A CRUISE IN "THE SWALLOW."
"Look at Dabney Kinzer," said Jenny Walters to her mother, in church,
the next morning. "Did you ever see anybody's hair as smooth as that?"
Smooth it was, certainly; and he looked, all over, as if he had given
all the care in the world to his personal appearance. How was Annie
Foster to guess that he had gotten himself up so unusually on her
account? She did not guess it; but when she met him at the church-door,
after service, she was careful to address him as "Mr. Kinzer," and that
made poor Dabney blush to his very eyes.
"There!" he exclaimed: "I know it."
"Know what?" asked Annie.
"Know what you're thinking."
"Do you, indeed?"
"Yes: you think I'm like the crabs."
"What _do_ you mean?"
"You think I was green enough till you spoke to me, and now I'm boiled
red in the face."
Annie could not help laughing,--a little, quiet, Sunday-morning sort of
a laugh; but she was beginning to think her brother's friend was not a
bad specimen of a Long Island "country boy."
She briskly turned away the small remains of that conversation from
crabs and their color; but she told her mother, on their way home, she
was sure Dabney would be a capital associate for Ford.
That young gentleman was tremendously of the same opinion. He had come
home, the previous evening, from a long conference with Dab, brimful of
the proposed yachting cruise; and his father had freely given his
consent, much against the inclinations of Mrs. Foster.
"My dear," said the lawyer, "I feel sure a woman of Mrs. Kinzer's
unusual good sense would not permit her son to go out in that way if she
did not feel safe about him. He has been brought up to it, you know; and
so has the colored boy who is to go with them."
"Yes, mother," argued Ford: "there isn't half the danger there is in
driving around New York in a carriage."
"There might be a storm," she timidly suggested.
"The horses might run away."
"Or you might get upset."
"So might a carriage."
The end of it all was, however, that Ford was to go, and Annie was more
than half sorry she could not go with them. In fact, she said so to
Dabney himself, as soon as her little laugh was ended, that Sunday
morning.
"Some time or other I'd be glad to have you," replied Dab very politely,
"but not this trip."
"Why not?"
"We mean to go right across the bay, and try some fishing."
"Couldn't I fish?"
"Well, no, I don't think you could."
"Why couldn't I?"
"Because,--well, because, most likely, you'd be too sea-sick by the time
we got there."
Just then a low, clear voice, behind Dabney, quietly remarked, "How
smooth his hair is!"
Dab's face turned red again.
Annie Foster had heard it as distinctly as he had; and she walked right
away with her mother, for fear she should laugh again.
"It's my own hair, Jenny Walters," said Dab almost savagely, as he
turned around.
"I should hope it was."
"I should like to know what you go to church for, anyhow."
"To hear people talk about sailing and fishing. How much do you s'pose a
young lady like Miss Foster cares about small boys?"
"Or little girls, either? Not much; but Annie and I mean to have a good
sail before long."
"Annie and I!"
Jenny's pert little nose seemed to turn up more than ever, as she walked
away, for she had not beaten her old playfellow quite as badly as usual.
There were several sharp things on the very tip or her tongue, but she
was too much put out and vexed to try to say them just then.
Dab made the rest of his way home without any further haps or mishaps. A
sail on the bay was nothing so new or wonderful for him to look forward
to, and so that Sunday went by a good deal like all his other Sundays.
As for Ford Foster, on the contrary, his mind was in a stew and turmoil
all day. In fact, just after tea that evening, his father asked him,--
"What book is that you are reading, Ford?"
"Captain Cook's Voyages."
"And the other, in your lap?"
"Robinson Crusoe."
"Well, you might have worse books than they are, that's a fact, even for
Sunday, though you ought to have better; but which of them do you and
Dabney Kinzer mean to imitate to-morrow?"
"Crusoe!" promptly responded Ford.
"I see. And so you've got Dick Lee to go along as your man Friday."
"He's Dab's man, not mine."
"Oh! and you mean to be Crusoe number two? Well, don't get cast away on
any desolate island, that's all."
Ford slipped into the library, and put the books away. It had been
Samantha Kinzer's room, and had plenty of book-shelves, in addition to
the elegant "cases" Mr. Foster had brought from the city with him; for
Samantha was inclined to be of a literary turn of mind. All the cases
and shelves were full too; but not on any one of them was Ford Foster
able to discover a volume he cared to take out with him in place of
"Cook" or "Crusoe."
The next morning, within half an hour after breakfast, every member of
the two families was down at the landing, to see their young sailors
make their start; and they were all compelled to admit that Dab and Dick
seemed to know precisely what they were about.
As for Ford, that young gentleman was wise enough, with all those eyes
watching him, not to try any thing that he was not sure of; though he
carefully explained to Annie, "Dab is captain, you know. I'm under his
orders to-day."
Dick Lee was hardly the wisest fellow in the world, for he added
encouragingly,--
"And you's doin' tip-top, for a green hand, you is."
The wind was blowing right off shore, and did not seem to promise any
thing more than a smart breeze. It was easy enough to handle the little
craft in the inlet; and in a marvellously short time she was dancing out
upon the blue waves of the spreading "bay." It was a good deal more like
a land-locked "sound" than any sort of a bay, with that long, low,
narrow sand-island cutting it off from the ocean.
"I don't wonder Ham Morris called her the 'Swallow,'" said Ford. "How
she skims! Can you get in under the deck, there, forward? That's the
cabin."
"Yes, that's the cabin," replied Dab. "But Ham had the door put in with
a slide, water-tight. It's fitted with rubber. We can put our things in
there, but it's too small for any thing else."
"What's it made so tight for?"
"Oh! Ham says he's made his yacht a life-boat. Those places at the sides
and under the seats are all water-tight. She might capsize, but she'd
never sink. Don't you see?"
"I see. How it blows!"
"It's a little fresh, now we are getting away from under the land. How'd
you like to be wrecked?"
"Good fun," said Ford. "I got wrecked on the cars the first time I came
over here."
"On the cars?"
"Why, yes. I forgot to tell you about that."
Then followed a very vivid and graphic account of the sad fate of the
pig and the locomotive. The wonder was, how Ford should have failed to
give Dab that story before. No such failure would have been possible if
his head and tongue had not been so wonderfully busy about so many other
things, ever since his arrival.
"I'm glad it was I instead of Annie," he said at length.
"Of course. Didn't you tell me she came through all alone?"
"Yes; and she didn't like it much, either. Travelled all night. She ran
away from those cousins of mine. Oh, but won't I pay them off when I get
to Grantley!"
"Where's that? What did they do?"
"The Swallow" was flying along nicely now, with Dab at the tiller, and
Dick Lee tending sail; and Dab could listen with all his ears to Ford's
account of his sister's tribulations, and the merciless "practical
jokes" of the Hart boys.
"Ain't they older and bigger than you?" asked Dabney, as Ford closed his
recital. "What can you do with two of them?"
"They can't box worth a cent, and I can. Anyhow, I mean to teach them
better manners."
"You can box?"
"Had a splendid teacher. Put me up to all sorts of things."
"Will you show me how, when we get back?"
"We can practise all we choose. I've two pair of gloves."
"Hurrah for that! Ease her, Dick. It's blowing pretty fresh. We'll have
a tough time tacking home against such a breeze as this. Maybe it'll
change before night."
"Capt'in Dab," calmly remarked Dick, "we's on'y a mile to run."
"Well, what of it?"
"Is you goin' fo' de inlet?"
"Of course. What else can we do? That's what we started for."
"Looks kind o' dirty, dat's all."
So far as Ford could see, both the sky and the water looked clean
enough; but Dick was entirely right about the weather. In fact, if
Captain Dabney Kinzer had been a more experienced and prudent seaman, he
would have kept "The Swallow" inside the bar that day, at any risk of
Ford Foster's good opinion. As it was, even Dick Lee's keen eyes hardly
comprehended how threatening was the foggy haze that was lying low on
the water, miles and miles away to seaward.
It was magnificently exciting fun, at all events; and "The Swallow"
fully merited all that had been said in her favor. The "mile to run" was
a very short one, and it seemed to Ford Foster that the end of it would
bring them up high and dry on the sandy beach of the island.
The narrow "strait" of the inlet between the bay and the ocean was
hardly visible at any considerable distance. It opened to view, however,
as they drew near; and Dab Kinzer rose higher than ever in his friend's
good opinion, as the swift little vessel he was steering shot unerringly
into the contracted channel.
"Ain't we pretty near where you said we were to try for some fish?" he
asked.
"Just outside there. Get the grapnel ready, Dick. Sharp, now!"
Sharp it was, and Ford himself lent a hand; and, in another moment, the
white sails went down, jib and main; "The Swallow" was drifting along
under bare poles, and Dick Lee and Ford were waiting the captain's
orders to let go the neat little anchor.
"Heave!"
Over went the iron, the hawser followed briskly.
"That'll do, Dick: hold her!"
Dick gave the rope a skilful turn around its "pin," and Dab shouted,--
"Now for some weak-fish! It's about three fathoms, and the tide's near
the turn."
Alas for the uncertainty of human calculations! The grapnel caught on
the bottom, surely and firmly; but, the moment there came any strain on
the seemingly stout hawser that held it, the latter parted like a
thread, and "The Swallow" was all adrift!
"Somebody's done gone cut dat rope!" shouted Dick, as he frantically
pulled in the treacherous bit of hemp.
There was an anxious look on Dab Kinzer's face for a moment. Then he
shouted,--
"Sharp, now, boys, or we'll be rolling in the surf in three minutes!
Haul away, Dick! Haul with him, Ford! Up with her! There, that'll give
us headway."
Ford Foster looked out to seaward, even while he was hauling his best
upon the sail halyards. All along the line of the coast, at distances
varying from a hundred yards or so to nearly a mile, there was an
irregular line of foaming breakers--an awful thing for a boat like "The
Swallow" to run into!
Perhaps; but ten times worse for a larger craft, for the latter would be
shattered on the shoals, where the bit of a yacht would find plenty of
water under her; that is, if she did not, at the same time, find too
much water _over_ her.
"Can't we go back through the inlet in the bar?" asked Ford.
"Not with this wind in our teeth, and it's getting worse every minute.
No more will it do to try to keep inside the surf."
"What can we do, then?"
"Take the smoothest places we can find, and run 'em. The sea isn't very
rough outside. It's our only chance."
Poor Ford Foster's heart sank within him, as he listened, and as he
gazed ahead upon the long white line of foaming surf and tossing
breakers. He saw, however, a look of heroic resolution rising in
"Captain Kinzer's" face, and it gave him courage to turn his eyes again
towards the surf.
"The Swallow" was now once more moving in a way to justify her name;
and, although Ford was no sailor, he could see that her only chance to
penetrate that perilous barrier of broken water was to "take it nose
on," as Dick Lee expressed it.
That was clearly the thing Dab Kinzer intended to do. There were places
of comparative smoothness, here and there, in the tossing and plunging
line; but they were bad enough, at the best, and they would have been a
good deal worse but for that stiff breeze blowing off shore.
"Now for it!" shouted Dab, as "The Swallow" bounded on.
"Dar dey come!" said Dick.
Ford thought of his mother, and sister, and father; but he had not a
word to say, and hardly felt like breathing.
Bows foremost, full sail, rising like a cork on the long, strong
billows, which would have rolled her over and over if she had not been
handled so skilfully as she really was; once or twice pitching
dangerously in short, chopping seas, and shipping water enough to wet
her brave young mariners to the skin, and call for vigorous baling
afterwards,--"The Swallow" battled gallantly with her danger for a few
moments; and then Dab Kinzer swung his hat, and shouted,--
"Hurrah, boys! We're out at sea!"
"Dat's so," said Dick.
"So it is," remarked Ford, a little gloomily; "but how on earth will we
ever get ashore again? We can't go back through that surf."
"Well," replied Dab, "if it doesn't come on to blow too hard, we'll run
right on down the coast. If the wind lulled, or whopped around a little,
we'd find our way in, easy enough, long before night. We might have a
tough time beating home across the bay, even if we were inside the bar,
now. Anyhow, we're safe enough out here."
Ford could hardly feel that very strongly, but he was determined not to
let Dab see it; and he made an effort at the calmness of a Mohawk, as he
said, "How about fishing?"
"Guess we won't bother 'em much, but you might go for a bluefish.
Sometimes they have great luck with them, right along here."