Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.
[Illustration: LAUNCHING THE YAWL.]
_THE GO-AHEAD SERIES._
GO-AHEAD;
OR,
THE FISHER-BOY'S MOTTO
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF "THE GUN-BOAT SERIES," "THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," ETC.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
CINCINNATI, O.:
R. W. CARROLL & CO.
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
=GUNBOAT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 6 vols. 16mo.
Cloth, extra, black and gold.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST. FRANK ON A GUNBOAT. FRANK IN THE WOODS.
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG. FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI. FRANK ON THE
PRAIRIE.
=ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols.
16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.
FRANK AT DON CARLOS' RANCHO.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
=SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols.
16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB IN THE SADDLE.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AFLOAT.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS.
=GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo.
Cloth, extra, black and gold.
TOM NEWCOMBE. GO-AHEAD. NO MOSS.
=FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo.
Cloth, extra, black and gold.
SNOWED UP. FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE. BOY TRADERS.
=BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 3 vols. 16mo.
Cloth, extra, black and gold.
THE BURIED TREASURE; OR, OLD JORDAN'S HAUNT.
THE BOY TRAPPER; OR, HOW DAVE FILLED THE ORDER.
THE MAIL-CARRIER.
=ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth,
extra, black and gold.
GEORGE IN CAMP.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
R. W. CARROLL & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A RAGAMUFFIN, 5
II. A LIBERAL PASSENGER, 19
III. FISHERTOWN IN COUNCIL, 28
IV. TOM NEWCOMBE'S PLAN, 36
V. SAM BARTON'S REVENGE, 49
VI. GOING IN DEBT, 58
VII. TOM ORDERS A NEW BOAT, 70
VIII. THE GO AHEAD NO. 2, 80
IX. CRUSOE AND HIS MEN, 94
X. ANOTHER FAILURE, 107
XI. TOM'S NEW YACHT, 122
XII. TOM LOSES A DINNER, 136
XIII. MR. NEWCOMBE'S PRESENT, 147
XIV. BOB MAKES A DISCOVERY, 159
XV. BOB A PRISONER, 175
XVI. BOB FIGHTS FOR HIS LIBERTY, 185
XVII. PREPARATIONS FOR THE VOYAGE, 201
XVIII. THE ATTACK ON THE YACHT, 221
XIX. CRUSOE AFLOAT, 236
XX. THE TABLES TURNED, 251
XXI. HARRY'S REPORT, 263
XXII. CONCLUSION, 276
GO AHEAD;
OR,
THE FISHER-BOY'S MOTTO.
CHAPTER I.
A RAGAMUFFIN.
"Bad luck again to-day," said Bob Jennings, as he reluctantly drew in
his line and glanced at his empty basket, which he had hoped to take
home full of fish, "I've been here since seven o'clock this morning,
and haven't had a single bite. If it is true that 'Fortune favors the
brave', it seems to me she is a long time in finding out that there is
such a fellow as Bob Jennings in the world, for the harder I work, the
worse I get along."
As the fisher-boy spoke, he pulled up his anchor, hoisted a small
tattered sail in the bow of his boat, and filled away for home, as poor
as when he set out in the morning.
It was no wonder that Bob felt somewhat disheartened, for he was but
twelve cents better off at that moment than he had been the day before.
He had ferried six ship-carpenters across the harbor that morning, and
then pulled five miles up the bay, to his fishing-grounds, only to
return empty-handed. And that was not the worst of it, for a "streak of
bad luck," as he called it, had attended him during the entire week. It
was then Friday; and since Monday morning he had earned just a dollar
and a quarter. Fishing had been unprofitable, and the ship-carpenters
seemed to have taken a sudden dislike to his boat, for, of late, he
had never been able to secure more than half a load, and his ferrying
did not yield him twenty cents a day. He had worked hard, but luck
was against him, and, in spite of all his exertions, he had not been
able to earn enough to pay the week's expenses; and that morning his
mother had told him that she would soon be obliged to use a portion of
the fifteen dollars which Bob had managed to save as part of the sum
necessary to support the family while he was gone on his first voyage
at sea. Bob had been expecting this; and it was the worst part of his
week's "streak of bad luck," for that fifteen dollars had been saved
for a special purpose, and he did not want to see it used for any thing
else. He had staked all his hopes upon the result of this day's work,
and thus far he had earned but twelve cents. Some boys, perhaps, would
have thought fifteen dollars a very insignificant sum to be troubled
about, but Bob looked upon it as quite a respectable fortune. There
were not many fisher-boys about Newport who could boast that, during
the last six months, they had fed and clothed a family of four persons,
and saved money besides. Bob was the only one among them who ever laid
by a penny for a rainy day; but, unless his luck soon changed, he would
be as poor as the rest of them--his fortune would melt away, and his
first voyage be indefinitely postponed. The fisher-boy was not in the
habit of grumbling because every thing did not work as smoothly as he
desired, but, under such circumstances, he found it almost impossible
to keep up a cheerful heart. He was willing to work, but he wanted
to see that he was making some headway in the world. When fortune
favored him, and he could give his mother fifty, or even twenty-five,
cents every evening, there was not a happier boy in Newport than Bob
Jennings. He felt rich; and it is probable that he would even have
hesitated about changing places with his friend Tom Newcombe, whom
he sometimes envied. But when luck went against him--as had been the
case during the week that had just passed--Bob could not help getting
downhearted, for it seemed to him that every failure he made placed
the object of his ambition farther beyond his reach. He wanted to
become the master of a fine vessel, but he could not go to sea leaving
his mother unprovided for; and thirty dollars would be sufficient to
insure her against want during his absence. After nearly six months'
hard work, he had saved half the amount required, and he had begun to
hope that, by the time the spring arrived, he could give up fishing
and ferrying, turn his scow over to his brother, and enter upon his
career as a sailor. But Bob's hopes had been ruined more than once by
a "streak of bad luck," and now it seemed as if misfortune was again
about to overtake him.
"I don't want to see that fifteen dollars broken in upon," said the
fisher-boy, taking a firmer grasp of the oar with which he was steering
his clumsy craft, as if to indicate that he had determined to hold on
to his fortune as long as possible; "I've worked hard for it, through
storm and sunshine, have gone about my work ragged and barefooted,
and now, if I lose it, I shall almost believe that I was born to be a
fisherman, and that it's no use for me to try to be any thing else. If
this money goes, it will be the third time I have been bankrupt. After
mother agreed to let me go to sea if I would save thirty dollars, I
went to work, and, at the end of three months, I had seven dollars in
the bank. I was making money fast, and I thought that, at the end of
the year, I should have more than thirty dollars laid by. But I had a
streak of bad luck; the fish wouldn't bite, I couldn't make a dime a
day ferrying, and four dollars out of the seven had to go to feed the
family. After awhile, my luck changed again, and, in four months, I had
saved twelve dollars and a half. Then I began to fall behind a second
time, and every red cent of my twelve dollars was gone before I knew
it. Then came a streak of good luck, which lasted almost six months,
and, during that time, I saved just fifteen dollars. If that goes like
the rest, I shall begin to believe that I am very unlucky. Now, there's
Sam Barton! He doesn't work half as hard as I do, but he makes more
money. I wish I had been in his place night before last."
Bob was not the only one who envied Sam Barton, for he was the most
fortunate ferry-boy about the village. His companions all looked upon
him with a great deal of respect; and the reason was because Sam owned
the best boat, and could boast of more "regular customers" than any
other boys about the harbor. On Wednesday evening, after the workmen
had all been taken across, and the ferry-boys were seated in their
boats, counting their money, and getting ready to start for home, a
gentleman, who was standing on the wharf talking to an acquaintance,
accidentally slipped off into the water. A dozen boats at once started
to his assistance; but Sam was foremost, and, reaching the gentleman
just as he was sinking for the last time, he seized him and lifted
him into his boat. The man soon recovered from the effects of his
involuntary bath, and, on being assisted on to the wharf, he thrust his
hand into his pocket, and, pulling out a large roll of bills, tossed it
to Sam; after which, he stepped into a carriage and was driven off. The
ferry-boys, who had been interested spectators of all that had taken
place, crowded up around Sam's boat; and when the latter had counted
the money, he found himself the proud possessor of a hundred dollars--a
much larger sum than he had ever owned before. The idea of a reward
must have entered Sam's head the moment he saw the gentleman struggling
in the water, for, after he had put the money carefully away in his
pocket, he turned to Bob, who had been close beside him all the while,
and coolly remarked:
"You're a purty good hand with an oar, Bobby Jennings, an' I'll allow
that you can make that ar ole scow of your'n fly through the water
amazin' fast, but it wasn't no use fur you to think of beatin' me in
this race, 'cause I was pullin' fur money--I was. I knowed the ole chap
would give a feller a dime or two fur haulin' him out of the water, fur
I seed he couldn't swim the minute he fell in."
"So did I," said Bob, "but I never thought of a reward; I only wanted
to save the man's life."
"I s'pose, then," said Sam, "that if you had been first, an' had pulled
that feller into your boat, an' he had said 'Thank you, Bobby,' you
would have been satisfied?"
"Certainly, I would!" replied the fisher-boy.
"Well," continued Sam, thrusting his hand into his pocket to satisfy
himself that his money was safe, "mebbe that's a good principle to go
on, but it won't bring you much bread an' butter--not more'n you can
eat, any how. I believe a feller has a right to make all he can. In
course, he oughter work, 'cause he'll soon starve if he don't; but when
he sees a chance to make a few dollars easy, he oughtn't to let it
slip. The world owes us ferry-boys a livin', an' the easier we make it,
the smarter we be. But, 'pears to me, if I was a rich man, an' should
fall into the harbor, an' couldn't swim a stroke, I'd give the feller
that pulled me out more'n a hundred dollars."
The next day, when Sam came among his companions, the appearance of
himself and boat excited the wonder and admiration of every ferry-boy
in the harbor. His yawl had received a fresh coat of paint outside; and
the thwarts were supplied with cushions, so that his passengers might
have the benefit of easy seats. Sam was rigged out in a brand-new suit
of clothes, and he sculled about among the ferry-boys as if he felt
himself to be very important.
"What do you think of me an' my yawl, now, Bobby Jennings?" asked
Sam, as he dashed up along-side the fisher-boy, who was seated in his
scow watching the wharves on both sides of the harbor, in the hope of
discovering a passenger. "Ain't we gay? That hundred dollars came in
handy, I tell you."
"Your boat looks very nice," replied Bob, glancing first at the clean,
dry yawl, and then at his own unpainted, leaky craft. "She's a great
deal better than mine."
"That's to be expected," said Sam; "you see, I've got capital to go
on, and I know how to use it. I was onct as poor as you be; the boat
I had was a'most as leaky an' dirty as that ar craft of your'n, and I
never could make enough to pay expenses, 'cause the ship-carpenters
an' the fine gentlemen who have business across the harbor wouldn't
have nothing to do with me. One day, my old man said to me: 'Sammy, a
coward an' a poor man are the two meanest things in the world. They are
a disgrace to society. If you ever want to be respected, go to work an'
make some money.' I thought that was good advice, and I follered it.
Now look at me! I've got two good boats--the other a nice little skiff
that I want to sell to some feller who has twenty dollars to pay for
it--I wear good clothes, I've got more regular customers than any two
other boys in the harbor, an' every night I take home at least a dollar
and a half. I'm makin' money; an' the reason is, I know how to do it.
During two years' ferryin' on this harbor, I have learned that the only
way to get custom is to have a nice, clean boat----Yes, sir; comin',
sir!"
Sam Barton was a boy who could do two things at once--that is, he
could talk and keep a bright lookout for passengers at the same
time--and he had just discovered a man standing on the wharf, waving
his handkerchief--a sign that he wanted to cross the harbor. Bob saw
him at the same moment, and, by the time Sam had got his oar out,
the fisher-boy was well under way, and Sam began to fear that the
two cents he had hoped to earn would find their way into the pockets
of his rival. "First come, first served," was the law in force among
the ferry-boys, and the one who could handle his oar the best got the
most passengers. There was not a boy in the harbor who could beat
Bob sculling, and although he had a heavy, unwieldy boat to manage,
he generally came off first best in his races. He certainly did in
this instance, for, when he reached the wharf where the passenger was
standing, Sam was a long way behind.
"Jump in, sir," said Bob.
The man looked down at the scow, which, on account of its numerous
leaks, could not be kept very clean, then at his well-blacked boots,
and shook his head.
"O, she'll take you over safely, sir," said Bob; "I've carried fifteen
men in her many a time."
"Sheer off there, Bobby Jennings!" shouted Sam Barton, bringing his
handsome yawl along-side the wharf at this moment; "here's the boat
the gentleman's been a-waitin' fur. He wants a neat, tidy craft, wi'
cushions to sit down on. Jump in, sir."
The idea Sam had advanced but a few moments before--that a nice, clean
boat was necessary to secure patronage--received confirmation now, for
the man climbed down into the yawl, and Bob saw his rival pocket the
passage-money.
The fisher-boy thought over these incidents, as he sat in the
stern-sheets of his scow sailing slowly homeward from his
fishing-grounds; and, although Sam Barton had, at first, fallen very
low in his estimation, by accepting a reward for saving a man's life,
he was now ready to wish that he had been in Sam's place.
"If I could only think of some honest way to earn a hundred dollars,
how proud I should feel!" said the fisher-boy. "It would support the
family in fine style for a year to come, and would buy a good many
articles of furniture that we need in the house. It would send me to
sea, too, and I would then be in a situation to make a man of myself.
I might, some day, become the captain of one of Mr. Newcombe's fine
ships."
At this point in his meditations, when the fisher-boy was imagining how
grand he would feel when he should walk the quarter-deck of his own
vessel, he was suddenly startled with the shout:
"Look out there, you ragamuffin! Out of the way, or we'll run you
down!" And the next moment, a beautiful little schooner, filled with
boys about his own age, dashed by, under a full press of canvas.
"Ship ahoy!" shouted the boy who held the helm of the schooner; "What
ship is that?"
"Why, that's the 'Go Ahead,'" said one of his companions, reading the
name which was painted in rude letters on the stern of Bob's scow.
"So it is!" said another. "But I don't think the name is appropriate,
for she don't seem to go ahead at all."
The boys in the schooner laughed loudly at this exhibition of wit,
and the little vessel dashed on, leaving Bob sitting in the stern of
his scow, silent and thoughtful. This incident had brought him back
to earth again. The gallant ship, of which he had imagined himself
the proud commander, faded before his eyes, and he found himself
seated at the helm of his leaky boat, with its tattered sail and empty
fish-basket staring him in the face. The trim, swift-sailing little
schooner, which had so nearly run him down, and which was now bounding
gayly over the waves of the bay, with its load of merry, thoughtless
boys, presented a strange contrast to his own clumsy craft, and, but
for one simple thing, Bob would have been more disheartened than ever.
But one of the boys had called him a "ragamuffin;" while the others had
made sport of his boat and the odd name she bore, and this aroused the
fisher-boy's spirit.
"They don't know what they were talking about," said Bob to himself. "I
didn't give my scow that name on account of her sailing qualities, for
no one who knows any thing about a boat would expect a tub like this to
sail fast. I call her the 'Go Ahead' because that's part of my motto,
and I want it where I can see it when I get down-hearted."
Bob hesitated, and even looked as if he felt ashamed of himself as he
said this, for he remembered that but a few moments before he had been
sadly discouraged, and had never once thought of his motto. It was
strange that he had forgotten it, for the words "Go Ahead," painted
in huge capitals, stared at him from every part of the boat to which
he could direct his gaze. On the thwarts, the gunwales, the oar with
which he was steering, and even on the bottom, where the water stood
three inches deep, appeared the mysterious words, which, under ordinary
circumstances, never failed to prove a sure source of cheerfulness and
contentment to the fisher-boy.
"They called me a ragamuffin," continued Bob, looking down at his
patched garments, "and perhaps I am; but I know one thing, and that
is, a ragged coat has covered the back of many an honest man. I believe
I am honest, for I never, knowingly, cheated a man out of a cent. My
customers are not afraid to trust me, for they believe just what I
say, and never look at the scales when I am weighing out the fish. Sam
Barton says, that poor men and cowards ought not to be allowed to live
in the world; but mother says, poverty is no disgrace if a person works
hard and tries to better his condition. I won't always be a ragamuffin,
now I tell you! I'll own a sail-boat one of these days that will make
that schooner ashamed of herself. How will I get it?" added Bob aloud,
as if some invisible person had just asked him the question. "How will
I get it? I'll work for it; that's the way I'll get it. I'll stick to
my ferrying and fishing until something better turns up, and then I'll
make a man of myself."
As the fisher-boy said this, he gave one parting glance at the
schooner, and then turned his attention to the management of his scow.
His feelings now were very different from what they had been when he
began his voyage homeward, for the sneering remarks of the schooner's
crew had aroused his pride and indignation. He was willing to admit
that he was a ragamuffin, but he was determined that he would not
always remain one. He was ambitious to be something better; and, like a
sensible boy, he knew there was but one way for him to accomplish his
object, and that was to work hard for it.
During the voyage homeward, Bob thought over his situation, and
revolved in his mind numerous plans for future operations; but the
only conclusion he could come to was, to "stick to his business" and
do the best he could. He might have accepted a situation in some
store; in fact, one or two had been offered him--for Bob, like every
other honest, industrious boy, had plenty of friends--but that would
not better his condition as far as money was concerned. His wages
would amount to but a dollar and a half or two dollars a week, and at
that rate he could not save a cent. Even fishing and ferrying were
generally more profitable; for, although some weeks he would make
scarcely enough to pay expenses, he would, at other times, clear three
and four dollars, so that his mother could lay by something to increase
their little fortune. His present "streak of bad luck" could not last
always; it would soon change in his favor, and, until then, he would
work on and hope for the best. There were numerous obstacles and
discouragements in his way, and the greatest of them was the want of a
good boat. The Go Ahead had done him considerable service, but she was
so old and shaky that, with the exception of Bob, there was scarcely
a boy in Newport who was brave enough to trust himself very far from
shore in her. It was no wonder, then, that the ship-carpenters gave the
fisher-boy a wide berth, and preferred Sam Barton's staunch yawl to his
leaky scow. The question, How should he get a new boat? had troubled
him for three months, and he was not yet able to answer it. At first he
had thought of building one; but he had no money to buy the necessary
material, and the planks and boards that got loose in the harbor were
always picked up before Bob knew they were there. He could not buy a
boat, for such a one as he wanted would cost twenty or thirty dollars;
and where could he obtain so much money? This question perplexed Bob
greatly, and now it seemed to trouble him more than ever. He did not
recover his usual spirits again that afternoon, and, when he ran his
scow upon the beach in front of his humble home, he wore an exceedingly
long face, which told the family, as plainly as words, that his day's
work had not been a profitable one.
"How many, Bobby?" asked his mother, appearing at the door.
"So many!" replied the fisher boy, inverting his basket, to show that
it was empty. "I hope I shall have better luck to-morrow."
Bob threw his basket on the beach, pulled down his sail, and, after
rolling it up, carried it around behind the house, and put it in its
accustomed place. He then walked round to the other side of the cabin,
and eagerly read some rude characters which he had cut in the boards,
close up under the eaves. This was, no doubt, an unusual way to raise
one's spirits, but it seemed to have that effect upon Bob, for he shook
his head and whispered to himself:
"I'm not discouraged yet. If a boy lives up to that motto, he'll make a
man of himself, I don't care how poor he is."
This was not the first time the fisher-boy had drawn encouragement and
consolation from this same mysterious source, for, every day, after
he returned from his fishing grounds, he would steal around behind
the house to read his motto. If he had been unlucky, he did it to
raise his spirits; and if he had been successful, he read it with a
renewed determination to "stick to it." What it was that served to
encourage him, no one about the house knew except himself. His mother
had often seen the characters cut in the boards, but she could not
read them, for they were so rudely executed that they bore but very
little resemblance to the letters of the alphabet. Bob could use a pen
or pencil very well, but he had never learned the art of engraving,
and that was the reason no one could read the words he had cut in the
boards.
"Yes, sir!" repeated Bob, "that motto will make a man of me yet, if I
live up to it."
"Did you ever hear of a person who became rich by it?" asked one of his
brothers, who had followed him behind the house.
"No, but still I believe it will work wonders."
"Perhaps it will; but it don't seem to be working wonders just now.
You have not caught a single fish to-day, and mother says that, if you
don't earn thirty cents to-night, she will have to use part of your
fifteen dollars."
Thirty cents! That was a small amount to stand between Bob and his
fortune, but it might as well have been as many dollars, for he had no
idea that he should be able to secure a load of fifteen ship-carpenters
that evening. He thought of his leaky scow, then of Sam Barton's fine
boat, and wished that he was able to own one exactly like it. But
wishing did no good. It would not bring him another boat, or change
the Go Ahead into a handsome yawl, with cushioned seats; so Bob, after
another glance at the letters under the eaves, dismissed all thoughts
of Sam Barton and his boat, and turned his attention to bailing out his
scow. In half an hour the boat had been emptied of the water, and wiped
dry, after which the fisher-boy pushed off from the beach, and sculled
toward the harbor.