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SWEPT OUT TO SEA
Or
Clint Webb Among the Whalers
by
W. BERT FOSTER
Author of
The Frozen Ship; or, Clint Webb Among the Sealers.
From Sea to Sea; or, Clint Webb on the Windjammer.
The Ocean Express; or, Clint Webb and the Sea Tramp
[Illustration: I Caught Sight of a Big Ship With a Wonderful Lot of
Canvas Set (Swept Out to Sea) (Chapter 28)]
Chicago M. A. Donohue & Co.
Copyright 1913
by M. A. Donohue & Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I--In Which My Cousin and I Have a Serious Falling Out 7
II--In Which is Shown the Result of a Bad Beginning 15
III--In Which I am Anxious to Learn the Particulars
of a Matter of Fourteen Years Standing 22
IV--In Which Ham Mayberry Reveals His Suspicions 34
V--In Which the Old Coachman Goes Somewhat Into Details 43
VI--In Which is Related a Conversation With My Mother 49
VII--In Which I Put Two and Two Together--and Sleep
Aboard the Wavecrest 57
VIII--In Which An Expected Comedy Proves to be a Tragedy 65
IX--In Which I See the Day Dawn Upon a Deserted Ocean 72
X--In Which I Find a Most Remarkable Haven 82
XI--In Which I Am a Terrified Witness of a
Wonderful Phenomenon 92
XII--In Which I Find Myself Bound for Southern Seas 107
XIII--In Which Tom Anderly Relates a Story That
Arouses My Interest 119
XIV--In Which I Hear for the First Time the Whalers'
Battle-Cry 133
XV--In Which We "Strike On" 142
XVI--In Which There is Some Information and Much Excitement 150
XVII--In Which I Come Very Near Going Out of the Story 159
XVIII--In Which We Realize the "Grind" of the Whaleman's Life 164
XIX--In Which is Reported a Series of Misadventures 172
XX--In Which Our Chapter of Bad Luck is Continued 180
XXI--In Which the Wavecrest Sets Sail Again 186
XXII--In Which We Sail the Silver River and I See
a Face I Know 193
XXIII--In Which I begin to Wonder "Is It Me, or Is It Not Me?" 198
XXIV--In Which I Get Acquainted With Captain Adoniram Tugg 208
XXV--In Which I Follow the Beckoning Finger of a Spectre 215
XXVI--In Which the Sea Spell Goes Ashore on a
Most Unfriendly Coast 222
XXVII--In Which We Find the Natives More Unfriendly
Than the Coast 232
XXVIII--In Which are Related Several Disappointments 239
XXIX--In Which I Am Not the Only Person Surprised 245
XXX--In Which I at Last Set My Face Homeward
with Determination 253
SWEPT OUT TO SEA
or
CLINT WEBB AMONG THE WHALERS
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH MY COUSIN AND I HAVE A SERIOUS FALLING OUT
The wind had died to just a breath, barely filling the canvas of the
Wavecrest. We were slowly making the mouth of the inlet at Bolderhead
after a day's fishing. Occasionally as the fitful breeze swooped down
the sloop made a pretty little run, then she'd sulk, with the sail
flapping, till another puff came. I lay in the stern with my hand on the
tiller, half asleep, while Paul Downes, my cousin, was stretched forward
of the mast, wholly in dreamland. A little roll of the sloop as she
tacked, almost threw him into the water and he awoke with a snarl and
sat up.
"For goodness sake! aren't we in yet?" he demanded, crossly. "What you
been doing for the last hour Clint Webb? We're no nearer the inlet now
than we were then, I swear!"
That was a peculiarity about Paul. He was addicted to laying the faults
of even inanimate objects to the charge of other people; and as for
himself personally, he was never in the wrong! Now he felt that he must
have somebody on whom to vent his vexation--and hunger; I was used to
being that scapegoat, and it was seldom that I paid much attention to
his snarling. On this particular occasion, I said, calmly:
"Now, Paul, you know very well that I hold no position with the
Meteorological Bureau, and therefore you shouldn't lay the sins of the
weather to me."
"Huh! ain't you smart?" he grunted.
You see, Paul had awakened in rather a quarrelsome frame of mind
while--well, I was hungry, too (it was long past our dinner hour) and so
felt in a tantalizing mood. If we had not been at just these odds on
this lovely September evening, the incidents which follow might never
have occurred. Out of this foolish beginning of a quarrel came a chain
of circumstances which entirely changed the current of my life. Had I
held my tongue I would have been saved much sorrow and peril, and many,
many regrets.
"I'm smart--I admit it," said I, cooly; "but I can't govern the wind.
We'll get in by bedtime."
"And nothing to eat aboard," growled Paul.
"There's the fish _you_ caught," said I, chuckling.
Paul had had abominable luck all day, the only thing he landed being
what we Bolderhead boys called a "grunter"--a frog-mouthed fish of most
unpleasant aspect and of absolutely no use as food. All it did when he
shook it off his hook in disgust was to swell up like a toy balloon and
emit an objective grunt whenever it was poked. Funny, but these
"grunters" always reminded me of Paul.
Now, at my suggestion, my cousin broke into another tirade of abuse of
the Wavecrest, and what he termed my carelessness. I didn't care much
what he said about me, and I suppose there was some reason for his
criticism; I should not have gone outside the inlet without more than
just a bite of luncheon in the cuddy. But when he referred to my bonnie
sloop as "an old tub" and said it wasn't rigged right and that I didn't
know how to sail her, then--well, I leave it to you if it wouldn't have
made you huffy? You know how it is yourself. Wait till the next fellow
makes disparaging remarks about your bicycle, for instance or your motor
cycle, or canoe, or what-not, and see how you feel!
"What's the use of talking that way, Paul?" I demanded, interrupting
him. "You know the Wavecrest is by far the lightest-footed craft of
her class in Bolderhead Harbor."
"No such thing!" he declared. "She's a measly, good-for-nothing old
tub."
"All I've got to say is that you're a bad judge of tubs," said I.
"You're a fool!" he exclaimed, and jumped up.
"Now, you know, Paul, if your opinion was of any consequence at all I
should be angry," I replied, still with exaggerated calmness.
"I'm going to take the skiff and row ashore," said he. "You can bring
your old tub in when you like."
"Thank you; but I guess not! I'd gladly be relieved of your company; but
I shall want to get ashore myself some time tonight," I rejoined.
"I tell you I'm going ashore!" cried Paul, coming aft to where the
painter was hitched.
"Get away!" I commanded, my own temper rising. "You're not going to
leave me without means of landing after we reach our buoy."
"Oh, somebody will see you and take you off," he said, selfishly.
"Maybe somebody will; then again, maybe they won't."
"I'll come out for you after dinner," he said, with a grin that I knew
meant he had no such intention.
"Get away from that painter!" I commanded. "You forced your company on
me today--I didn't invite you to go fishing--"
"The sloop's as much mine as yours," he growled.
"I'd like to know how you figure that out?" returned I, in amazement.
"When your mother bought it she told father it was for us to use
together; but of course you always 'hog' everything."
Now I knew that my mother never would have said what he claimed; but I
was angry with her for the moment because of her good natured invitation
to Paul to use my personal property. The Wavecrest was my dearest
possession. As the saying is, there was more salt water in my veins than
blood; our folks had all been sailors--my father's people, I mean--and I
was enamored of the sea and sea-going.
When mother built our summer cottage on the Neck I knew how 'twould be.
I foresaw that her brother-in-law and his son (Aunt Alice was dead some
years then) would live with us about half the time; but that mother
should have said anything to give Paul ground for his statement, rasped
me sorely.
"Let me tell you, Paul Downes," said I, sharply, "that no person has any
right in this boat but myself, unless I invite them; and I'll inform you
right now that this is the last trip you'll ever take in her with my
permission."
"Is that so?" sneered Paul.
"That's so--and you can make the best of it."
"Well, who wants to go out in your old tub?" he burst forth. "Goodness
knows, I don't. But I'm going ashore right now and you can come in when
you like."
He started to untie the painter. Somehow his perversity made me furious.
"Drop it!" I repeated; "you're not going to leave this sloop till I
do--unless you swim ashore."
"Well, you just try stopping me," he snarled, his temper getting the
better for the moment of his usual caution. Paul was a bigger and
heavier, as well as an older fellow than I; but he had never dared try
fisticuffs with me.
I sprang up and let the tiller bang. Luckily there was so little wind
that the sloop took no harm. "Get away from there!" I cried.
"I tell you I am going ashore now."
"You're not."
"I am; and it won't be healthy for you to try to stop me, Clint Webb."
I know very well that this is a bad way to begin my story; I expect you
will be disgusted with me right at the start. But what am I to do? I
have started out to narrate the incidents which occurred and the various
changes that have come into my life since this very September evening;
and truth compels me to begin with this quarrel. For from this time
dated the purpose which inspired my future life.
So, I hope that the reader will bear with me, even though I introduce
much the worse side of my character first. Facts are stubborn things,
and I have in this introduction to set down some very stubborn and
unpleasant facts.
I sprang up, as I say, and left the tiller, and as Paul seemed to have
no intention of obeying me, I advanced upon him threateningly. We were
both enraged.
"Take your hand off that rope," said I, earnestly. "Get away! I mean
it."
His reply was a foul word. His eyes were blazing and he grew dark under
his skin like his father, as his wrath rose. I had always believed that
there was Indian blood in the veins of Mr. Chester Downes. I was so near
Paul that I had to step back to gather force for a blow, and as I
retreated he suddenly kicked me. It was a mean trick--a foul blow and
worthy of Paul Downes. Had I not stepped back as I did he might have
broken my shin bone, for he wore heavy boots. As it was, the toe of his
boot caught me just below the knee-cap and I could not stifle a cry of
pain.
However, the kick did not stop the blow I landed straight from the
shoulder and it gave me some satisfaction, even at the time, to note
that Paul's howl of agony was much louder than mine as he picked himself
up from the other end of the cockpit.