HOW THE GAME OF "FOLLOW MY LEADER" CAN BE PLAYED AT SEA.
There was yet another gathering of human beings on the wind-swept
surface of the Atlantic that evening, to whose minds the minutes and
hours were going by with no small burden of anxiety to carry.
Not an anxiety, perhaps, as great as that of the three families over
there on the shore of the bay, or even of the three boys tossing along
through the fog in their bubble of a yacht; but the officers, and not a
few of the passengers and crew, of the great iron-builded ocean-steamer
were any thing but easy about the way their affairs were looking. It
would have been so much more agreeable if they could have looked at them
at all.
Had they no pilot on board?
To be sure they had, for he had come on board in the usual way, as they
drew near their intended port; but they had somehow seemed to bring that
fog along with them, and the captain had a half-defined suspicion that
neither the pilot nor he himself knew exactly where they now were. That
is a bad condition for a great ship to be in at any time, and especially
when it was drawing so near a coast which calls for good seamanship and
skilful pilotage in the best of weather.
The captain would not for any thing have confessed his doubt to the
pilot, nor the pilot his to the captain; and that was where the real
danger lay, after all. If they could only have choked down their pride,
and permitted themselves to talk of their possible peril, it would very
likely have disappeared. That is, they could at least have decided to
stop the vessel till they were rid of their doubt.
The steamer was French, and her captain a French naval officer; and it
is possible he and the pilot did not understand each other any too well.
It was a matter of course that the speed of the ship should be somewhat
lessened, under such circumstances; but it would have been a good deal
wiser not to have gone on at all. Not to speak of the shore they were
nearing, they might be sure they were not the only craft steaming or
sailing over those busy waters; and vessels have sometimes been known to
run against one another in a fog as thick as that. Something could be
done by way of precaution in that direction, and lanterns with bright
colors were freely swung out; but the fog was likely to diminish their
usefulness somewhat. They took away a little of the gloom; but none of
the passengers were in a mood to go to bed, with the end of their voyage
so near, and they all seemed disposed to discuss the fog, if not the
general question of mists and their discomforts. All of them but one,
and he a boy.
A boy of about Dab Kinzer's age, slender and delicate-looking, with
curly light-brown hair, blue eyes, and a complexion which would have
been fair, but for the traces it bore of a hotter climate than that of
either France or America. He seemed to be all alone, and to be feeling
very lonely that night; and he was leaning over the rail, peering out
into the mist, humming to himself a sweet, wild air in a strange but
exceedingly musical tongue.
Very strange. Very musical.
Perhaps no such words had ever before gone out over that part of the
Atlantic; for Frank Harley was a missionary's son, "going home to be
educated;" and the sweet, low-voiced song was a Hindustanee hymn which
his mother had taught him in far-away India.
Suddenly the hymn was cut short by the hoarse voice of the "lookout," as
it announced,--
"A white light, close aboard, on the windward bow."
That was rapidly followed by even hoarser hails, replied to by a voice
which was clear and strong enough, but not hoarse at all. The next
moment something, which was either a white sail or a ghost, came
slipping along through the fog, and then the conversation did not
require to be shouted any longer. Frank could even hear one person say
to another out there in the mist, "Ain't it a big thing, Ford, that you
know French? I mean to study it when we get home."
"It's as easy as eating. Dab, shall I tell 'em we've got some fish?"
"Of course. We'll sell 'em the whole cargo."
"Sell them? Why not make them a present?"
"We may need the money to get home with. They're a splendid lot. Enough
for the whole cabin-full."
"Dat's a fack. Cap'in Dab Kinzer's de sort ob capt'in fo' me, he is!"
"How much, then?"
"Twenty-five dollars for the lot. They're worth it,--specially if we
lose Ham's boat."
Dab's philosophy was a little out of gear; but a perfect rattle of
questions and answers followed in French, and, somewhat to Frank
Harley's astonishment, the bargain was promptly concluded. Fresh fish,
just out of the water, were a particularly pleasant arrival to people
who had been ten days out at sea.
How were they to get them on board? Nothing easier, since the little
"Swallow" could run along so nicely under the stern of the great
steamer, after a line was thrown her; and a large basket was swung out
at the end of a long, slender spar, with a pulley to lower and raise it.
There was fun in the loading of that basket: but even the boys from Long
Island were astonished at the number and size of the fine,
freshly-caught blue-fish, to which they were treating the hungry
passengers of the "Prudhomme;" and the basket had to go and come again
and again.
The steamer's steward, on his part, avowed that he had never before met
so honest a lot of Yankee fishermen. Perhaps not; for high prices and
short weight are apt to go together, where "luxuries" are selling. The
pay itself was handed out in the same basket which went for the fish,
and then "The Swallow" was again cast loose.
The wind was not nearly so high as it had been, and the sea had for some
time been going down.
Twenty minutes later Frank Harley heard,--for he understood French very
well,--
"Hullo, the boat! What are you following us for?"
"Oh! we won't run you down. Don't be alarmed. We've lost our way out
here, and we're going to follow you in. Hope you know where you are."
There was a cackle of surprise and laughter among the steamer's
officers, in which Frank and some of the passengers joined; and the
saucy little "fishing-boat" came steadily on in the wake of her gigantic
tide.
"This is grand for us," remarked Dab Kinzer to Ford, as he kept his eyes
on the after-lantern of the "Prudhomme." "They pay all our pilot-fees."
"But they're going to New York."
"So are we, if to-morrow doesn't come out clear, and with a good wind to
go home by."
"It's better than crossing the Atlantic in the dark, anyhow. But what a
steep price we got for those fish!"
"They're always ready to pay well for such things at the end of a
voyage," said Dab. "I expected, though, they'd try and beat us down a
peg. They generally do. We didn't get much more than the fair market
price, after all, only we got rid of our whole catch at one sale."
That was a good deal better than fishermen are apt to do.
Hour followed hour; and "The Swallow" followed the steamer, and the fog
followed them both so closely, that sometimes even Dick Lee's keen eyes
could with difficulty make out the "Prudhomme's" light. And now Ford
Foster ventured to take a bit of a nap, so sure did he feel that all the
danger was over, and that Captain Kinzer was equal to what Dick Lee
called the "nagivation" of that yacht How long he had slept, he could
not have guessed but he was awakened by a great cry from out the mist
beyond them, and by the loud exclamation of Captain Kinzer, still at the
tiller,--
"I believe she's run ashore!"
It was a loud cry, indeed, and there was good reason for it. Well was it
for all on board the great steamer, that she was running no faster at
the time and that there was no hurricane of a gale to make things worse
for her. Pilot and captain had both together missed their
reckoning,--neither of them could ever afterward tell how,--and there
they were, stuck fast in the sand, with the noise of breakers ahead of
them, and the dense fog all around.
Frank Harley peered anxiously over the rail again but he could not have
complained that he was "wrecked in sight of shore," for the steamer was
any thing but a wreck as yet, and there was no shore in sight.
"It's an hour to sunrise," said Dab to Ford, after the latter had
managed to comprehend the situation. "We may as well run farther in, and
see what we can see."
It must have been aggravating to the people on board the steamer, to see
that little cockle-shell of a yacht dancing safely along over the shoal
on which their "leviathan" had struck, and to hear Ford Foster sing out,
"If we'd known you meant to run in here, we'd have followed some other
pilot."
"They're in no danger at all," said Dab, "If their own boats don't take
'em all ashore, the coast-wreckers will."
"The government life-savers, I s'pose you mean."
"Yes: they're all alongshore, here, everywhere. Hark! there goes the
distress-gun. Bang away! It sounds a good deal more mad than scared."
So it did; and so they were,--captain, pilot, passengers, and all.
"Captain Kinzer" found that he could safely run in for a couple of
hundred yards or so; but there were signs of surf beyond, and he had no
anchor to hold on by. His only course was to tack back and forth as
carefully as possible, and wait for daylight,--as the French sailors
were doing, with what patience they could command.
In less than half an hour, however, a pair of long, graceful,
buoyant-looking life-boats, manned each with an officer and eight
rowers, came shooting through the mist, in response to the repeated
summons of the steamer's cannon.
"It's all right, now," said Dab. "I knew they wouldn't be long in
coming. Let's find out where we are."
That was easy enough. The steamer had gone ashore on a sand-bar, a
quarter of a mile from the beach, and a short distance from Seabright on
the New Jersey coast; and there was no probability of any worse harm
coming to her than the delay in her voyage, and the cost of pulling her
out from the sandy bed into which she had so blindly thrust herself. The
passengers would, most likely, be taken ashore with their baggage, and
sent on to the city overland.
"In fact," said Ford Foster, "a sand-bar isn't as bad for a steamer as a
pig is for a locomotive."
"The train you were wrecked in," said Dab, "was running fast. Perhaps
the pig was. Now, the sandbar was standing still, and the steamer was
going slow. My! What a crash there'd have been if she'd been running ten
or twelve knots an hour, with a heavy sea on!"
By daylight there were plenty of other craft around, including yachts
and sail-boats from Long Branch, and "all along shore;" and the Long
Island boys treated the occupants of these as if they had sent for them,
and were glad to see them.
"Seems to me you're inclined to be a little inquisitive, Dab," said
Ford, as his friend peered sharply into and around one craft after
another; but just then Dabney sang out,--
"Hullo, Jersey, what are you doing with two grapnels? Is that boat of
yours balky?"
"Mind yer eye, youngster. They're both mine, I reckon."
"You might sell me one cheap," continued Dab, "considering how you got
'em. Give you ten cents for the big one."
Ford thought he understood the matter now, and he said nothing; but the
"Jersey wrecker" had "picked up" both of those anchors, one time and
another, and had no sort of objection to "talking trade."
"Ten cents! Let you have it for fifty dollars."
"Is it gold, or only silver gilt?"
"Pure gold, my boy; but, seem' it's you, I'll let you have it for ten
dollars."
"Take your pay in clams?"
"Oh, hush! I hain't no time to gabble. Mebbe I'll git a job here, 'round
this yer wreck. If you reelly want that there grapn'I, wot'll you
gimme?"
"Five dollars, gold, take it or leave it," said Dab, pulling out a coin
from the money he had received for his bluefish.
In three minutes more "The Swallow" was furnished with a much larger and
better anchor than the one she had lost the day before; and Dick Lee
exclaimed, "It jes' takes Cap'n Kinzer!"
For some minutes before this, as the light grew clearer and the fog
lifted a little, Frank Harley had been watching them from the rail of
the "Prudhomme," and wondering if all the fisher-boys in America dressed
as well as these two.
"Hullo, you!" was the greeting which now came to his ears. "Go ashore in
my boat?"
"Not till I've eaten some of your fish for breakfast," said Frank.
"What's your name?"
"Captain Dabney Kinzer, of 'most anywhere on Long Island. What's yours?"
"Frank Harley of Rangoon."
"I declare," almost shouted Ford Foster, "if you're not the chap my
sister Annie told me of! You're going to Albany, to my uncle Joe Hart's,
ain't you?"
"Yes, to Mr. Hart's, and then to Grantley to school."
"That's it. Well, then, you can just come along with us. Get your kit
out of your state-room. We can send over to the city after the rest of
your baggage, after it gets in."
"Along with you! Where?"
"To my father's house, instead of ashore among those hotel people, and
other wreckers. The captain'll tell you it's all right."
Frank had further questions to ask before he was satisfied as to whose
hands he was about to fall into; and the whole arrangement was, no
doubt, a little irregular. So was the present position of the
"Prudhomme" herself, however; and all landing rules were a trifle out of
joint by reason of that circumstance. So the steamer authorities
listened to Frank's request when he made it, and gruffly granted it.
"The Swallow" lay quietly at her new anchor while her passenger to be
was completing his preparations to board her. Part of them consisted of
a hearty breakfast,--fresh bluefish, broiled; and while he was eating it
the crew of the yacht made a deep hole in what remained of their own
supplies. Nobody who had seen them eat would have suspected that their
long night at sea had interfered with their appetites. In fact, each of
them remarked to the others that it had not, so far as he was concerned.
"We'll make a good run," said Dab. "It'll be great!"
"What?" said Ford, in some astonishment; "ain't you going to New York at
all?"
"What for?"
"I thought that was what you meant to do. Shall you sail right straight
home?"
"Why not? If we could do that distance at night, and in a storm, I guess
we can in a day of such splendid weather as this, with the wind just
right too."