LITTLE TIM A STRATEGIST
Joe Hinman, with his crew of three, composed of George Baker, Allan
Harding, and little Tim Reardon, did not intend to be idle during the
absence of the yacht _Viking_. The yacht _Surprise_, when it should be
patched up, cleaned, and once more floated, and equipped with a spare set
of sails that had been left in the _Viking_ when she came into the
possession of Harvey and Henry Burns, was to become the property for the
summer of Joe and the rest of the crew. The morning after the _Viking_
had left the Thoroughfare, in company with the _Spray_, the boys set to
work in earnest upon the hull of the _Surprise_, with the tools that had
been left for them.
It was hard work, for the barnacles and sea-grasses had covered the yacht
everywhere, not only below, but on deck and even in the cabin. They got
some pieces of joist that had been cast up ashore with a lot of other
riffraff and shored the yacht up on an even keel, so they could work to
better advantage, without getting in one another’s way.
They worked industriously to the noon hour, only Little Tim knocking off
work an hour before the others, in order to go down on the rocks and
catch a mess of cunners for their dinner. He had these cleaned and
cooking by the time the other three were ready, and they ate the meal
heartily, in sight of their labours. Then they were at it again shortly,
and worked hard till sundown. The yacht had begun to have a different
appearance.
The next three days they made even better progress, and had the most of
the deck scraped down, so that it began to look bright again, as Harvey
and his crew had always kept it.
“She’ll be the fine old boat she was before,” exclaimed Joe Hinman,
joyfully, as they stood that next evening eying their work approvingly.
“Jack won’t know her when he gets back.”
But the following morning, when Joe had arisen and dressed and taken a
peep out of the old shed in which they had found shelter, he could scarce
believe his eyes. His first thought was, however, when he had begun to
think at all, that the yacht _Spray_ had returned, and that the Warren
boys had surprised them by coming to lend a hand, and that they had begun
work early.
Then he saw that the yacht that lay anchored close in shore was not the
_Spray_, but a strange boat; and furthermore that the four persons who
were busily engaged at work upon the hull of the _Surprise_ were not the
Warren boys, but larger youths, and strangers.
No, they were not all strangers, either. For there was one with whom they
had a slight and brief acquaintance. It was Harry Brackett. What had
happened was this:
When Harry Brackett had ventured finally to return to his father’s home,
he had not received that fond welcome that one might expect from an
indulgent parent. In fact, Squire Brackett was so incensed at having been
led to make the exhibition of himself in the store before his fellow
townsmen that he stormed roundly at his son, and he made some remarks
about having wasted his money for the last few years in sending young
Brackett to the city to school, an assertion which perhaps Harry Brackett
knew the full truth of even better than the squire.
“Now,” said the squire at length, “let’s see if you can’t make yourself
of some use, instead of just spending my money. You get Tom Dakin and Ed
Sanders and John Hart, and take the _Seagull_ and get down there in the
Thoroughfare and see if you can’t raise up that yacht that those young
scamps wrecked there last fall. She’s abandoned, and she belongs to
anybody that can get her. I’d just like to fetch her back here and rig
her up handsome, and let them see what they might have done. I’ll show
them a thing or two.
“Now you work smart,” continued the squire, “and get that boat, and I’ll
give her to you to use while you are at home; and I’ll get John Hart to
teach you how to sail her. And see here, don’t you go fooling around with
the _Seagull_ any. You let John Hart sail her. That was a pretty story
you told me about winning races around Marblehead! Now clear out and see
what you can do.”
It might be said that if young Harry Brackett had had any knowledge of
boat-sailing he could not have gained it from the squire, for, whereas
that gentleman had property interests in several sailing-craft, by way of
business, he knew nothing of seamanship himself, and was invariably
seasick when he went out in rough water.
Harry Brackett was not wholly disinclined to the task imposed upon him,
although he had certain misgivings as to how it would coincide with the
commission imparted to him by the man, Carleton, whom he had met at
Bellport. He figured, however, that the _Surprise_, if she could be
floated, would be worth vastly more than the promised two hundred
dollars. So he went about the village hunting up the youths his father
had named. These three were rough fellows, whose worth the squire had
well in mind in selecting them. They were strong and able-bodied, older
by some years than Harvey and his companions; youths who went alternately
on short fishing-voyages and hung about the village at other times, ready
equally for work or mischief.
The four accordingly embarked at evening and sailed down to the
Thoroughfare that night. Great was their surprise to find, on coming to
anchor, that the yacht they had expected to see deep under water lay out
on shore, with evidences of having been worked upon.
Not to be defeated so easily, however, they resolved, on the spur of the
moment, to lay claim to the yacht, especially as they saw no boat of any
description anchored anywhere in the Thoroughfare. They would take
possession of the _Surprise_ and, if it should prove that a party of the
campers had raised her,—and not any of the villagers,—they would swear
that they themselves had found her in shoal water and had dragged her
out.
As to the future possession of her, they would trust to the squire to
fight a lawsuit, if necessary, to retain her. It was a lonely place, down
there in the Thoroughfare, and there could be no outside witnesses.
Therefore, before the sun was up, they had rowed ashore and begun work
upon the yacht. They began differently, however, than the boys had done.
They realized that the first thing for their purpose was to get the
_Surprise_ afloat. Once in possession of the yacht, afloat and towed back
to harbour, whoever should claim it then might have trouble in making
their claim good.
John Hart was something of a shipwright in a small way, and they had
brought carpenter’s and calking tools along.
They, in turn, busily engaged at their work, were taken by surprise all
of a sudden at the appearance of Joe Hinman and his crew, tearing down
upon them, half-dressed, and their eyes wide with amazement and
indignation.
“Here, that’s our boat,” cried Joe, rushing up to them, panting for
breath. “You’ve got no right to touch it. We raised it.”
John Hart, with sleeves rolled up, displaying a pair of brawny arms,
looked at the crew sneeringly. They were certainly not formidable as
against himself and his two comrades, to say nothing of young Harry
Brackett.
“You raised it!” he exclaimed, roughly. “That’s a likely story. What did
you raise her with—your hands? You’re a fine wrecking-crew. Why, we had
this boat out on shore two days ago. What are you interfering with us
for?”
“Now, see here,” said Joe Hinman, “that won’t work, so you better not try
it. There are too many on our side.” And he narrated, rapidly, the
history of the raising of the _Surprise_ by the Warrens and Henry Burns
and Harvey and himself and crew.
John Hart and his comrades seemed a bit nonplussed at this. It did put a
different phase upon the matter. They looked at one another inquiringly
for a moment. But they were rough fellows, not given to weighing evidence
critically. Might was right with them if it could be carried through.
“That’s a lie!” exclaimed John Hart, suddenly, advancing toward Joe
Hinman. “You think you can fool us with your city ways, but you’d better
look out. Where are all these fine youngsters that you say raised the
boat? This boat is ours, because we saved her. You get out and don’t come
around bothering, because we won’t stand any nonsense.”
There was no present hope for Joe and his crew. They were clearly
outmatched. They withdrew, therefore, to the shed, cooked their breakfast
and ate it with diminished appetites.
“What will Jack say,” remarked Little Tim, ruefully, “if he gets here and
finds the boat gone? We can’t get away to give the alarm, either. We’ve
got to stay here till he comes back.”
“Never mind,” exclaimed Joe, bitterly. “They can’t keep it long. We’ll
prove in the end that we saved her.”
“Yes, but that means half the summer wasted in fighting over it,” said
George Baker, despondently. “You see, when one person gets hold of a
thing, that gives him some advantage. They will have that boat afloat,
and rigged, before they can be sued.”
The task of making the _Surprise_ tight enough to float was, however, not
to be so easy as it might appear at first glance. It was a nice and
particular job fitting in new planking where the hole had been stove. It
took a good part of the day, though John Hart and his comrades worked
industriously.
Then it was apparent that the yacht had strained all along her bilge
badly and about the centreboard, so that it would require all of another
day to calk her and set the nails that had been wrenched loose. By
evening of the next day, however, she was ready for hauling off, in the
opinion of John Hart; and they would do that in the morning and tow her
back to Southport.
But they had not reckoned wholly with Joe and his crew. Finding
themselves outmatched in strength, these youngsters had wandered
disconsolately about the little island for the last two days, fishing and
swimming and passing the time as best they could; watching eagerly out
through the Thoroughfare, in hopes that Harvey and Henry Burns and the
others might put in an appearance; and all the while keeping sharp watch
of the progress of work upon the _Surprise_.
Hart and the other three, fearing no interruption from the boys, had
ignored them. At night they went out aboard the _Seagull_, where they had
provided temporary quarters for all four of them by stretching the
mainsail over the boom for a shelter, and tying it to the rail at the
edges.
“They’re all ready to haul her off in the morning, I think,” said Joe
Hinman, as the boys sat gloomily by the door of the shed on the evening
of the second day after the arrival of the men. “I heard them singing and
laughing out aboard, and saying something about ‘to-morrow’ and
‘Southport.’ Oh, if there was only another day’s work on her, the boys
might get here in time yet.”
“Then I’ll keep her here another day,” exclaimed Little Tim, “if they
beat me black and blue for it.”
“You can’t do it,” said Joe.
“Can’t I, though?” responded Tim. “Well, watch me and see. Will you
fellows help?”
The boys assented, not to be outdone in courage by the smallest one of
them.
“We can do it,” said Little Tim. “They leave their tools aboard the cabin
of the _Surprise_ at night. I saw John Hart put the box in there before
he went out aboard. He said another hour’s work would fix something or
other. I couldn’t hear what. But we’ll fix her so it will take longer
than that, I reckon.”
“O-o-oh!” exclaimed George Baker. “But we’ll catch it, though, when they
find it out.”
“All right,” said Tim. “I’ll take my share if the rest will.”
Again the others assented somewhat dubiously.
Toward midnight, the four lads stole cautiously down to the shore, and
climbed noiselessly aboard the _Surprise_. As Little Tim had described
it, there, tucked away in the cabin, was a box of carpenter’s tools.
“Here’s what we want first,” said Little Tim, softly, producing a big
auger from the box. “We’ll use this for awhile, because it doesn’t make
any noise.”
“Great!” exclaimed Joe Hinman, whose imagination was now fired with the
idea of mischief. “Let me have the first turn at it.”
Little Tim yielded him the precedence.
Climbing out of the yacht again, Joe Hinman proceeded to bore into the
planking of the _Surprise_, on the opposite side from the shore. This
served to hide their operations and also to deaden what little sound it
made. He went laboriously along the length of one plank, and then turned
the auger over to Little Tim, who went to work with a subdued squeal of
delight.
“Keep to the same plank,” said Joe. “We don’t want to ruin the whole
bottom of the boat.”
They bored the holes in turn, close together, all around one plank, and
then began on another. It was tiresome work, but they served three long
pieces of planking the same way.
Then they brought out a great chisel and pried off the planking, fearful
of the noise it made. But they had done their work well, and the sound of
the tearing wood was not sharp. No one stirred out aboard the yacht.
“That’s enough,” said Joe, as the third plank came away. “They’ll have
hard work to match that up in two days. They’re short of wood now, by the
way they patched the other place.”
“We’ll take away the pieces of planking we’ve cut out, to make sure, and
bury them in the sand up alongshore,” suggested George Baker.
“Why not take the box of tools, too?” said Little Tim, whose blood was
fired, and who would have stopped at nothing.
“Not much!” exclaimed Joe. “We’re in for it enough as it is. Tim, I
didn’t know you had so much pluck.”
“I wish it was over with,” said Tim, looking apprehensively toward the
_Seagull_.
They stole softly away again, back to the shanty. But it was long before
they dropped off to sleep.
When Tim Reardon awoke, the next morning, he was dreaming that he had
jumped up suddenly in the cabin of the _Surprise_ and had bumped his head
against the roof of the cabin. It was a hard bump, too. Then it seemed as
if the boat was turning upside down, and jumping out of water, and the
floor rising up and hitting him. The next moment, however, he realized
that he was in the shanty, where he had gone to sleep, but that a strong
hand held him fast, and was shaking him roughly, while another hand was
cuffing him over the head and ears.
He let out a lusty yell for mercy, and the others jumped up, fearful of
what was coming.
Little Tim, in the grasp of John Hart, was receiving the soundest cuffing
and mauling that had ever fallen to his lot in a somewhat varied
experience with the world. It had been his misfortune, lying nearest the
entrance, to be the one on whom John Hart’s heavy hand had fallen, as he
entered, followed by the other three, Harry Brackett bringing up the
rear.
“Oh, I’ll larn ye to scuttle other people’s boats!” cried John Hart,
wrathfully. And he cuffed young Tim again, whereat that youngster howled
for mercy.
“You’re a coward!” cried Joe Hinman, hotly. “Licking a boy half your
size.”
“Well, you’re nearer my size,” exclaimed John Hart, dropping Little Tim
and making a rush for Joe. They clinched, but the younger boy was no
match for Hart, who was, too, reinforced by his three companions. Though
it was noticeable that Harry Brackett discreetly held aloof until one of
his companions had overpowered an adversary, when he essayed to put in a
blow or two.
There was no help for them. The boys got what they had expected—and
worse. They were soundly thrashed when John Hart and his companions had
satisfied their vengeance.
“Now, see here,” said John Hart, wrathfully, shaking a rough fist at the
boys. “What you have just got is like a fly lighting on you compared to
what you’ll get the next time, if you lay another hand on that boat.”
“We won’t,” blubbered Little Tim.
And he meant it.
“Ouch!” groaned Allan Harding, as he tried to rub a dozen places at once
with only one pair of hands. “You got us into a nice mess; that’s what
you did, Tim.”
“Yes,” wailed Little Tim. “But, o-o-h, it’s over now. And,” he added,
sniffling and chuckling at the same time, “the boat stays, doesn’t it?
You knew we’d catch it, so what’s the use blaming me?”
“I didn’t think it would be such a dose,” said Joe Hinman. “But I’ll
stand it all right, if Jack only gets here in time. Let’s have something
to eat. We’ll feel better.”
The yacht _Surprise_ did, sure enough, stay. They had done their part
well. Try as best they could, the workers could not fasten her up again
before sundown. They finished the job, however, by the aid of a
lantern-light, and, taking no more chances, got some pieces of old spars
for rollers and dragged the yacht down into the water, where they moored
her close to land, a few rods away from the _Seagull_.
There was no sleep for the boys that night. They were stiff and sore, for
one thing. But it was the last chance for rescue. It was the seventh day
since the _Viking_ had sailed away. They took turns watching, away down
on the point of the little island, an eighth of a mile below where the
_Seagull_ and the _Surprise_ lay. Nor did they watch in vain. Along about
eleven o’clock, Little Tim saw the moonlight shining on a familiar sail
away down the Thoroughfare.
With the return of daylight, following their narrow escape, Henry Burns
and his friends, wide awake, had begun fishing early. It proved a record
morning for them. They filled their baskets with cod, and piled the
cockpit deep with them, and only hauled in their lines finally, about the
middle of the forenoon, when they had exhausted the supply of herring
which they had purchased for bait of the trader. They had about six
dollars’ worth of fish when they weighed in their catch at the trader’s
dock.
It had been a satisfactory trip, on the whole, and had showed them what
they could do. Deducting the money they had paid out for bait and for
some provisions, they had netted nearly eighteen dollars, having fished a
part of five days. The division of this gave six dollars to Tom and Bob
and left twelve dollars to the two owners of the _Viking_. True, they
would have a new anchor and some new line to buy out of this; but that
was, in a way, an incidental of yachting, and might have happened in some
other manner.
There was a southwesterly blowing, with some prospect of its holding on
late. So, after clearing up accounts with Mr. Hollis, the trader, and
having an early supper in the harbour, where they were free from the
pitching of the sea outside, they got under way and stood up once more
for Grand Island, running free before a good breeze. It was about five
o’clock in the afternoon, and, if the wind held, they would make the foot
of Grand Island by nine o’clock. They were impatient to be back at
Southport, and were willing to sail at night if need be.
And yet it was a mere chance that should bring them in to the
Thoroughfare on time; for, just north of North Haven, and before they had
come to the group of islands beyond, some one suggested that they stand
on for Southport and go down to the Thoroughfare the next morning. Harvey
half-assented, and then, with a fondness that still lingered for his old
boat, was doubtful.
“What do you say, Henry?” he had asked of Henry Burns. “I’ll do as you
think about it.”
“Oh, better go down to-night and relieve the crew,” said Henry Burns.
“They’re probably sick of staying there by this time, all alone. At any
rate, we’ll leave them a new supply of food.”
But Henry Burns himself would rather have gone to Southport.
The wind held on for all of the eighteen miles they had to run; but it
dropped away to a very light breeze just at sundown, then freshened a
little soon after. It was not until near eleven o’clock, however, instead
of nine, as they had expected, that they entered and sailed up the
Thoroughfare.
Tom Harris, as lookout forward to watch the shoaling of the channel, saw,
all at once, something that made his flesh creep. A stout, wholesome lad
was Tom Harris, too, with no superstition about him. Yet he had heard
sailors’ yarns of ghostly things in the sea—and he might almost have been
warranted in thinking he now beheld something of that sort.
There, off the port bow, about an eighth of a mile from shore, was
something that did look strangely like a human head bobbing along; and if
there wasn’t an arm lifted again and again from the water, as of some one
swimming a side-stroke, why, then Tom Harris was dreaming, or seeing some
seaman’s phantom. He had to believe his own eyes, though; and yet how
could it be, away down at this end of the island, where there were no
cabins of any sort—and the crew up beyond?
“Jack, Henry, Bob,” he whispered, excitedly, “there’s a queer thing
swimming just ahead there. It may be a big fish or a seal, but it looks
different to me.”
“That’s no fish,” cried Harvey, springing to his feet. “It’s some one
swimming. I’ll bet it’s one of the crew. Little Tim Reardon, most likely.
Just like the little chap to try to surprise us. He’s the best swimmer I
ever saw. Learned it around the docks up the river before he was seven
years old.”
If there was any doubt in their minds it was dispelled by a faint halloo
from the swimmer, accompanied by a warning cry for them to make no noise.
“That’s queer,” said Harvey. “Something’s up when Tim doesn’t want a
noise. I wonder if anything has gone wrong.”
Little Tim, climbing aboard a few moments later, and telling his story in
excited tones, quickly apprised them that things were decidedly wrong up
the Thoroughfare. Wrong indeed! The yachtsmen were thunderstruck.
Jack Harvey brought the _Viking_ into the wind as near shore as he dared.
“Bully for you, Tim!” he exclaimed. “Now take the dory and get ashore
quick, and bring the rest of the crew down here.”
Tim was away for shore in a twinkling. A few minutes later the four could
be seen coming down on the run. They piled aboard the _Viking_ in a heap,
and the yacht stood along up the Thoroughfare once more.
“Well, what are we going to do, Jack?” inquired Henry Burns, as they
turned a bend of the shore and came in sight of the mast of the
_Seagull_.
“I’m going to fight for that boat!” cried Harvey, angrily. “I’ll die for
it, but they sha’n’t get it away from me.”
“Of course we’ll fight for it if we need to,” said Henry Burns, calmly.
“We will all stand by you, eh, fellows?”
“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Tom and Bob together, feeling of their muscles,
developed by canoeing and gymnastics.
The crew also assented, less warmly. They had had their taste of it
already.
“All the same,” said Henry Burns, “it would be a huge joke on them, after
they have gone to work and patched her up and floated her for us, to sail
in and tow her out without their knowing it. Just imagine them waking up
in the morning and finding the boat and the crew both gone.”
“Yes, and we’ll catch it for that, too, I suppose,” groaned George Baker.
“No, we’ll stand by you,” said Henry Burns. And he added, “Let’s try the
easiest way first, Jack. We’ll run in as quietly as we can, come up
alongside the _Surprise_ and take her in tow. If they wake, we’ll stand
by you and fight for the boat. But I think we may get away with her.
They’re bound to be sound sleepers.”
Carefully stowing away every pail or oar or stick that could be in the
way at the wrong time and make a noise, the yachtsmen brought the Viking
close in upon the dismasted _Surprise_. Then, as Harvey made a wide sweep
to bring the _Viking_ about into the wind, Henry Burns and Tom Harris
dropped astern in the dory and picked up the line with which the
_Surprise_ had been moored. They were ready for Harvey when he had come
about. Throwing the line aboard as the _Viking_ rounded to, close in,
they rowed quickly alongside and sprang over the rail. The line had been
caught by Bob, who made it fast astern.
The _Viking_ had not even lost headway, so skilfully had the manœuvre
been carried out. Standing away on the starboard tack, the _Viking’s_
sails filled and the line brought up. The wind was fairly fresh and the
weight of the unballasted _Surprise_ did not stop the _Viking_. The
_Surprise_, its long, lonely stay down in the Thoroughfare ended, had at
last begun its homeward journey toward Southport.
“I don’t see but what your friends on the _Seagull_ did us a good turn in
trying to rob you of the _Surprise_,” said Henry Burns, smiling. “They
seem to have made the old boat pretty fairly tight. They’ve saved us
time.”
“Oh, yes, we owe ’em something for that,” exclaimed Little Tim, feeling
around for a sore spot, “but I hope they don’t try to collect any more of
the debt from me.”
“Tim, you were a brick to do what you did!” cried Harvey. “And the rest
of you, too. You had the real pluck. But Tim suggested it, and he’s first
mate of the _Surprise_ after this, and next to Skipper Joe. That’s fair,
isn’t it?”
George Baker and Allan Harding agreed.
“What do you think,” asked Harvey, as they sailed on up the bay, “will
they keep up the fight for the boat? Will the squire take it to court, or
will they quit, now they find themselves outwitted?”
“They’ll give it up,” said Henry Burns. “They would have tried to lie it
through if they could have got the boat away from here. But now that we
have it, they will look at it differently. They’ll find, when they get
back to the village, too, that the Warren boys were down here, and that
will settle it.” Henry Burns was right.
John Hart and his comrades, astounded, on awakening, to find the
_Surprise_ nowhere to be seen, had jumped to the conclusion that the crew
had stolen down and cut her loose.
“We’ll take it out of them!” he had cried, fiercely; and, followed by his
no less irate comrades, had dashed up to the old cabin. Another
disappointment. And still another, when they had searched all the shores
of the Thoroughfare and examined its waters, and realized that the boat
was gone.
“Well, we’ll get it yet, if they have carried it off,” young Brackett
ventured to suggest.
“We’ll do nothing of the kind,” cried John Hart, angrily. “You idiot!
Can’t you see we’re beaten? Some one has been down in the night and
helped them. That must have been true, what they said about the other
chaps. The best thing we can do is to keep quiet about what we have done,
or we’ll have the whole town laughing at us for working on their boat.”
Young Harry Brackett looked pained.