The Motor Boat Club off Long Island; or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed

by H. Irving Hancock

  Produced by Emmy and the Online Distributed ProofreadingTeam at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced fromscanned images of public domain material from the GooglePrint project.)

  Both Boys Lurched Backward

  _Frontispiece._]

  The Motor Boat Club Off Long Island

  OR

  A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed

  By

  H. IRVING HANCOCK

  Author of The Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec, The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket The Motor Boat Club and the Wireless Etc.

  Illustrated

  PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HOWARD E. ALTEMUS

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. A BREATHLESS MOMENT IN THE FOG 7 II. A WHIFF OF FORTUNE 23 III. THE BUYER OF SOULS 38 IV. TOM HALSTEAD’S FIGHT AGAINST ODDS 50 V. MR. MODDRIDGE’S NERVES CUT LOOSE 59 VI. THE SIGN OF MISCHIEF 65 VII. WORKING OUT THE PUZZLE 74 VIII. THE DASHING STERN CHASE 86 IX. PLAYING A SAILOR’S TRICK 95 X. THE MONEY STORM BREAKS LOOSE 106 XI. TOM HALSTEAD’S QUICK WIT AT WORK 120 XII. GOING STRAIGHT TO HEADQUARTERS 129 XIII. STEALING A SWIFT MARCH 137 XIV. THE MELTING OF MILLIONS 151 XV. THE MASTHEAD GAME 161 XVI. “PUTTING UP” A MARINE JOB 170 XVII. HANK BUTTS DROPS SOMETHING 177 XVIII. THE JEST THAT BECAME GRIM EARNEST 186 XIX. THE MOTOR THAT WOULDN’T “MOTE” 194 XX. THE COUNCIL OF WAR 205 XXI. THE BATTLE OF THE DOLLARS 212 XXII. SPRINGING THE MONEY MINE 223 XXIII. “TWO MILLION DOLLARS A POINT” 232 XXIV. CONCLUSION 246

  The Motor Boat Club Off Long Island

  CHAPTER I

  A BREATHLESS MOMENT IN THE FOG

  CLA-A-ANG! Cla-a-ang!

  The “Rocket,” a sixty-foot motor cruiser, her engine slowed down to tenmiles an hour, had just moved out of comparatively clear water intoa thickish bank of fog. The bell, probably on board a sailing craft,had just been heard for the first time off the starboard bow of thecruiser, and close at hand.

  Joe Dawson, forward lookout on the “Rocket,” leaned ahead, framing hismouth with his hands as he shouted:

  “Ahoy, there! Keep to your own port, captain!”

  Cla-a-ang! Cla-a-ang!

  The sound of the bell was appallingly nearer, now, seemingly almostupon the motor boat.

  Captain Tom Halstead, at the “Rocket’s” wheel, abaft of midship,sounded a shrill warning from his craft’s auto whistle.

  Too-oot!

  At the same time Halstead threw his own wheel over to go to port of thebell-ringing stranger.

  It was a fog that seemed to grow denser with every foot of headway. Thewater at the hull alongside was barely visible.

  Then through the mist ahead shot the tip of a bowsprit. Despite thesignals, or through misunderstanding them, the sailing vessel waskeeping to her course. She was due either to ram the “Rocket,” or to berammed by that agile little cruising craft.

  There was but one thing to do—to reverse the engine with lightningspeed. The engine controls lay convenient to the young skipper’shand and feet as he stood by the wheel. He was just reaching for thereversing lever, in fact, when, from well aft sounded another boy’swarning:

  “Racing craft about to ram your port quarter, captain!”

  While, from one of the two men passengers rose an almost despairingshriek:

  “I can’t stand this sort of thing. I’d sooner jump overboard!”

  Captain Tom, however, without betraying any excitement, sprang sothat he could easily glance astern. Instead of the reversing gear, hegrabbed for the speed ahead. One glance aft showed him a long, narrowmotor craft diving out of the fog. To reverse would mean a collisionwith the motor boat; to go ahead would mean a smash against the sailingcraft. Whatever was to be done had to be thought out at electric speed,all in a second.

  Tom’s judgment was for speed ahead. In that sudden emergency heincreased the fog speed greatly, at the same time throwing his wheelover as far as it would go.

  Thus he escaped a violent meeting with the racing craft, but ranged upalongside of the sailing vessel, a schooner that now appeared dimly, inan almost ghostly light, her rail, soon parallel with the “Rocket’s,”being only a few yards away.

  “You lobster smack!” cried Joe, contemptuously. “Why do you shiplubbers for officers?”

  The stupid handling that the sailing craft had displayed was enough torouse anger in the mind of anyone endangered by the gross carelessness.

  “Get out, you floating oil-stove!” came back, sullenly, from thesailing craft’s quarter deck. “Your gasoline dories ought to beconfined to duck ponds.”

  Joe grinned. His wrath was easily dissipated at any time. Anyway,young Captain Halstead, swiftly wearing away to port and again slowingdown the speed, put an end to conversation with the stranger.

  In this manœuvre the unknown racing motor craft had, of course, beengiven ample room, and was doubtless well out of reach by this time. ButJed Prentiss, his face still a trifle white, stood on the same spot onthe after deck from which he had sounded warning of the swift, narrowboat’s coming.

  “Now, Moddridge,” urged a heavy, easy, persuasive voice, “get a grip onyourself and be a man. You see for yourself how easily our new skippercarries himself and the boat in a tight squeeze.”

  “But my dear Delavan,” protested the one addressed as Moddridge, “Isimply can’t stand this sort of thing. My nerves——”

  “Your nerves have always been the master of a fool slave,” retorted Mr.Delavan, good humoredly. “Come, be born again, and rule your nerves andyour wits.”

  “That scooter acted like a regular pirate,” uttered Jed Prentiss, underhis breath. “Rushing over the old ocean, and never a sound from herwhistle or bell!”

  Mr. Francis Delavan, owner of the “Rocket,” tall, broad-shouldered,rosy-cheeked and athletic looking despite his fifty years, steppedacross the short after deck, going up the short flight of steps atstarboard and posting himself on the bridge deck beside Skipper Tom.

  “What’s your speed now, captain?” inquired the owner.

  “Slowed down to six, sir,” replied young Halstead, punctuating hisreply by sounding the auto whistle.

  “That’s a wise speed, captain,” nodded the owner. “I haven’t been in asthick a fog as this all season.”

  “Are you going to stay here a little while, sir?” queried Tom.

  “Why? Anything I can do for you?”

  “You might sound the whistle, every thirty seconds, sir, if you will.That will give me a much better chance to pay heed to the lookouts.”

  “All right, captain,” laughed the owner, drawing out a handsome watch.“If I make the intervals forty, instead of thirty seconds, put me inirons as soon as you like.”

  Captain Tom smiled, but made no other reply. All the young sailingmaster’s attention was centered on the work in hand. There is nothingat all like play about handling a sixty-foot craft in such a fog. Asthe incident just closed had shown, there are other lives than thoseof one’s own sailing party that
are at stake in a possible collision inthe fog.

  “Are you going to try to keep out in this fog, sir?” asked Halstead,some two minutes later.

  “Yes,” came the owner’s decisive answer. “Though Moddridge doesn’tappear to think so, it is well worth while to risk big stakes on ameeting with the big ‘Kaiser Wilhelm.’ It may be worth a small fortuneto me.”

  “There are times when money doesn’t mean much to me,” put in EbenModdridge, who had followed his friend up to the bridge deck, which, onthe “Rocket,” instead of being forward, was somewhat abaft of amidships.

  Moddridge was a pale, thin, hollow-cheeked, nervous looking man offorty, and of a height of five feet four. Not much to look at was Mr.Moddridge, yet, in his own way, he was a good deal of a power in WallStreet.

  “Moddridge,” retorted the owner, firmly, “this is a time when you cando only one useful thing. Go below and turn in. I’ll wake you when thefog has lifted.”

  “What? I lie down?” demanded Eben Moddridge, in a startled voice. “Andthen very likely go down to the fishes without ever waking up?”

  “We haven’t that kind of a captain, now,” replied Mr. Delavan, easily.“You just saw how easily he pulled the ‘Rocket’ out of a dangeroustrap. If Captain Bill Hartley had stood in Halstead’s place we’d havebeen smashed fore and aft.”

  “Hartley was an excellent skipper,” retorted Moddridge, peevishly.“He was a most careful man. He never would have gone into a fog. Hewouldn’t take a chance of being wrecked.”

  “That was why I had to get rid of him, Eben,” retorted Mr. Delavan.“Hartley was an old maid, who never ought to have tried to follow thesea. If it looked like rain he’d run for harbor and drop anchor.”

  “A very wise and careful sailing master,” insisted Mr. Moddridge.

  “Yes; Hartley had nerves to pretty near match your own,” mocked Mr.Delavan. “But he wasn’t the kind of man for the kind of work we havein hand nowadays. And now, Moddridge, I know that your talk, and mine,is bothering Captain Halstead. Go down aft again, and don’t bother thelookout by talking to him. Be a good fellow.”

  Muttering, and with many shakings of the head, the smaller man obeyed.He would try to be brave, but nothing could conceal from Eben Moddridgethe certainty that they were shortly to be sunk.

  “The ‘Kaiser’ could slip in by us easily, in this mean fog,” declaredMr. Delavan.

  “Not if she keeps to her usual course on this part of the trip,”Halstead answered. “She’d be in these waters in passing, and we haven’theard any fog-whistle heavy enough to come from a craft of that size.”

  All these minutes the owner, who possessed the faculty of keeping hismind on two things at once, had not forgotten to sound the auto whistleat regular intervals.

  “I think, sir,” Tom spoke presently, “I had better keep to mere headwaynow.”

  “Do so, if that’s your best judgment,” nodded Francis Delavan. “Butremember, captain, that to-day’s game is one that has to be played inearnest.”

  “We won’t miss the ‘Kaiser Wilhelm,’ if she comes in soon, and followsher usual course,” Halstead answered.

  Though Tom still kept one hand on the wheel, the “Rocket” seemed almostto rest motionless on the gentle swell.

  It was an August day. The motor craft, a handsome sixty-foot affair ofracing build and with powerful engines, lay on the light, fog-coveredswell some twelve miles nearly due south of Shinnecock Bay on thesouthern coast of Long Island.

  Readers of former narratives in this series will remember how Mr.Prescott, a Boston broker, organized the Motor Boat Club among thesea-trained boys at the mouth of the Kennebec River, in Maine.

  Tom Halstead was fleet captain of the Club, and Joe Dawson the fleetengineer. They were the two most skilled members.

  Readers will also remember how these two sixteen-year-old handlers ofmotor boats were sent by Mr. Prescott to enter the sea-going service ofHorace Dunstan, a wealthy resident of the island of Nantucket, south ofCape Cod. It will be remembered how Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson, withJed Prentiss, a Nantucket boy, as comrade, went through a series ofdangerous yet exhilarating adventures which resulted in the detectionand capture by the United States authorities of a crew of filibusterswho were attempting to smuggle out of the country arms and ammunitionintended for revolutionists in the republic of Honduras. It was whileat Nantucket that these three members of the Motor Boat Club had also,after going through a maze of search and adventure, discovered themissing Dunstan heir and insured to the latter a great inheritance thatMaster Ted Dunstan had been upon the point of losing.

  And now we find the same three young Americans aboard the “Rocket,”a somewhat larger craft than either of the others that Captain TomHalstead had handled. It will not take long to account for the presenceof the trio aboard this craft in Long Island waters.

  The “Meteor,” Horace Dunstan’s boat at Nantucket, was now in charge oftwo Nantucket boys for whom Jed had secured membership in the MotorBoat Club. This was the first day for Tom, Joe and Jed aboard the“Rocket.”

  Francis Delavan, the owner, was one of the men who make the History ofMoney in Wall Street. Besides being a daring operator there Delavanwas also the president of and a big stockholder in the Portchester andYoungstown Railroad, more commonly known as the P. & Y. Now, the P. &Y., while one of the smaller railroads of the country, was, on accountof its connections, a property of considerable value.

  Mr. Delavan was not one of the multi-millionaires who keep palatialsummer homes on the south side of Long Island. Just at present hecontented himself with a suite of rooms at the Eagle House in EastHampton, spending some days of every week in New York City.

  The “Rocket’s” former captain, Hartley, was entirely too timorousand cautious a master to suit an owner who loved a spice of dangerand adventure on the salt water. So Mr. Delavan had felt obliged tolet Captain Hartley go. Griggs, the former engineer, had not beenover-brave, either. Griggs had had trouble with a rough character onshore, and, upon being threatened by him with serious bodily harm, hadpromptly deserted his post on the “Rocket,” going to parts unknown.

  Thus, at the time when the “Rocket” was laid up, and yet most urgentlyneeded by her owner, Mr. Delavan had met his friend Mr. Prescott inNew York. What followed was that Tom, Joe and Jed had been wired toleave Nantucket, if convenient for Mr. Dunstan, and proceed at once toShinnecock Bay. As two young friends of Jed’s had been trained wellenough to be able to handle the “Meteor” satisfactorily, Tom, Joe andJed had traveled to Long Island with all speed. This was their firstforenoon aboard the “Rocket,” and it was destined to prove a lively one.

  All three were in their natty, sea-going, brass-buttoned blue uniformsof the Motor Boat Club. Each wore an officer’s visored cap. Jed, whenserving as steward, changed his blue to white duck, but he also servedfrequently in engine room or on deck.

  Just now, as fore and aft lookouts were needed, and as the big motorwas running smoothly, control of the engine was managed through thedeck-gear near the steering wheel.

  For another half-hour the “Rocket” barely moved over the water, thoughnow her nose was pointed east, in the track of in-coming steamships.Mr. Moddridge had quieted down enough to stretch himself in one of thewicker chairs on the low after deck, where he chewed nervously at theend of a mild cigar that was seldom lighted. In this time no othercraft came near them, or, if it did, failed to sound fog signals.

  And now the fog was lifting slowly. The lookouts were able to see overthe waters for a distance of some two hundred feet at least.

  “A morning fog, in August, off the Long Island coast, isn’t likely tolast long,” said Mr. Delavan. “In half an hour more you may be able tosee the horizon on every side.”

  “I hope so,” nodded Captain Tom. “Fog has few delights for the sailor.Without fog we could make out a huge craft like the ‘Kaiser’ at a greatdistance. Listen, sir! Did you hear that?”

  Again the sound came, though faintly, from far away.


  Whoo-oo-oo! whoo-oo-oo! It was a hoarse, deep-throated, powerful blaston a fog-whistle.

  “That comes from some big craft, sir; as like as not the ‘KaiserWilhelm der Grosse.’”

  “Have you ever seen that steamship?”

  “No, sir; but I’ve studied her pictures. I think I’d know her if I sawher.”

  “I’m hoping and praying that you do see her this day,” rejoined Mr.Delavan. “I’ve a pretty big barrel of money at stake on seeing thatsteamship. Well, she isn’t in sight now, so I’m going below to get somecigars.”

  His easy manner was in sharp contrast to the fidgeting nervousness ofEben Moddridge. As soon as the owner had vanished into the cabin thenervous one almost trotted up onto the bridge deck.

  “You haven’t any means of knowing, for a certainty, that that is the‘Kaiser Wilhelm’?” asked Mr. Moddridge, sharply.

  “No, sir; I can only hope that it is,” Captain Tom responded.

  “I hope it’s the ‘Kaiser’; I hope it is, I hope it is,” cried Mr.Moddridge. As further evidence of the excited state of his mind thatgentleman commenced to pace the bridge deck, from side to side, withquick, agitated steps.

  “Wonder why on earth both are so eager for a glimpse of one of thebiggest passenger ships afloat?” wondered Halstead, attending, now, tothe whistle at two-minute intervals, as well as steering. “But, pshaw!It’s none of my business why the owner and his friend want or don’twant things. That’s their own affair. Stick to your wheel and yourother duties, Tom, old fellow!”

  Yet, though Halstead honestly tried to drive the matter out of hismind, it was human nature that he should still wonder and catch himselfmaking all sorts of guesses. The words “a fortune” exert a strong magicover most human minds. Tom had heard the owner declare that a fortunehung in the balance on this day’s work.

  “Well, if there is any fortune at stake on my giving these gentlemena glimpse of the ‘Kaiser Wilhelm,’” Halstead told himself, “it’s mysole business to see that I give them the look-across at the big ship.That’s all I need to know.”

  Whatever large steam craft it was that was sounding the fog-hornslightly south of a due east line from the “Rocket,” she was comingnearer with every minute. The increase in the volume of sound told thatmuch.

  “How are we making the stranger, Halstead?” inquired Mr. Delavan,returning to the bridge deck, a lighted cigar between his teeth. Hedropped into a comfortable arm-chair.

  “She’s coming nearer, sir, and we can see for three or four hundredfeet, now, in every direction. There’s but a slight chance of thevessel getting by us.”

  “What ails you, Moddridge?” demanded Mr. Delavan, turning and gazingwonderingly at his friend.

  “I’m nervous, of course,” returned that gentleman.

  “Pshaw! Sit down and let your nerves rest.”

  “But I can’t!”

  “Stand up, then,” pursued Mr. Delavan, coolly. “But you’re tiringyourself out, Moddridge, with that jerky gait over such a short course.”

  “Delavan, have you no mind, no nerves?” cried Moddridge, raspingly.“When you stop to think of the great amounts of money that are atstake. When you——”

  Eben Moddridge paused, out of breath.

  “Well?” insisted Mr. Delavan, placidly.

  “Oh, pshaw!” snapped the nervous one. “There’s no use in talking toyou, or trying to make you understand. You’ve no imagination.”

  “For which I’m very thankful,” responded the owner, blowing out a cloudof smoke.

  The fog was lifting more and more, the sun’s rays trying to pierce whatwas left of the haze.

  “You may as well come in, lookouts,” hailed Captain Tom.

  “Jed, if you’re through with deck duty,” called Mr. Delavan, “supposeyou begin to think of getting lunch.”

  “All right, sir,” Prentiss answered, and disappeared.

  “Oh, Delavan, man,” groaned Mr. Moddridge, “how on earth can you talkabout eating when everything lies at stake as it does?”

  “Why, after I get the word,” rejoined the owner, “I shall be hungryenough to eat—anything.”

  “But what if the news be of the worst kind?”

  “Let us hope it won’t be, Moddridge.”

  “Yet, if it is? You don’t mean to say, Delavan, that you could think ofeating _then_?”

  “Confound you, man,” drawled Mr. Delavan. “What do you think my stomachknows about news?”

  The sounding of the fog-horn had died out some minutes ago, as thevanishing fog rolled further and further away. And now, Tom, gazingkeenly ahead, saw a big black hull rapidly emerge out of a bank of fogmore than a mile away. He looked sharply for a few seconds. Then—

  “Gentlemen,” announced the young skipper, pointing, “that craft over tothe eastward is, I think, the ‘Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.’”