A CRUISE TO THE ISLAND
"Whatever are you doing, Rob?"
It was the morning after the consultation of Jack Curtiss and his
cronies, and Corporal Crawford was looking over the fence into his
leader's yard.
Rob was bending over a curious-looking apparatus, consisting of a bent
stick held in a bow-shape by a taut leather thong. The appliance was
twisted about an upright piece of wood sharpened at one end--which was
rotated as the lad ran the bow back and forth across it.
Presently smoke began to rise from the flat piece of timber into which
the point of the upright stick had been boring and depositing sawdust,
and Rob, by industriously blowing at the accumulation, presently caused
it to burst into flame.
"There I've done it," he exclaimed triumphantly, arising with a flushed
face from his labors.
"Done what?" inquired young Crawford interestedly.
"Made fire in the Indian way," replied Rob triumphantly.
"I thought they made it by rubbing two sticks together."
"Only book Indians do that," replied Rob, "I'll tell you it took me a
time to get the hang of it, but I've got it now."
"It's quite a stunt, all right," commented the corporal admiringly.
"You bet, and it's useful, too," replied Rob. "I'll put the bow and
drill in my pocket, and then any time we get stuck for matches we'll
have no trouble in making a signal smoke or lighting cooking fires."
"Say, I've got some news for you," went on young Crawford, "did you
know that Sam Redding has entered that freak motor boat he's been
building in the yacht club regatta? He's out for the club trophy."
"No, is he, though?" exclaimed Rob, keenly interested. "Then the crew
and skipper of the Flying Fish will have to look alive. I know that
Sam's father helped him out with that boat and put a lot of new
wrinkles in it. I didn't think, though, he'd have it ready in time for
the races."
The boys referred to the coming motor-boat races which were to take
place shortly on the inlet at Hampton. Like most of the other lads in
the seashore town, Merritt and Rob had a lot of experience on the water
and some time before had built a speedy motor boat from knock-down
frames. The Flying Fish, as they called her, was entered for the main
event referred to, the prize for which was a silver cup, donated by the
merchants of the town. There were several other entries in the race,
but Rob and his crew, consisting of Merritt and Tubby Hopkins,
confidently expected the Flying Fish to easily lead them all.
"I wonder if the Sam Redding can show her stern to the Flying Fish?"
mused Rob. "I'd like to lake a good look at her."
"Let's go down to Redding's boat yard," suggested Merritt; "she's lying
there on the ways. I don't suppose any one would object to our sizing
her up."
Rob hailed the suggestion as a good one.
"We can call in for Tubby on the way," he said, as he darted into the
house after his hat.
The boys dropped in at Tubby's house on their way to the water-front,
and received from the stout youth some additional details regarding
Sam's boat.
"She's a hydroplane," volunteered Tubby, "and Tom Jennings, down at the
yard, says she's as fast as a race horse."
"A hydroplane?--that's one of those craft that cut along the top of the
water like a skimming dish, isn't it?" asked Merritt.
"That's the idea," responded Rob. "They're supposed to be as speedy as
anything afloat in smooth water."
Thus conversing they reached the boat-building yard of Sam Redding's
father and were greeted by Tom Jennings, a big good-natured ship
carpenter. "Hullo, Tom! Can we see that new boat of Sam's?" inquired
Rob.
"Sure, I guess there's no objection," grinned Tom, "come right this
way. There she is, over there by that big winch."
Report had not erred apparently as to the novel qualities of Sam
Redding's speed craft. She was about twenty-five feet long, narrow and
painted black. She was perfectly flat-bottomed, her underside being
deeply notched at frequent intervals. On the edge of those notches she
was supposed to glide over the water when driven at top speed.
"She certainly looks like a winner," commented Rob, as he gazed at her
clean, slender lines and sharp bow.
"She's got wonderful speed," Tom Jennings confided. "We tried her out
the other night when no one was around. But I don't think that in
rough water she'll be much good."
"No, I'd prefer the Flying Fish for the waters hereabouts," agreed Rob,
"it's liable to come on rough in a hurry and then a chap who was out in
a dry-goods box, like that thing, would be in trouble."
"What are you calling a dry-goods box?" demanded an indignant voice
behind them, and turning, the lads saw Sam Redding with a menacing look
on his face. A little way behind him stood Bill Bender and Jack
Curtiss.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Sam," said Rob. "I really admire your
hydroplane very much, and I think it will give us a tussle for the
trophy, all right; but I don't think she'd be much good in any kind of
a sea-way."
"That's my business, you interfering little runt," snapped Sam, who,
with Bill Bender and Jack Curtiss to back him, felt very brave; though
ordinarily he would have avoided trouble with the young scouts. "What
are you doing spying around the yard here, anyhow?" he went on
insolently.
"We are not spying," indignantly burst out Merritt. "We asked Tom
Jennings if we couldn't look at your hydroplane, as we were naturally
interested in her, and he gave us permission."
"Well, he had no business to," growled Sam; "he ought to be attending
to his work instead of showing a lot of nosy young cubs my new boat."
"They are capable of stealing your ideas," chimed in Jack Curtiss, "and
putting them on their own boat."
"That's ridiculous," laughed Rob, "as I said I wouldn't want to have
anything to do with such a contrivance except on a lake or a river."
"Well, you keep your advice and your ideas to yourself, and get out of
this yard!" roared Sam, waxing bolder and bolder, and mistaking Rob's
conciliatory manner for cowardice. "I've a good mind to punch your
head."
"Better come on and try it," retorted Rob, preparing for the immediate
onslaught which it seemed reasonable from Sam's manner to expect.
But it didn't come.
Muttering something about "young cubs," and "keeping the boat-yard gate
locked," Sam turned to his chums and invited them to come and try out
his new motor in the shop.
As the three chums had no desire to "mix it up with Sam on his own
place," as Tubby put it, they left the yard promptly, and walked on
down the water-front to the wharf at which lay the Flying Fish, the
fastest craft in the Hampton Motor Boat Club. Rob's boat was, to tell
the truth, rather broad of beam for a racer and drew quite a little
water. She had a powerful motor and clean lines, however, and while
not primarily designed solely for "mug-hunting," had beaten everything
she had raced with during the few months since the boys had completed
her. The money for her motor had been given to Rob by his father, who
was quite indulgent to Rob in money matters, having noticed that the
lad always expended the sums given him wisely.
"Let's take a spin," suddenly suggested Tubby.
"Nothing to prevent us," answered Rob; "we've got plenty of time before
dinner. Come on, boys."
The lads were soon on board and examining the gasoline tank, to see how
much fuel they had on hand, and oiling up the engine. The fuel
receptacle proved to be almost full, so after filling the lubricant
cups and attending to the batteries, they started up the engine--a
powerful, three cylindered, twelve-horse affair capable of driving the
twenty-two foot Flying Fish through the water at twelve miles an hour
or better.
Just as Rob was casting off the head-line there came a hail from the
wharf above them.
"Ahoy, there, shipmates! Where are yer bound fer this fine, sunny day?"
The lads looked up to see the weather-beaten countenance of Captain Job
Hudgins, one of the characters of the vicinity. He was a former
whaler, and lived on a small island some distance from Hampton. On his
little territory he fished and grew a few vegetables, "trading in" his
produce at the Hampton grocery stores for his simple wants. He,
however, had a pension, and was supposed to have a "snug little
fortune" laid by. His only companion in his island solitude was it big
Newfoundland dog named "Skipper."
The animal stood beside its master on the dock and wagged its tail at
the sight of the boys, whom it knew quite well from their frequent
visits to the captain's little island.
"Hullo, captain!" shouted Rob, as the veteran saluted his three young
friends. "Where's your boat?"
"Oh, her engine went--busted, and I had to leave her at the yard below
fer repairs," explained the captain. "I wonder if yer boys can give me
a lift back if yer goin' near Topsail Island?"
"Surest thing you know," rejoined Rob hastily. "Come right aboard.
But how are you going to get off your island again if your motor is
laid up here to be fixed?"
"Oh, I'll use my rowboat," responded the old mariner, clambering down
into the Flying Fish. "Say, this is quite a right smart contraption,
ain't she?"
"We think she is a pretty good little boat," modestly replied Rob,
taking his place at the wheel. "Now, then, Merritt, start up that
engine."
"Hold on a minute!" shouted Tubby. "We forgot the dog."
Sure enough, Skipper was dashing up and down the wharf in great
distress at the prospect of being deserted.
"Put yer boat alongside that landin' stage at the end of the wharf,"
suggested his master. "Skipper can get aboard from there, I reckon."
Rob steered the Flying Fish round to the floating landing, to which an
inclined runway led from the wharf. Skipper dashed down it as soon as
he saw what was happening, and was waiting, ready to embark, when the
Flying Fish came alongside.
"Poor old Skipper, I reckon yer thought we was goin' ter maroon yer,"
said Captain Job, as the animal jumped on board with a bark of "thanks"
for his rescue. "I tell yer, boys, I wouldn't lose that dog fer all
the money in Rob's father's bank. He keeps good watch out an the
Island, I'll tell yer."
"I didn't think any one much came there, except us," said Rob, as the
Flying Fish headed away from the wharf and began to cut through the
waters of the inlet.
"Oh, yes; there's others," responded the old man. "That Jack Curtiss
lad and his two chums are out there quite often."
"Bill Bender and Sam Redding, I suppose you mean," said Tubby.
"Those their names?" asked the captain. "Well, I don't know any good
uv any uv 'em. Old Skipper here chased 'em away from my melon patch
the other day. I reckon they thought Old Scratch was after them, the
way they run; but they got away with some melons, just the same."
The old man laughed aloud at the recollection of the marauders'
precipitous flight.
That Jack Curtiss and his two cronies had made a rendezvous of the
island was news to the boys, and not agreeable news, either. They had
been planning a patrol camp there later on in the summer, and the bully
and his two chums were not regarded by them as desirable neighbors.
However, they said nothing, as they could not claim sole right to use
the island, which was property that had been so long in litigation that
It had come to be known as "No Man's Land" as well as by its proper
name. The captain was only a squatter there, but no one cared to
disturb him, and he had led the existence of a semi-hermit there for
many years.
The Flying Fish rapidly covered the calm waters of the inlet and was
soon dancing over the swells outside.
"I'm going to let her out a bit," said Rob suddenly; "look out for
spray."
"Spray don't bother a brine-pickled old salt like me," laughed the
captain. "Let her go."
The Flying Fish seemed fairly to leap forward as Merritt gave her the
full power of her engine. As Rob had said, it did indeed behoove her
occupants to look out for spray. The sparkling spume came flying back
in sheets as she cut through the waves, but the boys didn't mind that
any more than did their weather-beaten companion. As for Skipper, he
barked aloud in sheer joy as the Flying Fish slid along as if she were
trying to live up to her name to her utmost ability.
"This is a good little sea boat," remarked the captain, as they plunged
onward. "She's as seaworthy as she is speedy, I guess."
"She'll stand a lot of knocking about, and that's a fact," agreed Rob.
"Well," remarked the old man, gazing about him, "it's a good thing that
she is, fer, if I'm not mistaken--and I'm not often off as regards the
weather--we are goin' ter have quite a little blow before yer boys get
back home."
"A storm?" asked Tubby, somewhat alarmed.
"Oh, no; not what yer might call a storm," laughed the captain; "but
just what we used to term a 'capful uv wind.'"
"Well, so long as it isn't a really bad blow, it won't trouble the
Flying Fish," Rob assured him.
"Hullo!" exclaimed the old man suddenly. "What queer kind uv craft is
that?"
He pointed back to the mouth of the now distant inlet, from which a
curious-looking black craft was emerging at what seemed to be great
speed.
"It's that hydroplane of Sam Redding's, for a bet!" cried Rob. "Here,
Tubby, take the wheel a minute, while I put the glasses on her."
The lad stood up in the heaving motor craft, steadying himself against
the bulwarks by his knees, and peered through his marine-glasses.
"It's the hydroplane, sure enough," he said. "By ginger, but she can
go, all right! Sam and Jack and Bill are all in her. They seem to be
heading right out to sea, too."
"Say!" exclaimed Tubby suddenly, "if it comes on to blow, as the
captain said it would, they'll be in a bad fix, won't they?"
"In that ther shoe-box thing," scornfully exclaimed the old captain,
who had also been looking through the glasses, "why, I wouldn't give a
confederate dollar bill with a hole in it fer their lives."