THE GO AHEAD NO. 2.
The dinner hour passed off as usual, and one to have seen Bob as he
arose from the table and bade his mother good-by before returning to
the wharf, would have thought him the very last boy who could have been
guilty of a mean or dishonorable action. But he had changed wonderfully
during the last twelve hours; and having deceived his mother once, it
was easier to do it a second time.
Although there was no necessity for it, he left a false impression on
her mind by saying:
"Perhaps I shall see a chance to earn half a dollar or so, during the
afternoon." This led her to believe that her son intended to hold
himself in readiness to accept any offer of work that might be made
him; while Bob himself knew that he had no such idea. He said what he
did simply because he wanted an excuse to get away from home.
The fact was, Bob was totally unfit for labor of any kind. He had made
so many calculations concerning the twenty-five hundred dollars, which
he was certain he should receive in a week or ten days at the very
farthest, and he was so impatient to hear from the money he had just
sent off, that any thing which would have turned his thoughts into
other and more profitable channels was distasteful to him. He wanted to
do nothing but think over his plans for the future; so he returned to
the wharf, where for four hours and a half he walked listlessly about
with his hands in his pockets, his eyes bent upon the ground, and his
thoughts busy with his new boat, and his prospective fortune.
During the middle of the day the ferry-boys had very little business
to attend to, and, from where Bob stood, he could see them lounging in
their boats in the shade of the piers, on both sides of the harbor.
Among them he saw Sam Barton, who, seated in his fine yawl in the midst
of his friends, was delivering some very amusing discourse, judging by
the peals of laughter that came from that direction.
The fisher-boy soon became aware of the fact that he was the subject of
Sam's remarks, for every now and then he could see the bully rise up in
his boat and shake his fist at him. Bob, however, very wisely made no
reply to these demonstrations. He had the satisfaction of knowing that
the triumph which the bully was then enjoying was destined to be of
short duration, and that his turn would come next.
There was another boy who was very restless all that afternoon, and
who, being unable to decide upon any better way of passing the time,
kept trotting up and down the wharf. It was Tom Newcombe. To save his
life he could not remain in the office more than ten minutes at a
time, and it was only by an unusual exercise of will that he kept from
telling his secret, confidentially of course, to every one he met. In
one of his rounds he came across the fisher-boy; and knowing that he
could sympathize with him, he kept him company during the rest of the
afternoon.
"O how I do wish this week was gone," Tom would say, almost every five
minutes, "and that we had an answer to that letter! I am in a great
hurry to begin trading. I tell you, Bob, all the boys in the village
will wish themselves in my boots when they see my new yacht."
To the fisher-boy's immense relief, half-past four came at last,
and, bidding Tom good-by, he started for Mr. Graves's boat-yard. The
proprietor was standing in the door of his office, and when he saw Bob
he called out--
"Go and get her! She is all ready for you, and I think when you have
tried her you will say that she is the finest boat you ever saw. Now,
if you don't ruin Sam Barton by taking every one of his passengers away
from him, I shall be sorry that I let you have her."
"If he wants customers he must work for them," replied Bob. "And now,
Mr. Graves, if you will furnish me pen and paper, I'll give you my
note."
The boat-builder laughed, and more to satisfy the fisher-boy than
any thing else, he gave him a chair at his desk, and looked over
his shoulder, as he dashed off the note in regular business style;
promising, in ninety days from date, to pay James H. Graves twenty-six
dollars, for value received.
"There!" said Bob, throwing the ink off his pen, and rising from the
desk; "I think you will find that all right."
Mr. Graves put the note into his pocket, and conducted his customer
to the place where the skiffs were anchored; and the first object upon
which Bob's eyes rested was the Go Ahead No. 2, gracefully riding the
little swells, and pulling at her moorings as if impatient to be off. A
pair of strong oars, and a sail neatly rolled up, lay upon the thwarts,
and her painter, which was long enough to serve as an anchor rope, was
laid down in Flemish coil in the bow.
"Now, remember," said Mr. Graves, as Bob stepped into his skiff and
began to hoist the sail, "your note will fall due in three months from
to-day, and then I shall want the money."
"You need have no fears," replied the fisher-boy, promptly. "I promise
you that every cent shall be paid up long before that time."
As the fisher-boy spoke, he cast off the line with which the Go
Ahead was made fast to the beach, got out one of his oars to serve
as a rudder, and, thanking the boat-builder for his repeated wishes
for unbounded success, filled away for his pier. A strong breeze
was blowing directly down the harbor, and this gave Bob a splendid
opportunity to judge of the sailing qualities of his new craft. All
of Mr. Graves's boats were warranted fast, but Bob soon came to the
conclusion that never had a skiff been launched at his yard that could
be compared to the Go Ahead No. 2. Her sail was as large as she could
conveniently carry; and, when she had got fairly started, she took a
"bone in her teeth," and moved down the harbor at a rate of speed that
delighted her young skipper.
The fisher-boy was in his element; and the only thing that kept him
from shouting at the top of his lungs, was the fear of attracting the
attention of the people on the wharves. So overjoyed was he that he
could scarcely sit still. He kept looking over every part of his boat,
first up at the sail, then at the clean thwarts and dry bottom, so
different from his old scow, and then he would say to himself: "Is she
really mine? I never thought I should be able to own a boat like this!
But she does belong to me, and no mistake; for I remember writing out a
note for Mr. Graves. Now, Sam Barton, bring on your clumsy old yawl."
This last remark, although uttered for the benefit of the bully, did
not reach his ears, for he was too far off to hear it, and besides, he
was busy. A party of half a dozen persons were standing upon the wharf,
and Sam was sculling leisurely across to attend to their wants. Now,
that Bob Jennings, as he imagined, had been disposed of, he had nothing
to fear from rivals, and he was taking his own time in getting across
the harbor. This did not seem to suit the gentlemen on the wharf, for
they several times requested him to "hurry up," an invitation which
Sam, being too lazy to heed, pretended that he did not hear. He moved
his oar slowly about in the water, expending just strength enough upon
it to keep his yawl in motion, and his eyes, probably from the force of
long habit, were wandering up and down the harbor, as if in search of
more customers.
"Come, boy, make haste, there!" shouted one of the men. "We don't
intend to stand here in this hot sun much longer."
Sam, however, did not arouse himself in the least. On the contrary, he
stopped sculling entirely, and stood looking up the harbor at a trim
little craft that was coming directly toward him. He did not remember
of having seen her before, but he could have recognized her skipper as
far as he could see him.
"Well, now, if this yere don't beat all the world!" said Sam to
himself, stooping down and shading his eyes with his hand to obtain a
better view of the approaching boat. "If I hadn't seed Bobby Jennings
sunk this mornin', I should say that that was him. But where could he
get a tidy little vessel like that? I declare; if she aint the purtiest
little--"
Sam's admiration for the approaching craft ceased very suddenly, as
he noticed her somewhat singular movements, and began to understand
their meaning. When he first discovered her, her bow was pointed toward
the wharf, as if her skipper intended to make an attempt to take his
passengers away from him; but now she was headed directly down the
harbor, and was coming toward him like an arrow from a bow. She was
laying almost on her side, the spray was dashing wildly about her sharp
bows, and her skipper's face wore an expression that Sam did not like
to see. He remembered what he had done that morning, and, believing
that the fisher-boy was about to take ample revenge upon him, he turned
and sculled down the harbor with all the speed he could command. But in
spite of all his exertions, the skiff gained rapidly, and the bully,
seeing that escape was impossible, became so terrified that his face
grew pale, and his heart thumped against his ribs like a trip-hammer.
"Hallo, Bobby!" he called out in a trembling voice, as soon as his
rival came within hearing; "what a nice boat you've got, Bobby!"
An angry shake of the head was the only reply he received, and the
skiff came on as fast as ever.
"I'm glad to see you out again, Bobby," continued Sam, who was so
frightened that he was almost ready to cry. "An' I hope--hold on,
there, Bobby, please don't run into me--"
The skiff was now close upon him, and the bully held his breath in
suspense; but, just as he was expecting to feel the shock of the
collision, and to see the sides of his fine yawl smashed in by the
sharp bow of his rival's boat, Bob, with one sweep of his oar, turned
aside, passing so close to the yawl that he could have jumped into her
had he felt so disposed, and ran alongside the wharf to attend to the
passengers, whom Sam, in his surprise and alarm, had forgotten.
"Why didn't you sink him?" asked one of the men, climbing down into the
skiff. "He has kept us here for fully a quarter of an hour, and we told
him that we were in a great hurry."
"I wouldn't like to sink him," replied the fisher-boy, as he pulled
down the sail and got out the oars. "I had my boat sunk under me this
morning, and I know how it feels."
Bob was now given an opportunity to test the speed of his new boat when
propelled by the "white ash breeze," and the result was all he could
have desired. The Go Ahead skimmed over the water as lightly as a duck,
in spite of the additional weight of her half dozen passengers, and by
the time the fisher-boy reached the opposite side of the harbor, he
had ceased to regret the loss of his scow, and was almost willing to
believe that the serious injury which Sam had tried to inflict upon him
would prove to be a blessing in disguise.
Meanwhile the bully, who stood in his boat watching Bob as he rowed
across the harbor and landed his passengers, had been allowed ample
time to recover from the fright his rival had given him. The other
ferry-boys were no less surprised than Sam had been, and now they began
to gather around him, to hear what he had to say about it.
"Do you see that new craft Jennings has got?" asked one.
"Do I see it?" repeated the bully, sharply. "Haven't I got a pair of
eyes, and didn't he sail by within two foot of me? He's a thief, as
well as a mean feller, 'cause he's used one of them gold pieces to buy
that boat. Never mind! It won't do him no good!"
Sam, assisted by some of his particular friends, at once set about
arranging matters to render Bob's new boat perfectly useless to him.
As before, they scattered their forces all over the harbor, some on
one side, and some on the other, Sam pointing out the position he
wished each boy to occupy. When he had got every thing fixed to his
satisfaction, he sculled slowly toward the fisher-boy, who was standing
up in his boat, watching all these movements, as if they did not
interest him in the least.
"How do you feel now, Bobby?" asked the bully, with a laugh.
"O, I am in excellent spirits," returned Bob, pleasantly. "I feel much
better than I did when you sunk my boat this morning."
"That's an amazin' fine little skiff of your'n, Bobby," continued Sam;
"but I don't see what you're goin' to do with it here."
"Don't you? Well, you wait until I see a passenger, and I'll show you."
"Not that we knows of, you won't," said the bully, savagely. "Didn't I
tell you this mornin' that you had been here just long enough?"
"You did, but it doesn't trouble me any. Now, Sam, let me tell you
something! If you, or any of your friends, beat me in a fair race, I
shall not grumble; but if you try to take any mean advantage of me, I
won't stand it. I'll clear the harbor!"
"You'll do what?" exclaimed Sam.
"I'll take charge of this harbor," repeated Bob. "I'll drive every one
of you under the piers."
"Hallo!" said Sam. "That's big talk for a small boy!"
The sight of a passenger on the wharf put a stop to the conversation,
and the rivals once more found themselves engaged in an exciting race.
Bob had a decided advantage, having a much lighter boat, and two oars
to Sam's one, and he would have beaten him very easily, had not one of
the bully's friends sculled up and intercepted him. This occasioned a
delay--for Bob was obliged to stop in order to avoid a collision--and
by the time he got started again, another of Sam's right-hand men had
run alongside the wharf and secured the passenger.
This convinced the fisher-boy that his enemies were not disposed to
allow him "fair play," and being determined not to yield to them an
inch, he pulled in his oars and began to hoist his sail.
"Look out there now, Sam Barton!" said he, "I'm coming after you."
"Eh!" ejaculated the bully. "What are you going to do?"
"If you wait until I get this sail hoisted you'll find out!" was the
reply. "Clear the track, now, if you don't want to get hurt! Jack
Bennett, if you want your scow sent to the bottom of the harbor, just
run athwart my hawse again!"
Sam needed no second warning. He comprehended Bob's plan in an instant,
and seeing that the sail began to draw, and that the skiff's bow was
slowly veering round toward him, he caught up his oar and pulled for
the shelter of the pier as if his life depended upon the issue.
"Run, run, fellers!" he exclaimed. "That ar Bobby Jennings'll sink the
last one of you."
The ferry-boys, believing that they had at last succeeded in arousing
an ugly customer, scattered in all directions; and Bob, thinking it a
capital opportunity to show them that he was in earnest, and that it
was not his intention to allow himself to be imposed upon any longer,
started in hot pursuit of Sam, who was doing his best to keep out of
harm's way. Had the fisher-boy succeeded in overtaking him, it is
hard to tell what he might have done in his excitement. He might have
allowed Sam to escape after frightening him thoroughly, as he had done
before, but fortunately his forbearance was not put to the test. Fear
infused new strength into the bully's arms, and he succeeded in running
under the wharf, where the skiff could not follow him.
During the remainder of the afternoon Bob had that part of the harbor
all to himself. Keeping his sail hoisted, he moved swiftly about in all
directions, picking up a passenger here and there, and all the while
watching the movements of Sam Barton, who hardly dared to stir from his
place of refuge. He was not idle, however, for, calling together some
of his friends, he tried to induce them to join him in an attack upon
the fisher-boy. They were all highly enraged, and there was not one
among them who would have been sorry to see Bob and his new boat sunk
out of sight in the waters of the harbor; but none of them could muster
up courage enough to make an assault upon him.
The little skiff moved with a rapidity that threatened instant
destruction to any thing that came in her path, and not wishing to have
their boats sent to the bottom, the ferry-boys all concluded that the
safest plan was to allow Bob a clear field. The latter did not fail to
make the most of his time. The neat appearance of his boat brought him
a goodly number of passengers, and when he counted his money that night
before going home, he found that he had earned just sixty cents.
He was well satisfied with the Go Ahead No. 2.
"You're all a pack of cowards!" said Sam to his companions, when he
saw the fisher-boy fill away for home, after taking the last passenger
across the harbor. "All cowards, every one of you! If you had obeyed
my orders, Bobby Jennings wouldn't now be settin' in that new boat of
his'n like he was lord an' master of all of us. A good duckin' in the
harbor would help him powerful, an' he must have it."
Bob having taken his departure, Sam was no longer obliged to remain
under the pier. He came out, looking very crest-fallen, and joined his
companions, who, as they sculled slowly toward home, talked over the
incidents of the afternoon, and debated upon the best plan to punish
the fisher-boy for what he had done.
Sam, almost too angry to speak, took no part in the conversation. His
desire to "get even" with the fisher-boy was now stronger than ever;
for not only had the latter, as he believed, made use of one of the
twenty dollar gold pieces to purchase his new boat, but he had actually
beaten the bully at his own game, and fully demonstrated his ability
to hold the harbor against the combined attacks of Sam and all his
friends. This did not look much like driving him out of Fishertown; on
the contrary, it appeared that if Bob chose to push matters, he could
hold every one of his enemies at bay.
"He wouldn't give me one of them gold pieces fur my skiff," said Sam
to himself. "He said he was too honest for that, but he has paid 'em
to somebody else fur that new boat of his'n, an' I won't stand no such
nonsense. I bet he'll be astonished when he gets up to-morrow morning."
If Sam had decided upon any thing new, he said nothing about it just
then. He kept behind his companions all the way, and when he arrived
at the beach he secured his yawl and went directly to his own home.
As soon as it grew dark, however, he began to bestir himself. He
walked about among the cabins, and presently collected four of his
friends--the only ones among the dozen boys in Fishertown who could
be trusted in every emergency--and after a few moments' whispered
consultation, they again separated. For a quarter of an hour Sam
strolled about, stopping now and then to say a few words to some of the
ferry-boys he chanced to meet, until, believing that his four followers
had been allowed ample time to obey his orders, he bent his steps
toward the spot where he had left his yawl. He was very cautions in his
movements--for he did not want every one about Fishertown to know what
was going on--and when he reached his boat he stepped into it, quickly
cast off the painter, and shoved away from the beach.
"Are you all there, fellers?" he asked, in a whisper.
"Yes," replied a voice from under the thwarts. "All here!"
Sam gave way on the oar, and in a few moments the boat entered the
harbor, and shaped its course toward Mr. Newcombe's warehouse. Several
vessels were lying alongside the pier, but Sam ran by them without
attracting the attention of any of the watch, and finally the yawl
disappeared among the spiles that supported the wharf. Here it was as
dark as midnight; but Sam, who seemed to understand what he was about,
pulled in his oar, and by pushing against the spiles, worked his way
along until the boat reached the extreme end of the wharf.
"Now then, Friday!" he whispered, "strike a light!"
The boy addressed crawled out from under the thwarts, and presently
the light of a small lantern flashed among the spiles. They were now
directly under the warehouse, which was built, not upon the ground, but
upon a pier that projected out into the harbor. It was supported by
timbers which had been driven into the mud, and so close together, that
there was hardly room for the yawl to go between them. The boat had
been run alongside of what appeared to be an abrupt bank, about four
feet high, and as soon as the lantern had been lighted, one of the boys
sprang ashore and made the painter fast to the timbers; while another
removed a board which had been placed close up under the pier, and
revealed a narrow opening which seemed to run back under the street.
"How is it. Jack?" asked Sam, in a whisper.
Jack took the lantern, thrust his head into the opening, and, after
a hurried survey of the interior, replied: "All right! Nobody's been
here!"
"Jump ashore, then," continued Sam. "Be lively, fur we don't want to
keep this light out here much longer. Somebody might be on the watch."
The crew of the yawl sprang out, and one by one squeezed themselves
through the opening; and Sam, who was the last one to enter, pulled the
board back to its place.