THE “FEARLESS”
Leaving the motor car at a garage, the boys made their way to the
harbor. Down by the river they found a great deal to attract their
attention. Factories with tall chimneys sent columns of smoke whirling
upward; schooners, barges and a number of smaller craft were moored
along the stream; and these, together with picturesque buildings, big
lumber sheds or great pilings presented so many pleasing combinations
to the eye that the artistic soul of Dave was enraptured.
The smell of fresh water was in the air, and along with it came a faint
odor of things belonging to shipping. The gurgle and splash of lapping
waves and the creaking of boats vainly tugging at their moorings formed
a steady accompaniment to the occasional puffing of passing tugs or the
hoarse blasts of whistles.
Close alongside a big lumber schooner the boys, who had taken turns in
carrying Victor’s heavy luggage, finally discovered the motor yacht
“Fearless.”
A big, burly man busy at some work on the wharf looked up as they
approached.
Captain Ralph Bunderley had been successively the master of a barge, a
coastwise schooner and a windjammer on the Atlantic. Having been left
a comfortable fortune by a relative, he finally retired from the sea,
but, feeling that to get away from the sight of land occasionally was
as necessary to him as water to a fish, he had built a motor yacht some
sixty feet in length designed for speed, as well as to withstand the
rough weather on the lake.
Victor, still in a surly mood, felt considerably embarrassed, for Uncle
Ralph, attired in a suit of faded blue overalls and a greasy cap, gave
more the impression of being a man out of a job than one of the richest
citizens in the community.
The boy glanced slyly around to see if any of his companions were
wearing suspicious grins, but, to his relief, they were too busily
engaged in inspecting the graceful lines of the motor yacht to pay
attention to the captain’s appearance.
Uncle Ralph cordially shook hands. His bluff, hearty way caught the
fancy of the crowd, and before long they were talking together like old
acquaintances.
“There is certainly a lot of class to that cruiser, captain!” exclaimed
Tom, in his gruff tones, “and I’ll bet it can go some, too.”
“Over twenty miles an hour,” answered Uncle Ralph, smilingly. “We’ll go
aboard now.” He raised his voice. “Hey, you Phil Malone!”
Like a jack-in-the-box, a face popped quickly to one of the cabin
port-holes.
“That’s Phil,” explained the captain. “My first mate, I call him--a
bashful young chap, especially among strangers. Consider yourselves
introduced.”
The boys heard a few mumbling words. Then the face disappeared.
The “Fearless,” a raised deck cruiser with a rakish bow, painted a
creamy white, and relieved here and there by touches of blue and gold,
made a striking appearance against the background of restless water.
Like a racer impatient for the start she strained and tugged at her
cables, occasionally rolling slightly as heavier onslaughts of choppy
waves gurgled and splashed against her hull.
Before the crowd could set foot on deck Phil Malone appeared. He was
tall and angular, with red hair, a long, gaunt face and deep-set
eyes. He looked at his visitors with such a comical expression of
astonishment that Victor, forgetting his ill-humor for the moment,
burst into a hearty laugh.
“You never expected to see a bunch of Indians like this, hey, Phil?” he
asked.
“Naw--I--I sure didn’t,” agreed Phil, as he diffidently backed away.
“Here now, don’t you run off. Give us a song.”
“Let Phil alone,” commanded Uncle Ralph. “Singing isn’t his forte. He’s
better at polishing brass.”
“Clifton has an awful lot that needs attention,” mumbled Victor.
“Oh, I say, fellows, this isn’t seeing the yacht,” broke in Bob.
“Let the inspection begin at once,” returned Captain Bunderley, with a
smile.
They followed him to the companionway and then down into the dining
saloon.
Standing in the cozy interior the boys with the exception of Victor
voiced their enthusiasm in words that brought forth chuckles of
satisfaction from the old salt’s lips.
Never did woodwork, or door-knobs, or furnishings appear more
spotlessly clean than those revealed by the cold gray rays streaming
through the open port-holes.
“These,” remarked Captain Bunderley--he indicated the ports--“are
provided with heavy plate glass and can be so locked as to make them
practically water-tight. With ordinary windows, after a heavy sea has
been pounding against the boat for several hours, the cabin would
probably be in a mess.” Walking across the floor, he opened a door.
“Let me introduce you to the engine room and galley.”
“Phil’s the galley-slave,” confided Victor, in a loud whisper.
“Who’s the engineer, captain?” asked Bob.
“Jack Stubbs, a sailor I had with me on many a sea voyage. Martin Ricks
is the helmsman.”
“Now, uncle, please show the bunch your stateroom,” put in Victor.
The captain led them to a passageway abaft the engine room, presently
stepping into a compartment finished in enamel white.
“This is enough to make even me feel like becoming a skipper,”
commented Dave.
“If only it weren’t so dreadfully dangerous,” ventured Charlie Blake.
“Certainly would be with him as skipper,” piped Victor.
Out in the open air again the crowd found an awning extending from
the stern to a point where the raised deck began. Dave expressed the
opinion that it must be very delightful to sit there on a pleasant day,
with the water sparkling in the sunlight and a gentle breeze sighing
past.
“I guess some howling blasts would make you the sigher, instead,”
laughed Victor.
“Say, Bob!”
Tom Clifton’s voice cut sharply into the conversation.
“Let’s hear it, Tom.”
“I’ve been thinking about that ball nine of ours. Kirk Talbot had an
awful nerve to----”
“Ha, ha!” grinned Victor. “Can’t you get that off your mind, Clifton?”
Tom tossed his head.
“I don’t want to,” he snapped. “Besides, I’ve got an idea, and a mighty
good one. I’ll tell you all about it to-night.”
“Don’t hurry yourself. We can wait.” Victor nudged Charlie sharply in
the ribs. “Say, Blakelets, don’t you wish you were going along with us
on the ‘Fearless’ to-morrow?”
Charlie was one of those lads who possess a certain ill-defined dread
of the water. At almost every roll of the deck rather shivery feelings
coursed along his spine.
“Gracious! I don’t see why in the world Victor wants to go to Milwaukee
by boat,” he thought, nervously. He took a long, earnest look at the
sky, then exclaimed, with considerable emphasis:
“No, Vic, I most certainly do not!”