible to swing on the starboard tack again and reach the lee of
the land away to the southwest of Greenport, where they would have to
remain until the gale eased.
“It’s no good,” Jack declared. “Guess it’ll have to be Penley, after
all. I’m getting hungry, aren’t you?”
“Don’t mention breakfast to me,” protested George. “I could eat the
side of a house!”
As Jack put the helm over, the canvas flapped and slashed madly, and
then, as the sails bellied, a terrific gust of wind swept down on the
_Sea-Lark_. Before Jack had time to ease her up into the wind again she
listed far over, the wind screaming in her halyards while a smother of
spume weltered over her deck. It seemed that something must give way
under the strain, and in the midst of the confusion the eye-bolt pulled
out of the mast. Down fell the peak, and to his alarm Jack found the
mainsail out of commission at the very moment when it was most needed.
Leaving the wheel to take care of itself――for the boat was no longer
under control――he sprang forward to help George in the task of getting
the useless sail down and stowing the jib, and as the sloop fell away
into the trough of the sea, trouble of a very real nature began to
overwhelm her. A solid green wave slapped the side and slopped inboard,
filling the cockpit and nearly washing both captain and mate off their
feet. Away poured the water through the scuppers, but, although the
companionway door was closed, much of the sea leaked down into the
cabin, and by the time the lads had furled the sails their attention
was badly needed at the pump. Jack jumped into the cockpit and worked
away at the crank furiously, while the sloop drifted along under bare
poles, utterly at the mercy of every wave which came her way. At times
she dug her nose deep down into the center of a rearing sea and fell
away from it crazily, broaching to, only to be half swamped by the
succeeding wave. Away were swept all the fish the lads had caught. Time
after time the cockpit was full of water, and there was nothing Jack
could do to prevent it leaking down into the cabin. So long as the pump
did not choke he hoped to be able to keep her afloat unless she turned
over, but the danger of the latter was now increasing every minute,
for the gale was gaining strength and the sloop was drifting farther
from the lee of the land all the time. Before long the breakwater,
the houses on the Point, and even the lighthouse had dipped below
the horizon, and the _Sea-Lark_ was the center of an angry circle
of foam-flecked water, bounded on every point of the compass by the
sky-line only.
“We’re in for it, for fair, now,” said Jack, standing by his chum’s
side in the little cockpit and recovering his breath while George took
a hand at the pump. “And there isn’t a blessed sail in sight. Now see
what’s coming, just to cheer us up a bit.”
The first heavy drops of a pelting storm splashed down on deck, and
soon the boys had not only the spray from the sea but also rain
slashing their faces whenever they turned to windward.
“I don’t think I’ll play at this any longer,” said George, glancing
up at his chum with a humorous grimace as he toiled away at the pump.
“Let’s go home.”
He did not realize quite as well as Jack did how serious was their
plight. With anchor gone, sails useless, and a storm driving them away
from shelter, to say nothing of the half-swamped condition of their
vessel, there was a distinct possibility that neither of them would
ever get home again. Though Jack did not show it, he was beginning to
feel that their chances were decidedly slender.
“Let me have another go at that pump,” he said, as the sloop recovered
somewhat awkwardly from the swirl of a white-capped wave. “Maybe the
wind will go down soon, and then we shall manage somehow, but we’ve
got to keep busy with the pump.” Little though he liked to think so,
he felt sure the sluggish movements of the _Sea-Lark_ were due to her
having shipped too much water. His hands were becoming blistered
with the task, and his arms ached, but there was no alternative to
struggling on. Any moment there might appear the brown sail of a
fishing-vessel, and it was this thought which buoyed him up even when
things looked blackest. Several hours, however, drifted on before
his restless eyes rested on a speck on the horizon and a cry of
thankfulness burst from him.
“Oh, gee! there’s a schooner or something!” he shouted, pointing across
the wind-swept ocean, away to the east. “If she’s bound for Greenport
she will have to cut in close to us when she tacks.”
Their spirits rose high. The speck in the distance steadily increased,
until the boys felt certain they must be sighted.
“Just in time, too!” George exclaimed. “They’ll be getting kind of
anxious about us at home by now, I fancy.”
Suddenly, however, the boys’ hopes were destroyed. The far-off schooner
went about and before long was hull down once more. This came as a
terrible disappointment to Jack and his chum, for there seemed little
likelihood of the gale subsiding before night. And, unpleasant though
their position was in the daytime, it would be infinitely worse in
the darkness. Though the rain stopped, the force of the wind did not
diminish. Jack’s nerve became just a trifle shaky for the first time
when he knew that the daylight was actually failing. The boys were both
exhausted with continual pumping; and though, with such real danger
staring them in the face they gave little thought to the subject of
food, the long fast was beginning to tell on them. George’s face was
haggard, and the captain would not have allowed him to take more than
an occasional brief trick at the pump, but there was no alternative to
both lads sharing the work. Their hands were raw, and every muscle in
their bodies seemed to be crying aloud in protest.
“We’ll stick it as long as we can,” said Jack, laboring painfully at
the pump as darkness enveloped the stricken sloop. “We’ve drifted miles
and miles away from Greenport by now, but there’s always a chance, so
long as we keep afloat.”
“I don’t believe the wind is blowing quite so hard,” replied George,
who felt decidedly limp, and clung to the side of the cockpit while the
other lad worked with waning strength.
“It seems to be easing off a bit,” replied Jack, encouragingly, though
he saw not the remotest sign of any such thing happening. “Anyway, I’d
rather keep on pumping for the present than swim, wouldn’t you?”
The seas were running mountain-high, their curling crescents frequently
falling inboard with an alarming swish. A great wave, rushing through
the blackness, towered high near them for an instant, as though
contemplating its prey hungrily. Then it came on, while the _Sea-Lark_
lay broadside to. There was a roar of rushing waters. Jack gave a
warning cry, and then both the lads were gasping for breath under the
torrent. A smother of sea and foam swept about over them, filling the
cockpit, and pouring over the other side of the deck. Jack felt that
this must be the finish.