THE WHALEBACK
Captain Ralph Bunderley was, frankly, glad to see the visitors again.
“Come right on board, lads,” he called from his position on the deck.
“Where is Victor? Gone off on a jaunt with that stout boy, eh? Oh,
well, it’s all right. He has lots of time to enjoy himself before we
leave.”
Uncle Ralph had a great deal to talk about. His exciting sea tales
found attentive listeners, and the captain seemed equally interested in
hearing about some of the adventures of the Rambler Club.
“Sorry I can’t tell you a thriller with a trip on a motor yacht as the
subject,” laughed Bob.
For an instant Uncle Ralph made no reply. Then he said, slowly:
“Come down in the cabin, boys. I have a few things you may enjoy
looking over.”
On reaching the saloon the captain walked to a bookcase, opened it and
brought out a large album.
“My own snap-shots,” he explained, with a touch of pride.
“Some dandy views here,” said Bob, turning the leaves. “What! Are you
going to leave us already, captain?”
“Just a few minutes, Bob. When you get through you’ll find another
volume on the shelf.”
Bob and Charlie soon became so deeply absorbed in their pleasant task
of following the captain on some of his foreign voyages by the aid of
pictures that various sounds of activity in the engine room, besides
numerous noises on deck, failed to make more than a vague impression on
their minds.
The sudden starting of a gasoline motor, together with an unmistakable
gliding movement on the part of the “Fearless,” however, caused both to
look up with exclamations of surprise.
“Great Scott!” cried Bob.
“Oh, sugar!” exclaimed Charlie, nervously. “What on earth does this
mean, I wonder?”
“That we’re leaving it yards behind us, I suppose,” chuckled Bob.
“Hello, captain; giving us a surprise, eh?”
Uncle Ralph was coming down the companionway.
“I thought you boys might like to see a motor yacht in action,” he
laughed. “Bob, in your future accounts of adventures, you may add a
description of a short trip on Lake Michigan.”
“On Lake Michigan?” gasped Charlie.
His face flushed slightly. Naturally he did not wish to be thought
lacking in courage, but the prospect certainly failed to arouse his
enthusiasm.
“That’ll be perfectly great!” cried Bob. “Thanks, captain. We’ll enjoy
it immensely.”
“How about the time, though?” asked Blake, rather weakly.
“Don’t worry about that,” answered Uncle Ralph, “but come up on deck.”
As they sat beneath the awning a constantly changing scene of
factories, of various craft, and those picturesque jumbles of buildings
which are so often seen along water-fronts, passed before their eyes.
While the “Fearless” cut swiftly through the gray, choppy water,
churning it into creamy foam, and the wind tore past in heavy gusts
Blake’s peace of mind didn’t improve. Presently he rose to his feet.
“Guess I’ll stroll around a bit,” he remarked.
“All right, Charlie,” said Bob.
The senior at the Kingswood High soon observed Phil Malone
industriously polishing a brass rail at the bow. Phil’s manner as he
approached strongly suggested that of a hare taken by surprise.
“Hello, Phil!” greeted Charlie, pleasantly.
The “first mate,” without stopping work, grunted a monosyllable in
reply.
“How’s the world treating you?”
Phil’s views on the subject seemed to be rather indefinite. Blake
understood, however, that he had no general complaint to make.
“Say, Phil, we’re bound for the lake. Rather dangerous out there at
times, I suppose?”
Charlie tried to speak in a very careless tone indeed.
“Yep--awful,” answered Phil, not very reassuringly, as he kept on
polishing.
“But, of course, in weather like this it’s all safe enough, eh?”
“A feller ain’t never safe on the water,” commented Phil, with amazing
volubility, for him.
“I suppose you have plenty of life preservers on board?” said Charlie,
with a forced grin.
Phil thought they had.
“Well, I hope we shan’t need ’em.”
“Can’t never tell,” mumbled the “first mate,” giving an obstinate place
on the brass an extra hard rub.
“Ever been in any tight fixes, Phil?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
“On the lake.”
“In what boat?”
“This un.”
The conversation was not taking the cheery turn for which Charlie had
hoped.
“I guess I’ll get back, Phil,” he remarked, turning away.
“Not the slightest objection,” came from Phil.
In fifteen minutes the “Fearless” was racing through the turbulent
water of the lake. Battery after battery of surging waves swept
against the hull, often sending showers of shining drops spattering
over the deck.
Gripped by the full force of wind and wave the motor yacht began to
careen. Each instant Charlie Blake could see the city of Kenosha
becoming more and more obscured behind the dull gray atmosphere.
“I call this perfectly stunning--one of the greatest of sports!” cried
Bob.
“Certainly wish I was out of it,” murmured Charlie, steadying himself
by the rail.
“We’ll soon leave that schooner yonder far astern, Bob,” he heard
Captain Bunderley say.
Bob Somers raised a pair of marine glasses, which the skipper
handed him, to his eyes. The vessel was apparently swept across the
intervening space with lightning speed. He saw her spread of canvas
bellying out in the wind, dingy masses of white slowly moving forth
and back against the sky. The instrument shifted from point to point
brought into view a network of rigging, spars, cabins, several sailors
lounging near the forepeak and the line of water breaking crisply
against the length of her hull.
[Illustration: “STEAMER COMING,” HE ANNOUNCED]
“She’s plowing along bravely,” said Bob, bracing himself to resist the
wind. “Hello!” Swinging the glass toward the faint line of the horizon,
he had suddenly picked out from the gloom a thin wisp of smoke.
“Steamer coming,” he announced.
“Very probably a whaleback bound for Chicago,” explained Uncle Ralph.
He smiled quizzically. “A cat may look at the king, they say, so we’ll
make an inspection of the monster at close range. Then we can race her
back to Kenosha. Is she in range yet, Bob?”
“Yes, sir; and looks like a whopper to me. I can see that the sides of
the hull are curved over at the top, which means it’s a whaleback, all
right.”
The skipper shouted several directions to the helmsman. Martin Ricks
thereupon changed the course of the “Fearless,” heading her directly
toward the steamer, now distinctly visible to the naked eye.
The long stretch of water which separated them was being cut down with
remarkable rapidity. Bob Somers, his eye to the glass, saw the three
decks of the big white steamer crowded with passengers. Moving swiftly
through the turbulent water, apparently unaffected by the continual
onslaughts of wind and waves, she presented a majestic appearance.
The powerful glass brought every detail into view with extraordinary
clearness. As Bob slowly swept the craft from stem to stern it seemed
as though she was but a few yards distant. For an instant his gaze
rested on the pilot house; then he lowered the glass, giving him the
range of the upper deck.
A man leaning over the rail near the forward end, with a megaphone in
his hand and surrounded by a group, immediately attracted Bob Somers’
attention. Their faces, sharply revealed in the circle of light, were
all turned toward the motor yacht with an interest which seemed to him
unusual.
“Looks as though the man is going to hail us,” he murmured.
He removed the glass, and, instantly, the whaleback seemed to be shot
far back on the waste of water.
When the two craft were within a short distance of each other, Captain
Bunderley, considerably surprised to notice that the steamer had
stopped her screw, gave orders to shut off power.
“The ‘Fearless’ ahoy!” yelled a voice through the megaphone.
“That’s Captain Phillips,” declared Skipper Bunderley. “A good friend
of mine, too. He wouldn’t stop out here unless he had something
important to say.” He raised his voice in a sonorous yell. “What’s
that, Phillips?”
“I want to ask if you can do me a great favor?” came from the captain
of the whaleback.