[Illustration: “YOU WANT US TO LOSE THIS RACE, YOU SAWNEY!” HE
EXCLAIMED. (From Sea to Sea) (Page 135)]
From Sea to Sea
Or
Clint Webb’s Cruise on the Windjammer
By W. BERT FOSTER
Author of
The Frozen Ship; or, Clint Webb Among the Sealers. Swept Out to Sea;
or, Clint Webb Among the Whalers. The Ocean Express; or, Clint Webb
and the Sea Tramp.
[Illustration]
Chicago M. A. Donohue & Co.
Copyright 1914 M. A. Donohue & Company Chicago
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I--I Shield a Friend and Make an Enemy 7
II--I Relate My History and Stand Up to a Bully 15
III--The Bubble of My Conceit Is Pricked 27
IV--Captain Bowditch Crowds On Sail and There Is Much
Excitement 37
V--We See a Ship Sailing in the Sky 47
VI--The Gullwing Suffers a Ghostly Visitation 54
VII--Is Pictured a Race in Mid-Ocean 64
VIII--It Seems That a Prophecy Will Be Fulfilled 72
IX--I Pass Through Deep Waters 80
X--The Impossible Becomes the Possible 88
XI--I See That There Is Tragedy in This Ocean Race 96
XII--The Captain’s Dog Goes Overboard 103
XIII--I Learn a Deal About Sea Monsters in General and the
Giant Squid in Particular 110
XIV--A Signal Retards the Race 121
XV--We Have a Race in Good Earnest 131
XVI--I Return to the Gullwing--and With My Arms Full 138
XVII--We Learn the Particulars of the Wreck of the Galland 146
XVIII--I Become Better Acquainted with Phillis Duane 156
XIX--I Learn Something More About the Barney Twins 164
XX--Phillis Tells Me of Her Dream 172
XXI--The Sister Ships Once More Race Neck and Neck 179
XXII--The Capes of Virginia Are in Sight 189
XXIII--We Escape Death by the Breadth of a Hair 197
XXIV--The Tragedy of the Racing Ships Is Completed 203
XXV--A Very Serious Question Is Discussed 210
XXVI--Is Told How the Barney Boys Go Ashore 219
XXVII--I Receive a Telegram That Troubles Me 227
XXVIII--My Homecoming Proves To Be a Strange One Indeed 234
XXIX--Mr. Chester Downes and I Again “Lock Horns” 241
XXX--My Welcome Home Is a Real Welcome After All 249
From Sea to Sea
Or,
Clint Webb’s Cruise on the Windjammer
CHAPTER I
_In Which I Shield a Friend and Make an Enemy_
The after port anchor had come inboard before I stepped over the rail
of the Gullwing, and leaped to the deck. The starboard and port bowers
were both catted and fished and the stay-fore-sail had filled to pay
off her head.
The wind was blowing directly on shore; the current ran parallel
with the land; there was no choice of direction in getting the big
four-master under weigh, and she was headed into the stream.
A clarion voice shouted from the poop:
“Haul main-tack!
“Come aft with that sheet!
“Set jib and spanker! Look alive there!
“Mr. Gates! see if you can’t get some action out of your watch!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” from the mate.
“Helm a-lee! hard a-lee!”
“Hard a-lee she is!” growled the helmsman, a great, hairy, two-fisted
salt, with an enormous quid of tobacco in one cheek, a cast in his eye,
and his blue shirt so wide open at the throat that we could catch a
glimpse of a dashing looking mermaid, in blue and red, upon his chest.
“Set fore-sail! Be alive, there, Mr. Barney. Those men of yours act as
stiff as Paddy’s father--and him nine days dead!”
The stamping of the men on the deck as they hauled on the ropes, a
confusion of cries from those in the tops, the squeal of the cables
running over the drum, the coughing of the donkey-engine amidships by
which the huge anchors had been started from the bottom of Valpariso
roadstead, and the general bustle and running about, kept Thankful
Polk--who had followed me aboard the big, four-stick schooner--and I
right there by the rail, where we would be out of the way. Thankful
gave me a sly glance, as he whispered:
“I reckon we’ve caught a Tartar in Cap’n Joe Bowditch--what?”
But I had noted the lines about the skipper’s mouth and the wrinkles at
the corners of his quick, gray eyes. Those lines and wrinkles had not
been graved in the old sea-captain’s face by any long-standing grouch.
Captain Bowditch was a man who liked his joke; and even his voice as
he bawled orders from the quarter had a tang of good-nature to it that
was not to be mistaken.
“I reckon we’ll get along all right with him, if we play the game
straight,” I observed to my chum, and turned then to wave my cap to
Cap’n Hi Rogers, of the whaling bark Scarboro, who was now being rowed
back to his own ship after leaving us to the tender mercies of Cap’n
Bowditch.
“By hickey!” exclaimed the boy from Georgia, glancing now along the
deck, “ain’t she a monster? Looks a mile from the wheel to the break of
the fo’castle.”
It was the largest sailing vessel I had ever been aboard of myself. The
Scarboro was a good sized bark, but as we crossed her stern we could
look down upon the whaler’s deck and wave our hats to the friendly crew
that had been so kind to us. Only a single scowling face was raised
to ours as the Gullwing swept on, a creamy wave breaking either side
of her sharp bow. This face belonged to my cousin, Paul Downes, who
scowled at me and shook his fist. But I merely smiled back at him.
I thought that--at length--I could afford to laugh at my cousin’s
threats. I was bound straight for home aboard the Gullwing; he had
eighteen months, or more, to serve aboard the whaling bark.
Seeing that both the captain and the mates were too busy just then
to bother with us, Thank and I strolled forward. It was a long, long
deck--and the boards were as white as stone and water could make them.
There was some litter about just now, of course; but from the look of
the whole ship I made up my mind right then and there that if Captain
Bowditch was a martinet in anything, it was in the line of neatness
and order. The slush tub beside the galley door was freshly painted
and had a tight cover; there was no open swill bucket to gather flies;
the cook’s wiping towels had been boiled out and were now hung upon a
patent drying rack fastened to the house, and were as white and clean
as the wash of a New England housewife. Every bit of brightwork shone
and where paint was needed it had been newly put on with no niggard
hand. As the sails were broke out and spread to catch the light wind,
many of them were white-new, while those that were patched had been
overboard for a good sousing before being bent on again. Oh, the
Gullwing was a smart ship, with a smart skipper, and a smart crew; one
could appraise these facts with half an eye.
“Makes you think you ought to have wiped your feet on the mat before
stepping in, eh?” chuckled Thank. “I bet we got to a place at last,
Sharp, where we’re bound to work. That old feller with the whiskers up
there could spot a fly-speck on the flying jib-boom. I wonder he don’t
have brass cuspidors setting ’round for the deck-watch!”
Compared with the frowzy old vessels, captained and manned by
foreigners, that make American ports, this American ship, American
skippered, and American manned, was a lady’s parlor. “She’s a beauty,”
I said. “We may work for our pay--whatever it is to be--but thank’s be
’tis no sealing craft. The stench of the old Gypsey Girl will never be
out of my nostrils.”
We stood about for a few minutes longer, trying to keep out of the way
of the busy crew; but one husky, red faced fellow came sliding down the
backstays and landed square on Thank’s head and shoulders, pitching him
to the deck.
“Get out o’ the way, you two young sawneys!” growled this fellow.
“Don’t you know enough to keep out from under foot?”
Thank had picked himself up quickly and turned with his usual
good-natured grin. It was hard for anybody to pick a quarrel with
Thankful Polk.
“My law-dee, Mister” he exclaimed. “Is that the way you us’ally come
from aloft? Lucky I was right here to cushion ye, eh?”
The red faced fellow, without a word, swung at him with his hard fist
doubled. I was a pretty sturdy fellow myself, with more weight than
my chum, and I saw no reason for letting him receive that blow when
interference was so easy. I stepped in and the bully crashed against
my shoulder, his blow never reaching Thank. Nor did he hurt me,
either. His collision with my shoulder threw him off his balance and
he sprawled upon the deck, striking his head hard. He rolled over and
blinked up at me for half a minute, too stunned to realize what had
happened to him.
The encounter was seen by half a dozen of the men, but none of the
officers spied us. The spectators laughed as though they hugely enjoyed
the discomfiture of the bully.
“Sarves ye right, Bob Promise,” muttered one of the A. B.s; “I bet ye
got more than ye bargained for in that youngster.”
“Caught a Tartar, eh, Bob?” scoffed another man.
The fellow on the deck “came to” then, and sprang up with every
apparent intention of attacking me. I had shielded my chum, but it was
plain that I had made an enemy.
“I’ll teach ye, ye young swab!” Bob ejaculated, and started for me.
But the others interfered. Several hustled the bully back.
“None o’ that, Bob Promise!” exclaimed the first speaker. “We’ll have
the old man down here in a second.”
“I’ll break that feller’s neck!” cried Bob.
“I dunno whether ye will or not--in a stand up fight,” drawled another
of his shipmates. “He looks like he could take care of himself.”
I had involuntarily fallen into an attitude of self-defense. That is
where I had the advantage of Thank; I knew something about boxing, and
although the bully was heavier and older than I, it was pretty certain
that he had no science. At any rate I wasn’t going to let him think I
was afraid of him.
“You wait!” growled Bob Promise. “You stand up to me in the watch
below, and I’ll eat you alive.”
I had an idea that if he did I should disagree with his stomach badly;
but I did not say this. I don’t think I am naturally a quarrelsome
fellow, if I am impulsive. Nor did I wish to get in bad with the
captain and officers of the ship by being mixed up in a fight.
“Oh, pshaw!” I said, mildly. “I don’t want to fight you, Mister. Thank
didn’t intentionally get in your way, and I didn’t mean----”
“You struck me, you white livered----”
“I didn’t,” I denied. “You ran against me.”
“Don’t you give me no back talk,” snarled the fellow, but looking out
watchfully for the officers now.
“Don’t be mad,” I said, with a smile. “I’m sorry if I hurt you----”
I guess that wasn’t a wise thing to say, although I did not mean to
heap fuel on the flames of his wrath. He gave me a black look as he
turned away, muttering:
“Wait till I git you a-tween decks, my lad. I’ll do for you!”
Thank and I looked at each other, and I guess my countenance expressed
all the chagrin I felt, for my chum did not smile, as usual.
“You butted in for me, Sharp,” he said, gloomily, “and now that big
bruiser will beat you up, as sure as shooting.”