SPLENDID FISHING, AND A BIG FOG.
There is no telling how many anxious people there may have been in that
region that night, a little after supper; but there was no doubt of the
state of mind in at least three family circles.
Good Mrs. Foster could not endure to stay at home and talk about the
matter; and her husband and Annie were very willing to go over to the
Kinzers' with her, and listen to the encouraging views of Dabney's
stout-hearted and sensible mother.
They were welcomed heartily; and the conversation began, so to speak,
right in the middle.
"Oh, Mrs. Kinzer! do you think they are in any danger?"
"I hope not. I don't see why there need be, unless they try to return
across the bay against this wind."
"But don't you think they'll try? Do you mean they won't be home
to-night?" exclaimed Mr. Foster himself.
"I sincerely hope not," said the widow calmly. "I should hardly feel
like trusting Dabney out in the boat again, if he should do so foolish a
thing."
"But where can he stay?"
"At anchor somewhere, or on the island; almost anywhere but tacking all
night on the bay. He'd be really safer out at sea than trying to get
home."
"Out at sea!"
There was something really dreadful in the very idea of it; and Annie
Foster turned pale enough when she thought of the gay little yacht, and
her brother out on the broad Atlantic in it, with no better crew than
Dab Kinzer and Dick Lee. Samantha and her sisters were hardly as steady
about it as their mother; but they were careful to conceal their
misgivings from their neighbors, which was very kindly indeed in the
circumstances.
There was little use in trying to think or talk of any thing else beside
the boys, however, with the sound of the "high wind" in the trees out by
the roadside; and a very anxious circle was that, up to the late hour at
which the members of it separated for the night.
But there were other troubled hearts in that vicinity. Old Bill Lee
himself had been out fishing all day, with very poor luck; but he forgot
all about that, when he learned, on reaching the shore, that Dick and
his white friends had not returned. He even pulled back to the mouth of
the inlet, to see if the gathering darkness would give him any signs of
his boy. He did not know it; but while he was gone Dick's mother, after
discussing her anxieties with some of her dark-skinned neighbors, half
weepingly unlocked her one "clothes-press," and took out the suit which
had been the pride of her absent son. She had never admired them half so
much before, but they seemed now to need a red necktie to set them off;
and so the gorgeous result of Dick's fishing and trading came out of its
hiding-place, and was arranged on the white coverlet of her own bed,
with the rest of his best garments.
"Jus' de t'ing for a handsome young feller like Dick," she muttered to
herself.
"Wot for'd an ole woman like me want to put on any sech fool finery?
He's de bestest boy in de worl', he is. Dat is, onless dar ain't not'in'
happened to 'im."
Her husband brought her home no news when he came, and Dick's good
qualities were likely to be seen in a strong light for a while longer.
But if the folk on shore were uneasy about "The Swallow" and her crew,
how was it with the latter themselves, as the darkness closed around
them, out there upon the tossing water?
Very cool and self-possessed indeed had been Captain Dab Kinzer; and he
had encouraged the others to go on with their blue-fishing, even when it
was pretty tough work to keep "The Swallow" from "scudding" at once
before the wind. He was anxious, also, not to get too far from shore;
for there was no telling what sort of weather might be coming. It was
curious, moreover, what very remarkable luck they had; or rather, Ford
and Dick, for Dab would not leave the tiller for a moment. Splendid
fellows were those blue-fish, and hard work it was to pull in the
heaviest of them. That was just the sort of weather they bite best in;
but it is not often that such young fishermen venture to take advantage
of it. No, nor the old ones either; for only the stanchest old "salts"
of Montauk or New London would have felt altogether at home in "The
Swallow" that afternoon.
"I guess I wouldn't fish any more," said Dab at last. "You've caught ten
times as many now as we ever thought of catching. Some of them are
whoppers too."
"Biggest fishing ever I did," said Ford, as if that meant a great deal.
"Or mos' anybody else, out dis yer way," added Dick. "I isn't 'shamed to
show dem fish anywhar."
"No more I ain't," said Dab; "but you're getting too tired, and so am I.
We must have a good hearty lunch, and put 'The Swallow' before the wind
for a while. I daren't risk any more of these cross seas. We might get
pitched over any minute. They're rising."
"Dat's so," said Dick. "And I's awful hungry, I is."
"The Swallow" was well enough provisioned for a short cruise, not to
mention the bluefish, and there was water enough on board for several
days if they should happen to need it; but there was little danger of
that, unless the wind should continue to be altogether against them.
It was blowing hard when the boys finished their dinner, but no harder
than it had already blown several times that day; and "The Swallow"
seemed to be putting forth her very best qualities as a "sea-boat."
There was no immediate danger apparently; but there was one "symptom"
which Dab discerned, as he glanced around the horizon, which gave him
more anxiety than either the stiff breeze or the rough sea.
The coming darkness?
No; for stars and lighthouses can be seen at night, and steering by them
is easy enough.
Nights are pretty dark things, sometimes, as most people know; but the
darkest thing to be met with at sea, whether by night or by day, is a
_fog_, and Dabney saw signs of one coming. Rain, too, might come with
it, but that would be of small account.
"Boys," he said, "do you know we're out of sight of land?"
"Oh, no, we're not!" replied Ford confidently. "Look yonder."
"That isn't land, Ford. That's only a fog-bank, and we shall be all in
the dark in ten minutes. The wind is changing, too, and I hardly know
where we are."
"Look at your compass."
"That tells me the wind is changing a little, and it's going down; but I
wouldn't dare to run towards the shore in a fog, and at night."
"Why not?"
"Why? Don't you remember those breakers? Would you like to be blown
through them, and not see where you were going?"
"Well, no," said Ford: "I rather guess I wouldn't."
"Jes' you let Capt'in Kinzer handle dis yer boat," almost crustily
interposed Dick Lee. "He's de on'y feller on board dat un'erstands
nagivation."
"Shouldn't wonder if you're right," said Ford good-humoredly. "At all
events, I sha'n't interfere. But, Dab, what do you mean to do about it?"
"Swing a lantern at the mast-head, and sail right along. You and Dick
get a nap, by and by, if you can. I won't try to sleep till daylight."
"Sleep? Catch me sleeping!"
"You must; and so must Dick, when the time comes. It won't do for us to
all get worn out together. If we did, who'd handle the boat?"
Ford's respect for Dabney Kinzer was growing hourly. Here was this
overgrown gawk of a green country boy, just out of his roundabouts, who
had never spent more than a day at a time in the great city, and never
lived in any kind of a boarding-house; in fact, here was a fellow who
had had no advantages whatever,--coming out as a sort of hero.
Ford looked at him hard, as he stood there with the tiller in his hand,
but he could not quite understand it, Dab was so quiet and
matter-of-course about it all; and, as for that youngster himself, he
had no idea that he was behaving any better than any other boy could,
should, and would have behaved in those very peculiar circumstances.
However that might be, the gay and buoyant little "Swallow," with her
signal lantern swinging at her mast-head, was soon dancing away through
the deepening darkness and the fog; and her steady-nerved young
commander was congratulating himself that there seemed to be a good deal
less of wind and sea, even if there was more of mist.
"I couldn't expect to have every thing to suit me," he said to himself.
"And now I hope we sha'n't run down anybody. Hullo! Isn't that a red
light, through the fog, yonder?"