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[Illustration: BILLY’S PRIZE FISH.
_Woodcraft Boys at Sunset Island._ _Frontispiece._]
Woodcraft Boys
at Sunset Island
BY
LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
AND
M. F. HOISINGTON
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1919,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
ONE THE SPORTS OF SUNSET ISLAND 13
TWO WHAT THE TRAWL BROUGHT FORTH 32
THREE FOGGY DAYS AND WOODCRAFT WAYS 50
FOUR COUNCIL THIS AFTERNOON 67
FIVE WINNING THE DEGREE OF SHINGEBIS 84
SIX THE PICNIC AT SPRUCE ISLAND 101
SEVEN FURTHER ADVENTURES AT SPRUCE ISLAND 121
EIGHT THE CRUISE TO CASTINE 131
NINE THE NIGHT OF THE MASKED BALL 152
TEN FOR THE HONOUR OF THE BLACK BEARS 170
ELEVEN WITA-TONKAN LEFT IN CHARGE 189
TWELVE THE PIRATES OF SCILLY LEDGE 212
THIRTEEN THIEVES IN THE NIGHT 234
FOURTEEN THE TWENTY-FOURTH FEATHER 253
ILLUSTRATIONS
BILLY’S PRIZE FISH _Frontispiece_
PAGE
THE MOLA, OR DEEP SEA SUNFISH 20
THE LOBSTER TRAPS 20
A STRING OF CUNNERS CAUGHT BY SHELBY 52
“AND ALL ALONG THE OLD JIB BOOM” 52
THE WAR BONNET OF THE SAGAMORE 76
CAP’N, FRED AND BILLY “OILED UP” 148
OFF FOR BELFAST ON THE MEDRIC 148
SCRAPING THE SEALSKIN 228
BILLY AND HIS PORCUPINES 228
MOVIES--“THE PIRATES OF SUNSET” 244
THE OLD WRECK IN CROW COVE 244
SHINGEBIS IN COSTUME 256
WOODCRAFT BOYS AT SUNSET ISLAND
CHAPTER ONE
THE SPORTS OF SUNSET ISLAND
“Say! What’s that over there--there near the Cove? Look! There it
is again--sticking its fin out of the water,” cried Billy Remington
excitedly, as, toggle-iron in hand, he stood in the bow of the large
rowboat manned by three other boys.
“Gee! S’pose it’s a shark?” exclaimed Paul Alvord, who, with Dudley
West, was visiting Sunset Island, the Maine resort of the Remingtons’.
“Oo-oh! What if it is? Let’s row over and maybe we can have a try to
harpoon it!” added Dudley, eagerly.
The “white-ash breeze” soon brought them near the spot where the fin
had last been seen and Fred Remington, the oldest of the four boys,
rested upon his oars while scanning the face of the water.
“Look--quick! There it is again!” shouted Billy.
“Let’s try and drive it in nearer shore if we can,” came from Fred, who
was as eager as the other three lads to become better acquainted with
the strange object.
Then began a breathless chase. Four highly excited young fishermen
yelling at each other, or pulling madly at the oars when Fred so
ordered, and cracking muscles to back water when the need demanded--as
was the case whenever the queer hulk of a fish threatened to swim too
near the boys’ boat.
However, the creature was already in too shallow water for its bulk to
swim and it struggled valiantly, if futilely, to make its escape from
the Nemesis in the boat.
“What a whopper!” cried Dudley, while Billy carefully rose from his
seat with the harpoon held in his hands.
“Now! Now, give it to him!” called Fred.
Thus importuned, Billy tried his luck. The small harpoon which had
been prepared for a chance fling at a porpoise, was let fly at the
floundering mass. The aim was true but the iron rebounded as from an
oaken plank.
With gasps of wonderment from the boys, the harpoon was hauled back and
Billy anxiously tried again. But with the same result.
The huge fish was now seen with its back fin clear out of water in its
maddened efforts to swim in the insufficient depth.
“What can it be?” asked Paul, curiously.
“I’m sure I don’t know--certainly not a shark,” replied Fred. Then
turning to Billy, he added, “Here--let me have a try at it.”
Billy passed over the harpoon and the boys rowed the boat quite close
to the greyish mass so that Fred distinctly saw a great eye.
“Steady boys--quiet now!” warned Fred, raising the weapon above his
head.
The big fish lay temporarily resting when Fred launched the iron with
all his strength. An accurate aim at the eye which he rightly judged
might be vulnerable and the harpoon sunk in the target.
The consuming anxiety of the next few moments seemed like eternity to
the boys as they wondered whether they could win out in the mad battle
that began the very moment the harpoon struck in. The water was churned
as if by a great paddle-wheel; the spray flew over everything while the
fish whopped forward, then suddenly backed, then flung itself from side
to side in an agonised and frenzied plunge for safety. The harpoon held
good however, and Fred paid out about thirty fathoms of line before the
victim became exhausted.
It succeeded in gaining deeper water in the frantic battle for life,
and had not the iron held securely, the unwieldy fish would surely have
broken away to its freedom in the sea.
“It really looks like a young whale, don’t you think so, Fred?”
ventured Paul, after the fish had quieted somewhat.
“Nonsense! But it certainly is a queer bunch of hide and bones,”
returned Fred.
It was impossible for the boys to handle their prize as it was so
heavy, but they managed to drag the monster close to the stern of their
boat and then tow it triumphantly in to Saturday Cove where lay a large
schooner. The mate yelled at the boys and Fred looked up to find a
group of men eagerly watching.
“Come alongside and we’ll haul him out fer you!” shouted the mate.
The boys obeyed and the mate ordered his crew to help. “Pass a bo’line
’round his tail and hoist ’im up!”
“Hit don’t seem to have no tail,” complained a sailor.
“Ner head, nuther--it’s all bulk!” laughed another. Fred passed the
harpoon line aboard and the crew tailed on to it. But the combined
efforts of the four husky sailors were insufficient to raise the still
struggling creature clear of the water.
After a time, however, they managed to get a good view, so that the
mate recognised it for a deep-sea sunfish, or mola. He then sent the
sailors forward for the large hook used in catting the anchor. They
hooked the throat-halliards into this and passed it down to Fred who
tried to fasten the anchor-hook in the fish’s mouth. But the beak-like
jaws were too small. Finally he managed to hook it into the mola’s eye
alongside the harpoon. With this powerful tackle the sailors hoisted
the fish out of water.
Visitors and fishermen in every imaginable sort of craft clustered
about the yacht, all intent upon seeing the curiosity and securing a
good snapshot of it. With the others, came the Captain of the power
launch belonging to Sunset Island.
“Hey, boys! What a monster catch!” called Captain Ed.
“It sure is! How much do you reckon he weighs?” asked a man who
overheard the Captain’s remark.
“Looks like half a ton to me--but there’s no tellin’ without scales
handy,” returned the Captain.
“Hoh! We weighed him all right, Cap--by the scales on his back!”
haw-hawed the mate of the schooner.
The joke was an old one with Maine fishermen and the mate resorted to
it without thinking, so the Captain caught him up instantly.
“Naw, yuh didn’t nuther! Cuz he hain’t got no scales--see!”
The laugh that broke simultaneously from the crew was thoroughly
enjoyed by every one, including the mate, for the mola had a very tough
hide but was scaleless. Its apology for a tail was a frill of scallops
opposite the beak-end, while the most prominent features were the
dorsal and ventral fins, each one about a foot and a half in length.
“Whad’ye say ye th’ot he weighed, Cap?” asked the mate of Captain Ed
as soon as the laugh died down.
“Nigh on half a ton, thinks I,” responded the Captain.
That started a new argument among the local fishermen “lying” in those
parts about the weight of the fish. During the discussion, Fred managed
to shove his boat close to the launch from Sunset Island. Then he
hailed Captain Ed.
“Let’s tow the sunfish over home and give father and mother a chance to
look at the queer thing.”
So, acting upon Fred’s suggestion, the Captain helped the sailors
lower the mola into the water again and remove the yacht’s tackle. The
procession started: first, Captain Ed, Billy and Dudley in the power
boat, towing the rowboat with Fred and Paul in it. They in turn towed
the sunfish, the latter at the end of the rope churning up the water as
it careened after the boat.
While the four boys excitedly retailed the capture of their prize,
the launch was making good speed across West Penobscot Bay to a group
of three small islands lying near the fourteen-mile-long shore of
Islesboro, which divides the bay into east and west. The boys’ summer
camp was on the most northerly isle which contained about eight acres
of land, high, rocky, and closely wooded with fir and spruce.
The middle island, called Isola Bella, was some twenty-four acres
in extent and was also high and well wooded. It belonged to Mrs.
Remington’s brother, William Farwell, always known as “Uncle Bill.”
The southerly one of the island trio was very appropriately named Flat
Island because of its nature: Not a tree upon it and shaped like a
skate with a sand-spit for a tail.
The three islands were about a quarter of a mile from each other and
about two miles from the mainland where the boys had just caught the
mola.
Great was the excitement at Sunset Island when the convoy was discerned
through the spyglass. As soon as voices could be heard, and in fact
before that time, the eager watchers sitting upon the rocks of Treasure
Cove were eagerly shouting and waving hands to the approaching craft.
“What did you catch?”
“Is it a porpoise?”
“Where did you get it?”
Mr. Remington was the first to reach the boats and help the boys.
“Well, I declare--a sunfish! Haven’t seen one in a long time. What are
you going to do with it, now that you’ve got it?”
“To tell the truth, we never thought of that,” retorted Fred.
“All we wanted to do was to catch it, and get it over here to exhibit
to you folks,” added Billy.
“I’ve hearn say that th’ hide makes mighty good insides for baseballs,
’count of the rubbery quality,” casually remarked the Captain, with a
twinkle in his eyes.
“Isn’t it a good fish to eat?” questioned Paul.
“Nah! yuh might as well try to eat a meal off of auto tires and chopped
kindlin’ wood served with fish-oil dressin’,” chuckled the Captain.
“Then let’s get Mose down here and fool him into believing he has to
skin and cook the fish for chowder,” proposed Dudley, mischievously.
“So we will!” agreed the other boys, and Dudley ran up the bank to call
Mose.
The brown chef soon appeared on the rocks in front of the bungalow to
see what all the commotion was about and Billy called up to him:
“Bring down your tools to clean this fish, Mose!”
“We’re going to have it for to-night’s dinner ’cause Captain Ed says it
won’t keep,” added Paul.
“You’ll have to slice off the big steaks first, Mose, and chop up the
rest for the chowder,” concluded Fred.
Never doubting the sincerity of the orders given, Mose went back to
find a huge pan and the butcher-knife. With his sleeves rolled up and a
heavy burlap apron tied about his waist, he came prepared to clean the
monster fish.
While every one stood about grinning, Mose started in to cut off the
end where the beak grew; but saw as powerfully as he would, the knife
made no impression on the tough hide.
“Ah d’clar’ t’ goodness, Mis Remin’ton, how you-all eber goin’ t’ chaw
dis elerphant fish?” worried Mose, as he stood up to mop the moisture
from his perspiring brow.
A shout of laughter from the circle of hoaxing islanders made Mose
glance quizzically at them.
“Ha! that was one on you, Mose,” exclaimed Billy gleefully.
“Nem-mine, you Indians! Mose got all summer, yuh know, an’ Ah’m gwine
git eben wid yuh yit!” prophesied the jolly cook, brandishing the
fearful knife as he trudged away toward the bungalow, leaving the
laughing crowd standing by the fish.
“We’ve got to keep it some way until Uncle Bill comes,” suggested Fred,
looking about the cove for a possible place to anchor the mola.
“Why, when is Uncle Bill expected?” asked Elizabeth Remington, Fred’s
fifteen-year-old sister.
“Not for ten days yet, and really, boys, it will be impossible for you
to keep this curiosity near Sunset as long as that! You will have to
tow it out for the tide to carry far, far away for more reasons than
one, before your uncle arrives,” advised Mrs. Remington.
“Can’t we keep it here for a day or two, mother?” begged Billy.
“Not if the flies assemble for a picnic,” retorted she.
“It’s too bad Uncle Tom and Aunt Edith are not at Rosemary yet--he
would just love to see this natural history thing. He’s always so
enthusiastic about curiosities and all such sort of stuff,” added
Elizabeth, gazing at the mola regretfully.
“Well that’s what they miss for not coming to Maine before the first of
July,” declared Billy.
“I nearly missed it too, didn’t I?” said Paul, deeply grateful that he
hadn’t. “If I’d waited as Hilda wanted me to, just to spend the Fourth
with her, I wouldn’t have been here yet, would I?”
The others laughed at such evidence, and Paul added: “Well, I sure am
glad I’m here!”
“So’m I,” declared Dudley. “And I’m goin’ to stay, too!”
Again every one laughed at the positiveness of the two young visitors
who were Billy’s chums at school, and Paul turned to inquire of his
hostess:
“How long do you s’pose we can stay here with you?”
“Just as long as you behave and are not much care or trouble. But it
also depends somewhat on what your parents say,” replied the lady of
the island.
“Oh, they won’t mind us stayin’ and we’ll do just everything you say,
Miss Remington!” quickly promised Dudley.
“You just bet we will, an’ my mother and sister are real glad I can
visit Billy all summer on such a dandy island,” assured Paul.
“Well then, the Sagamore of Sunset Isle has his work all cut out for
him this summer,” laughed Mrs. Remington, nodding at Fred, who was
seventeen and the oldest of all the children.
“Looks like some programme, too!” commented Fred.
“By the time the season is over, Fred will have had such fine training
that he will have to go to Plattsburg for a rest. He will be able
to pass high in the physical requirements, all right,” added Mr.
Remington, who had joined the group in time to hear the latter part of
the conversation.
As Mr. Remington finished speaking the bell rang for luncheon and a
crowd of hungry islanders trooped in to eat every crumb of Mose’s
delicious meal. Then, feeling like a new man once more, Fred announced
his intention of sailing over to Isola Bella to bring his aunt and
little cousins, Miriam and Betty, to Sunset Island to see the deep-sea
curiosity.
In an hour’s time, therefore, Fred landed his passengers at the float
stage, and hurried them over to the place where lay the giant sunfish.
“Oh, I wish Papa could see it!” cried Miriam Farwell, the eldest child
of Aunt Miriam and Uncle Bill.
The energetic islanders finally wearied of admiring the mola and turned
their attention to other things.
“I wish Uncle Bill would offer a prize for the biggest fish caught this
summer--you know he did that last year,” said Billy, the financier of
the family.
“That makes an incentive to catch something larger than your
neighbour’s, it is true, but I wouldn’t scorn to land a big fish even
if there were no prize given me,” said Fred.
“No one would be so foolish as that,” scoffed Paul.
“Captain, how about the trawl this summer?” asked Mr. Remington.
“Oh, yes--and the lobster pots, Captain Ed?” added Billy.
“Well, now, we kin overhaul the trawl and set the pots whenever you
say,” replied the Captain.
“Then the sooner we start the better!” declared Dudley.
“Ef you ketch any lobsters I’ll be s’prised, all right. T’other
fishermen ain’t ketchin’ nawthin’ this year,” said the Captain.
“It’s queer where all the lobsters have gone! They used to be so
plentiful that we could easily catch a mess anywhere. Supplying the
canneries doesn’t explain everything about the scarcity,” commented
Mrs. Remington.
“I’ve noticed another thing that has changed too, since we first began
coming to Maine years ago,” added Mr. Remington. “Do you remember how
rarely kelp was found in this bay then? Now, all the ledges in the
back bay are covered with it--the ledges that used to be covered with
mussels and sea anemones.”
“That’s so, but I never thought of it before,” said Mrs. Remington
thoughtfully, then adding, “The cod and other big fish are now being
caught here in the _bay_ whereas the fishermen used to go way down
below Rockland for them.”
The others had been listening intently to these interesting remarks and
Billy ventured a theory.
“Do you s’pose the kelp has anything to do with the big fish coming to
our bay?”
“I’ve heard some of the natives wonder over the same thing. And the
larger fish being in these waters might explain the disappearance of
the lobsters as it is said that lobster-spawn floats in masses near the
surface of the water at a certain period of its development that it may
be benefited by the sun rays. Of course, the big fish eat millions of
the eggs at one meal, thus eliminating just so many future lobsters,”
explained Mr. Remington.
“It sure sounds reasonable, father,” added Fred.
“Still, that does not compensate us for the loss of our delicious
broiled lobster,” argued Mrs. Remington.
“The sooner we fix up the traps, then, the sooner you can have a treat
of lobster,” laughed her husband.
“Let’s begin right now and put them into working shape,” cried Billy.
“And I’ll act for Uncle Bill this time--I’ll offer a prize for the
largest lobster caught this season,” announced his father.
“Oh good! there are just four traps and each one of us boys can bait
and take charge of one,” decided Billy.
“And remember, boys, besides the prize, there is some form of Honour
in Woodcraft for knowing fish,” reminded their mother.
“Sure enough--twenty-five kinds of fish for a _coup_!” responded Fred.
“And fifty for a Grand _Coup_,” added Elizabeth.
“Hoh, we can never win fifty!” declared Dudley.
“Why not--if a trawl rakes up a hundred different kinds, it’ll be
easy,” bragged Paul.
Then Mrs. Remington said, “You know, boys, we will soon begin our
weekly Councils and you ought to be able to get the low Honour for
twenty-five fish without any difficulty. Dudley, how many do you know
now?”
“Are lobsters fish?” countered Dudley.
“Why, of course they are a sort of fish,” quickly retorted Paul.
“It seems to me that the Woodcraft Manual says ‘vertebrates’ and that
means ‘back-bones’; so lobsters should not be included,” explained Mrs.
Remington.
“Anyway, I know a cunner, a sculpin, and a mackerel--that’s three. And
a salmon, makes four, and a cod and a flounder, that’s six. Now, let me
see--oh yes! a harbour-pollock, and, and--I know lots more too, but I
can’t just remember,” admitted Dudley.
“Ha, ha! Dud, you ought to be named ‘Dub’! What about the very fish we
caught to-day?” teased Fred.
“Gee, that’s so! I clean forgot the mola; guess it was too tiny to
remember,” grinned Dudley.
“And the dogfish, and the skate, too, Dud,” reminded Billy.
“But I haven’t seen them yet--I’ve only known them by their names and
the pictures.”
“Say, father, will you help us set the trawl so we can try for the
_coup_? Just think of all the different kinds of fish we always get
that way,” suggested Fred.
“All right, boys, any time you say,” agreed Mr. Remington, who was
never so happy as when there was something doing.
Captain Ed, too, was most enthusiastic about the idea of a trawl, so
the Sunset Islanders went to their tents that night to dream of hooks
and fins and monsters of the deep, deep sea.
They all met at the breakfast table the next morning, and the talk
waxed so interesting that the usual object of sole attention--the
star-dish of the island, creamed beef and hashed fried potatoes with
soft-boiled eggs on the side--was partaken of in an absent-minded
manner.
Fred and Billy and their boy guests Paul and Dudley, were full of plans
for baiting up the trawl by that afternoon. The girls, Elizabeth and
Edith Remington were anxious to help also.
On the way from the bungalow after breakfast, Elizabeth explained
to the boys. “We can fish all morning and catch enough bait for the
lobster-traps and set the herring-net to get the bait for the trawl
overnight.”
“How many hooks are on that trawl?” asked Paul.
“About five hundred,” replied Fred. “Each one is on a short line called
a ‘gangin’ which is about a foot and a half long. These gangins hang
down every five or so feet along the whole length of the trawl. They
have the hooks at the ends and these we have to bait.”
“Gee! How long is the trawl if there are five hundred hooks?” wondered
Dudley.
“About half a mile long,” returned Fred.
Captain Ed was tinkering with the traps, putting in new heads and
mending broken slats. By the time the boys and girls returned from
their bait fishing, with a lot of sculpins and flounders, the four
traps were ready. In a short time thereafter the traps were baited and
loaded on the largest rowboat.
“I want mine located off Treasure Cove,” announced Billy.
“The Captain says he has picked out some dandy places for Dud’s and
mine,” said Paul, not to be outdone.
“Huh! for Dud and you or for your traps?” joked Billy.
“I guess the boys would make good lobster-bait, Bill, and if we run
short of sculpins we will use them--the lobsters will never know the
difference,” laughed Fred.
This pleasantry caused a rough and tumble scrap on the float-stage but
the Captain interrupted them by calling out the welcome order, “All
aboard!”
What hopes filled the breasts of Paul and Dudley as the boat neared the
spot chosen for the setting of the traps! Mr. Remington had declared
the crustaceans to be scarce, still the boys believed that Fate would
favour their particular traps and attract the lobsters into them.
Luncheon that day was eaten to the accompaniment of various conjectures
as to whether there were enough different kinds of fish in the bay to
count twenty-five for a _coup_; to say nothing of fifty kinds for a
Grand _Coup_ in Woodcraft.
“Fred, you won the fish _coup_, didn’t you?” asked Paul.
“Yes, I had it awarded last year,” replied Fred. “But all the fish I
have been introduced to in this bay were not enough to complete the
required number. I had to draw on some fresh water kinds to help me
out.”
“O pshaw! Then I don’t see how Dud and I can get the _coup_ this
summer,” grumbled Paul.
“You’re one ahead of the number I started with, anyway. You have that
mola and no one ever knows what a trawl may bring forth,” comforted
Fred.
The following morning the baiting of the trawl took a long time and the
boys thought a good day’s work was done when they had finished helping
the Captain and Mr. Remington. Each herring was cut into pieces and
furnished enough bait for three or four hooks.
They set the trawl out in the bay starting off at Flat Island. The
Captain’s dexterous flipping of the trawl-line was the despairing
admiration of the four boys and he did not catch or tangle the long
line once!
“Say, but that’s swell work!” exclaimed Paul.
“I should say so--some class to Captain Ed!” added Dudley.
Mr. Remington and the Captain laughed but, indeed, the performance was
a wonderful feat. The half-mile trawl with its five hundred dependent
hooks had been coiled in a tub with all the baited hooks in the inside
of the coil.
Having attached the end of the trawl-line to the anchored buoy Mr.
Remington and the boys rowed the boat slowly along with the tide, while
the Captain, reaching down with practised hands into the coil in the
tub threw over the baited line with the aid of a stick.
As the tide was on the flood the Sunset Islanders had started at what
would eventually be the southern end of the trawl and they worked up
the bay. The northern buoy was anchored as they finished in the sunset
glow.
Rowing homeward, somewhat wet but happy and ready as usual to replenish
the inner man, they reached the float where Mrs. Remington stood
watching for them.
“Oo-oh! What a mess the boys are in! And it will be worse too when you
‘under-run’ the trawl. Worse still when you clean the fish. Now, boys
there won’t be a stitch of clothing fit to wear about here, let alone
to travel home in, unless you put away these suits and wear some old
fishing togs. I only wish I had remembered to make you change this
morning. Come, and I will fit you out as you should be.”
CHAPTER TWO
WHAT THE TRAWL BROUGHT FORTH
Superbly equipped in various misfits of cast-off fishing clothes
abandoned by former visitors to the island, and some of Fred’s outgrown
trousers, the four boys, shod in rubber boots, could hardly wait for
Mose to finish serving the breakfast the morning after the setting of
the trawl.
Captain Ed and Mr. Remington were found at the float-stage employed in
seeing that the boat was all ready for the trip. The boys soon joined
them and all piled into the big rowboat and pulled away from shore.
The tide was running down so they began at the north end of the trawl
and soon found the floating buoy. Fred began hauling in the line while
the three younger boys craned their necks far over the side of the boat
to see the first hook appear.
“Gee! There’s somethin’ on it!” screamed Dudley, excitedly.
In his mad endeavour to crowd Dudley from his vantage point, Paul
caught the toe of his boot in the thwart of the boat and stumbled,
receiving a flabby skate plumb in his face, as the fish was swung
inboard at the end of the short line.
But no one had time to console the sputtering Paul, nor indeed, did he
complain of the mishap, as the next hook was about to appear above the
surface of the water.
“What’s on that one?” shrilled Paul, not able to see for himself.
“Ugh! only a dog-fish,” grunted the Captain. “Stab him and chuck him
overboard, Fred.”
“No, no--wait a minute, I want to see him first,” cried Paul.
His curiosity for a closer acquaintance with dog-fish was gratified
ten times over in the next few minutes and Captain Ed remarked with
disgust, “Humph! Guess their ain’t nuthin’ else in the bay.”
But even as he spoke, a fine cod rewarded the haul.
“Now, that’s something like!” commended Mr. Remington.
“How much do you s’pose she weighs?” cried Billy.
“Oh, about six pounds, but we’ll do better’n that,” said the Captain.
Then followed hake, haddock, more dog-fish, another skate, and then
three more fine cod--one of them weighing at least ten pounds. By
this time both the boat and the boys were wet and slimy so that Paul
consented to have the dog-fish killed and sent to feed and fatten the
future prey of the trawl. While the younger boys made way with the
skates and other useless fish, Fred and the Captain continued to
overhaul the trawl and rebait the hooks when necessary.
Suddenly, a rebellious thrashing and struggling attended the hauling in
of one of the hooks and the boys saw a wriggling mass of coils being
brought up from the blue-green depths.
“Jiminy crickets! It’s a sea-serpent!” yelled Dudley, his eyes as big
as saucers.
“Is it, Captain?” shivered Paul, deliciously.
“We-ll, I shouldn’t wonder if it was,” answered the Captain, preparing
to help Fred disengage the hook from an immense conger eel.
They tried to perform this operation outside of the boat but the
resistance of the strong wrestler was so powerful that half of its
length slid over the side into the boat even while the Captain and Fred
worked to free it.
The new passenger had things his own way for a time after he shipped so
that Mr. Remington had to join in the fray to assist in dispossessing
the unwelcome stranger.
By the time the conger eel was disentangled from Bill’s legs, Paul
and Dudley had laughed themselves so weak that they sat down upon
the slippery mess of cod and haddock. They had laughed all too soon,
however!
The eel, cut free from the hook, redoubled upon itself and lovingly
entwined the two helpless boys in a close embrace. Well indeed was it
that Mrs. Remington had insisted upon their wearing the rag-tag and
bobtail attire that day!
[Illustration: THE MOLA, OR DEEP SEA SUNFISH.]
[Illustration: THE LOBSTER TRAPS.
_Woodcraft Boys at Sunset Island._ _Page 20_]
The Captain finally succeeded in heaving the eel overboard, admitting
as he did so, “I hate to ketch one of them critters on my hooks--they
are so all-fired ugly!”
When order reigned once more and the boys had washed some of the bloody
slime from hands and faces, Mr. Remington complimented them upon the
stoic manner in which they “took their medicine.”
But when the boatload of some fifty fine fish was landed at Sunset
Island, the surprise of the girls and Mrs. Remington repaid them for
all of their vicissitudes.
“How long do you expect to keep up this trawling, and what do you
intend to do with all of these eatable fish,” asked Mrs. Remington,
overwhelmed when she heard the trawl had been rebaited for another
catch.
“Well, the boys and I thought of a little plan to dry and salt a lot of
fish for winter’s use. Especially as the high cost of meat in the city
has turned our thoughts to a fuller appreciation of the bounties of the
sea,” said her husband.
“Oh, mercy me! Have you stopped to think of the plague of flies--to
say nothing of the horrid smell caused by old fish?” remonstrated Mrs.
Remington.
“And that reminds me,” added she, hurriedly, “that mola _must_ not
remain on the island any longer.”
“Oh, that’s so, we’ll tow it out this afternoon,” promised Fred.
“As for the fish-curing, that won’t annoy you, my dear,” reassured Mr.
Remington. “We intend doing all of that on Flat Island.”
“We’d have taken these fish right down there, mother, but we wanted the
girls to see the haul--we were right near Flat Island, too, when we
finished up the trawl,” said Fred.
“Well, we’re much obliged, Freddy,” said Elizabeth.
“And we’ll take one of the cod up to Mose for supper,” added Mrs.
Remington.
That afternoon, Mr. Remington and the boys took the fish to Flat Island
while the Captain followed in his launch with a load of scantlings and
tools for making fish-flats. The mola was towed behind the launch and
out in deep water it was left to float away.
A tired lot of boys lounged about the bungalow that evening and Billy
was heard to say to Paul, “Say, but it takes a heap of scrubbing to get
clean of fish-smell, don’t it?”
“Yep! I had to scrub with hot water and gold-dust twins before lunch
and then I had to scrub with hot water and kitchen soap before
supper--’cause Edith sniffed at me; an’ now your mother says I’m still
fishy an’ I’d better scrub with more hot water and cashmere bouquet
soap before goin’ to bed so’s the sheets won’t turn sick!” giggled
Paul.
“Ah, I say! It’s too much to expect from a feller in camp,” complained
Dudley.
“Never mind,” consoled Fred. “It’ll soon be warm enough to strip and
take a plunge in the Cove instead of all this penance of hot water and
soap.”
That night as the tide crept stealthily in it bore upon its bosom
a treasure indeed! At last Treasure Cove had won its title. In the
silvery rays of the beautiful moonlight a _mola_ lay glorified upon the
little white beach.
Immediately after breakfast in the morning, the eager boys wanted to
investigate their lobster traps.
“I’ll tell you what, boys! You can attend to that while I take the
Captain and get some salt for our fish. Who wants to go to Saturday
Cove with me?” called Mr. Remington.
“I do! I do!” came the chorus of girls’ voices.
“No sooner said than done--here we go!” laughed their father.
As usual, Mose took this opportunity to hand Mr. Remington a list of
items for the larder. Odds and ends were obtainable at the General
Store and “P. O.” at Saturday Cove although the weekly marketing was
done at Belfast, a goodly-sized town nine miles up the bay.
The boys were a bit discouraged when they found nothing but crabs in
the lobster traps. However, they baited them afresh and brought home
the crabs.
“There’s awful poor pickin’ in these crabs,” admitted Fred. “That’s
one thing Maine falls down on.”
“But aren’t they _some_ good?” asked Dudley.
“Oh, yes, about one mouthful to a crab,” returned Billy.
“Not like the ones down at Old Point Comfort and the Chesapeake!--some
crabs, those!” said Fred, smacking his lips.
The boys came into Treasure Cove but it was noticed that Fred
frowningly sniffed the pungent air with nose held high. And great
was their disgust when the bow of the boat ran into an odoriferous
mola. The hot sun beating down upon it that day had not improved its
condition.
“Gee! another dirty job!” exclaimed Billy, scowling at the prow of the
unconscious boat.
“That came back on the flood last night! Now we’ve got to tow it out
and see what the ebb will do for it,” said Fred.
“Say, d’ye need us to help?” asked Paul. “If not, Dud and me’ll take
these crabs to Mose to have him start boiling them.”
“All right, go along; and if you’re real nice in asking Anna, she’ll
help you pick out the crab meat. She’s a wiz. at that work,” advised
Billy.
So the two boys engagingly won the governess’ promise to pick crab
meat, while Fred and Billy attended to a less attractive duty.
Once more the mola was consigned to the tide, which in this latitude
rises and falls about fifteen feet at the full of the moon.
Comparatively few miles to the eastward of this longitude lies the Bay
of Fundy known all over the world for its hundred-foot tides.
“Say, Fred, wouldn’t it be queer if the tides rose and fell here as
they do up in New Brunswick?” asked Billy.
“Why, the Captain was tellin’ me the other day,” continued the boy,
“that the tide at St. John turns the Falls of the river backward,
making them as high the reverse way as they are in the usual direction.
“Besides, the Captain said the tide runs off of miles of sand-flats
where the pigs go to feed on shell-fish and seaweed. Now listen, Fred!
Do you believe this fairy-tale of the Captain’s? _He said_: ‘When the
tide turns to come in it starts with a booming roar and the pigs know
it by instinct as the death signal. At the first boom they turn tail
and run squealing to high ground and safety.’”
“It may be as the Captain says, but I don’t see how the pigs can
inherit that instinct of danger--the ones that learn of the penalty for
lingering perish in the learning,” remarked the elder brother.
“I’d just like to go there some day and see for myself,” said Billy.
“Now, old mola, even if this isn’t a Bay of Fundy tide, I hope you’ll
be carried high and away for all time.”
“Yes, and good riddance to it!” added Fred, as the tow-line was thrown
inboard and the boat was turned for home.
The next morning Paul and Dudley each had a small lobster in their
traps and Fred consolingly remarked, “Well, that’s proof there’s some
lobsters about, anyway.”
As the boat neared shore Paul jumped up and waved his cap.
“Eliz-zabeth! E-ed-ith! Look--I got a lobster!”
The girls ran quickly to the float and called back, “Oh, hold it
up--let’s see how big it is?”
Paul had watched Billy grasp a lobster in a most simple but effective
way so he attempted to do likewise. Unfortunately, he didn’t take up
the lobster in quite the same place and the air resounded with his
shrieks.
He shook his imprisoned hand so violently that the claw snapped and the
lobster dropped leaving its nipper still fastened in the boy’s middle
finger. However, he was soon released and had to listen to Edith’s
teasing laugh.
“I thought you said you’d caught a lobster! Looks more as if the
lobster caught _you_!”
“All the same, I’ll dare you to pick up one all by yourself!”
indignantly rejoined Paul.
Edith then quickly changed the subject by admiring the star-fish Dudley
had brought back.
“Oh,” cried she, “some of them have ten fingers and some only have six.
I thought they always had five fingers.”
“That six-fingered one must have had ten originally, as you can see
the remaining stumps of the others. Most star-fish do have five points
but there are exceptions. This one must have got in a fight with a
sea-enemy and had its other fingers bitten off,” explained Fred.
“I wish I could send some of them home,” ventured Dudley.
“They’ll keep all right, if you dry them,” said Billy.
“How?”
“Just spread them out smoothly on a board and leave it in the hot
sun--then _go way off_ while they dry. When the smell is dried out you
can ship them home in a box.”
“But be sure you find a sunny spot far, far away from the bungalow,”
laughed Fred.
“Dudley can dry them in the shade, too, if he likes,” said Elizabeth.
“It will take longer but the colours won’t fade out.”
“I guess I’ll make a collection of them and some sea-urchins, too. And
some coral and some--some rocks with the funny little barnacles growing
on them, and--and a whole lot of things,” said Dudley, enthusiastically.
“I’ll help you, Dud, and you can keep them in the Agassiz room of your
school,” added Edith.
“When will we under-run the trawl again, Cap?” called Billy, just then,
as Captain Ed moored the launch at the float.
“Your father said that the girls wanted to go along this afternoon
and watch the fun; so, unless it blows too fresh, I reckon that’s the
programme.”
Then the boys proudly called his attention to the lobsters and the
Captain laughed.
“Why, I guess I’ll have to get the lobster-car ready to hold your
catch. But that feller lost a claw--what happened?”
“Here’s the claw,” admitted Paul.
“S’pose some one takes these two lobsters up to Mose and ask him to
make a nice little salad for mother; she is so fond of it, you know,
and then this claw can be used, too,” suggested Fred.
As they all walked toward the bungalow, Captain Ed said: “We went down
into Dark Harbour this morning to bring up another bag of the coal I
landed there last week, and what do you imagine Mose and I saw?”
By this time every pair of bright eyes was glued on the Captain’s
expressive countenance. A dim glimmer of the truth then suddenly dawned
upon Fred.
“Oh--not that mola!” gasped he.
“_The_ same--and yet, not the same! Kinder ripenin’ up, it were,”
laughed the Captain.
“What _did_ you do with it?” shouted every one.
“Well, as long as I wuz goin’ over to Sat’aday Cove, I tells Mose I’ll
snake this dainty along and lose him in the middle of the bay. So, I
don’t think you’ll ever see him agin.”
Directly after lunch, Edith, who had finished first and hurried out,
ran back to the dining-room in a greatly excited frame of mind.
“Oh, mamma! Some real live Indians are down on our beach.”
In less than a minute every Islander was out of the bungalow. It was
ascertained that the Indians had come to the Island on a venture to
sell some of their sweet-grass baskets. They had been on the mainland
where quite a colony of city folk lived, but did not dispose of all
their wares.
While the girls admired the fragrant baskets, Billy took advantage
of the unusual visit to ply the Indians with all sorts of questions.
Where did they find sweet-grass; how they sewed birch-bark so that it
wouldn’t split; where did they hail from, and did they make their own
canoe, as other Indians did.
One of the Indians being very agreeable answered all of the boy’s
questions, and then turned to invite the Islanders to visit his little
camp on the east-side of Isleboro, near Sabbath-Day Harbour.
“Can’t we go this afternoon?” cried Billy, eagerly.
“We can under-run the trawl to-morrow,” added Elizabeth.
“How about it, Captain?” asked Mr. Remington.
“Just as you say, Mr. Remington. I can set the girls and boys over
to Adams’ Beach an’ its only two-mile walk from there to Sabbath-Day
Harbour. If these men want a tow we kin tote ’em along an’ save time.”
After Mrs. Remington became the possessor of a number of sweet-grass
baskets for souvenirs, the Captain loaded his launch with the young
folks and, lastly, added the two Indians who wisely preferred to tow an
empty canoe.
The walk over Isleboro was an interesting experience. On the way,
Mitchell Webster, one of the Old-Town Indians, showed the Islanders the
sweet-grass pond but warned them that the sweet-grass grew alongside
the ordinary grass and was difficult to recognise.
“Why,” said he, “ruther ’en waste my time pickin’ out th’ spears of
that grass I ups an’ buys a pound from a feller down Old Orchard
beach-way. Paid a dollar fer it, too. Kinder dear fer hay, hain’t it?”
Reaching Webster’s tent, the children found a squaw busily engaged
in dying the thin strips of split ash that they wove into the larger
baskets. Alas! how fallen are the mighty! No more the natural vegetable
dyes used by the denizens of the forest. Instead, the children found
printed labels scattered about with directions for using the analine
colours.
The host told the children that he and his squaw came down from
Oldtown, up the Penobscot River, and camped on Isleboro every summer,
making and selling baskets. The birch-bark baskets, however, were made
in Oldtown during the winter and early spring because that is the time
when birch-bark is more pliable and is easier to peel off of the trees.
The young people did not remain very long, and having purchased a few
baskets from the squaw, they started back for the launch.
On the return walk to Adams’ Beach, having no strangers for companions,
they gave closer attention to the woodland path and its mossy beauties.
On a slight rise of ground, where the trees had been cut away, and the
afternoon sun shone bright and hot, Elizabeth found a patch of curious
russet plants. She stopped to examine them and then called to her
brother.
“Look, Fred, what do you suppose these queer little flowers can be?”
Fred came back but could not identify the hairy round leaves with their
sticky drops shining in the sun like dew.
“Let’s dig one up and you can carry it home in the little birch-bark
basket. To-night we will look up its name in the wild-flower book,” he
proposed, suiting the action to his words.
“Look, there’s a little fly caught in the sticky hairs of one leaf,”
remarked Elizabeth.
Quite a breeze from the south had sprung up during their sojourn on
the land, and now the children had a lively trip home in the launch. A
drenched sextette reached Sunset Island, and had to scramble into dry
clothes in double quick time so as not to be late for supper.
The main dish that evening was flounder, rolled in cornmeal and fried
a golden brown in boiling fat. Mr. Remington served his wife and
daughters first as usual, then the younger boys, and lastly, Fred and
himself.
“These flounders are as good as sole,” said he, approvingly, as he
tasted a bit.
“Don’t jab at your food in that fashion, Billy!” reproved Mrs.
Remington.
“But, mother, I can’t seem to cut the old fish!”
“Mine’s as tough as all get-out!” grunted Dudley.
“Say, what is this slice, anyway?” asked Fred, frowning.
Mose appeared with a plate of hot biscuits and the puzzled boys
appealed to him in injured tones; Dudley especially emphatic in his
demonstration of the toughness of his portion.
“Why, look, Mose, it’s like a brick-bat!”
“Don’ you-all knows yu’ own spechul brand o’ fish-steak? Ah b’lieve
yuh boys caint rekernise dat mola when you’se see him!” And the chef’s
tones sounded plaintive.
“Mose!” came a horrified chorus as plates were pushed away.
“There now, I knew it had a bad smell!” cried Paul.
“But hain’t he nice an’ tendered up now,” continued the wicked cook,
innocently. “Cap’n an’ me didn’ have no trouble a-tall cuttin’ them
slabs dis _mawn_in’. No suh! dat fish, he hed some sof’nin’ influence
a-wohkin on him, come all dis time he’d ben voyagin’ up an’ down dat
bay--ebb an’ flood!”
But Fred noticed that neither his father or mother seemed disturbed at
these truly awful disclosures by Mose, so he began to investigate his
slab of so-called mola.
“Boys,” cried he exultantly, as he exhibited a flat piece of wood, now
scraped clear of fried cornmeal, “the Yanks who make nutmegs of wood
aren’t in it with our Mose!”
“Well! we wouldn’t have thought it of you, Mose,” grieved Paul, who
feared he would have to go without fish.
“You are slick, all right, Mose, ’cause you fooled every one of us
boys,” laughed Billy.
“And what’s more, father and mother must have been in the secret,
or how could father have served the phony fish to the right ones,”
commented Elizabeth, who enjoyed a harmless, practical joke.
Mose now brought in several nice hot flounders for the hungry boys, who
ate with unabated appetites. Indeed, they had so appreciated the trick
that the chef really rose several points in their estimation.
The fake mola had caused such a disturbance that Elizabeth almost
forgot the queer little plant in the birchen case. But supper once
over, she remembered it.
“Look, mother, what do you suppose this is?” asked she.
“Get out your flower-book and see what it says about the sun-dew; this
is the rotundifolia variety.”
“Why, the book says that the sun-dew is carnivorous! So that is what it
was doing to the poor little fly?” said the girl, half shocked and half
amazed.
The boys crowded about at this, to see the little reddish plant which
suddenly became endowed with immense interest.
“Mother, do you remember that story in some magazine--about the giant
carnivorous plants?” asked Fred.
“Yes, and if I remember correctly, the story said they were of the
sun-dew family.”
“But they ate _people_!” added Elizabeth, who had also read the story.
“It said they fairly _reached_ out and grabbed people that came near to
them,” laughed Mr. Remington; “but that was fiction.”
“Anyway, you dreadful catch-’em-alive little sun-dew, you make one more
plant for my flower-list,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Remington then announced: “Boys, we’ll under-run the trawl
to-morrow, taking all hands along in the extra boats to see the fun.
I wish I had a longer time to stay here with you--there’s nothing I’d
enjoy more, but I must get back to the city ready for business on
Monday.”
“Oh, papa! That’s only two days more!” wailed Elizabeth, echoed by all
of the other children.
“Papa, why do you have to go--can’t you stay here for one summer?”
wondered Edith.
“I certainly wish I could, but ‘where duty calls I must obey,’” quoted
Mr. Remington, patting his little girl on the hair.
“Come, come, children! time for all to be in bed! Now, let me see how
quickly every one can tell me they are fast asleep, so I can turn out
the candles,” said Mrs. Remington, while the youngsters laughed at her
ridiculous speech.
CHAPTER THREE
FOGGY DAYS AND WOODCRAFT WAYS
“Let’s get at that trawl as soon as we can,” announced Fred, as he
entered the bungalow at breakfast time in the morning. “Captain says we
may have a spell of foggy weather.”
“Why, it’s clear enough now,” said Dudley, in surprise.
“But look down the bay, that is not a cloud bank that you see off
Rockland, that’s fog,” said Mr. Remington. “And if that southerly
breeze continues we’ll get it thick.”
“But it is calm up here, so how do you know there’s a breeze down there
and how do you know it’s a southerly?” questioned Dudley, who really
was anxious to learn the “salt-water” wrinkles he perceived were of the
utmost value in Island life.
“Don’t you see that schooner way down there? Look, how she is getting
the wind,” was the enlightening reply from Fred.
“See, Dudley, the northerly wind that was blowing when we got up this
morning, has all died out,” said Mrs. Remington. “And don’t you feel a
curious chill in the air although the sun is still bright?”
[Illustration: A STRING OF CUNNERS CAUGHT BY SHELBY.]
[Illustration: “AND ALL ALONG THE OLD JIB BOOM.”
_Woodcraft Boys at Sunset Island._ _Page 52_]
So, the breakfast was hurried through and the Captain’s launch towed
the big rowboat out to the trawl. On the way, they met Captain Benton
from Isola Bella with three of the maids and the two little girls.
Soon, that rowboat was added to the tow.
“We came over to see if you were going to look at the trawl,” announced
Miriam. “Katy and Tillie want to see the fun so we made Jenny come too,
though she hates a boat and told us she just knew she’d get seasick.”
“Where’s Bridget?” called Billy, who was very friendly with the fat
Irish cook.
“Bridget said that a sight of all those queer fish would turn her
stomach--she said to me, ‘Ye see, me dear, I hev a rale wakeness in
me stomack whin I see sich ungodly craythers.’” Miriam giggled as she
mimicked Bridget.
But it was just as well that Bridget had not joined the party that day
for the trawl outdid itself in the revelations of the vasty deep.
An immense barndoor skate was followed by a sea-toad, or puffer, which
continued to swell like a balloon the longer it was out of water. Then
came some haddocks and dog-fish; suddenly, Fred exclaimed at the weight
of the line and there arose to view a large ungainly monk-fish, or
angler.
“Oh, Captain! don’t throw him overboard until I get a photo of him,”
cried Paul.