The Rival Campers Afloat; or, The Prize Yacht Viking

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER IV. SQUIRE BRACKETT DISCOMFITED

  "But say," inquired Henry Burns, in a somewhat disappointed tone, as theywere about to begin, "where are the fellows? It doesn't seem natural tome to arrive at Southport and not have them on hand. Didn't you tell themwe were coming?"

  "Didn't have a chance," replied Bob. "We went up to the cottage, butthere wasn't anybody there. Then we met Billy Cook, and he said he sawall three of them away up the island this afternoon."

  Henry Burns went to the door of the tent and looked over the point ofland, up the sweep of the cove.

  "They have come back," he exclaimed. "There's a light in the cottage.Come on, let's hurry up and eat, and get over there."

  But at that very moment the light went out.

  "Hello!" he said. "There they go, off to bed. Guess they must be tired.Too bad, for I simply cannot stand it, not to go over to the cottageto-night--just to look at the cottage, if nothing more. And I am afraidif I do, I may make a little noise, accidentally, and wake one of themup."

  Henry Burns said this most sympathizingly; but there was a twinkle in thecorners of his eyes.

  "Come on, Henry," cried Harvey, "you are missing the greatest chowder youever saw."

  "Looks as though I might miss a good deal of it, by the way you arestowing it aboard," replied Henry Burns, reentering the tent andobserving the manner in which Harvey was attacking his dish, while Tomand Bob looked on admiringly.

  "Never mind, Henry," said Bob. "There's enough. And, besides, Harvey is adelicate little chap. He needs nourishing food and plenty of it."

  Harvey squared his broad shoulders and smiled.

  "I'm beginning to get good-natured once more," he said.

  The campers' quarters were certainly comfortable enough to make most anyone feel good-natured. The tent was roomy; the stove warmed it gratefullyagainst the night air, which still had some chill in it; the warm suppertasted good after the long, hard day's sailing; and Tom and Bob weregenial hosts.

  Outside, the waves, fallen from their boisterousness of the afternoon togentle murmurings, were rippling in with a pleasing sound against thepoint of land whereon the camp stood. The breeze was soft, though lackingthe mildness of the later summer, and the night was clear and starlit.

  It had passed the half-hour after ten o'clock when the boys had finishedeating. They arose and went out in front of the tent.

  "It is all dark over yonder at the Warren cottage," said Tom. "What doyou think--had we better go over? The fellows are surely asleep."

  "Yes, indeed," said Henry Burns. "Why, they would never forgive me if Ididn't go over the first night I arrived here. We can just go over andleave our cards at the front door. Of course we don't have to wake themup if they are asleep."

  "Oh, of course not," exclaimed Harvey. "But just wait a moment, and I'llgo out aboard and bring in that fog-horn and that dinner-bell."

  "We'll get them in the canoe, Jack," said Bob. He and Harvey departed,and returned shortly, bringing with them a fog-horn that was not by anymeans a toy affair, but for serious use, to give warning in the fog tooncoming steamers; likewise, a gigantic dinner-bell, used for the samepurpose aboard the _Viking_.

  "We haven't anything in camp fit to make much of a noise with," said Tom,almost apologetically. "We keep our tent anchored in a fog, you know."

  "Who said anything about making a noise?" inquired Henry Burns,innocently; and then added, "Never mind, there's stuff enough up at thecottage."

  They proceeded without more delay up through the little clump ofspruce-trees which shaded the camp on the side toward the village, andstruck into the road that led through the sleeping town. Sleepy by day,even, the little village of Southport, which numbered only about a scoreof houses, clustered about the harbour, was seized with still greaterdrowsiness early of nights. Its inhabitants, early to rise, were likewiseearly to bed; and the place, before the summer visitors arrived, was wontto fall sound asleep by nine o'clock.

  It was very still, therefore, as the boys went on up the main street.Presently they turned off on a road to the right that led along the shoreof the cove, and back of which was a line of summer cottages, now for themost part unopened for the season.

  "There's Captain Sam's," remarked Henry Burns, as they passed a littleframe cottage just before they had come to the turn of the road. "I'dlike to give him one salute for old time's sake. He's the jolliest man inSouthport."

  "He is not at home," said Tom. "We asked about him to-day, when we gotin. He started up the bay this afternoon. Queer you did not see him outthere somewhere."

  "Why, we saw one or two boats off in the distance at the time of thecollision," said Harvey; "but we were pretty much occupied just aboutthat time, eh, Henry? I didn't notice what boats they were."

  They were approaching the Warren cottage by this time, and theirconversation ceased. The cottage was the last in the row that skirted thecove, somewhat apart from all the others, occupying a piece of highground that overlooked the cove and the bay, and affording a view awaybeyond to the off-lying islands. This view was obtained through a thingrove of spruces, with which the island abounded, and which made apicturesque foreground.

  The cottage itself was roomy and comfortable, with a broad piazzaextending around the front and one side. Upon this piazza the boys nowstepped, quietly--"so as not to disturb the sleepers," Henry Burns putin.

  "Well, Henry, what's up? You are master of ceremonies, you know," saidTom.

  "Why, we want to wake them very gently at first," replied Henry Burns."You know it is not good for any one to be frightened out of his sleep.They might not grow any more; and it might take away young Joe'sappetite--No, it would take more than that to do it," he added.

  They stepped around cautiously to the front door. As they had surmised,the peacefulness of Southport made locks and keys a matter more of formthan usage, and the Warren boys had not turned the key in the lock. Theyentered softly.

  "Hark! what's that?" whispered Bob.

  They paused on tiptoe. A subdued, choky roar, or growl, was borne downthe front stairway from above.

  "You ought to know that sound by this time," said Henry Burns. "It'syoung Joe, snoring. Don't you remember how the other boys used to declarehe would make the boat leak, by jarring it with that racket, when we hadto sleep aboard last summer? Why, he used to have black and blue spots upand down his legs, where George and Arthur kicked him awake, so theycould go to sleep."

  The sound was, indeed, prodigious for one boy to make.

  "We may as well have some light on the subject," said Henry Burns,striking a match and lighting the hanging-lamp in the sitting-room. Itshed a soft glow over the place and revealed a room prettily furnished;the hardwood floor reflecting from its polished surface the rays from thelamp; a generous fireplace in one corner; and, more to the purpose atpresent, some big easy chairs, in which the boys made themselves at home.

  But first a peep into the Warren kitchen pantry rewarded Bob with amighty iron serving-tray, and Tom with a pair of tin pot-covers, which,grasped by their handles and clashed together, would serve famously ascymbals.

  "Now," said Henry Burns, when they were all assembled and comfortablyseated, "you remember how we used to imitate the village band when itpractised nights in the loft over the old fish-house? Well, I'll be thecornet; Tom, you're the bass horn--"

  "He is when his voice doesn't break," remarked Bob, slyly.

  "That's all right," replied Henry Burns. "Every musician strikes a falsenote once in awhile, you know." And he continued, "You are theslide-trombone, Jack; and you, Bob, come in with that shrieking whistlethrough your fingers for the flute."

  "Great!" exclaimed Bob. "What shall we try?"

  "Oh, we'll give them 'Old Black Joe' for a starter," said Henry Burns,"just out of compliment to young black Joe up-stairs."

  Presently, there arose through the stillness of the house, and was waftedup the stairway, an unmelodious, mournful discord, t
hat may perhaps haveborne some grotesque resemblance to the old song they had chosen, butwas, indeed, a most atrocious and melancholy rendering of it.

  Then they paused to listen.

  There was no answering sound from above, save that the snoring of youngJoe was no longer deep and regular, but broken and short and sharp, likesnorts of protest.

  "Repeat!" ordered Henry Burns to his grinning band.

  Again the combined assault on "Old Black Joe" began.

  Then they paused again.

  The snoring of young Joe was broken off abruptly, with one particularlyloud outburst on his part. There was, also, the creaking of a bed inanother room, and a sound as of some one sitting bolt upright.

  "Here, you Joe! Quit that! What on earth are you doing?" called out thevoice of George Warren, in tones which denoted that he had awakened fromslumber, but not to full consciousness of what had waked him, except thatit was some weird sound.

  Then another voice, more sleepily than the other: "What's the matter,George? Keep quiet, and let a fellow go to sleep."

  "Why, it's that young Joe's infernal nonsense, I suppose," exclaimed theelder brother. "Now, that will be enough of that, Joe. It isn't funny,you know."

  "That's it! always blaming me for something," came the answer from theyoungest boy's room. "You fellows are dreaming--gracious, no! I hear avoice down-stairs."

  It was the voice of Henry Burns saying solemnly, "Repeat."

  "Old Black Joe," out of time, out of tune, turned inside out and scarcelyrecognizable, again arose to the ears of the now fully aroused Warrenbrothers.

  There was the sound of some one leaping out of bed upon the bare chamberfloor.

  "Now you get back into bed there, Joe!" came the voice of George Warren,peremptorily. "Let those idiots, Tom and Bob, amuse themselves till theyget tired, if they think it's funny. We are not going to get up to-night,and that's all there is about it. Say, you fellows go on now, and let usalone. We're tired, and we are not going to get up."

  "Too dictatorial, altogether," commented Henry Burns, softly. "Give themthe full band now, good and lively."

  So saying, he seized the huge dinner-bell; Harvey took up the greatfog-horn; Tom and Bob, the pot-covers and serving-tray, respectively. Ahideous din, that was the combined blast of the deep horn, the clangingreverberation of the tray beaten upon by Bob's stout fist, the bellowingof the dinner-bell and the clash of cymbals, roared and stormed throughthe walls of the Warren cottage, as though bedlam had broken loose. Therafters fairly groaned with it.

  Down the stairway appeared a pair of bare legs. Then the form and face ofyoung Joe came into view. He stared for a moment wildly at the occupantsof the Warren easy chairs, and the next moment let out a whoop ofdelight.

  "Oh, hooray!" he yelled. "Come on, George. Come on, Arthur. Hurry up! Oh,my! but it's Henry Burns."

  A small avalanche of bare feet and bare legs poured down the stairs,belonging in all to Joe, Arthur, and George Warren. Three sturdy figures,clad in their night-clothes, leaped into the room, whooping and yelling,and descended in one concerted swoop upon the luckless Henry Burns. Thatyoung gentleman went down on the floor, where he afforded a seat for twoof the Warren boys, while young Joe, with pretended fury, proceeded topummel him, good-naturedly.

  The three remaining boys were quickly added to the heap, dragging theWarrens from off their fallen leader; and the turmoil and confusion thatraged about the Warren sitting-room for a moment might have meant thewreck and ruin of a city home, adorned with bric-a-brac, but resulted inno more serious damage than a collection of bruises on the shins andelbows of the participants.

  Out of the confusion of arms and legs, however, each individual boy atlength withdrew his own, more or less damaged.

  "You're a lot of villains!" exclaimed George Warren. "Wasn't I soundasleep, though? But, oh! perhaps we are not glad to see you."

  "I tell you what we will do," cried young Joe. "We will hurry up anddress and go out in the kitchen and cook up a big omelette--"

  The roar that greeted young Joe's words drowned out the rest of thesentence.

  "Isn't he a wonder, though!" exclaimed George Warren. "Why, he had hissupper only three hours and a half ago, and here he is talking abouteating."

  "I don't care about anything to eat," declared young Joe. "I thought theother fellows would like something."

  "He's so thoughtful," said Arthur.

  Young Joe looked longingly toward the kitchen.

  "Well, we are not going to keep you awake," said Henry Burns at length,after they had talked over the day's adventures. "We thought you wouldlike to have us call. We'll be round in the morning, though."

  But the Warrens wouldn't hear of their going. There were beds enough inthe roomy old house for all, as the rest of the family had not arrived.So up the stairs they scrambled. Twenty minutes later, the fact thatyoung Joe was sleeping soundly was audibly in evidence.

  "He can't keep me awake, though," exclaimed Harvey. "I have had enoughfor one day to make me sleep, haven't you, Henry?"

  But Henry Burns was asleep already.

  The next afternoon, as the crowd of boys sat about the Warrensitting-room, talking and planning, the tall figure of a man strodebriskly up the road leading to the cottage. He was dressed in a suit ofblack, somewhat pretentious for the island population, with a whiteshirt-front in evidence, and on his head he wore a large, broad-brimmedsoft hat. In his hand he carried a cane, which he swung with short,snappy strokes, as a man might who was out of temper.

  George Warren, from a window, observed his approach.

  "Hello!" he exclaimed. "Here comes the squire. Doesn't look especiallypleasant, either. I wonder what's up."

  That something or other was "up" was apparent in the squire's manner andexpression, as he walked hastily across the piazza and hammered on thedoor with the head of his cane.

  "Good morning, Captain Ken--" began young Joe.

  But he got no further. "Here, you stop that!" cried the squire, advancinginto the room and raising his cane threateningly. "Don't you ever call me'Captain Kendrick' again as long as you live. It's no use for you to sayyou mistake me for him, for you don't."

  Young Joe disappeared.

  "Confound that Joe!" said Arthur. "He always says the wrong thing."

  Captain Kendrick was the squire's bitterest enemy; and it was a constantthorn in the squire's side that they really did resemble each otherslightly.

  "Good morning, squire," said George Warren, politely. "Won't you have aseat?"

  "No, I won't!" said Squire Brackett, shortly. "I don't need any seat tosay what I want to say. I want to talk with those two young scamps overthere."

  Squire Brackett pointed angrily toward Jack Harvey and Henry Burns.

  "What can we do for you, squire?" inquired Henry Burns, quietly.

  "Do for me!" repeated the squire, his voice rising higher. "You have doneenough for me already, I should say. What do you mean by running down mysailboat in the bay yesterday? Hadn't you done enough to annoy mealready, without smashing into the _Seagull_ and tearing a brand-new sailand ripping things up generally?

  "What can you do for me, indeed! Well, I'll tell you what you can do: youcan pay me forty dollars for a new sail; and you can pay for a new boomto replace the broken one. And there's some rigging that was carriedaway. That is all I think of now."

  The squire paused for breath.

  "Yes, I guess that is about all," remarked Henry Burns.

  But Jack Harvey was on his feet and facing the angry squire. "See here,"he began, "do you mean to say that that young chap we helped out of hisscrape blames us for the wreck? Just bring him--"

  "Hold on, Jack," said Henry Burns. "Take it easy. We were not to blame,so let's not get into a quarrel with the squire. Perhaps he has not heardjust how it did happen."

  "Haven't I?" roared the squire. "That's impudence added to injury. Didn'tmy son, Harry, tell me all about it--how you ran him down; how yousteered in on to him when he was trying his best t
o keep clear of you?Haven't I heard of it, indeed! I have heard all I want to about it. Now,there is only one thing left for you two young men to do, and that is tosettle for the damages. That is all I want of you--and no impudence.

  "It won't do you any good to try to lie out of it," he added, as hestarted for the door. "I've got no time to waste listening to denials.You can just come down to Dakin's store and settle to-day or to-morrow,or there will be a lawsuit begun against both of you, or whoever isresponsible for you. I guess my son Harry's word is good as a dozen ofyours. He's told me all about it. Good morning to you."

  The squire swung himself angrily out of the door and strode away down theroad, flipping off the grass-tops with his cane.

  Harvey and Henry Burns sat back in their chairs in amazement.

  "And to think that I helped that young cub bail out his boat!" groanedJack Harvey.

  Henry Burns snickered.

  "It's no joke, Jack," he said. "But I can't help thinking of that youngBrackett, sitting up there on the rail and watching you work.

  "It is a bad scrape, too," he added, more seriously. "It does mean a reallawsuit. The squire is in the mood for it; and, the worst of it, thereweren't any witnesses. It is his word against ours. It's a bad start forthe summer, and no mistake."

  A half-hour later, a procession of sober-faced boys strolled down intothe village. Villagers, who had always liked Henry Burns, and had come tolike Jack Harvey since he had atoned for many past pranks by gallantry atthe end of the last season, greeted the new arrivals cordially.

  "See you boys got into a leetle trouble with the squire," remarked one ofthem. "Well, that's too bad. He's a hard man when it comes to moneymatters. What's that? You say young Brackett was the one to blame? Pshaw!Well, I do declare. Hm!"

  Down in Rob Dakin's grocery store there was the usual gathering of thevillagers and fishermen, lounging about, with elbows on counters,half-astride sugar and cracker barrels, and a few of the more earlycomers occupying the choice seats about the sheet-iron stove. Thisinevitable centre of attraction, having done its duty faithfullythroughout the winter, was, of course, now cold and not an object ofespecial beauty; but it still possessed that magnetic quality thatpertains to a stove in a country store, to draw all loungers about it,and make it the common meeting-place.

  There was Billy Cook, from over across the cove, who was always barefoot,although a man of forty. There was Dave Benson, from the other side ofthe island, who had deposited a molasses-jug on the floor in a corner,and who now stood, apparently extracting some nourishment, and at leastcomfort, from a straw held between his teeth. There was Old Slade, fromover on the bluff opposite, slyly cutting a sliver of salt fish from onein the bale upon which he sat. Also a half-dozen or more others.

  To this assembled group of his townsfolk, the squire, accompanied now byhis hopeful son, Harry, was holding forth, as the party of boys enteredthe door.

  "Here they be now, squire," remarked Dave Benson. "Hello, boys! Ketchin'any lobsters lately?"

  "Yes, here they are, and here they shall pay!" cried the squire, turningupon them.

  Jack Harvey advanced toward young Brackett.

  "Do you dare say we ran you down?" he inquired, angrily.

  "Yes, you did," answered young Brackett, sullenly, and sidling up closeto his father.

  "Why, of course they did!" exclaimed the squire. "And it won't do themany good--"

  But at this point his remarks were interrupted.

  A strongly built, heavy-shouldered man entered the store, gave a loud,good-natured "Haw! Haw!" for no apparent reason except that his naturalgood spirits prompted him to, and bade everybody good evening in a voicethat could be heard a quarter of a mile away.

  "Why, hello, Cap'n Sam," said Dave Benson, hailing him as he entered thedoorway. "Haven't seen you much lately."

  Captain Sam Curtis roared out a salutation in return. If there was avoice within a radius of twenty miles about Southport that could equalthat of Captain Sam Curtis, no one had ever heard of it. It had areputation all its own, far and wide.

  "Why, hello, squire," cried Captain Sam. He had failed to notice Harveyand Henry Burns for the moment in the crowd. "Good evening, squire, goodevening. Guess you're glad to get that 'ere boy of yours back again,ain't yer?"

  "Yes," answered the squire, irritably.

  "Well, I guess you better be!" exclaimed Captain Sam. "I thought he was agoner there, yesterday, when I saw the _Seagull_ go kerflop."

  "What!" cried the squire. "You saw it? How is that? I thought you saidthere weren't any other boats around, Harry."

  The squire turned to his son; but young Harry Brackett was vanishing outthe store door.

  "See it? I rather guess I did see it," bawled Captain Sam, warming up tohis subject, while the villagers sat up and paid attention. "Why, I hadthe spy-glass on that 'ere youngster for twenty minutes before he did thetrick. He was a-sailing that 'ere boat like a codfish trying to play'Home, Sweet Home' on the pianner."

  "Nonsense!" roared the now infuriated squire, who observed the audiencein the store snickering and nudging one another. "Nonsense, I say. He cansail a boat just as good as you can. Why, he told me, only the other day,before I let him have the _Seagull_ at all, how he won races last summerin a yacht off Marblehead."

  "Mebbe so, squire," retorted Captain Sam. "But he was a-sailin' this 'ereboat of yours like a mutton-head. Haw! Haw! That's what he was a-doin',squire.

  "Why, sir, squire, he was a-standing up in that boat, with his hat blownoff, lookin' as scared as you was last summer when you and old Withamtook that sail down the bay with me. Haw! Haw! And that 'ere boom wasa-jumpin', and that 'ere sail was a-slattin' around like an old alpackerdress out on a clothes-line.

  "'Gracious goodness!' says I to myself, 'that youngster is a-scared outof his wits. He'll jibe her, as sure as a hen sets.' And he done it, too.Bang! she went, and the boom slat up against that other boat that wascomin' down 'tother way--and I says, 'It's all up with poor Harry.' Andso it would have been if it hadn't been for the chaps in that otherboat--

  "Why, hello, Henry Burns! And if there ain't young Harvey, too," criedCaptain Sam, interrupting himself, as he espied the two boys. "Why, thatwas your boat, eh? Well, I guess the squire is mightily obliged to you,both of yer.

  "Reckon you've thanked these young chaps, good and hearty, for savingyoung Harry, eh?" cried Captain Sam, advancing to the squire.

  But, to the utter amazement of Captain Sam, the squire turned upon hisheel, with an exclamation of disgust, dashed out of the store, anddisappeared in the direction taken shortly before by his son, while aroar of laughter from the assembled villagers followed after him.