PAUL IS COOL AND SELF-POSSESSED.
Bayville is situated about seven or eight miles from Boston, on the line
of one of the principal railroads. A large portion of the inhabitants,
even at the time of which I write, were gentlemen doing business in the
city, though the place had a shipyard and several wharves from which the
surrounding country was supplied with wood, coal, and lumber. The town
is located on both sides of Tenean River, the estuary of which forms a
very good harbor, though the place has not yet attained to any
considerable commercial importance.
The shipyard and the wharves were on the north side of the river, which
was known as Mercantile Point. On the south side a peninsula extended
about half a mile out into the sea, at the extremity of which was the
little cottage of Mr. Duncan, the ship carpenter. It was built upon the
high bluff, and below it was the beach, which had been formed by the
continued caving of the earth from the high bank. The cottage was over a
mile from the shipyard, by the road, and not more than half the distance
in a straight line across the water. As an easy and pleasant way to get
to his work, Mr. Duncan had purchased the old boat, in which Paul had
just embarked, for a few dollars, and in good weather generally went
over to the shipyard by water. He was a skilful boatman, and under his
tuition his son had learned all the mysteries of sailing a boat. Like
most boys, he was disposed to be more daring than was necessary, and it
was often that his father and mother found occasion to check him in the
pursuit of bold enterprises. Paul was passionately fond of the water,
and was proud of his nautical skill and knowledge.
Aquatic sports were all the rage at Bayville, and there were very few
gentlemen who had the means that did not own boats of some kind. In the
summer season the harbor always presented a brilliant display of yachts,
sail boats, and wherries. The largest of these was the Flyaway, a
splendid yacht of fifty-two tons, which was jointly owned by Major
Nettle and Captain Littleton. Even the boys of the High School had a
club boat, which in the warm season, not only afforded them fine sport,
but plenty of healthy exercise for the proper development of their
physical organization.
On the first day of May, when our story opens, the scholars of the High
School had a picnic at Tenean Point, and the boat club had gone down to
participate in the festivities of the occasion. Thomas Nettle had been
to the city in the morning, and had not returned in season to go down
with the club, of which he was a member. It was four miles to the Point
by the road, and only half that distance by water, when the wind
permitted the passage in a straight line. He did not like the idea of
walking so far, choosing rather to incur the danger of being drowned by
the upsetting of Paul's old boat.
In spite of the strong wind and the heavy sea, Paul kept the boat on her
course, though, as the tide was against her, she did not make much
headway.
"Can you weather South Point, Paul?" asked Thomas, who had been silent
for some time.
"I'm afraid I can't; this old boat makes about as much leeway as
headway."
"It is pretty rough out here--isn't it?"
"Rather," replied Paul, indifferently.
"She takes in a good deal of water."
"Mostly spray; you can bale her out, if you have a mind to do so."
Thomas was glad to have something in the shape of occupation, for it
required all his power to conceal a certain nervousness, which he would
not have had Paul see for all the world. He took the tin kettle, and
worked as though the safety of the craft depended entirely upon his
efforts.
The wind seemed to increase rather than diminish in force, and the sail
was becoming more exciting every moment; but Paul maintained his
self-possession, and though he had some doubts about his ability to keep
the old craft right side up, he did not permit his companion to know
that he had a single misgiving.
"We can't fetch by the Point," said he, when Thomas had done baling.
"Better come about then; we may get ashore on the rocks."
"Good!" exclaimed Paul, with a hearty laugh.
"What is the matter now?" demanded Thomas.
"The idea of striking a rock on the weather side!" laughed Paul.
"You are right; I didn't think."
The boat now came into comparatively still water, under the lee of Long
Island, as the outermost of three small islets, extending out in a line
from the mouth of the river, was called. The island was a mass of rocks,
rising from ten to twenty feet above high water mark, and as they got
behind it, they were sheltered from the force of the wind. In this
situation, Paul attempted to tack; but the old boat would not come round
in stays, for she had partially lost her headway, and the tide was
against her.
"That's bad," said Thomas; "we shall lose all we have gained by this."
"Take an oar and heave her head round, then," replied Paul.
"Ay, ay;" and Thomas took the oar, and brought her head up to the wind.
There was a coolness and self-possession in the demeanor of Paul which
filled his companion with confidence as well as admiration, though he
was in no humor to acknowledge it. If Thomas was not actually terrified
by the sweeping billows and the rude pitching of the boat, it was only
because he felt that he was in the charge of a skilful boatman. The old
craft soon caught the wind on the other tack, and drove out among the
big waves again.
Paul's mother was still on the beach watching the uneasy movements of
the boat, and in momentary expectation that she would be swamped. Her
earnest gestures were disregarded by her son, and she was prepared for
the worst fate that could befall him. Paul tried to keep his eyes away
from her; but he could not help stealing an occasional glance at her,
though his conscience reproached him for the pain and terror he was
giving her. But he felt that his courage and his reputation as a boatman
were at stake, and that, if he failed to achieve the purpose before him,
he would be the derision of Thomas Nettle and all his companions.
For two hours the boat labored heavily in the rough sea, and had
accomplished about two thirds of the distance to Tenean Point. The young
adventurers were now in the worst place in the bay, and the boat was
exposed to the full force of the wind and the sea, from which they had
before been partially protected by an island.
"What do you think, Paul?" said Thomas, suspending for a moment the work
of baling, in which he had been engaged for the last hour.
"What do I think?" replied Paul, coolly, as he wiped the spray from his
eyes; "I think it blows tremendous hard."
"So do I."
"Then we shan't quarrel about that, anyhow."
"Do you think you can make the Point?"
"Certainly I do; I'm in for it, at any rate."
"We don't make much headway."
"That's true."
"I shan't get to the picnic in any kind of season," continued Thomas,
crouching down under the weather rail, as a huge wave gave the boat a
slap that made her quiver like a leaf.
"I can't help that, Tom; I didn't want you to come this way."
"Don't you think we had better run for the shore, and give it up?"
"I don't think any such thing. If the old boat will only hold together
long enough, I'll put you ashore on Tenean Point."
"I'm afraid she won't hold together much longer."
"No matter; we will go it while she does hold together. Can you swim,
Tom?"
"You know very well I can swim, Paul."
"Better get your boots off, then."
"Who do you suppose could swim ashore in such a sea as this? Besides, it
is over a half a mile, and the surf on the beach would tear a fellow all
to pieces."
"You ought to have thought of these things before you came out here."
"It is a great deal worse than I had any idea of," answered Thomas, who
had proceeded far enough to be willing to yield a point. "For my part, I
am willing to be landed here;" and he pointed to a little cove on the
Tenean shore.
"You don't say you have got enough of it, Tom," said Paul, with a smile.
"Enough of it! I want to get to the picnic some time to-day. I hope you
don't think I am frightened."
"Of course I don't; you daresn't be frightened after all your big talk
before we came out."
"I'll give up on that, Paul. You are the spunkiest fellow with a boat I
ever saw. I am willing to say that and stick to it."
"That's saying a good deal."
"But you mustn't suppose I am afraid."
"Of course not; you're only in a hurry to get to the picnic; that's the
idea."
"That's just it, and if you will put me ashore at the cove, I will be
just as much obliged to you as though you carried me all the way to the
Point."
"Let's not back out, Tom."
"I don't back out; and I'm sure you don't."
"It looks a little like backing out to give up the chase."
"You ought to be satisfied, if I am."
"I shan't be satisfied till I land you at the Point."
"Come, come, Paul, don't carry the joke too far. The sea is getting
heavier and heavier, and the wind blows a young hurricane."
"O, well, if you really want to back out, I'm willing."
"I don't want to do anything of the sort. If you think I can't stand it
as long as you can, you are mistaken," replied Thomas, proudly; and
taking the dipper, he continued to bale out the water, whistling an air
to indicate his indifference to the perils that surrounded them.
"Put her through, then; we shan't be much longer if we don't get
swamped."
The boat was now standing out from the shore, and while Thomas was still
busy, whistling off his fears, a violent gust of wind struck the sail,
causing the boat to heel over so far that she drank up several buckets
of water, and would have filled if the sprit had not broken, thus
removing the pressure.
"Come, Paul, I have got enough of this," cried Thomas, uneasily.
"I don't think you will be able to get any more of it, for the sprit has
snapped, and we can't carry sail any longer," replied Paul, apparently
unmoved by the accident. "Bale her out as fast as you can, and I will
take an oar, and keep her head up to the sea".
"What will you do now?" asked Thomas, whose courage was sorely tried by
the perilous situation of the boat.
"Get the water out, and we will see what can be done," answered Paul,
who, though he had already decided this important question, would not
permit his passenger to enter into his counsels, preferring to
tantalize him by his mysterious manner.
"Let us get ashore, Paul, as soon as possible."
"Going to back out?"
"No; what's the use of talking in that way, about backing out, when you
can't carry sail?" replied Thomas, whose pride was still unconquered,
though his courage was rapidly failing him.
"I shall rig a new sprit; there's the boat-hook, which will make a very
good one; it is just the right length."
"I'll give up then, and back out," said Thomas, despairing of any relief
from the misfortunes that had befallen the boat.
"Don't back out on my account; I will put you ashore at the Point, if
you say the word," replied Paul, satisfied now that he had kept his
promise and given his friend enough of it.
"Run for the shore, Paul."
"Just as you say;" and the boatman, proud of the triumph he had won over
his boastful companion, turned the boat's head towards the shore.
The corner of the sail hung down for the want of a sprit to support it,
but as they had the wind free, there was canvas enough to drive her
rapidly towards the shore. While they were still half a mile from the
cove, Thomas called Paul's attention to a horse and chaise on the beach,
from which a man was making violent gestures for them to come ashore.