A LIBERAL PASSENGER.
The fisher-boy's home, as we have said, was built upon the beach, and
was but one of a dozen similar abodes, where dwelt as many boys, who,
like Bob, earned their living by fishing and ferrying. They all made
it a point to be in the harbor at half-past six in the morning, and at
five in the evening; and, when Bob pushed off from the beach, he soon
found himself in the midst of a small fleet of boats, of all sizes
and descriptions, whose ragged crews were bent on the same mission as
himself. These boys were mostly the sons of sailors and fishermen;
some of them, like Bob, looking forward to the day when they should be
the masters of fine vessels; while the majority, with no care for the
morrow, were content to follow the occupations of their fathers, and
were willing to remain fishermen all their lives. Bob was, perhaps, the
poorest one among them, as fortunes were reckoned in Fishertown--which
was the name given to that part of the village where the fishermen
lived. Their boats constituted their only wealth, and a boy's fortune
was measured by the size and condition of his craft. The boys were all
good judges of boats, and there was not one among them who did not
laugh whenever Bob made his appearance in the harbor. On the evening
in question, when he came up with the little fleet, he was greeted with
a chorus of shouts and yells that would have made most boys angry.
"Here comes Bobby Jennings in his washing-tub!" shouted one of the
ferry-boys, as Bob sculled slowly past him. "Clear the track!"
Although the term "washing-tub" does not give one a very good idea of
the appearance of the fisher-boy's scow, it was, perhaps, the most
appropriate name that could have been applied to her, for she bore
but very little resemblance to any thing in the shape of a boat that
had ever been seen about the village. She was built of heavy planks,
which Bob had picked up at the upper end of the harbor; and, having
no plane with which to dress them down to an equal thickness, he had
been obliged to use the boards as he found them; consequently, one
side of the scow was heavier than the other; and this made her "tip"
considerably, as if she was always on the point of capsizing. The
fisher-boy had made an attempt to shape the stem and stern exactly
alike, but, having nothing but a dull ax to work with, he had only
succeeded in giving the Go Ahead a very homely model, for the bow was
long and slanting, and the stern stood almost straight up and down in
the water. Of the planks that formed the bottom, some were thick and
others thin, and the joints were caulked with rags and bits of rope
which Bob had picked up about the wharves. This unwieldy craft was
propelled by an oar worked over the stern; and, although she made but
poor headway under sail, she could be pushed through the water at an
astonishing rate of speed, especially when the sight of a passenger on
the wharf induced the fisher-boy to put forth all his power of muscle.
"Yes, sir!" shouted another of the ferry-boys, "here comes Jennings and
his lumber-yard!"
"Well," said the fisher-boy, good-naturedly, "if you think you can beat
this lumber-yard, this is a first-rate chance to try it."
But the boy very wisely declined to accept the challenge. He had seen
the Go Ahead make remarkably fast time, and he did not like to risk the
disgrace of being beaten.
As the boats were all moving along leisurely, Bob soon took the lead,
and presently he rounded the pier, and entered the harbor.
"Every body I meet has something to say about my boat!" said he to
himself. "I don't wonder that the workmen refuse to patronize me, for
she is a rough-looking craft, that's a fact. If I couldn't swim like a
duck, I should almost be afraid to get into her myself; for she looks
as if she was just about to turn over. The water that runs in through
the bottom doesn't trouble me any, because I go barefooted; but, if
I was rich, and could afford to wear fine boots, I believe I should
hesitate about taking passage in a craft like this. I really begin to
believe that it was more by good luck than good management, that I ever
made a cent with her. I must think up a plan to get a new boat; now,
that's settled."
Bob sculled slowly to the middle of the harbor, where he stopped and
sat down in his scow to wait for a passenger. A short distance from him
was a steamer, which was just getting ready to start on her regular
trip to Boston. The first bell had been rung, and the gang-plank was
crowded with passengers who were hurrying on board, and with visitors,
who were making haste to get ashore. As the fisher-boy sat watching the
steamer, his oar idly dangling in the water, and his thoughts busy with
the question which, for the last three months, had been uppermost in
his mind, he happened to glance toward the opposite side of the harbor,
and saw a gentleman walking uneasily up and down the wharf, stopping
now and then to wave his hat, to attract the attention of some of the
ferry-boys.
"Yes, sir; comin', sir! Be there directly, sir!" shouted a voice behind
the fisher-boy, which the latter knew belonged to Sam Barton. "I'm
comin' like a steamboat, sir!"
The words were hardly out of Sam's mouth, however, before he became
aware that his old rival was ready to contest the ownership of the
two cents' passage money, which the gentleman was waiting to pay to
the boy who should carry him across the harbor; for Bob had jumped to
his feet, and was sending his clumsy scow through the water at a rate
of speed that soon left Sam behind. The latter, however, never once
thought of giving up the race, for he was one who tried to profit by
his experience. He had told the fisher-boy that he had learned that a
nice, clean boat would go a long way toward securing custom, and he
was in hopes that when the passenger on the wharf saw his fine yawl,
drawn up along-side Bob's scow, he would do as others had done--take
passage with him, and leave the fisher-boy to look elsewhere. This was
a favorite trick of Sam's, and by it he gained a great deal of custom.
"Jump in, sir!" said Bob, as he ran the Go Ahead along-side the wharf.
"Out o' the way, there, Bobby Jennings!" shouted Sam. "Here comes the
boat the gentleman's been a waitin' for. He wants cushions to set down
on."
But the man's actions indicated that he had not been waiting for Sam
Barton, for, without a moment's hesitation, he sprang down into Bob's
scow, exclaiming:
"I'll give you a silver half-dollar if you will put me on board that
steamer before she leaves the wharf. Do your best, now."
The fisher-boy did not need any orders to "do his best," after his
passenger had promised him a half dollar for putting him on board the
steamer. He opened his eyes in astonishment at the mention of so large
a reward, and so did Sam Barton, who wondered that the gentleman should
choose a leaky, dirty craft, when he might just as well have had a
clean, dry boat, with "cushions to set down on."
Bob lost no time in pushing off from the wharf, and when he got fairly
started, he sent the Go Ahead through the water in a way that made the
ferry-boys wonder. But the harbor was wide, and when the fisher-boy was
half way across, the steamer's bell rang for the second time.
"Hurry up, boy!" said the passenger, nervously. "I must go out on that
boat. Catch her, and I'll give you a dollar."
Bob drew in a long breath, shook off his hat, and redoubled his
exertions at the oar, and, to his delight, he succeeded in running
under the stern of the steamer, and drawing up along-side the wharf,
just as the last bell was ringing, and the order had been given to
haul in the gang-plank.
"Here you are, boy," exclaimed the passenger. "You are a capital
oarsman, and the next time I come to Newport and want a ferry-boy, I
shall remember you." As he spoke, he thrust his hand into his pocket
and pulled out some money, which he handed to Bob.
"Hurrah for me!" said the fisher-boy, "my fortune is safe."
Being deeply interested in the success of his passenger, he did
not examine his fare, but stood with one hand holding the Go Ahead
along-side the wharf, and the other clutching the two pieces of money.
He saw the gentleman spring upon the gang-plank just as the sailors had
begun to haul it in. Reaching the steamer in safety, he turned and gave
Bob an approving nod, and then disappeared up the stairs that led to
the deck.
"He's all right," said the fisher-boy, wiping his forehead with his
shirt sleeve, "and so am I. If I could get a passenger like that every
day, it wouldn't be long before I would go to sea."
Bob seated himself in the stern of his scow, panting hard after his
long race, and jingled the money in his closed hand. He had not yet
looked at it, but he knew that the gentleman had kept his promise, for
he could feel the two half-dollars with his fingers. He had not owned a
great deal of money of that description, and he did not think he could
be deceived.
"How much did he give you, Bobby?" inquired Sam Barton, pulling up
along-side the scow. "A feller can't scare up a passenger like that
every day, an' I'm sorry I didn't beat you in the race."
"I am not," said Bob, "you don't know how much good this dollar will do
me!"
"A dollar!" exclaimed Sam. "Did he give you a whole dollar?"
"Yes, sir, two silver half-dollars. See there!" said Bob, opening his
hand. "Don't they look--"
The fisher-boy suddenly paused, and gazed first at the money, and then
at his companion, who stood with eyes and mouth open, the very picture
of astonishment. Instead of two silver half-dollars, Bob held in his
hand two twenty-dollar gold pieces.
"Bobby Jennings!" exclaimed Sam, who was the first to recover from
his surprise, "ain't me an' you the luckiest boys in Newport? I got a
hundred dollars fur haulin' a feller out of the water, an' now you get
forty dollars in gold, fur bringin' a passenger across the harbor. You
can throw away that ar ole scow now, Bobby, an' buy my skiff. I'll sell
her to you fur twenty dollars, an' any body who has seed her, will tell
you that she's cheap at that. Is it a bargain?"
The fisher-boy did not answer; indeed, he did not seem to be aware that
Sam was speaking to him. He sat looking at the two bright pieces of
gold, as if he had suddenly lost all power to turn his eyes from them.
"I say, Bobby, is it a bargain?" repeated Sam.
This question seemed to bring the fisher-boy to his senses. He hastily
put the money into his pocket, shoved the Go Ahead from the wharf,
and catching up his oar, he started in hot pursuit of the steamer,
which was now moving slowly down the harbor. He very soon discovered,
however, that it was useless to think of overtaking her, and seeing
his passenger walking up and down the deck, he dropped his oar, and
began to shout and swing his hat around his head to attract the man's
attention. In this he was successful; for the passenger waved his hand
in reply, as if he thought that Bob was congratulating him on reaching
the steamer in time.
"Hold on!" screamed the fisher-boy. "Come back here, sir! You have paid
me too much!" and he pulled the money out of his pocket and held it
up, as if he hoped that, even at that distance, the man could see and
recognize it. But the latter evidently could not be made to understand,
for he again waved his hand, and then resumed his walk; while Bob stood
in his scow and watched the steamer as she rounded the pier, and shaped
her course down the bay.
Sam Barton had watched all these movements in surprise. When he saw
that Bob was endeavoring to overtake the steamer, in order to return
the money which his passenger had paid to him by mistake, he caught up
his oar and followed after him, urging him to keep silent. If Bob heard
him, he did not heed his advice, for not until he became convinced that
it was impossible to catch the steamer, or to make the man understand
him, did he cease to pull and shout with all his might.
"Bobby Jennings, have you gone clean crazy?" demanded Sam, as he
sculled up along-side the fisher-boy, who stood gazing after the
steamer, as if he hoped she might yet come back, and give him an
opportunity to return the gold pieces. "What do you want to give that
ar money back fur?"
"Why, it isn't mine," answered Bob.
"It ain't your'n!" repeated Sam. "I'd like to know what's the reason.
Didn't that feller give it to you with his own hands? In course he
did; an' that's why it belongs to you."
"But he made a mistake," said Bob.
"That's his own lookout, an' not your'n," returned Sam. "Keep it, say
nothin' to nobody, throw away that ar ole scow, an' buy my skiff. Then
you'll be well fixed, an' can begin to make money. That feller will
never miss it, 'cause when you see a man who carries twenty dollar
gold-pieces loose in his pockets, these hard times, it's a sure sign
that he knows where to get more when they are gone. Where be you
goin'?" he added, as the fisher-boy got out his oar, and sculled away
from the spot.
"I am going home," was the answer. "I am going to give this money to
mother, before I lose it."
"Well, now, Bobby Jennings," exclaimed Sam, "if ever I see a feller who
was clean crazy, I see one now. You'll always be a fisherman, you'll
always live in a little shantee on the beach, an' you don't deserve
nothin' better. The world owes you a livin', an' the easier you make it
the smarter you be. You'll never have another chance like this."
"I can't help that!" replied Bob. "I've always been honest, and I
always intend to be."
Sam could not stop longer to remonstrate, for he saw one of his
"regular customers" standing on the wharf. He sculled off to attend to
him, muttering to himself: "Never mind, Bobby Jennings! I want one of
them gold pieces, an' I'm bound to get it."