TELLS HOW THEY FOUND A DERELICT AND A COURSE DINNER, AND MET WITH
SHIPWRECK
When they awoke nature presented a far different aspect. A stiff, cold
wind blew out of the northeast, the sky was hidden by dark clouds
that hurried up the lake, and the water was of a leaden green hue and
crested with whitecaps. They viewed the prospect gloomily while they
tumbled into their clothes and lighted the morning fire. But a good
breakfast put them in better spirits, and at half past eight they were
in the canoes again battling with wind and waves. It was hard paddling,
and to make it worse the spray drenched them before they had made a
half mile of progress. Long before noon, in spite of many rests, they
were ready to seek the shore. The wind increased with every hour and
the heavy clouds drove faster and faster into the southwest. At half
past ten they decided to land and so turned the bows of the canoes
toward a fair-sized island that guarded the entrance to a bay. It was
while making for this that Bob, who was in the leading canoe with Dan,
pointed to an object which drifted along a quarter of a mile up the
lake.
“Looks like a boat, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It surely does,” Dan answered after studying it a moment. “But it
seems to be empty. Let’s go and investigate.”
So they shouted to the others and paddled away in the direction of the
derelict. When they drew near they saw that it was a cedar rowboat,
apparently a yacht’s tender. At the stern was the word “Elf.” It was
almost half full of water and a crimson sweater washed to and fro in
the bottom. There were no oars in it and the rowlocks were not in place.
“If it wasn’t for the rowlocks being out,” said Dan, “I’d think there’d
been an accident. But I guess no one ever went overboard and stopped to
take the rowlocks out. What’ll we do with it?”
“Tow it over to the island,” answered Bob promptly. “That’s maybe where
it belongs. It’s a derelict and we can claim salvage. She’s a fine
little boat, isn’t she?”
When they worked the canoe up to the tender’s bow the mystery was
explained. A few feet of rope, frayed at the end, told the story.
“She’s blown away from the landing,” said Dan. “That painter probably
sawed itself in two during the night; probably rubbed against the edge
of the wharf. We’ll claim the reward if we can find the owner.”
So they took the end of the rope aboard and tried to paddle away.
They’d probably been there yet had not Nelson and Tom come up presently
and lent assistance. A half-filled rowboat is no light tow in a heavy
sea, and by the time they had beached it they were all well tired out.
After turning the water out of it, and wringing the sweater until it
was somewhat drier, they set out on a tour of discovery.
There were no habitations in sight from their landing-place, but a
few minutes’ walk took them around a corner of the island and brought
them in sight of a sumptuous camp building which, planned like a Swiss
chalet, stood on a little bluff above the edge of the lake and towered
up among the trees. Jutting into the water was a long pier with several
craft of different kinds about it, while further out a sixty-foot steam
yacht was moored.
“Bet you this is the place,” said Tom. “How much we going to ask for
reward?”
“Nothing,” said Bob. Tom looked disappointed, but the others agreed
that they wouldn’t take any money for the rescue of the tender. As they
approached a ferocious-looking bull-terrier made a dash at them and
barked savagely, only to change his behavior on closer acquaintance
and leap about them joyfully. The noise brought one of the inmates
of the house to the front door, and he waved greetings to the party
and awaited their approach. He was a middle-aged man, rather fussily
dressed--as Dan put it--for camp-life, and he held a newspaper in his
hand and smoked a pipe. At the steps Bob became spokesman and explained
their errand.
“A cedar tender named ‘Elf,’ eh?” asked the man. “That’s mine, sure
enough. Found her afloat, eh? Well, I’m mightily obliged to you,
gentlemen. Come in, come in! Get out of the way there, Pete. Oh, Jack!
tell Barry to go around the island on the lake side and bring home the
tender. The fool thing ran away last night and a party found her half
full of water.”
“All right,” answered an unseen voice from the house, and the Four,
following the host, found themselves in a great living-room at one
end of which big logs blazed in a monstrous fireplace. The room was
beautifully furnished; bright-hued rugs covered the floor, heads of
deer, bears, and caribous adorned the walls, and a giant moose head
glared down from the stone chimney above the high mantel. A flight of
stairs led past the chimney to a gallery which ran around three sides
of the building and from which the up-stairs rooms opened. Over the
gallery railing hung hides and pelts of deer, bears, foxes, and other
animals. The host led the way to the fire, before which two ladies
and a second man were sitting. The latter proved to be “Jack,” and
“Jack’s” last name proved to be Merrill. The boys gave their names,
and were duly introduced. The host’s name was Carey; one of the ladies
was Mrs. Carey, and the other was a Miss White. The inhabitants of
the camp were dressed as though they were in a city house instead of
a log building on the edge of the wilderness, and the boys regretted
their own scanty attire. That is, three of them did; I can’t honestly
say that Tom looked worried about the matter. But, for that, neither
did their hosts. The boys were given places about the broad hearth,
and the bull-terrier threw himself down at their feet and viewed them
with a friendly grin. Bob, with occasional help from his companions,
told about their trip, about Camp Chicora, and about the finding of the
tender. The matter of reward was broached, but, upon their refusal to
consider it, was not pressed.
“But you’ll have to take dinner with us,” said Mr. Carey, and the
others indorsed him. The boys were nothing loath to change camp-fare
for the luxuries promised by the appearance of the camp and its
inmates, and Tom, who had possibly feared a refusal on the part of his
companions, heaved a sigh of relief when they accepted the invitation.
After that they spent the jolliest kind of an hour until dinner
was announced. They were taken over the house and marveled at its
conveniences and appointments; they were challenged to a game of pool
by Miss White, accepted, and were one and all badly beaten; they were
shown the contents of the gun-racks by Mr. Carey, and listened to his
tales of moose and caribou hunting in the north with tingling veins;
and finally they were conducted by a smart servant to a cozy up-stairs
room to get ready for dinner.
“Wish I had a little more on,” said Bob ruefully, looking at his scant
camp uniform in the big mirror. “I don’t feel decent.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much,” said Dan, “if I even had long trousers. My
legs look awfully bare.”
“Bet we have a swell dinner,” was Tom’s contribution to the subject.
And Tom was quite right. The dinner came on in so many courses that he
lost count of them, and was as perfect as though served in the heart
of New York city. Afterward they went back to the big fireplace and
watched the four-foot logs blazing and crackling, and talked lazily
while the wind blustered against the windows. Tom almost fell asleep
once, and Dan had to kick him hard before he was fully awake again.
About two o’clock Bob suggested departure.
“Why don’t you stay overnight with us?” asked Mrs. Carey. “You really
ought not to go out on the lake in canoes a day like this.”
“That’s so,” said her husband. “No sense in it at all. You stay right
here until this storm blows over. If you like, in the morning I’ll take
you up the lake on the yacht. I can get you up to Northwest Bay in no
time.”
But Bob thanked them and declined. And Tom sighed dolefully. So a
half-hour later they took their departure amid cordial invitations to
come again. Mr. Carey walked around to their landing-place with them
and was much interested in their canoes and outfit. And after they were
afloat and paddling away he waved to them from the shore and laughingly
cautioned them not to get drowned.
Tom was loud in his expressions of disfavor of their course.
“Don’t see why you fellows wouldn’t stay,” he grumbled. “Gee! you don’t
know when you’re well off. Think of the supper and breakfast we’ve
missed! And the dandy beds! And that peach of a fire! And----”
“Mind your paddle,” said Bob. “You’re kicking up an awful mess with it.
If you can’t do better than that you’d better take it out.”
And Tom, still protesting under his breath, set to work again.
Bob, who had fallen naturally into the position of chief navigator,
had planned to keep down the southwest side of the lake to West Alton
and camp near the village for the night. The next morning they would
start early and cross to Wolfeborough, take the forenoon steamer back
to The Weirs, and from there return to Camp Chicora by the afternoon
train. But once past the shelter of the island they began to doubt
their ability to make West Alton. The wind had swung around into the
south, and to hold the canoes in an easterly direction was a difficult
task. After laboring some time with little success Bob decided to run
across the lake before the wind in the direction of Long Island and go
into camp on one of the smaller islets thereabouts or, failing that, on
the mainland. So they swung the canoes about and headed north-by-east
and found a chance to rest their tired muscles. With the wind almost
directly aft it was only necessary to paddle easily and keep the noses
of the craft in the right direction. The canoe containing Bob and Tom,
being somewhat less heavily weighted, rode higher out of water and
consequently presented more surface to the wind. As a result, when they
were half-way across the lake they were leading by almost an eighth of
a mile. Nelson suggested catching up with them, but Dan objected.
“Let them go,” he said. “I’m tuckered out and I’m going to rest. That
was a pretty hefty bit of paddling back there, Nel; we made about a
foot to every ten strokes. I’m wet through with perspiration.”
“Well, I’m wet through, too,” answered Nelson, who was in the bow, “but
not with perspiration. You’d better pull your sweater on or you’ll
catch cold.”
“Guess I will,” said Dan. “This breeze is pretty chilly on a fellow’s
back. Where is that sweater of mine? I see it. Hold steady and I’ll get
it.”
Dan shipped his paddle, arose cautiously to his feet, and took a step
toward the middle of the canoe. At that instant a tiny squall of wind
struck them, he lost his balance, and the next thing Nelson knew he was
struggling up through yards and yards of dark water. When his head was
finally above the surface and he had shaken the water from his eyes he
stared bewilderedly about him. Fifty feet away the overturned canoe was
drifting heavily before the wind. About him here and there such of the
luggage as had not sunk at once was bobbing about from wave to wave.
Near by, Dan’s head with the red hair plastered to it was visible.
Every moment the canoe was drifting farther away, and Nelson realized
that their strait was already desperate and was growing more so with
every instant of delay.
“Come on, Dan!” he shouted. “Make for the canoe; we’ll pick up the
stuff afterward.”
He heard some sort of a response from the other and then struck out
fiercely for the craft. If he could get on top of it it might be
possible to attract the attention of Bob and Tom to their plight. It
was a hard chase, and when his hand finally touched the wet surface
of the canoe he was pretty well tuckered. Throwing one arm across the
bottom he managed to get his head some two feet above the water and
could catch glimpses now and then above the waves of the other craft
well to the right and apparently a long distance away. Then he turned
to shout to Dan, turned and saw only the empty water. He dashed the
drops from his eyes with his free hand and looked again, searching the
hollows between the racing waves. Once he thought he saw for an instant
Dan’s head above the surface, but it was gone again instantly.
“_Dan!_” he shouted in terror. “_Dan!_”
There was no sound but the ceaseless splashing of the waves. With an
awful fear clutching at his heart he threw himself away from the canoe
and plunged back in the teeth of the gale.