THE LAUNCHING OF THE BOAT
“You shall be my mate, Arthur,” said Kenneth, who from that time his
friends were apt to call Cap. “You spoke first, but to show that
there is no partiality, Frank shall be navigator and Clyde
chief-quartermaster.”
“No, I’d rather be the crew,” Frank protested; “that would be more
exclusive and less responsible.”
“I’ll vote to be cook: then I’ll have you all in my power,” and Clyde
pointed exultingly at the other three.
“Well, none of you can be anything for a good while yet. Come and look
at the boat.” All four started toward the shop. “I tell you what, you
can all be ship-carpenters, shipwrights, riggers, fitters, caulkers, and
generally hard hustlers for a couple of months before we graduate to our
high positions,” and Ransom led on to their “Argo.”
After going over the plans of the boat together, and talking of all the
pleasures and dangers in prospect, the four separated; Frank, Arthur,
and Clyde going to tell their people and ask their permission to join
the expedition, an ordeal which they dreaded with all their hearts.
Kenneth lingered a while to think over the happy outcome of his
afternoon’s talk, and to plan anew his building, for from now on he had
efficient assistants. He felt for the first time that his would be a
great responsibility; for if anything happened to any of his friends he
would be to blame.
The thoughtful mood soon wore off, however, and when he locked up the
shop, and went into the house, he was radiant with pleasure.
“Father! Arthur, Clyde, and Frank said that they would go with me.”
Kenneth burst into the room with his news.
“That’s good,” was his father’s reply. “If the Morrows and Chauvets will
let their sons go, that is, of course——”
“But you will speak a good word for me, won’t you, father?” Kenneth
smiled at him confidently.
“Ye-e-es, if you think _you_ must go.” The elder Ransom looked at his
son rather sadly.
“Why, of course. I thought that it was all settled. Is anything the
matter? What is it?” Kenneth was excited and worried; the possibility of
a final refusal from his father had never occurred to him.
“Wait a minute, son.” Mr. Ransom pulled his boy down on the arm of his
big leather easy chair. “The fact is, your mother and I have been
talking over this projected cruise of yours, and—though you may not
realize it—it is hard for us to have you, our youngest and last, go away
upon so long and dangerous a trip.” He stopped for a moment and looked
into the boy’s fast saddening face. “We promised that you should go, and
go you shall, if you insist, but you are pretty young to undertake such
a journey, and your mother and I thought that you might give it up for a
while. We knew that you would be disappointed”—the father held up his
hand to check the words which were just ready to pour out of the boy’s
mouth—“and so we thought that we would try to make it up to you in some
other way. If you will be willing to give up your project for a while,
at least, your mother and I have decided to deed over this house and
place to you, and your assigns, forever,” and he smiled at the legal
phrase.
“Give me the house and grounds if I don’t go? Father, what can I say? I
thank you awfully, but I would like to think it over a bit before I
answer. It is rather sudden.” The boy grabbed his father’s hand, and
then went upstairs to his own room.
He was touched, and very grateful, but grievously disappointed. He had
set his heart on the trip, had persuaded his friends to go with him, and
now he must give it all up. What seemed hardest of all, was that he
would have to tell his companions that the whole thing was off. The
photographs of boats that lined the walls of the room, and the plan of
his own boat, laid out on the table, seemed a mockery to him. “Well, I
won’t take the house any way,” he said to himself. “If they want me to
stay as badly as that, I won’t go, of course; but——”
A minute or two later he came into the room where his father and mother
were sitting reading.
“I’ll stay,” he said, standing before them. “I didn’t know you wanted me
to, so much; but I can’t take the house; I don’t want to be paid to
stay—but you’re terribly good to me.”
It was hard to give up gracefully, and he dropped rather dejectedly into
a chair.
“By George, mother!” Mr. Ransom said to his wife, “that boy is the right
sort, and I think that we ought not to spoil his chance. I vote we let
him go.”
Kenneth looked eagerly at his mother. She said nothing, but he read
plainly in her face that though she feared to let him take the voyage,
she would not refuse his wish.
He could not say a word; but he had to go out, unlock the door of his
shop, and tell his boat confidentially what bricks his father and mother
were. He just _had_ to tell something.
The next morning the other three boys came with long faces and
disgruntled tempers. Their parents, one and all, were against the trip,
and declared that Kenneth’s father and mother were crazy to let him go
on such a journey.
Kenneth said nothing of his experience of the night before, but felt
absolutely sure now of his parents’ backing and encouragement.
“Don’t you give up like that, fellows,” he said cheerfully, slapping his
mate-to-be on his shoulder, to stir him up. “If you don’t have
confidence yourself, how can you expect other people to believe in you
and the success of the trip?”
“But—” began Frank.
“Bear a hand with this stick, will you?” Kenneth interrupted.
“Arthur, open that trap at the end of the steam-box, please. That’s
it—in she goes!” With a will, Frank and Kenneth pushed the long plank
into the box.
“A few more of those, and the body of the boat will be complete. But
there’s a lot more to be done, and we’ve got to keep at it.” Ransom
stopped, went to a far corner, and poked among some old boards; he
finally picked out one, and showed it to the boys.
“I move that we make this our motto. All those in favor will signify as
much by saying ‘aye.’”
Four “aye’s” rang out vigorously.
“Contrary minded will signify by saying ‘no.’
“It is moved and carried, that this shall be our motto, and we’ll nail
our colors to the—the—woodshed.”
“Hear! Hear!” laughed the three at the end of Ken’s speech; but when he
nailed up the board bearing this motto in clear letters:
KEEPING EVERLASTINGLY AT IT
BRINGS SUCCESS,
there was a cheer that cleared the air amazingly, and chased away the
gloom that had bid fair to settle over the company.
“I believe that my father will be able to convince your people that our
trip is feasible,” said Kenneth from his place on top of a ladder.
“Anyhow, let’s get to work. For ‘keeping everlastingly at it brings
success.’” Soon all the noises the young shipbuilders made seemed to
voice that motto.
It was a long time before the three got permission to go, but their
evident determination, and their continual “keeping at it,” aided by Mr.
Ransom’s support, finally brought success. All this time the four worked
like beavers. The planking was completed, the cabin laid out and built,
the deck laid, and the cockpit floored.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Kenneth exclaimed one day. “I never
thought—how are we going to get her down to the water?”
Immediately the noise of hammer and saw, the dull clap of wood, and the
sharp ring of iron ceased, and all four stood open-mouthed, speechless.
“Why, it’s a good three-quarters of a mile to the nearest water,” gasped
Frank.
“And think of that hill down to the ravine between,” added Clyde.
“She must weigh three tons,” wailed Arthur.
“Oh, I guess Johnson, the house mover, will do it,” Kenneth suggested.
“Let’s go and see him.” But Johnson wanted a prohibitive price for
moving the boat to the launching ways, so the crew decided to tackle the
job themselves.
Then the trouble began. The sides of the shop had to come down to allow
the yawl to be moved out, and a truck had to be built that would safely
bear the great weight.
Despite all, however, the boat was finally loaded, and under the eyes of
all the townspeople who could get away from their work, the first stage
of their journey began.
All went well for a time. A sturdy team was hitched to the wheeled
truck, and the progress over the first part of the smooth, level road
was easy. Passers-by were apt to quote passages about “sailing the
raging meadows,” and about young tars who preferred to do their sailing
ashore. But Ransom and his friends were good-natured and too busy to
heed anything but the overland trip of their precious craft.
When the brink of the hill leading down to the ravine was reached, the
team was stopped and a consultation was held. The slope was almost
thirty degrees, and a bridge at the bottom had to be passed slowly, or
the great weight might go through the planking.
“Make her fast to that tree,” suggested Arthur, “with a block and fall,
and pay out gradually till she gets to the bottom; then reverse the
operation and make fast in front, hitch the team to the line and haul
up.”
“Great head, Art! We’ll do it.” And Ken started back to the shop for the
block and fall.
The road curved just before descending to the ravine, and a big tree
grew in the bend. A line made fast to it would lead straight down. It
was most advantageously placed. A sling was put around the tree, and
another was run about the boat herself just below the rail. To each of
these a block was attached. The captain went over each rope carefully to
see that all was right, tight, and strong. Frank drove the horses, which
were to back with all their might; Clyde watched the boat herself; while
Kenneth and Arthur tended the line, and stood prepared to pay out
slowly.
“Let her go; slowly now, e-e-e-asy!” yelled Ransom to Frank with the
team.
Kenneth and Arthur took in the slack, and braced against the strain. The
horses began to move slowly and the truck slid gradually over the crest
of the hill; the line tightened and the blocks clucked sleepily under
the strain.
“Go e-e-e-asy!” yelled Ransom.
The truck was going faster; he and Arthur could hardly hold it back.
“Easy there; pull up, Frank.” The horses were straining back with all
their might, but the weight of the boat was pushing them on faster than
they wanted to go.
“Stop, Frank! She’s running away!”
But there was no stopping her from before—the horses were fairly off
their feet. The running line was beginning to burn Kenneth’s and
Arthur’s hands. She was running away, sure enough, and to certain
destruction if she was not stopped at once.
Frank’s face was pale and anxious as he shouted and strained back on the
reins, trying to stop his team; Clyde, utterly impotent, ran from side
to side, looking in vain for a stick or log with which to check the
wheels. Kenneth and Arthur clung desperately to the line, which, in
spite of all, they could not control.
The speed of the boat was certainly growing faster and faster every
second. The work of months and the means of a glorious trip was going to
destruction.
“Here, Arthur, quick! I’ll try to hold, while you take a double turn
round that other tree—quick—quick!” cried Kenneth, his anxiety almost
taking away his voice for the moment.
Arthur turned to obey. “Quick—for the love of Moses, quick!”
Just in time, Arthur got the turns round the tree, for Kenneth could not
stand the strain on his hands longer and he dropped the rope. His weight
off the restraining line, the truck almost pushed the horses over on
their heads. But the slack was taken up in a minute, and though the line
creaked ominously under the strain, and stood as taut as a harp string,
it held; the truck slackened speed.
“Kick me round the block, will you, Arthur, for a chump,” Ransom said as
he came up to his friend, bandaging his blistered hands with his
handkerchief as he spoke. “To let a weight like that go without taking a
turn, was about the most foolish thing that I ever did. Let her go,
easy, now.”
The other three boys said nothing for a while, but when the bottom of
the hill was reached all were rather limp.
To drag the boat out of the valley was about as difficult as letting her
down into it, and it consumed the balance of the daylight. The close of
the second day saw the boat resting on the launching ways, and the boys
were triumphant.
“If the rest of our journey is as slow as this,” Arthur remarked as he
put on his coat to go home, “we’ll be ancient mariners before we cover
the 6,000 miles.”
The following day the boat was launched, and as she nodded her
acknowledgments to the pretty girl who had just named her “Gazelle,” it
was evident to all that the title fitted her like the coat of white
paint that glistened on her sides.
The hearts of Captain Kenneth and his friends glowed within them when
they saw the boat at which they had labored so steadily floating in her
natural element as gracefully and daintily as if she had been born in
it.
When their friends had gone, the four sat in the cosey cabin and
congratulated each other by looks and handclasps rather than words. They
felt that they were fairly started, now that their craft was afloat; but
it was two good long months before she was ready to take her trial trip;
and two weeks beyond that before all was ready to start in earnest.
Rigging and final finishing took much time, and the placing of the
necessary stores seemed an endless job.
“Well, boys,” Ransom said, as the other three came aboard on the morning
of October 27, 1898, “this is the day that we say good-by to old St.
Joe.”
“Grab my bag, will you, Ken?” came by way of answer from Arthur. “Look
out! If you dump the buttons from my sewing kit, I’ll have your heart’s
blood.”
[Illustration: “...THE BOAT WAS LAUNCHED.”]
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be careful enough,” was Ransom’s answer. “I’ll
have occasion to borrow before long.”
And so they laughed and chatted, and put on a brave front in order to
conceal the slight uneasiness that lingered persistently in the
background of all their thoughts.
It was three o’clock before complete arrangements were made, and all
hands were right glad that there was so much to do. Home was
inexpressibly dear to those four boys, and though they looked forward to
their trip with real enthusiasm, when the parting really came they found
it a good deal of a wrench.
The wind was coming out of the north in a business-like way, and the sea
it banked up was not of the sort to tempt the fair-weather sailor.
“All ready, boys?” sang out Captain Ransom from his place at the tiller.
“All ready!” was the answer.
“Arthur, stand by to tend the jib sheet; Frank, stand at the halliards;
Clyde, go forward, yank up the mud-hook and cat it. I’ll tend the
mizzen.”
The boys jumped to do his bidding. The windlass creaked and the yawl
began to eat up the anchor cable.
“She’s broke!” came the cry from forward as the anchor gave up its last
hold on Michigan soil for many a long day.
“Haul up your jib, Clyde. Now, Arthur, in with your sheet.” Ransom at
the same time hauled in the mizzen a little, and shifted the helm.
The boat gathered headway slowly, then gained in speed till she was
bounding over the rollers bravely.
“We are under way at last,” Ransom half sighed; but the sigh changed to
a thrill of pure delight as he felt his boat slipping along under him;
felt her answer to his touch on the tiller, as an intelligent horse
responds to the hand on his bridle-rein.
The graceful craft heeled over to the freshening breeze till she showed
a little of the dark green of her underbody. The way she moved along
surprised and delighted the people on shore almost as much as it did her
captain and crew.
Out from the shelter of the river’s headland she flew to the lake
itself, which still heaved a reminder of the terrific storm of a few
days ago.
A line of handkerchiefs waved from the bluff, and here and there a vivid
bit of color showed a private signal that told of some special watcher.
It was these signals that the boys looked for with particular eagerness
and answered with frantic zeal. They told of loving and anxious
hearts—anxious, but proud of boys who had the courage to undertake such
a journey.
The “Gazelle” sped on until she came abreast of the life-saving station
on the end of the long pier. The station’s cannon boomed out its hail of
God-speed and good luck, and the boys lowered the ensign from the peak
three times in answer. It was the last audible message. Minute by
minute, the shore grew dimmer and dimmer; the handkerchief signals
faded; even the brave bits of color steadfastly waving were lost to
view.
The “Gazelle” and her crew were at last outward bound.