A CAPSIZE.
George Edwards held his breath in suspense. The hull of the little craft
was so long out of sight that he began to fear he would never see it
again; but, all of a sudden, it bobbed up as buoyantly as a cork, and
once more that frantic appeal for assistance was borne across the lake.
George was now able to see that there were two boys in the boat. One was
clinging to the mast, waving his handkerchief over his head as a signal
of distress, and the other was seated in the stern, wielding a
clumsy-looking paddle, with which he endeavored to keep the boat before
the wind.
George looked at them, and then he looked toward the promontory on which
he had stopped to rest when he first reached the lake.
This promontory was about fifty feet in height, and its base was thickly
lined with rocks, over which the waves were dashing with great violence,
throwing the spray high in the air. It was not more than half a mile
distant, and the wind was driving the boat toward it with fearful
rapidity.
“What lunatics those fellows must be to venture out on this lake when
they don’t know how to manage a boat!” exclaimed George. “If they hold
that course they will be dashed to pieces on the rocks, as sure as they
are living boys.” Then, bringing his hands to his face, and using them
as a speaking-trumpet, he shouted with all the power of his lungs, “Haul
down your sail and pull for the beach!”
The boy who was holding on to the mast waved his signal of distress over
his head, and then the boat sank out of sight again.
When she reappeared, George once more shouted to her crew to haul down
the sail, at the same time striving to warn them of their danger by
pointing toward the rocks and beckoning to them to come ashore.
But his instructions must have been misunderstood, or else the boat’s
crew could not obey them, for their little craft kept driving on toward
the rocks, while one of the boys continued to wave his handkerchief, and
the other to ply his clumsy paddle.
It was plain that they could not save themselves, and that George was
the only one who could render them any assistance. The boy’s face grew
pale when this fact flashed upon him, but it wore a very determined
look.
“It’s almost certain death,” said he, as he cast off the painter and
pushed the scow into the water; “but I can at least make the attempt. If
I go under, there is nobody to miss me.”
Pushing his scow through the surf, and wading until the water was nearly
up to his waist, George clambered in, shipped the oars, and pulled out
into the lake.
When Uncle Ruben was at the cabin, he had shown a disposition to turn up
his nose at his nephew’s boat, which was the boy’s own handiwork; but if
he could have seen how she behaved now, he would have learned that she
was much better than she looked to be. Being broad of beam and light of
draught, she seemed to skim over the top of the waves instead of
breaking through them, and, heavy as she was, George was able to send
her ahead with considerable speed.
He rowed fast enough to intercept the sailboat when she was within less
than a quarter of a mile of the threatening rocks and then he found,
greatly to his surprise, that she was a canoe, so lightly built,
apparently, that a boy of ordinary strength could take her on his back
and walk off with her with all ease.
She was making bad weather of it, for she was half-full of water, and
every time she struck a wave she would bury her nose in it almost out of
sight. If her two occupants realized the danger of their situation, they
did not show it. They were as cool as boys could possibly be.
The one in the bow watched George’s movements with a good deal of
interest, while the dignified young fellow in spectacles, who was
sitting in the stern and using the butt of his double-barrel for a
paddle, issued his orders with great calmness and deliberation.
“Bring your boat around head to the wind, if you can, and let us come
alongside of you,” said he, addressing himself to George. “You will have
to do all the work, for I have lost my paddle; and if the canoe should
broach to, we’d be tumbled out into the lake before you could say
‘General Jackson’ with your mouth open.”
George saw at a glance that the dignified young gentleman knew how to
handle a canoe, and that in keeping the sail hoisted he was doing the
best that could be done under the circumstances. If he had attempted to
make the beach, he would have brought his cranky little craft broadside
to the waves, and, having no centre-board, and scarcely any bearing, she
would have been overturned in an instant, leaving her crew to sink, or
drift helplessly toward the rocks.
That very thing did happen to her soon. Although George tried hard to
place himself directly across her bows, the canoe shot wild of him; and
in his efforts to bring her alongside the scow, the skipper lost control
of her, and over she went, turning completely bottom upward.
The rocks were now but a short distance away, and the noise made by the
waves as they dashed over them was enough to frighten anybody. George
was frightened, and his pale face showed it.
It would have been a work of no little difficulty to row a light boat
away from that dangerous spot; but to wait there long enough to pick up
a couple of boys who were tossed about by the waves, now here, now
there, and always just out of reach, to rescue them and then save
himself, was a task requiring great skill and prudence.
George looked at the rocks and then he looked about for the canoe’s
crew. To his great joy they arose to the surface, one after the other,
and they were close ahead of him, too. One was near enough to seize the
gunwale of the scow, while the other promptly laid hold of the oar that
was thrust out toward him.
“Where’s Goggles?” asked the first, wiping the water out of his eyes,
and looking around to find his companion.
“He’s all right!” answered George. “Climb in—quick! Not over the side,
for your weight will capsize the scow. Go around to the stern. Be lively
now, or the waves will throw us on the rocks.”
The boy looked toward the breakers, but the sight of them did not seem
to terrify him in the least. He worked his way around to the stern,
climbed into the scow, and then turned to assist his companion, who was
clinging to the oar with one hand, while in the other he held a light
double-barreled shotgun.
“Say, Goggles!” said the boy in the boat; “I am just a hundred dollars
out of pocket, by this day’s work. Give us your gun. Mine is at the
bottom of the lake. I told you your cranky little egg-shell wasn’t
seaworthy!”
“The canoe is all right, so far as her seagoing qualities are
concerned,” was the reply. “If I hadn’t lost my paddle overboard, she
would have taken us ashore without shipping so much as a cupful of
water. But we have taken our last ride in her. She will be smashed into
kindling-wood on those rocks.”
“Haul him in! haul him in!” cried George, in great excitement. “We shall
be smashed into kindling-wood, too, if we don’t get out of this! Now,
then,” he continued, as the boy who had been addressed as “Goggles” was
dragged aboard, “take an oar, one of you, and pull for your life.”
The boys had no light task before them, and if Goggles had not been a
capital oarsman, it is hard to tell how the struggle would have ended.
For a long time the heavy boat seemed to remain stationary. With all
their exertions, they could make no perceptible headway; but finally
they began to gain a little, and, after half an hour’s hard pulling,
they succeeded in beaching the scow about half-way between the
promontory and the cabin.
George landed there, because he thought it would be easier to walk a
quarter of a mile than it would be to pull the boat that distance
against the wind and the waves.
“Now, then,” said Goggles, as he and his companion assisted in securing
the boat, so that it would not drift away; “the next thing is something
else. A fire to dry our clothes by and something good to eat, would be
very acceptable just now. Do you live far from here, my friend?”
“Only a short distance away,” answered George. “If you will go up to my
shanty, you can have both the fire and the supper. I can’t promise you
that the grub will be very good—”
“Say nothing about that,” interrupted Goggles. “I hope we shall not put
your folks to any trouble.”
“No,” replied George, sadly; “you’ll not put them to any trouble.” Then,
seeing the expression of surprise and inquiry on the faces of the
rescued boys, he added, “I am my own cook and housekeeper. I am living
up here alone.”
“Oh, you’re out for a holiday, then! You came here to hunt and fish, I
suppose?”
“Yes, I came here to fish; but I am not taking a holiday. It’s a matter
of bread and butter with me.”
“You don’t say so! Can’t you find anything to do in the village?”
“No, I can’t,” replied George.
But he did not tell the boy the reason why.
“Well, there’s no use in standing here in the rain any longer. Let’s go
up to your ‘shanty,’ as you call it. You have rendered us a most
important service,” said Goggles, with much feeling, as he took George’s
hand in both his own and shook it warmly. “I never saw anybody exhibit
as much pluck as you have shown to-day. What can we do for you?”
“Take a big bite while you are about it,” said the other boy, who had
stood by, listening in silence to this conversation. “We owe our lives
to you.”
“You owe me nothing but your good-will,” replied George. “I am sure you
would have done as much for me.”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Goggles, as the three hurried up the
beach toward the cabin. “One needs courage, and a good share of it, too,
to enable him to go deliberately into danger for the sake of helping
somebody; and that’s a quality I don’t pretend to possess. Now, perhaps
you would like to know who we are. My friend here is Bob Howard, and he
lives away out of the world, in a place called Arizona. I am Dick
Langdon, at your service, and live in a white man’s country, my home
being in Connecticut.”
“There’s where the wooden nutmegs come from!” observed Bob Howard.
“My name is George Edwards, and I live there,” said our hero, pointing
to the cabin, which was now in plain sight.
It looked mean and forbidding now. It was good enough for him, for he
had never been accustomed to luxurious surroundings; but, if there was
any faith to be put in appearances, the boys who were to be his guests
until the storm was over, were the sons of wealthy parents, and he
thought they would look out of place under his humble roof.
He did not then know that one of them was more familiar with life in the
woods than he was, and that he had many a time been glad to crawl into a
hollow log for shelter. George didn’t know, either, that his life and
Bob Howard’s were destined to run along in the same channel, and that
they were to be the heroes of an adventure that is talked of on the
frontier until this day; but such was the fact.