Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net The Rival Campers Afloat Or, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING By Ruel Perley Smith Author of âThe Rival Campersâ ILLUSTRATED BY LOUIS D. GOWING BOSTON L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 1906 _Copyright_, _1906_ By L. C. Page & Company (INCORPORATED) _All rights reserved_ First Impression, August, 1906 _COLONIAL PRESS Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston. U. S. A._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Down the River 1 II. The Collision 15 III. A Rescue Unrewarded 28 IV. Squire Brackett Discomfited 39 V. Harvey Gets Bad News 56 VI. Out to the Fishing-grounds 73 VII. Near the Reefs 91 VIII. Little Tim a Strategist 108 IX. Harry Brackett Plays a Joke 126 X. Mr. Carleton Arrives 143 XI. Squire Brackett Is Puzzled 160 XII. The Surprise Sets Sail Again 180 XIII. Stormy Weather 192 XIV. The Man in the Cabin 206 XV. Mr. Carleton Goes Away 224 XVI. Searching the Viking 239 XVII. A Rainy Night 259 XVIII. Two Secrets Discovered 278 XIX. The Loss of the Viking 298 XX. Fleeing in the Night 318 XXI. A Timely Arrival 336 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE The Crew of the Viking Meet Skipper Martel (_Frontispiece_) 98 âThe boom brought up with a smashing blow against the Vikingâs starboard quarterâ 25 ââNonsense,â roared the infuriated Squire. âHe can sail a boat as good as you canââ 54 ââHere, thatâs our boat,â cried Joe. âYouâve got no right to touch itââ 112 ââJust tell them that you heard me say I was going back to Bostonââ 236 ââGet out of here,â exclaimed Mr. Carleton, sharplyâ 335 THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT CHAPTER I. DOWN THE RIVER It was a pleasant afternoon in the early part of the month of June. The Samoset River, winding down prettily through hills and sloping farm lands to the bay of the same name, gleamed in the sunlight, now with a polished surface like ebony in some sheltered inlet, or again sparkling with innumerable points of light where its surface was whipped up into tiny waves by a brisk moving wind. There had been rain for a few days before, and the weather was now clearing, with a smart westerly breeze that had come up in the morning, but was swinging in slightly to the southward. The great white cloud-banks had mostly passed on, and these were succeeded at present by swiftly moving clumps of smaller and lighter clouds, that drifted easily across the sky, like the sails below them over the surface of the water. There were not a few of these sails upon the river, some set to the breeze and some furled; some of the craft going up with the tide toward the distant city of Benton, the head of vessel navigation; some breasting the tide and working their way down toward Samoset Bay; other and larger craft, with sails snugly furled, tagging along sluggishly at the heels of blustering little tugs,âeach evidently much impressed with the importance of its mission,âand so going on and out to the open sea, where they would sail down the coast with their own great wings spread. The river was, indeed, a picture of life and animation. It was a river with work to do, but it did it cheerfully and with a good spirit. Far up above the city of Benton, it had brought the great log rafts down through miles of forest and farm land. Above and below the city, for miles, it had run bravely through sluice and mill-race, and turned the great wheels for the mills that sawed the forest stuff into lumber. And now, freed from all bounds and the restraint of dams and sluiceways, and no longer choked with its burden of logs, it was pleased to float the ships, loaded deep with the sawed lumber, down and away to other cities. There was many a craft going down the river that afternoon. Here and there along the way was a big three or four masted schooner, loaded with ice or lumber, and bound for Baltimore or Savannah. Or, it might be, one would take notice of a trim Italian bark, carrying box-shooks, to be converted later into boxes for lemons and oranges. Then, farther southward, a schooner that had brought its catch to the Benton market, and was now working out again to the fishing-grounds among the islands of the bay. Less frequently plied the river steamers that ran to and from the summer resorts in Samoset Bay; or, once a day, coming or going, the larger steamers that ran between Benton and Boston. Amid all these, at a point some twenty miles down the river from Benton, there sailed a craft that was, clearly, not of this busy, hard-working fraternity of ships. It was a handsome little vessel, of nearly forty feet length, very shapely of hull and shining of spars; with a glint of brass-work here and there; its clean, white sides presenting a polished surface to the sunbeams; its rigging new and well set up, and a handsome new pennant flung to the breeze from its topmast. The captain of many a coaster eyed her sharply as she passed; and, now and then, one would let his own vessel veer half a point off its course, while he took his pipe from his mouth and remarked, âThereâs a clean craft. Looks like she might go some.â And then, probably, as he brought his own vessel back to its course, concluded with the usual salt-water manâs comment, âAmateur sailors, I reckon. Humph!â That remark, if made on this particular occasion, would have been apparently justifiable. If one might judge by their age, the skippers of this trim yacht should certainly have been classed as amateurs. There were two of them. The larger, a youth of about sixteen or seventeen years of age, held the wheel and tended the main-sheet. The other, evidently a year or two younger, sat ready to tend the jib-sheets on either side as they tacked, shifting his seat accordingly. The yacht was beating down the river against the last of a flood-tide. âWeâre doing finely, Henry,â said the elder boy, as he glanced admiringly at the set of the mainsail, and then made a general proud survey of the craft from stem to stern and from cabin to topmast. âShe does walk along like a lady and no mistake. She beats the _Surprise_âpoor old boat! My, but I often think of that good little yacht I owned, sunk down there in the thoroughfare. We had lots of fun in her. But this one certainly more than takes her place.â âWho would ever have thought,â he continued, âwhen we saw the strange men sail into the harbour last year, with this yacht, that she would turn out to be a stolen craft, and that she would one day be put up for sale, and that old Mrs. Newcome would buy her for us? Itâs like a story in a book.â âItâs better than any story I ever read, Jack,â responded the other boy. âItâs a story with a stroke of luck at the end of itâand thatâs better than some of them turn out. But say, donât you think you better let me take my trick at the wheel? You know you are going to teach me how to sail her. I donât expect to make much of a fist of it, at the start; but Iâve picked up quite a little bit of yacht seamanship from my sailing with the Warren boys.â âThatâs so,â conceded the other. âYou must have got a pretty good notion of how to sail a boat, by watching them. Here, take the wheel. But youâll find that practice in real sailing, and just having it in your head from watching others, are two different things. However, youâll learn fast. I never knew any one who had any sort of courage, and any natural liking toward boat-sailing, but what he could pick it up fast, if he kept his eyes open. âThe first thing to do, to learn to sail a boat, is to take hold in moderate weather and work her yourself. And the next thing, is to talk to the fishermen and the yachtsmen, and listen when they get to spinning yarns and arguing. You can get a lot of information in that way that you can use, yourself, later on.â The younger boy took the wheel, while the other sat up alongside, directing his movements. But first he took the main-sheet and threw off several turns, where he had had it belayed on the cleat back of the wheel, and fastened it merely with a slip-knot, that could be loosed with a single smart pull on the free end. âWe wonât sail with the sheet fast until you have had a few weeks at it, Henry,â he said. âThere are more boats upset from sheets fast at the wrong time, or from main-sheets with kinks in them, that wonât run free when a squall hits, than from almost any other cause. And the river is a lot worse in that way than the open bay, for the flaws come quicker and sharper off these high banks.â Henry Bums, with the wheel in hand and an eye to the luff of the sail, as of one not wholly inexperienced, made no reply to the otherâs somewhat patronizing manner; but a quiet smile played about the corners of his mouth. If he had any notion that the otherâs extreme care was not altogether needed, he betrayed no sign of impatience, but took it in good part. Perhaps he realized that common failing of every yachtsman, to think that there is nobody else in all the world that can sail a boat quite as well as himself. He knew, too, that Jack Harvey had, indeed, had by far a larger experience in sailing than he, though he had spent much of his time upon the water. In any event, his handling of the boat now evidently satisfied the critical watchfulness of Jack Harvey; for that youth presently exclaimed, âThatâs it. Oh, you are going to make a skipper, all right. You take hold with confidence, too, and thatâs a good part of the trick.â At this point in their sailing, however, the yacht _Viking_ seemed to have attracted somewhat more than the casual attention of an observer from shore. A little less than a quarter of a mile down the river, on a wharf that jutted some distance out from the bank, so that the river as it ran swerved swiftly by its spiling, a man stood waving to them. âHello,â said Henry Burns, espying the figure on the wharf, âthereâs a tribute to the beauty of the _Viking_. Somebody probably thinks this is the presidentâs yacht and is saluting us.â âWell, he means us, sure enough,â replied Jack Harvey, âand no joke, either. Heâs really waving. He wants to hail us.â The man had his hat in hand and was, indeed, waving it to them vigorously. They had been standing across the river in an opposite direction to the wharf; but now, as Jack Harvey cast off the leeward jib-sheets, Henry Burns put the helm over, and the yacht swung gracefully and swiftly up into the wind and headed off on the tack inshore. Jack Harvey let the jibs flutter for a moment, until the yacht had come about, and Henry Burns had begun to check her from falling off the wind, by reversing the wheel. Then he quickly trimmed in on the sheets, and the jibs began to draw. âMost beginners,â he said, âtrim the jib in flat on the other side the minute they cast off the leeward sheet. But that delays her in coming about.â Again the quiet smile on the face of Henry Burns, but he merely answered, âThatâs so.â They stood down abreast the wharf and brought her up, with sails fluttering. Jack Harvey, looking up from the side to the figure above on the wharf, called out, âHello, were you waving to us?â âWhy, yes,â responded the man, âI was. Are you going down the river far?â âBound down to Southport,â said Harvey. âGood!â exclaimed the stranger, and added, confidently, âIâll go along with you part way, if you donât mind. Iâm on my way to Burtonâs Landing, five miles below, and the steamboat doesnât come along for three hours yet. I cannot get a carriage and I donât want to walk. You donât mind giving me a lift, do you? Thatâs a beautiful boat of yours, by the way.â The man had an air of easy assurance; and, besides, the request was one that any yachtsman would willingly grant. âWhy, certainly,â replied Harvey, âweâll take you, eh, Henry?â âPleased to do it,â responded Henry Burns. They worked the yacht up alongside the wharf, and the stranger, grasping a stay, swung himself off and leaped down on to the deck. Then he pushed the boatâs head off with a vigorous shove and advanced, smilingly, with hand extended, to greet the boys. The _Viking_ gathered headway and was once more going down-stream. The stranger was a rather tall, well-built man, light on his feet, and handled himself as though he were no novice aboard a boat. He descended into the cockpit and shook hands with Jack Harvey and Henry Burns. His voice, as he bade them good afternoon, was singularly full and deep, and seemed to issue almost oddly from behind a heavy, blond moustache. As Henry Burns expressed it afterward, it reminded him of a ventriloquist he had seen once with a travelling show, because the manâs lips seemed hardly to move, and the muscles of his face scarcely changed as he spoke. His eyes, of a clear but cold blue, lighted up, however, in a pleasant way, as he thanked them. He wore a suit of navy blue, and a yachting-cap on his head. âThis is the greatest luck in the world for me,â he said. âYou see, I want to catch the train that will take me down to Bellport, and I can get it at the Landing below. This fine craft of yours will take meââ He stopped with strange abruptness. If the attention of Jack Harvey and Henry Burns had, by chance, been directed more closely to him, and less upon the handling of their yacht, they might have observed a surprised and puzzled look come over his face. They might have observed him half-start up from his seat, like a man that had suddenly come, all unwittingly, upon a thing he had not expected to see. But the two boys, intent upon their sailing, noticed only that the man had left a sentence half-finished. They turned upon him inquiringly. âWhat were you going to say?â asked Henry Burns. The man settled back in his seat, reached a hand calmly into an inner coat-pocket, and drew forth a cigar-case. âI dare say you donât smoke,â he said, offering it to them. âNo, well, I didnât think so. Youâre a little bit young for that. Let me see, what was I saying?âoh, yes, I was about to remark that this boat would take me down to the Landing on time. She does walk along prettily, and no mistake.â With which, he lighted the cigar and began puffing enjoyably. But his eyes darted here and there, quickly, sharply, over the boat. Through a cloud of cigar smoke, he was scrutinizing it from one end to the other. âYou handle her well,â he said. âHad her long?â âWhy, no,â replied Harvey. âThe fact is, though we have had other boatsâthat is, I haveâand we have handled others, this is our first sail in this one. You see, we got her in an odd way, last seasonâjust at the close of the season, in fact; and she was not in shape for sailing then. So we had to lay her up for the winter. This is really the first trying out we have given her.â âIndeed, most interesting,â replied the stranger, arising from his seat and advancing toward the cabin bulkhead, where he stood, apparently gazing off across the river. Then, as he returned to his seat again, he added, âThatâs rather an elaborate ornamenting of brass around the companionway.â âIsnât it, though!â exclaimed Harvey, proudly. âYou donât see them much handsomer than that often, eh?â âWhy, no, now you speak of it,â replied the man. âYou donât, and thatâs a fact. âIn fact,â he added, stealing a sidelong glance at the two boys, âitâs the only one just like it that I ever saw. âPretty shore along here, isnât it?â he remarked a few moments later, as they stood in near to where the spruces came down close to the waterâs edge, with the ledges showing below. âWhatâs that you were saying about coming by the boat oddly? She looks to me as though your folks must have paid a good price for her.â âWhy, thatâs the odd part of it,â answered Harvey. âThe fact is, our folks didnât pay for her at all. An old lady bought her for us. Made us a present of her. Perhaps youâd like to hear about it.â âIndeed I should,â replied the stranger. âIt will while away the time to the Landing.â âYou tell it, Henry,â said Harvey. So Henry Burns began, while the stranger stretched his legs out comfortably and listened. âWell,â said Henry Burns, âthis yacht, the _Viking_, was named the _Eagle_ when we first saw her.â The strangerâs cigar was almost blazing with the vigour of his smoking. âShe came into the harbour of Southportâthatâs on Grand Island, below here, where we are boundâone day last summer, to pick up a guest at the hotel. There were two men aboard her, and it turned out that these two men, and the man they were after at the hotel, had committed a robbery at Benton. Thatâs way up the river. âWell, itâs a long story how they were discovered; but they were, and some jewels they had hidden were recovered. I said they were capturedâbut one, a man named Chambers, got away in this very yacht. But he came back, later, and set fire to the hotel for revenge. âThat was along toward the end of the summer. Then it happened that Jack, here,âJack Harvey,âcaptured the man, Chambers, in this yacht, down in a thoroughfare below Grand Island. Jackâs boat, the _Surprise_, was sunk there, when the two yachts crashed together, bow on.â âPoor old _Surprise_!â interrupted Jack Harvey. âWell, then,â continued Henry Burns, âthere is a man over at Southport, Squire Brackett, that hates all us boys, just because he is mean. He told Witham, the hotel proprietor, that he had seen us boys in the hotel basement, shortly before the fire; and he and Witham had us accused of setting it, although everybody in Southport was indignant about it. And all this time, Jack was on the right track, because he had seen the man running from the fire and had followed him over to the other shore of the island, and recognized the boat he sailed away in. âSo Jack sailed down the other side of the island, and captured the man, Chambers, in the thoroughfare; that is, Jack and his crew did. And they brought Chambers back just at the right timeâand Squire Brackett and Witham were so ashamed they wanted to go and hide away somewhere.â The man they had taken aboard looked smilingly at Henry Burns. âThat is certainly a remarkable story,â he said, knocking the ashes carelessly from the end of his cigar. âYes, but the rest of it is the oddest part of it,â responded Henry Burns. âThere was an old lady named Mrs. Newcome, whose life we saved at the fire. She was furious at the squire and Witham for blaming us, and thankful enough when Jack got us out of it. âNow, when Chambers was tried, he was so bitter against the other two who had got him into trouble, he confessed the yacht did not belong to any one of them. So the yacht was taken over by the sheriff, and advertisements were sent out all around to try to find the rightful owner. But they never did find him, and finally the yacht was condemned and put up for sale. There is where old Mrs. Newcome came in. She has no end of money, and no one to spend it on except herself and a cat. The yacht went cheap, and what did she do but buy it in and give it to us.â Henry Burns paused, and there was silence for a few moments aboard the _Viking_. The stranger smoked without speaking, apparently lost in his own thoughts. âThatâs all of the yarn,â said Henry Burns, at length. The man started to his feet, tossed his cigar away, and walked forward, with his hands in his pockets. âThatâs one of the oddest stories I ever heard,â he said. âYouâre lucky chaps, arenât you? Sounds like some novels Iâve read. By the way, isnât that Burtonâs Landing just ahead there?â He seemed eager to get ashore. âYes, that is the Landing,â answered Harvey. A few moments more and they were up to it, and the stranger was stepping ashore upon the pier. âWell,â he said, shaking hands with them again, âIâm much obliged to both of youâreally more than I can begin to tell you. Perhaps I can return the favour some day. My name is Charles Carleton. Live around at hotels pretty much, but spend most of my time in Boston. Hope I meet you again some day. Perhaps I may be down this way later, down the bay somewhere, if I like the looks of it, and the hotels. Good day.â âGood day; youâre very welcome,â called out Henry Burns and Jack Harvey. Again the yacht swung out into the river, gathering headway quickly and skimming along, heeling very gently. The strange man stood watching her from the pier. âNo,â he said, softly, to himself, âI never saw but one boat just like her before. But who would have thought I should run across them the first thing? That was a stroke of luck.â CHAPTER II. THE COLLISION âPleasant sort of a man, wasnât he?â commented Harvey, as the _Viking_ left the pier astern, and the stranger could be seen walking briskly up the road toward the town. âWhy, yes, he was, in a way,â responded Henry Burns. âMost persons manage to make themselves agreeable while one is doing them a favour. Really, though, he isnât one of the open, hearty kind, though he did try to be pleasant. I donât know why I think so, but he seemed sort of half-concealed behind that big moustache.â Harvey laughed. âThatâs a funny notion,â he said. âWell,â responded Henry Burns, âof course it wasnât just that. But, at any rate, he is the kind of a man that has his own way about things. Did you notice, he didnât exactly ask us to take him into the boat. He said, right out at the start, that he was going along with usâof course, if we were willing. But he was bound to come aboard, just the same, whether we were willing or not.â âHm!â said Harvey. âYou do take notice of things, donât you? I didnât pay any attention to what he said; but, now I think of it, he did have that sort of way. However, we shall probably never set eyes on him again, so whatâs the odds?â They were getting down near to the mouth of the river now, and already, a mile ahead, the bay broadened out before their eyes. The wind was blowing brisk, almost from the south by this time, and the first of the ebb-tide running down against it caused a meeting between the two that was not peaceful. At the point where river and bay blended, and for some distance back up the river, there was a heavy chop-sea tumbling and breaking in short, foam-capped waves. Farther out in the bay there was considerable of a sea running. Harvey, lounging lazily on the seat opposite Henry Burns, suddenly sprang up and uttered an exclamation of surprise. Then he pointed on far ahead, over the port bow, to a tiny object that bobbed in the troubled waters of the river, low lying and indistinct. âWhat do you make of that, Henry?â he cried. âWhy, it looks like a log from one of the mills up above,â replied the other, after he had observed it with some difficulty. âOh, no, it isnât,â he exclaimed the next moment. âThere is something alive on itâor in it. Say, you donât suppose it can be Tom Harris and Bob White, do you? That is a canoe, I believe.â Without waiting to reply, Jack Harvey dodged quickly down the companionway, and returned, a moment later, from the cabin, holding a spy-glass in one hand. âHooray! clap that to your eye, Henry,â he cried, when he had taken a hasty survey ahead with it. âThatâs it!â exclaimed Henry Burns, taking a long look through the glass, while Harvey assumed his place at the wheel. âThere they are, two of them, paddling away for good old Southport as hard as ever they can. There are two boys, as I make them out. Yes, itâs Tom and Bob, sure as you live. Wonât it seem like old times, though, to overhaul them? You keep the wheel, Jack. We canât catch up with them any too soon to suit me.â âShall we give them a salute?â cried Harvey. âNo, letâs sail up on them and give them a surprise,â suggested the other. âThey know we own the boat, but they havenât seen her under sail since we have had her. They may not recognize us.â While the yacht _Viking_ was parting the still moderate waves with its clean-cut bows, and laying a course that would bring it up with the canoe in less than a half-hour, the occupants of the tiny craft were bending hard to their paddles, pushing head on into the outer edge of the chop-sea. They were making good time, despite the sea and the head wind. âThere go a couple of them Indians from away up the river yonder,â sang out a man forward on a stubby, broad-bowed coaster to the man at the wheel, as the canoe passed a two-master beating across the river. The boys in the canoe chuckled. âGuess we must be getting good and black, Bob,â said the boy who wielded the stern paddle to the other in the bow. âAnd our first week on the water, at that, for the season.â âYes, weâve laid the first coat on pretty deep,â responded his companion, glancing with no little pride and satisfaction at a pair of brown and muscular arms and a pair of sunburned shoulders, revealed to good advantage by a blue, sleeveless jersey that looked as though it had seen more than one summerâs outing. âWhat do you think of the bay, Tom?â he added, addressing the other boy. This youth, similarly clad and similarly bronzed and reddened, was handling his paddle like a practised steersman and was directing the canoeâs course straight down the bay, as though aiming fair at some point far away on an island that showed vaguely fifteen miles distant. âOh, itâs all right,â answered Tom. âItâs all right for this evening. Plenty of rough water from now until seven or eight oâclock to-night, but itâs just the usual sea that a southerly raises in the bay. We wonât get into any such scrape as we did last year, when we came down here, not knowing the bay nor the coast of Grand Island, and let a storm catch us and throw us out pell-mell on the shore. Weâll not give our friends, the Warren boys, another such a fright this year. We can get across all rightâthat is, if you donât mind a bit of a splashing over the bows.â âIt wonât be the first time,ânor the last, for that matter, I reckon,â responded Bob. âAnd I always get my share of it, in the end, too,â said the other boy; âbecause when it sprays aboard it runs down astern and I have to kneel in it. Well, on we go, then. Itâs fifteen miles of rough water, but think how weâll eat when we get there.â âWonât we?â agreed Bob. âSay, now you speak of it, Iâm hungry already. I could eat as much as young Joe Warren used to every time he took dinner at the hotel. He used to try to make old Witham lose moneyâdo you remember?âand I think he always won.â âHello!â he exclaimed, a moment later, as he looked back for an instant toward the stem. âJust glance around, Tom, and take a look at that yacht coming down the river. Isnât she a beauty? I wouldnât mind a summerâs cruise in her, myself.â âWhew!â exclaimed the other, as he held his paddle hard against the gunwale and glanced back. âShe is a pretty one, and no mistake. Sheâs about as fine as we often see down this way. I donât recall seeing anything handsomer in the shape of a yacht around the bay last summer, unless it was the one Chambers hadâyou know, the man that set the hotel afire. âI believe it is the very yacht,â he continued. âThere isnât another one like it around here. You remember the boys wintered her down the river.â âYes, but wouldnât they hail us?â asked Bob. âPerhaps not,â answered Tom. âHenry Burns likes to surprise people. They are due down the bay about this time. At any rate, we shall have a chance to see the yacht close aboard, for she is heading dead up for us.â The yacht _Viking_ was indeed holding up into the wind on a course that would bring her directly upon the canoemen, if she did not go about. She kept on, and presently the boys in the canoe ceased their paddling and watched her approach. âShe wonât run us down, will she, Tom?â âNo, they see us, all right.â There was evidence of this the next moment, for a small cannon, somewhere forward on the deck of the yacht, gave a short, spiteful bark that made the canoemen jump. There followed immediately the deep bellowing of a big fog-horn and the clattering of a huge dinner-bell; while, at the same time, two yachtsmen aboard the strange craft appeared at the rail, waving and blowing and ringing alternately at the occupants of the canoe. A moment later, the yacht rounded to a short distance up-wind from the canoe, and the hail of familiar voices came across the water: âAhoy, you chaps in that canoe, there! Come aboard here, lively now, if you donât want that cockle-shell blown out of water. Hurry up before we get the cannon trained on you! We know you, Tom Harris, and you, Bob White, and you canât escape.â âWell, what do you think!â exclaimed Tom Harris, raising himself up from his knees in the stem of the canoe, with a hand on either gunwale, âif there isnât that old Henry Burns and Jack Harvey. Say, where in the world did you fellows steal that yacht, and where are you running off to with it? Donât tell us you own it. You know you donât.â âJust hurry up and come alongside here and weâll show you,â cried Henry Burns, joyfully. âOur shipâs papers are all right, eh, Jack?â The boys in the canoe needed no urging. A few sharp thrusts with the paddles brought them under the lee of the _Viking_; a line thrown aboard by Bob White was caught by Harvey and made fast; and the next moment, Bob White and Tom Harris were in the cockpit, mauling Henry Burns with mock ferocityâa proceeding which was received by that young gentleman serenely, but with interest well returnedâand shaking hands with the other stalwart young skipper, Jack Harvey. The bow-line of the canoe was carried astern by Harvey and tied, so that the canoe would tow behind; and the yacht was put on her course again. âYou donât mind taking a spin for a way in the good ship _Viking_, do you?â asked Harvey. âI have hardly seen you since we got this yacht, you know, as my folks moved up to Boston the last of the summer.â âWe will go along a little way till we strike the worst of the chop,â replied Tom Harris. âOur canoe will not tow safely through that. That is, we will, if you allow Indians aboard.â âYes, and by the way, before anybody else has the chance to apply,â said Bob White, âyou donât want to hire a couple of foremast hands, do you, off and on during the summer? Iâd be proud to swab the decks of this boat, and wages of no account.â âWeâll engage both of you at eighteen sculpins a week,â answered Henry Burns. âBut of course you know that the laws against flogging seamen donât go, aboard here. Harvey there, he is my first mate; and I make it a rule to beat him with a belaying-pin three or four times a day, regular, to keep him up to his work. Of course you forecastle chaps will get it worse.â Harvey, surveying his more slender companion, saluted with great deference. âHow do you fellows happen to be up here?â he asked. âHavenât you gone to camping yet?â âYes,â replied Bob. âThe old tent is down there on the point. We have had it set up for three days. We had an errand that brought us up here.â âAnd the Warren boys?â inquired Henry Burns. âOh, they are down there in the cottage, sort of camping out, too; that is, the family hasnât arrived yet. George and Arthur are working like slaves trying to keep young Joe fed.â â_Heâs_ a whole famine in himself,â remarked Henry Burns. âSay, how is old Mrs. Newcomeâs cat, Henry, the one you saved from the fire?â asked Tom Harris. âWhy, the cat hasnât written me lately,â answered Henry Burns. âBut I got a letter from Mrs. Newcome a few weeks ago; said she hoped we would have a good summer in the yacht, lots of fun, and all that.â âMy! but you are lucky,â exclaimed Bob. âI have been as polite as mice to every cat Iâve seen all winter, but I havenât received any presents for it.â Renewing old acquaintanceships in this manner, they were shortly in rougher water. âHere!â cried Tom Harris at length, âwe must be getting out of this. That canoe will not stand towing in this chop much longer. We shall have to leave you.â âPull it in aboard,â said Jack Harvey. âNo, it would be in the way,â replied Tom Harris. âJust as much obliged to you. Weâll meet you at the camp. Say that you will come ashore and eat supper with us, and Bob will have one of those fine chowders waiting for you; wonât you, Bob?â âAy, ay, sir,â replied Bob. âYou mean that you will cook one while we sit by and watch you, donât you?â asked Harvey. âWe shall get there before you do.â âPerhaps not,â returned Bob. âYou have got to beat down, while we push right through. It is four oâclock now, and thereâs some fourteen miles to go. We can do that in about three hours, because when we get across the bay we can go close alongshore under the lee, in smooth water; while you will have to stick to the rough part of the bay most of the time.â âAll right,â said Harvey, âwe will have a race to see who gets there first. But weâll do it in half that time.â So saying, he luffed the _Viking_ into the wind, while Bob White drew the dancing canoe alongside. The canoeists and the yachtsmen parted company, the _Vikingâs_ sails filling with the breeze, as she quickly gathered headway, throwing the spray lightly from her bows; the canoe plunging stubbornly into the rough water, and forcing its way slowly ahead, propelled by the energy of strong young arms. The _Viking_ stood over on the starboard tack, while the canoe made a direct course for the island; and the two craft were soon far apart. In the course of a half-hour the canoe appeared from the deck of the _Viking_ a mere dancing, foam-dashed object. But, in the meantime, another boat had appeared, some way ahead, that attracted the attention and interest of the yachtsmen. It was a small sailboat, carrying a mainsail and single jib. The smaller yacht was coming up to them from the direction of Grand Island, and was now running almost squarely before the wind, with its jib flapping to little purpose, save that it now and then filled for a moment on one side or the other, as the breeze happened to catch it. âThereâs a boat that is being badly sailed,â exclaimed Harvey, as the two watched its progress. âLook at it pitch; and look at that boom, how near it comes to hitting the waves every time it rolls. Thereâs a chap that doesnât know enough, evidently, to top up his boom when running in a seaway. What does he think topping-lifts are made for, anyway, if not to lift the boom out of the reach of a sea like this? âAnd let me tell you, running square before the wind in a heavy sea, with a boat rolling like that, is reckless business, anyway. It is much better to lay a course not quite so direct, and run with the wind not squarely astern, with the sheet hauled in some. Thatâs no fisherman sailing that boat.â âIt may be some one caught out who doesnât know how to get back,â said Henry Burns. âSee, there he is, waving to us. He is in some trouble or other. Letâs stand on up close to him and see what the matter is.â âWell, Iâll take the chance,â replied Harvey. âThere, heâs doing better now. He is pointing up a little bit. Weâll keep on this tack and run pretty close to him, and hail him. Iâll just sing out to him about that topping-lift, anyway; and if he doesnât like our interfering, why he can come aboard and thrash us.â As the sailboat drew nearer, there appeared to be a single occupant, a youth of about Harveyâs age, perhaps a year older, holding the tiller. His hat was gone and he was standing up, with hair dishevelled, glaring wildly ahead, in a confused sort of way. The boom of the sailboat was well out on the starboard side. Harvey kept the _Viking_ on the starboard tack, and near enough to have passed quite close to the other boat. A little too close, in fact, considering that the youth at the tiller of the oncoming boat had, indeed, completely lost his head. Suddenly, without warning, he put his tiller over so that the sailboat headed away from the _Viking_ for an instant. Then, as the wind got back of his sail, and the boat at the same time rolled heavily in the seas, the boom jibed with terrific force. The sailboat swung in swiftly toward the starboard beam of the _Viking_, and the wind and sea knocked it down so that the water poured in over the side, threatening to swamp it. At the instant, Jack Harvey had thrown the _Viking_ off the wind to avoid a crash with the other boat. The boom of the sailboat swept around with amazing swiftness, and then, as the boat careened, threatening to founder, the end of the boom brought up with a smashing blow against the _Vikingâs_ starboard quarter, breaking off several feet of the boom and tearing the sail badly. The sailboat, half-filled with water, fell heavily into the trough of the sea and rolled threateningly; while at every pitch the boom struck the waves as though it would break again. The _Viking_, under Jack Harveyâs guidance, stood away a short distance, then came about and beat up in to the wind a rod or two above the wreck. âGet that mainsail down as quick as ever you can!â shouted Jack Harvey to the strange youth, who had dropped the tiller, and who stood now at the rail, dancing about frantically, as though he intended to jump overboard. âI canât,â cried the youth, tremulously. âOh, come aboard here quick, wonât you? Iâm going to sink and drown. This boatâs going down. I donât know how to handle her.â âWe guessed that,â remarked Henry Burns, and added, reassuringly, âDonât lose your head now. You know where the halyards are. Go ahead and get your sail down, and weâll stand by and help you.â Henry Burnsâs calm manner seemed to instil a spark of courage into the youth. He splashed his way up to the cabin bulkhead, where the halyards were belayed on cleats on either side, and let them run. The sail dropped a little way and then stuck. The youth turned to the other boys appealingly. âPull up on your peak-halyard a little,â said Jack Harvey, âand let the throat drop first a way. Then the throat wonât stick.â The youth made another attempt and the sail came nearly down, hanging in bagging folds. âLucky thatâs not a heavy sail nor a heavy boom,â exclaimed Jack Harvey, âor the boat would be over and sunk by this time. I think I could lift the boom inboard if I could only get aboard there.â âHere,â cried Harvey, coiling up a light, strong line that he had darted into the cabin after, âcatch this and make it fast up forwardâand mind you tie a knot that will hold.â He threw the line across, and it was clutched by the boy aboard the smaller boat. The boy carried it forward and did as Harvey had directed. âNow,â said Harvey to Henry Burns, as he made fast the line astern, âthe moment we get near enough so that I can jump aboard, you bring the _Viking_ right on her course, with a good full, so she wonât drift back on to the wreck completely.â He, himself, held the wheel of the _Viking_ long enough to allow the yacht to come into the wind a little. Thus it lost headway sufficiently so that the seas caused it to drift back, without its coming about or losing all steerageway. Then, as the _Viking_ drifted within reach of the smaller boat, he leaped quickly and landed safely on the deck. At the same time, or an instant later, Henry Burns threw the wheel of the _Viking_ over so that the yacht gathered headway again and tautened the rope that connected the two boats. CHAPTER III. A RESCUE UNREWARDED Harvey, having landed on the deck of the sailboat, steadied himself by grasping the starboard stay, and took a quick, comprehensive glance over the situation. A foot and a half or so of the boom had split off from the end, and the mainsail was badly torn. The main-sheet had been snapped by the jibing of the boom, but the break in the boom was beyond the point where the sheet was fastened. The broken end of the sheet was trailing in the water. The boat could be got in hand if that were regained. Seizing the end of the main-sheet that remained in the boat, and casting it loose from the cleat, Harvey found he had still the use of a rope of considerable length. Coiling this up, and hanging it over one arm, he regained the deck, over the small cabin, and took up his position on the port side of the boat. The stay on that side had been saved from carrying away only because the quarter of the _Viking_ had arrested the force of the boom. Having this stay, then, to hold fast to, Harvey leaned over the side, as far as he was able, passed an end of the rope about the boom, took a turn, and made it fast. Carrying the other end aft, Harvey handed it to the youth, who stood gazing at his efforts stupidly, evidently knowing not in the least what to do. âNow you hold on to that,â said Harvey, âand when I tell you to, you haul as hard as ever you can.â The youth took the rope silently and sullenly. Harvey sprang again upon the deck, caught the flying ends of the halyards and ran the mainsail up. It was slow work, for the sail was soaked with water, and the tear in it began to rip more when the strain was brought to bear. When Harvey had hoisted the sail sufficiently so that the topping-lift would have lifted the boom, he started for that; but it had parted, and was of no use. âWell,â said Harvey, âweâll get the boom up a little more, with the sail, no matter if it does tear. We canât help it.â So he took another pull at the peak-halyard. The boom lifted a little. âThatâs enough,â said Harvey. âNow haul in on that sheet lively, before the sail tears any more. Get that boom in quick!â The youth, with no great spirit nor heartiness in his movements, did as directed, and the boom came inboard. Then Harvey once more dropped the sail. He was brim full of life, was Jack Harvey, and now that there was something here worth doing, and necessary to be done quickly, he was eager with the spirit of it. âHave you got anything aboard here to bail with?â he asked, hurriedly; and, without waiting for the more sluggish movements of the other, he darted forward, through the water in the cockpit, to where he had espied a pail half-submerged under the seat. With this he began bailing furiously, dipping up the pailfuls and dashing them out over the side, as though the boat were sinking and he had but one chance for life in a hundred. Harvey was working in this way, with never a thought of his companion, when presently there came a hail from the _Viking_. He paused and looked across the water to where Henry Burns was standing at the wheel of the larger craft, with a look of amusement on his face. âI say, Jack,â called Henry Burns, drawling very slightly, as was his habit at times when other youths of more excitable temperament would speak quickly, âthat other chap aboard there is just dying to help bail the boat. Why donât you let him do his share of it?â Harvey glanced back astern at his companion of the sailboat. What he saw caused an angry flush to spread over his face. But the next moment the cool effrontery of it made him laugh. The youth whom Harveyâs surprised gaze rested upon was a rather tall, thin, sallow chap, with an expression on his face that looked like a perpetual sneer. He wore no yachting costume nor clothing of any sort fit for roughing it. Instead, he was rather flashily dressed, in clothes more often affected by men of sporting propensities than youths of any age. In a scarf of brilliant and gaudy tint he wore a large pin in the form of a horseshoe, with imitation brilliants in it. In fact, his dress and whole demeanour were of one who had a far more intimate knowledge of certain phases of life than he should. A telltale smear upon the fingers of his right hand told of the smoking habit, which accounted for his thin and sallow appearanceâand which habit was now in evidence. It was this latter that particularly angered Harvey, as he paused, perspiring, from his work. The youth had seated himself calmly on the edge of the after-rail, with an elbow rested on one knee. In this comfortable attitude, and smoking a cigarette, he was aimlessly watching Harvey work. Harvey glared for a moment in amazement. Then his face relaxed. âI say!â he exclaimed, throwing down the pail, wiping his brow, and advancing aft toward the other youth, âthis seems to be a sort of afternoon tea, or reception, with cigarettes provided by the host.â âNo, thanks,â he added, shortly, as the other reached a hand into his pocket and proffered a box of them. âYouâre just too kind and generous for anything. But I donât smoke them. Some of my crew used to. But I tell little Tim Reardon that thatâs what keeps him from growing any. Heâs at them all the time. Guess you are, too, by the looks of you.â Harvey glanced rather contemptuously at the lean, attenuated arm that the other displayed, where
{'title': 'The Rival Campers Afloat; or, The Prize Yacht Viking by Ruel Perley Smith', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}