HOMEWARD BOUND
The delight of the boys knew no bounds. They were up bright and early
the following morning, and after warm thanks and farewells to their
Eskimo hostess and her son, set off on their journey.
Before they started, Bobby, on behalf of himself and his mates, tried to
force some money on Kapje, but the good fellow would have none of it.
“You save my life,” he said simply. “Eskimo not forget. Don’t want
money.”
And despite all their urgings, he stuck to his resolution. But the boys
were not to be altogether balked, and Bobby took an opportunity when no
one was looking to shove a handful of gold pieces in one of the simple
utensils of the household where he knew they would not be overlooked for
long.
In a little while they arrived at the seacoast settlement, where the
first thing that met their sight was a medium-sized schooner riding at
anchor a little way off shore. She was a dingy and battered affair, with
patched sails and bearing traces of hard usage, but to the hungry eyes
of the boys she was more beautiful than the most palatial yacht that
ever sailed the seas. For she meant deliverance and civilization and
home.
Her skipper, with some of his crew, was on shore trading with a group of
natives. He looked up in surprise as he saw approaching the group of
boys who, despite their native Eskimo dress, were unquestionably
Americans.
“Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” he exclaimed, as he looked them over,
“what have we got here? How did you youngsters ever get up in this
forsaken part of the world?”
He was a tall, lanky man who had lost one eye, but the other eye had in
it a kindliness and good humor that warmed the boys’ hearts at once.
Here evidently was one captain who was not like Captain Garrish.
Bobby, acting as spokesman, told him a little of how they had been put
on Captain Garrish’s schooner and frankly how they had left the ship
because of the captain’s tyranny and had, almost by a miracle, been
rescued by the natives. The captain listened with wonder, wagging his
head at different points of the narrative.
“A passel o’ hot-headed youngsters,” he commented, when Bobby had
finished. “You had fool’s luck or you wouldn’t have been alive to-day.
And now I suppose you want me to take you home?”
“If you only will, Captain,” Bobby pleaded. “We have money enough to pay
our fare.”
“Oh, for that matter I’d take you whether you had money or not,” replied
the captain. “I’ve got a kid o’ my own at home just about your size.
Well, get your duds aboard just as soon as you like, though it will be
two or three days before I sail. I’ve got a sort o’ storeroom that can
be cleared out so that you can all bunk in it together. Of course I
can’t take you all the way home. I hail from Canada and my port is St.
John’s, Newfoundland. But from there you can get a steamer that’ll take
you down to the States where I bet your folks will be glad to see you.”
It would be difficult to describe the gratitude and rapture of the boys.
They thanked the captain with all their hearts, and then set about
getting their belongings on the schooner. At a direction from the
captain, two of the crew cleared out the old storeroom sufficiently to
give them room enough to bestow their goods. There were several rough
bunks built along the wall, and while the quarters were very crude they
seemed to the boys like heaven.
Some days later the schooner lifted anchor and bore out to sea. It was a
happy group of boys that stood on the deck and watched the shore sink
below the horizon. Now they were homeward bound, and with every mile
that the schooner made in the cold northern seas they were that much
nearer to parents and friends and all that made life worth living.
The early days of the voyage were stormy, but the boys by this time were
seasoned sailors and stood the tossing as well as the veteran members of
the crew. Later the gale abated and became a following wind, before
which the vessel made good time, arriving safely at St. John’s sooner
than the skipper had expected.
With the heartiest thanks to the good-hearted captain and ample
compensation for what they had cost him, the boys went with their
belongings to the leading hotel of the town. Then they rushed to the
nearest telegraph office and sent messages winging over the wires to
their parents.
Bobby telegraphed:
“Safe and well at St. John’s, Newfoundland. Will be home by
first steamer. Best love.
Bobby.”
The other boys sent similar messages to their parents. What joy, what
rapture, those messages caused can be imagined. In a little while came
the return messages, almost incoherent, almost sobbing, even over the
wire, full of frantic joy and terms of endearment and thanksgiving to
God.
Then a little later came telegraphic money orders, for of course the
parents of the boys did not know but what they might be stranded and
destitute. The money was really unnecessary, but Bobby and his friends
were glad to get it just the same, for though gold is always gold and
good all over the world, some of the coins were so old, and many of them
foreign, as to excite curiosity and remark, and this was the thing above
all that the boys wanted to avoid until they should have their treasure
safe at home.
They bought new outfits, carefully stowing away the Eskimo suits which
they expected to keep as precious souvenirs for the rest of their lives.
Then they waited with what patience they could muster for several days
before the next steamer sailed for the United States.
The trip was quickly and safely made, and in a few days the boys readied
home and were folded in their parents arms.
What occurred in the Blake home was duplicated in all the others. Mrs.
Blake cried. Bobby cried. Mr. Blake cried. Meena, the Swedish servant
girl, cried. Michael, the Blakes’ old coachman, cried. Everybody cried.
They could not help it. There are some joys so deep that only tears can
express them.
When at last some semblance of sanity was restored to the household and
Bobby for the twentieth time had gone over his adventures in answer to
their eager questions, he learned in turn the events that had followed
the disappearance of the boys. Investigation had traced them to the
railroad junction where they had left their suitcases. The agent had
told of their having gone to Bayport to see the circus performance. But
at Bayport the clue rested for a while, until the finding of Bobby’s and
Fred’s watches in a pawnshop led to the arrest of Lemming and some of
his gang on the charge of robbery.
Lemming, on being put through the “third degree,” had wilted and
confessed how the boys had been shanghaied and put on Captain Garrish’s
schooner. This had relieved some of the agony of the boys’ parents as
showing that the boys were probably still alive, though of course they
did not know but what they had perished in the hold of starvation.
Captain Garrish had not yet returned from his voyage, and the telegrams
from St. John’s were the first inklings that the parents had that the
boys had survived their perilous adventure.
The treasure which amounted to many thousands of dollars was duly
divided and placed in the bank to be at the disposal of the boys when
they should reach the age of twenty-one.
A few days after their return, Bobby and Fred were together, and Bobby
took from his pocket the walrus tooth that had served as a token.
“Poor old Takyak!” he murmured.
“He was a good old scout,” said Fred.
“Wonder if we’ll ever have any more adventures as stirring as those up
north,” mused Bobby.
“I doubt it,” replied Fred.
But many stirring adventures were still to come, and what some of them
were will be related in the next volume, to be called: “Bobby Blake on
Mystery Mountain; or, The Treasure Chest of Black Rock.”
The boys gazed long at the token, their minds busy with the memories
that thronged upon them.
“What would you sell it for?” asked Fred,
“Not for its weight in gold,” replied Bobby.
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOBBY BLAKE SERIES
BY FRANK A. WARNER
BOOKS FOR BOYS FROM EIGHT TO TWELVE YEARS OLD
True stories of life at a modern American boarding school. Bobby attends
this institution of learning with his particular chum and the boys have
no end of good times. The tales of outdoor life, especially the exciting
times they have when engaged in sports against rival schools, are
written in a manner so true, so realistic, that the reader, too, is
bound to share with these boys their thrills and pleasures.
BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL.
BOBBY BLAKE AT BASS COVE.
BOBBY BLAKE ON A CRUISE.
BOBBY BLAKE AND HIS SCHOOL CHUMS.
BOBBY BLAKE AT SNOWTOP CAMP.
BOBBY BLAKE ON THE SCHOOL NINE.
BOBBY BLAKE ON A RANCH.
BOBBY BLAKE ON AN AUTO TOUR.
BOBBY BLAKE ON THE SCHOOL ELEVEN.
BOBBY BLAKE ON A PLANTATION.
BOBBY BLAKE IN THE FROZEN NORTH.
BOBBY BLAKE ON MYSTERY MOUNTAIN.
PUBLISHERS
BARSE & CO.
NEW YORK, N. Y. NEWARK, N. J.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOY SCOUT LIFE SERIES
Published with the approval of
The Boy Scouts of America
In the boys’ world of story books, none better than those about boy
scouts attract and grip attention. In a most alluring way, the stories
in the BOY SCOUT LIFE SERIES tell of the glorious good times and
wonderful adventures of the boy scouts.
All the books were written by authors possessed of an intimate knowledge
of this greatest of all movements organized for the welfare of boys, and
are published with the approval of the National Headquarters of the Boy
Scouts of America.
The Chief Scout Librarian, Mr. P. K. Mathiews, writes concerning them:
“It is a bully bunch of books. I hope you will sell 100,000 copies of
each one, for these stories are the sort that will help instead of hurt
our movement.”
THE BOY SCOUT FIRE FIGHTERS—CRUMP
THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE LIGHTHOUSE TROOP—McCLANE
THE BOY SCOUT TRAIL BLAZERS—CHELEY
THE BOY SCOUT TREASURE HUNTERS—LERRIGO
BOY SCOUTS AFLOAT—WALDEN
BOY SCOUTS COURAGEOUS—MATHIEWS
BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE—LERRIGO
BOY SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL—GARTH
THE BOY SCOUTS IN AFRICA—CORCORAN
THE BOY SCOUTS OF ROUND TABLE PATROL—LERRIGO
Publishers
BARSE & CO.
New York, N. Y. Newark, N. J.
End of Project Gutenberg's Bobby Blake in the Frozen North, by Frank A. Warner