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[Illustration: LEOPOLD ON THE LOOKOUT. Page 213.]
OLIVER OPTIC'S
YACHT CLUB SERIES.
THE COMING WAVE
LEE & SHEPARD
BOSTON
THE YACHT CLUB SERIES.
THE COMING WAVE;
OR, THE
HIDDEN TREASURE OF HIGH ROCK
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES," "THE
WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE STARRY FLAG SERIES," "THE BOAT CLUB STORIES,"
"THE LAKE SHORE SERIES," "THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES," ETC., ETC.
_WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS._
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874,
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND
_ELMER ELLSWORTH HOLBROOK_,
OF MEDWAY, MASS.,
_This Book_
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
_The Yacht Club Series._
1. LITTLE BOBTAIL; OR, THE WRECK OF THE PENOBSCOT.
2. THE YACHT CLUB; OR, THE YOUNG BOAT BUILDER.
3. MONEY MAKER; OR, THE VICTORY OF THE BASILISK.
4. THE COMING WAVE; OR, THE HIDDEN TREASURE OF HIGH ROCK.
5. THE DORCAS CLUB; OR, OUR GIRLS AFLOAT.
6. OCEAN BORN; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE CLUBS.
PREFACE.
"THE COMING WAVE" is the fourth volume of the Yacht Club Series, and is
an entirely independent story. Though the incidents are located on
Penobscot Bay and relate largely to boats and yachting, the characters
have not before been presented; but some of them will again be
introduced in the subsequent volumes of the series. There is some breezy
sailing in the story, and Penobscot Bay would not be properly described
without the dense fog, upon which the turn of events depends in one of
the chapters; nor is such a hurricane as that with which the story
begins an unknown occurrence in these waters. Whatever interest the
volume may possess, however, does not wholly depend upon the experience
in fog and gale of the hero and his friends, for the plot is as much of
the land as of the sea.
Leopold Bennington and Stumpy are the chief characters. They are both
working boys, who earn their own living, and do nothing more surprising
than other young men have done before them. They are fastidiously
honest, and strictly upright, though they make mistakes like other human
beings. They try to do their whole duty, sometimes under very difficult
circumstances, and if other boys may not do exactly as they did in
certain cases, they may imitate Leopold and Stumpy in having a high
aim, and in striving to reach it. If young people only mean well, they
can hardly fail to lead good and true lives, in spite of their errors of
judgment, or even their occasional failures to do right.
TOWERHOUSE, BOSTON,
July 10, 1874.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
THE TEMPEST IN THE BAY, 11
CHAPTER II.
THE LAST OF THE WALDO, 30
CHAPTER III.
HARVEY BARTH'S DIARY, 48
CHAPTER IV.
STUMPY AND OTHERS, 67
CHAPTER V.
HERR SCHLAGER, 86
CHAPTER VI.
MISS SARAH LIVERAGE, 105
CHAPTER VII.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE HIDDEN TREASURE, 123
CHAPTER VIII.
AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY, 142
CHAPTER IX.
COFFIN ROCK, 160
CHAPTER X.
DOUBTS AND DEBTS, 178
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE FOG, 197
CHAPTER XII.
AN EXTENSIVE ARRIVAL, 216
CHAPTER XIII.
THE EXCURSION TO HIGH ROCK, 235
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FAIR THING, 254
CHAPTER XV.
THE WALDO'S PASSENGER, 273
CHAPTER XVI.
GOLD AND BILLS, 293
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST OF JULY, 313
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE COMING WAVE, 332
THE COMING WAVE;
OR,
THE HIDDEN TREASURE OF HIGH ROCK.
CHAPTER I.
THE TEMPEST IN THE BAY.
"Well, parsenger, we're likely to get in to port before long, if we only
have a breeze of wind," said Harvey Barth, the cook and steward of the
brig Waldo, in a peculiar, drawling tone, by which any one who knew the
speaker might have recognized him without the use of his eyes.
The steward was a tall, lank, lantern-jawed man, whose cheek-bones were
almost as prominent as his long nose. His face was pale, in spite of the
bronze which a West India sun had imparted to it, and his hair was long
and straight. He had a very thin beard of jet black, which contrasted
strongly with the pallor of his face. His voice was hollow, and sounded
doubly so from the drawl with which he uttered his sentences, and every
remark he made was preceded by a single long-drawn hacking cough, which
might have been caused by the force of habit or the incipient workings
of disease. He was seated in the galley, abaft the foremast of the brig,
and when the passenger showed himself at the door of the galley, he had
been engaged in writing in a square record-book, which he closed the
instant the visitor darkened the aperture of his den.
The passenger--the only one on board of the Waldo--was a short,
thick-set man of about forty, whose name was entered on the brig's
papers as Jacob Wallbridge, and his trunk bore the initials
corresponding to this name. In his hand he had a pipe, filled full of
tobacco, and it was evident that he had called at the galley only to
light it, though the steward proceeded to infold his book in an ample
piece of oil-cloth which lay upon the seat at his side. It was clear
that he did not wish the passenger to know what he was doing, or, at
least, what he had written, for he was really quite nervous, as he
securely tied the book, and then locked it up in a box under the seat.
Though Harvey Barth did not confess it then, it was, nevertheless, a
fact that he had been writing in his book about the passenger who
darkened his door, though what he wrote was not seen by any human eye
until many months after the pen had done its office.
"I thought this morning we should get in to-night," replied the
passenger, as he stepped inside of the caboose. "May I borrow a coal of
fire from the stove, doctor?"
"Certain, if you can get one; but the fire is about out. You will find
some matches in the tin box on your right," added the steward.
"I like to light my pipe in the old-fashioned way when I can. I don't
mean to begin to suck in brimstone just yet," continued Wallbridge, as
he succeeded in finding a coal, and soon had his pipe in working order.
"What were you doing with that book, doctor? Do you keep a log of the
voyage?"
"Well, ya-as," drawled the steward. "I keep a log of this voyage, and a
log of the voyage of life. I've kept a diary ever since I taught
school; and that's seven years ago, come winter."
"It must be worth reading. I should like to look it over, if we have to
stay out here another day. I suppose you have seen a good deal of the
world, if you have been to sea many years."
"No; I haven't seen much of the world. I never went but one voyage
before this, and that was in a coaster, from New York to Bangor. The
diary is only for my own reading, and I wouldn't let anybody look at it
for all the world," answered Harvey Barth, with an even more painful
cough than usual.
"Then you are not a great traveller," added Wallbridge, puffing away at
his pipe, as he watched the sun sinking to his rest beyond the western
waves.
"Bless you! no. I was brought up on a farm in York State. I used to keep
school winters till the folks in our town began to think they must have
a more dandified chap than I am."
"Where did you learn to cook, if you were a schoolmaster?"
"Well you see I was an only son, and my mother died when I was but
sixteen. Father and I kept house together till he died, and I used to
do about all the cooking. I had an idea then that I could do it pretty
well, too," replied Harvey, with a sickly smile. "The old man got to
drinking rather too much, and lost all he had and all I had, too. My
health wasn't very good; I had a bad cough and night sweats. I was an
orphan at twenty-four, and I thought I'd go to New York city, and take a
little voyage on the salt water. I had about a hundred dollars I earned
after the old man died; but a fellow in the city got it all away from
me;" and Harvey hung his head, as though this was not a pleasant
experience to remember.
"Ah! how was that?" asked Wallbridge.
"The fellow offered to show me round town, and, as I was kind of
lonesome, I went with him. We called at a place to pay a bill he owed.
He had a check for three hundred dollars; but the man he owed couldn't
give him the change, so I lent him my hundred dollars, and took the
check till he paid me. Then my kind friend went into another room; and
that's the last I ever saw of him. I couldn't find him, but I did find
that the check was good for nothing. I hadn't a dollar left. At one of
the piers I came across a schooner that wanted a cook, and I shipped
right off. Then the cap'n's nephew wanted to cook for him, after we got
to Bangor, and I was out of a job. I worked in an eating-house for a
while, cooking; but my health was so bad I wanted to go to a warm
climate; so I shipped in this brig for the West Indies. It was warm
enough there, but I didn't get any better. I don't think I'm as stout as
I was when I left Bangor. I shall not hold out much longer."
"O, yes, you will. You may live to be a hundred years old yet," added
Wallbridge, rather lightly.
"No; my end isn't a great way off," added the steward, with a sigh, as
the passenger, evidently not pleased with the turn the conversation had
taken, walked away from the galley.
Any one who looked at Harvey Barth would have found no difficulty in
accepting his gloomy prediction; and yet he was, as events occurred,
farther from his end than his companions in the brig. The steward sat
before his stove, gazing at the planks of the deck under his feet. He
was deeply impressed by the words he had uttered if the passenger was
not. He had improved the opportunity, while the weather was calm to
write up his diary, and perhaps the thoughts he had expressed on its
pages had started a train of gloomy reflections. The future seemed to
have nothing inviting to him, and his attention was fixed upon an open
grave at no great distance before him in the pathway of his life. Beyond
that he had hardly taught himself to look; if he had he would,
doubtless, have been less sad and gloomy.
His work for the day had all been done; supper in the cabin had been
served, and the beef and hard bread had been given to the crew two hours
before. It was a day in August, and the sun had lingered long above the
horizon. Harvey had finished writing in his diary when the passenger
interrupted him; but, apparently to change the current of his thoughts,
he took the book from the box, and began to read what he had written.
"I don't know what his name is, but I don't believe it's Wallbridge,"
said he, to himself, as the last page recalled the reflections which had
caused him to make some of the entries in the book. "That wasn't the
name I found on the paper in his state-room, though the initials were
the same. I don't see what he changed his name for; but that's none of
my business. I only hope he hasn't been doing anything wrong."
"My pipe's gone out," said Wallbridge, presenting himself at the door of
the galley again. "I want another coal of fire."
The steward carefully secured his book again, and returned it to the
box, while the passenger was lighting his pipe.
"Rather a still time just now," said the steward, alluding to the
weather, as Wallbridge puffed away at his pipe.
"Dead calm," replied the passenger.
"We shall not get in to-morrow at this rate."
"Captain 'Siah says we shall have more wind than we want before
morning," added the smoker. "He wishes the brig was twenty miles farther
out to sea, for his barometer has gone down as though the bottom had
dropped out of it."
"It looks like one of those West India showers," added the steward, as
he glanced out at one of the doors of the galley.
The calm and silence which had pervaded the deck of the Waldo seemed to
be broken. Captain 'Siah had given his orders to the mate, who was now
shouting lustily to the crew, though there was not a breath of air
stirring, and the brig lay motionless upon the still waters. The vessel
was a considerable distance within the range of islands which separate
Penobscot Bay from the broad ocean. The water was nearly as smooth as a
mill-pond, and Harvey had found no more difficulty in writing in his
diary than if the Waldo had been anchored in the harbor of Rockland,
whither she was bound, though she had made the land some distance to the
eastward of Owl's Head.
Harvey Bath walked out upon the deck, after putting on an overcoat to
protect him from the chill air of the evening, for he felt that his life
depended upon his precaution. In the south-west the clouds were dense
and black, indicating the approach of a heavy shower. In the east, just
as dense and black, was another mass of clouds; and the two showers
seemed to be working up towards the zenith.
"Cast off the fore tack!" shouted the mate. "Let go the fore sheet!"
When this last order was given, it was the duty of the cook to execute
it; and, ordinarily, this is about the only seaman's duty which the
"doctor" is called upon to perform. Harvey promptly cast off the sheet,
and the hands at the clew-garnets hauled up the foresail. The flying-gib
and top-gallant sails had already been furled, and the canvas on the
brig was soon reduced to the fore-topsail, fore-topmast staysail, and
spanker; and these sails hung like wet rags, the vessel drifting with
the tide, which now set up the bay.
The dense black clouds slowly approached the zenith, and it was dark
before there appeared to be any commotion of the elements. As the gloom
of the evening increased, the lightning became more vivid, the zigzag
chains of electric fluid darting angrily from the inky masses of cloud
which obscured the sky. The heavy thunder sounded nearer and more
overhead, indicating the nearer approach of the two showers. Scarcely
did the flashing lightning--almost instantly followed by the cannon-like
crash of the thunder--blaze and peal on one side of the brig, before the
flaming bolt and the startling roar were taken up on the other side, as
though the two tempests on either hand were vying with each other for
the mastery of the air.
Captain Josiah Barnwood, familiarly called, even by the crew, who were
his friends and neighbors, Captain 'Siah, nervously walked his
quarter-deck, after he had taken every precaution which a careful sailor
could take; for, even if his practised eye had not taught him that there
was wind in the clouds in the south-west, the barometer had earnestly
admonished him of violent disturbances in the atmosphere. He had done
everything he could for the safety of the brig, but he blamed
himself--though without reason, for the change of weather had been
sudden and unexpected--for coming into the bay when it was so near
night. The brig was surrounded on nearly every side by rocky islands and
numerous reefs, with the chances that thick weather would hide the
friendly lights from his view. But it was a summer day, and, until late
in the afternoon, when there was no wind to help him, no change could
have been anticipated.
Captain 'Siah was nervous, though he was as familiar with the bay as he
was with the apartments in his own house. He knew every island and head
land, every rock and shoal, and the situation of every light-house; but
the barometer had warned him of nothing less than a hurricane. The Waldo
was an old vessel, and barely sea-worthy, even for a summer voyage, to
the region of hurricanes. He had, therefore, many misgivings, as he
paced the quarter-deck, watching the angry bolts of lightning, and
listening to the deafening roar of the thunder. Occasionally he halted
at the taffrail, and gazed into the thick darkness of the south-west,
from which his experience taught him the tempest would come. Then, at
the foot of the mainmast he halted again, to listen for any sound that
might come over the waters from the eastward; but his glances in this
direction were brief and hurried, for he expected the storm from the
opposite quarter.
Again he paused at the taffrail, by the side of the man who stood idle
at the wheel, for the brig had not motion enough to give her
steerage-way. This time Captain 'Siah listened longer than usual. From
far away to seaward, between the peals of thunder, came a confused,
roaring sound. At the same time a slight puff of air swelled the sails
of the brig, and the helmsman threw over the wheel to meet her, as the
vessel began to move through the still waters.
"Haul down the fore-topmast staysail!" shouted Captain 'Siah, at the top
of his lungs, a sudden energy seeming to take possession of his nervous
frame.
"Ay, ay, sir," returned the mate; and almost at the same instant the
captain heard the hanks rattling down the stay.
"It's coming down upon us like a tornado," said Captain 'Siah to the
passenger who was smoking his pipe on the quarter-deck.
"Can I do anything, Captain 'Siah?" asked Wallbridge, who had been
aroused from his lethargy by the energy of the captain.
"Yes; let go the peak-halyards of the spanker!" answered the captain,
sharply, as he sprang to the throat-halyards himself.
The sail came down, and the passenger, who had evidently been to sea
before, proceeded to gather up and secure the fluttering canvas, for the
breeze was rapidly freshening.
"Furl the fore-topsail," cried the captain, with a kind of desperation,
which indicated his sense of the peril of the brig.
"Ay, ay, sir," shouted the ready mate, who, in anticipation of the
order, had manned the halyards, and stationed hands at the sheets and
clewlines. "Let go the sheets! clew up--lively! Settle away the
halyards! Ready at the bunt-lines--sharp work, boys! Aloft, and furl the
topsail!"
"Set the main-staysail!" shouted the captain.
Captain 'Siah was an old-fashioned shipmaster, and the Waldo was an
old-fashioned vessel. Everything on board was done promptly and
skillfully in the old-fashioned way. The captain knew just where he was
as long as he could see any of the objects around him, whether lights or
the dark outlines of the rocky islands. His principal fear was, if the
brig withstood the shock of the tempest, that she would drift upon some
dangerous rocks, which were hidden by the waves after half-tide. They
were situated off a large island, whose high, precipitous shores he
could just discern, when the lightning illuminated the scene around him.
This island and these perilous rocks were dead to leeward of the Waldo,
and hardly a mile distant. With the aid of the staysail Captain 'Siah
hoped--and only hoped--that he should be able to work his vessel out of
the range of these dangers. But before the staysail could be set, and
before the fore-topsail could be furled, a violent squall struck the
brig. The fore-topsail was blown out of the hands of the four seamen who
had gone aloft to secure it. So great was the fury of the tempest that
in an instant the well-worn sail was torn into ribbons, and great pieces
of it were blown away, like little white clouds played upon by the
lightning. Worse than this, two of the men on the topsail-yard were
wrenched from their hold on the spar, and hurled into the darkness
beneath them, one falling into foaming waters, and the other striking
senseless upon the deck.
Vainly, for a time, the mate, with four men to help him, struggled to
set the staysail, upon which depended the safety of the brig from the
savage rocks to leeward of her. At last they succeeded stimulated by the
hoarse shouts of Captain 'Siah on the quarter-deck, though not till one
of the four men had been struck insensible on the deck by the fierce
blows of the sheet-block. The sail was hauled out finally by the
exertions of the mate. The helmsman met her at the wheel, and the Waldo
heeled over till the water poured in over her lee bulwarks. At this
moment, the staysail, too flimsy from age to stand the strain upon it,
was blown out of the bolt-ropes, with an explosion like a cannon, and
went off like a misty cloud into the darkness. The hour of doom seemed
to have overtaken the Waldo; but in spite of the misfortunes that
overwhelmed her, Captain 'Siah did not abandon hope, or relax his
exertions to save the vessel.
"Set the fore-topmast staysail!" hoarsely yelled the captain. "Send four
hands aft to set the spanker!"
Captain 'Siah did not know, when he gave this order, that three of his
nine hands had been disabled, and the mate sent only three men aft, one
of whom told the captain of the accident. But the passenger was as
zealous and willing as even the mate. In order to save his canvas, the
captain ordered the spanker to be balance-reefed. The stops were taken
off, and the master assisted in the work with his own hands.
"Jam your helm hard down!" he cried to the man at the wheel. "If we can
get her head up to the wind, we may be able to set these sails."
All hands worked with desperate energy, and it required all their
strength to prevent the canvas from being blown out of their hands. The
savage wind upon her bare hull and spars had given the brig
steerage-way, and when the man at the helm threw the wheel over, the
head of the vessel began to come up to the wind. Captain 'Siah was
hopeful, and he encouraged the men at the spanker to renewed exertions.
He saw that the mate had partially succeeded in setting the head sail,
and the chances were certainly much better than they had been a moment
before. Perhaps, if no greater calamity than that which came on the
wings of the stormy wind had befallen the brig and her crew, she might
possibly have been saved.
The shower from the south-west and that from the east, had apparently
come together above the devoted vessel. The lightning was more frequent
and vivid, the thunder followed each flash almost instantaneously; and
Captain 'Siah realized that the clouds were but a short distance above
the brig. But he heeded not the booming thunder or the glaring
lightning, only as the latter enabled him to see the work upon which the
mate and himself were engaged. The captain, aided by the passenger, was
lashing the throat of the gaff down to its place, when a heavy bolt of
lightning, accompanied at the same instant by a terrific peel of
thunder, struck the main-royal mast-head, and leaped down the mast in a
lurid current of fire. At the throat of the main-boom it was divided,
part of it following the mast down into the cabin and hold, and the rest
darting off on the spar, where the captain, the passenger, and three men
were at work on the spanker. Every one of them was struck down, and lay
senseless on the deck. Even the man at the wheel shared their fate,
though no one could know who were killed and who were simply stunned by
the shock. The lightning capriciously leaped from the boom to the metal
work of the wheel, shattering the whole into a thousand pieces, and
splintering the rudder-head as though it had been so much glass.
The rudder was disabled, the fore-topmast staysail was rent into
ribbons, and the brig fell off into the trough of the sea, where she
rolled helplessly at the mercy of the tempest.