Four in Camp: A Story of Summer Adventures in the New Hampshire Woods

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XVIII

  TELLS HOW THEY FOUND A DERELICT AND A COURSE DINNER, AND MET WITHSHIPWRECK

  When they awoke nature presented a far different aspect. A stiff, coldwind blew out of the northeast, the sky was hidden by dark cloudsthat hurried up the lake, and the water was of a leaden green hue andcrested with whitecaps. They viewed the prospect gloomily while theytumbled into their clothes and lighted the morning fire. But a goodbreakfast put them in better spirits, and at half past eight they werein the canoes again battling with wind and waves. It was hard paddling,and to make it worse the spray drenched them before they had made ahalf mile of progress. Long before noon, in spite of many rests, theywere ready to seek the shore. The wind increased with every hour andthe heavy clouds drove faster and faster into the southwest. At halfpast ten they decided to land and so turned the bows of the canoestoward a fair-sized island that guarded the entrance to a bay. It waswhile making for this that Bob, who was in the leading canoe with Dan,pointed to an object which drifted along a quarter of a mile up thelake.

  “Looks like a boat, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “It surely does,” Dan answered after studying it a moment. “But itseems to be empty. Let’s go and investigate.”

  So they shouted to the others and paddled away in the direction of thederelict. When they drew near they saw that it was a cedar rowboat,apparently a yacht’s tender. At the stern was the word “Elf.” It wasalmost half full of water and a crimson sweater washed to and fro inthe bottom. There were no oars in it and the rowlocks were not in place.

  “If it wasn’t for the rowlocks being out,” said Dan, “I’d think there’dbeen an accident. But I guess no one ever went overboard and stopped totake the rowlocks out. What’ll we do with it?”

  “Tow it over to the island,” answered Bob promptly. “That’s maybe whereit belongs. It’s a derelict and we can claim salvage. She’s a finelittle boat, isn’t she?”

  When they worked the canoe up to the tender’s bow the mystery wasexplained. A few feet of rope, frayed at the end, told the story.

  “She’s blown away from the landing,” said Dan. “That painter probablysawed itself in two during the night; probably rubbed against the edgeof the wharf. We’ll claim the reward if we can find the owner.”

  So they took the end of the rope aboard and tried to paddle away.They’d probably been there yet had not Nelson and Tom come up presentlyand lent assistance. A half-filled rowboat is no light tow in a heavysea, and by the time they had beached it they were all well tired out.After turning the water out of it, and wringing the sweater until itwas somewhat drier, they set out on a tour of discovery.

  There were no habitations in sight from their landing-place, but afew minutes’ walk took them around a corner of the island and broughtthem in sight of a sumptuous camp building which, planned like a Swisschalet, stood on a little bluff above the edge of the lake and toweredup among the trees. Jutting into the water was a long pier with severalcraft of different kinds about it, while further out a sixty-foot steamyacht was moored.

  “Bet you this is the place,” said Tom. “How much we going to ask forreward?”

  “Nothing,” said Bob. Tom looked disappointed, but the others agreedthat they wouldn’t take any money for the rescue of the tender. As theyapproached a ferocious-looking bull-terrier made a dash at them andbarked savagely, only to change his behavior on closer acquaintanceand leap about them joyfully. The noise brought one of the inmatesof the house to the front door, and he waved greetings to the partyand awaited their approach. He was a middle-aged man, rather fussilydressed--as Dan put it--for camp-life, and he held a newspaper in hishand and smoked a pipe. At the steps Bob became spokesman and explainedtheir errand.

  “A cedar tender named ‘Elf,’ eh?” asked the man. “That’s mine, sureenough. Found her afloat, eh? Well, I’m mightily obliged to you,gentlemen. Come in, come in! Get out of the way there, Pete. Oh, Jack!tell Barry to go around the island on the lake side and bring home thetender. The fool thing ran away last night and a party found her halffull of water.”

  “All right,” answered an unseen voice from the house, and the Four,following the host, found themselves in a great living-room at oneend of which big logs blazed in a monstrous fireplace. The room wasbeautifully furnished; bright-hued rugs covered the floor, heads ofdeer, bears, and caribous adorned the walls, and a giant moose headglared down from the stone chimney above the high mantel. A flight ofstairs led past the chimney to a gallery which ran around three sidesof the building and from which the up-stairs rooms opened. Over thegallery railing hung hides and pelts of deer, bears, foxes, and otheranimals. The host led the way to the fire, before which two ladiesand a second man were sitting. The latter proved to be “Jack,” and“Jack’s” last name proved to be Merrill. The boys gave their names,and were duly introduced. The host’s name was Carey; one of the ladieswas Mrs. Carey, and the other was a Miss White. The inhabitants ofthe camp were dressed as though they were in a city house instead ofa log building on the edge of the wilderness, and the boys regrettedtheir own scanty attire. That is, three of them did; I can’t honestlysay that Tom looked worried about the matter. But, for that, neitherdid their hosts. The boys were given places about the broad hearth,and the bull-terrier threw himself down at their feet and viewed themwith a friendly grin. Bob, with occasional help from his companions,told about their trip, about Camp Chicora, and about the finding of thetender. The matter of reward was broached, but, upon their refusal toconsider it, was not pressed.

  “But you’ll have to take dinner with us,” said Mr. Carey, and theothers indorsed him. The boys were nothing loath to change camp-farefor the luxuries promised by the appearance of the camp and itsinmates, and Tom, who had possibly feared a refusal on the part of hiscompanions, heaved a sigh of relief when they accepted the invitation.After that they spent the jolliest kind of an hour until dinnerwas announced. They were taken over the house and marveled at itsconveniences and appointments; they were challenged to a game of poolby Miss White, accepted, and were one and all badly beaten; they wereshown the contents of the gun-racks by Mr. Carey, and listened to histales of moose and caribou hunting in the north with tingling veins;and finally they were conducted by a smart servant to a cozy up-stairsroom to get ready for dinner.

  “Wish I had a little more on,” said Bob ruefully, looking at his scantcamp uniform in the big mirror. “I don’t feel decent.”

  “I wouldn’t mind so much,” said Dan, “if I even had long trousers. Mylegs look awfully bare.”

  “Bet we have a swell dinner,” was Tom’s contribution to the subject.

  And Tom was quite right. The dinner came on in so many courses that helost count of them, and was as perfect as though served in the heartof New York city. Afterward they went back to the big fireplace andwatched the four-foot logs blazing and crackling, and talked lazilywhile the wind blustered against the windows. Tom almost fell asleeponce, and Dan had to kick him hard before he was fully awake again.About two o’clock Bob suggested departure.

  “Why don’t you stay overnight with us?” asked Mrs. Carey. “You reallyought not to go out on the lake in canoes a day like this.”

  “That’s so,” said her husband. “No sense in it at all. You stay righthere until this storm blows over. If you like, in the morning I’ll takeyou up the lake on the yacht. I can get you up to Northwest Bay in notime.”

  But Bob thanked them and declined. And Tom sighed dolefully. So ahalf-hour later they took their departure amid cordial invitations tocome again. Mr. Carey walked around to their landing-place with themand was much interested in their canoes and outfit. And after they wereafloat and paddling away he waved to them from the shore and laughinglycautioned them not to get drowned.

  Tom was loud in his expressions of disfavor of their course.

  “Don’t see why you fellows wouldn’t stay,” he grumbled. “Gee! you don’tknow when you’re well off. Think of the supper and breakfast we’vemissed! And the dandy be
ds! And that peach of a fire! And----”

  “Mind your paddle,” said Bob. “You’re kicking up an awful mess with it.If you can’t do better than that you’d better take it out.”

  And Tom, still protesting under his breath, set to work again.

  Bob, who had fallen naturally into the position of chief navigator,had planned to keep down the southwest side of the lake to West Altonand camp near the village for the night. The next morning they wouldstart early and cross to Wolfeborough, take the forenoon steamer backto The Weirs, and from there return to Camp Chicora by the afternoontrain. But once past the shelter of the island they began to doubttheir ability to make West Alton. The wind had swung around into thesouth, and to hold the canoes in an easterly direction was a difficulttask. After laboring some time with little success Bob decided to runacross the lake before the wind in the direction of Long Island and gointo camp on one of the smaller islets thereabouts or, failing that, onthe mainland. So they swung the canoes about and headed north-by-eastand found a chance to rest their tired muscles. With the wind almostdirectly aft it was only necessary to paddle easily and keep the nosesof the craft in the right direction. The canoe containing Bob and Tom,being somewhat less heavily weighted, rode higher out of water andconsequently presented more surface to the wind. As a result, when theywere half-way across the lake they were leading by almost an eighth ofa mile. Nelson suggested catching up with them, but Dan objected.

  “Let them go,” he said. “I’m tuckered out and I’m going to rest. Thatwas a pretty hefty bit of paddling back there, Nel; we made about afoot to every ten strokes. I’m wet through with perspiration.”

  “Well, I’m wet through, too,” answered Nelson, who was in the bow, “butnot with perspiration. You’d better pull your sweater on or you’llcatch cold.”

  “Guess I will,” said Dan. “This breeze is pretty chilly on a fellow’sback. Where is that sweater of mine? I see it. Hold steady and I’ll getit.”

  Dan shipped his paddle, arose cautiously to his feet, and took a steptoward the middle of the canoe. At that instant a tiny squall of windstruck them, he lost his balance, and the next thing Nelson knew he wasstruggling up through yards and yards of dark water. When his head wasfinally above the surface and he had shaken the water from his eyes hestared bewilderedly about him. Fifty feet away the overturned canoe wasdrifting heavily before the wind. About him here and there such of theluggage as had not sunk at once was bobbing about from wave to wave.Near by, Dan’s head with the red hair plastered to it was visible.Every moment the canoe was drifting farther away, and Nelson realizedthat their strait was already desperate and was growing more so withevery instant of delay.

  “Come on, Dan!” he shouted. “Make for the canoe; we’ll pick up thestuff afterward.”

  He heard some sort of a response from the other and then struck outfiercely for the craft. If he could get on top of it it might bepossible to attract the attention of Bob and Tom to their plight. Itwas a hard chase, and when his hand finally touched the wet surfaceof the canoe he was pretty well tuckered. Throwing one arm across thebottom he managed to get his head some two feet above the water andcould catch glimpses now and then above the waves of the other craftwell to the right and apparently a long distance away. Then he turnedto shout to Dan, turned and saw only the empty water. He dashed thedrops from his eyes with his free hand and looked again, searching thehollows between the racing waves. Once he thought he saw for an instantDan’s head above the surface, but it was gone again instantly.

  “_Dan!_” he shouted in terror. “_Dan!_”

  There was no sound but the ceaseless splashing of the waves. With anawful fear clutching at his heart he threw himself away from the canoeand plunged back in the teeth of the gale.