IN WHICH PHIL, IN THE MARIAN, GETS THE WEATHER-GAGE OF THE FLORINA.
There was scarcely a breath of wind when we weighed anchor. Mr.
Whippleton insisted upon running up to the Florina, in order to leave
his tender, and to obtain certain articles he had left on board. The
breeze entirely failed before we had made half the distance, and we
were obliged to anchor again to prevent being drifted ashore. Mr.
Whippleton and old Peter took both the tenders, and visited the
Florina, leaving Marian and myself alone again.
"I am so thankful that you had no quarrel," said she, as we sat
together in the standing-room, watching the receding boats.
"So am I, Marian."
"And it seems that you were mistaken in regard to his accounts."
"I don't think I was," I replied, rather warmly. "I am perplexed and
bothered; but I don't see how I can be mistaken."
"Mr. Whippleton would not be willing to return to Chicago, if he had
been such a villain as you say."
"I don't think he would. That is really all the evidence I have that he
has not been stealing his partner's money. I don't understand it; but
if he will return to Chicago, that is all I desire. I prefer that he
should settle the matter with your father."
"But he knew all about Mr. Waterford's plans," added she, turning away
from me, though the gloom of the evening hid her blushes.
"Yes; he said he did. He told me that, if Mr. Waterford loved you, and
you loved Mr. Waterford, he could see no reason why you should not be
happy together, in spite of the prejudices of your father."
"I never consented to elope with Mr. Waterford. It is true that I
listened to his proposal, several weeks ago; but I did not agree to it.
He did not renew it when I asked for time to think of it. I don't love
him now; I can't say that I ever did, though I was rather pleased with
him. After this, I'm sure I shall always think more of a gentleman's
character than of his looks and manners."
"I think the character is of vastly more importance," I replied,
judging from observation rather than experience.
"Do you think Mr. Whippleton will come back, Philip?"
"Come back? Yes," I replied, rather startled by the question.
"He may take one of those boats, go on shore, and make his way across
the state to the east."
"Then you think it is possible that I was not mistaken in regard to the
accounts of Mr. Whippleton?"
"Of course it is possible. It just occurred to me that he might have
taken this method of getting rid of you."
"You are right, Marian. I ought to have gone with them, for they have
taken both boats, and there isn't a breath of wind."
"I don't mean that it is so, only that it might be."
"Now I think of it, he said in his letter that he had sold the Florina,
and was to deliver her in St. Joseph to-morrow. If he had not intended
to have cleared out, he would not have sold her. I am afraid I have
made another blunder."
I was vexed at my own want of precaution. Mr. Whippleton had taken both
tenders, and it seemed to me now that he had done so in order to
prevent me from following him. He intended to leave his own with his
yacht, and to return in that belonging to the Marian. I do not even now
know that Miss Collingsby had not suggested his real purpose, for while
I was vexing myself about the blunder I had made, the waters were
rippled by a gentle breeze. I sprang forward and hauled up the anchor
with a celerity that was worthy of the occasion. The mainsail was still
up, and taking the helm, I ran the yacht up the lagoon. I could just
see the outline of the Florina in the gloom, and a few puffs of wind
carried us up to her.
There was a light in the cabin of the Florina, and both the tenders
were alongside. Mr. Whippleton had not gone yet, whatever he intended
to do, and I breathed freely again.
"Gorrificious!" shouted Peter from the deck of the Florina. "Where you
goin' now?"
"Stand by to catch a line," I replied.
"All ready; heave the line," added the cook.
In a moment we were fast to the other yacht, and I firmly determined
not to lose sight of Mr. Whippleton again, under any circumstances. We
had hardly made fast before the wind died out again. It was only a puff
which had come to my aid, as it were providentially, and had enabled me
to gain my point. I had noticed, when Mr. Whippleton left the Florina,
that he took with him the leather bag, which contained his money and
valuable papers; but I had thought nothing of the circumstance at the
time, for it seemed to me quite natural that he should be very careful
of an article of so much value. If that providential puff of air had
not enabled me to throw the Marian alongside his yacht, I am satisfied,
in the light of subsequent events, that he would have made an attempt
to elude me. He could have gone on shore in the tender, lived in the
woods, or at the cabin of some settler, for a week or more, until I was
tired of waiting for him, and then taken to his yacht, and escaped by
the way of Canada.
"What are you doing up here, Phil?" shouted the subject of all my
anxious solicitude, as he came out of the cabin of the Florina.
"We had a little breeze, and I came up to save you the trouble of
rowing," I replied.
"You have a talent for making blunders, Phil," growled he, in a tone
which did much to confirm my suspicions.
"Not a bad blunder, since I am safe here," I replied.
"You might have run her aground, and we should have had to leave her
here all summer. Don't you know any better than to run about in the
night where you are not acquainted? Is that the way you use other
people's boats?"
"The Marian is still afloat, and safe. Do you want any help?"
"No; no such help as you can give. You can't do anything without making
a blunder. I should like to knock the conceit out of you."
The more blunders he charged upon me, and the more savage he was, the
better assured I became that I had hit the nail on the head. As we were
playing at cross-purposes, it was evident that all my direct thrusts
would be regarded as blunders by him. What suited him could not
possibly suit me, under the present circumstances. I did not know what
he was doing on board of the Florina, and I did not care, so long as I
knew where he was. He went into the cabin after he had expressed his
mind to me, and I did not see him again for over an hour.
"You must be tired, Marian," I said to my fair companion, as I heard
her gape.
"I am tired, Philip."
"Why not lie down, then? I will watch over you, and see that no harm
comes to you while you sleep."
"Thank you, Philip; you are very kind. I am afraid I could not sleep if
I did lie down."
"You can at least rest yourself. You shall have the cabin all to
yourself. We may not leave this lagoon before morning."
"Where will the rest of you sleep, if I take the cabin all to myself?"
"I shall sleep on deck. These cushions are as good a bed as I want."
"And Mr. Whippleton?"
"If we stay here, he will sleep on board of his own yacht. If not, he
will probably stay at the helm."
"I am very tired, for it seems to me that I never endured so much in
one day in my life before," she replied, rising, and going into the
cabin.
I went with her, and secured the door which led into the cook-room, and
showed her how to fasten the slide at the companion-way. I drew the
blue curtains over the deck lights, and it seemed to me that maiden
never had a more inviting chamber than the little cabin of the Marian.
I bade her good night, and helped her close the door. Resuming my seat
on the cushions of the standing-room, I thanked God that he had
preserved her from the wiles of the villain; and I hoped she did not
herself forget to acknowledge the goodness of Him who always watches
over the innocent.
There was no wind, and no sign of any. The sky was cloudless, and there
was not a ripple on the lagoon, not a rustle in the forest that
bordered it. I had brought up a blanket and an old coat from the cabin
to serve me as bed-clothes; and stretching myself on the cushions, I
soon went to sleep. I did not believe that Mr. Whippleton could leave
in the boat without my knowledge, for at such times I always slept with
one eye open. If a breeze came, it would shake the mainsail and rattle
the sheet-blocks near my head, and wake me. I had been up half of the
preceding night with Mrs. Whippleton, and I was very tired myself. I
could not foresee what would happen within the next few days, and I
deemed it prudent to economize my strength.
So far as the wind was concerned, my calculation was correct. It did
shake the mainsail, and rattle the sheet-blocks, and I was aroused from
my slumbers. I raised myself upon my bed, to assure myself that the
Florina was still near me. That was the very thing, however, of which I
could not assure myself. In fact she was not near me. I sprang to my
feet, and felt that I had made a blunder, but such a one as Mr.
Whippleton would not charge upon me. The Marian was adrift, and the
breeze was carrying her farther up the lagoon, where she might get
aground. My first care was to secure her from any such accident, which
would indeed have been a catastrophe to me. All I had to do was to put
the helm down, and bring the yacht up into the wind, which came only in
light puffs. It was from the westward, and I had just slant enough to
enable me to lay a course towards the lake.
As soon as I got her head to the breeze, I hoisted the jib. Seating
myself at the helm, I studied the course, and kept a sharp lookout
ahead for the Florina. I was satisfied that the first breath of wind
had waked me, and that the other yacht could not be far from me. In a
few moments I was assured of the correctness of my calculation, for I
discovered the Florina behind a point of land. She had come thus far
without hoisting her jib, and had not been able to lay very close to
the wind. Mr. Whippleton knew the navigation of the lagoon, and had run
his yacht where I should not have dared to go. Probably he had not
hoisted his jib before, lest the noise of it should wake me; but I saw
it go up almost as soon as I caught sight of her.
I do not like to accuse other people of making blunders, but I was sure
that Mr. Whippleton had made one in not standing directly out of the
lagoon; but doubtless he expected to have his own time for the
operation. As it was, I had the weather-gage of him. He had run over to
leeward so far, with a projecting point of land between him and the
mouth of the creek, that I should be off the headland before he could
reach it.
I rubbed my hands with delight when I realized the situation, and saw
that I could not help cutting him out. The neglect on his part to hoist
the jib had lost him the battle, while my jib had won it for me. The
slant of the wind would enable me to go clear of the point, off which I
had first anchored the Marian, while Mr. Whippleton would be obliged to
make two tacks in order to weather it. But he had the wind freer than
I, for he had evidently run off to leeward for the sole purpose of
setting his jib without disturbing me.
As I was approaching the point of land, the Florina came within hailing
distance of me.
"Marian, ahoy! Where are you going, Phil?" shouted Mr. Whippleton,
wrathfully.
"After you."
"Another blunder, you blockhead! Come about, and take me on board."
I was willing to comply with this request, for it seemed reasonable to
me. Both boats were heaved to, and Mr. Whippleton put off in one of the
tenders.