The Rival Campers Afloat; or, The Prize Yacht Viking

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER VII. NEAR THE REEFS

  The sound of voices calling cheerily over the water and the creaking ofblocks awoke the boys a little after four o'clock the next morning. HenryBurns dragged himself drowsily to one of the cabin ports and looked out.It was a picturesque sight, for a small fleet of fishing-craft, of allsorts and shapes and sizes, was passing out of the thoroughfare, on itsway to the fishing-grounds, with a light morning breeze that just filledthe sails.

  Back of the harbour the land went up gradually for a way, dotted here andthere with the snug, tidy homes of the fishermen, until it rose in thecentre of the island, forming hills of some considerable height--thefirst landfall for ships coming in from sea at that point. Now the topsof the hills glinted with the rays of the morning sun, which soonstreamed down the slopes and made the whole island glow with warmth andbrightness.

  The pleasing landscape had at that moment, however, no particularattraction for Henry Burns. He gave a groan of self-commiseration,tumbled back into his warm blanket, and remarked:

  "Oh, but these fishermen do begin the day early! Say, we don't have to,do we, Jack? I vote for another hour's sleep."

  "Make it four," said Bob, who had been eying Henry Burns withapprehension.

  Harvey and Tom muttered an assent that was not distinguishable.

  By five o'clock, however, the sounds of men and boats had them awakeagain; and by another half-hour they were breakfasting on their way outof the harbour, beating against a light southerly.

  "Do you know the fishing-grounds, Jack?" inquired Henry Burns.

  "Only in a general way," replied Harvey. "But we'll follow the others,and get in somewhere near them."

  They stood out of the harbour and headed down the coast of the island,which extended seaward thus for some four miles. Harvey, at the wheel,was studying carefully a chart of the waters; Henry Burns and Tom andBob, arrayed in oilskins, were busily engaged in "shucking" clams intosome wooden buckets.

  Presently an unexpected hail came across the water to them from asailboat they had overhauled.

  "Why, hello," called Harvey, and added to his companions, "Here's luck.It's Will Hackett, Jeff's brother. You know Jeff, who carries the mailsin his packet."

  "What are you chaps doing way down here? Aren't you lost?" asked theother, a stalwart, red-faced youth, who, with a crew composed of onesmall boy, was navigating a rough-looking sloop that looked as though ithad seen a score of hard summers.

  Harvey explained.

  "Well, you won't get rich," said Will Hackett, bringing his craft in tohead along with them. "But I'll show you where to fish. The depth ofwater makes all the difference around here. They call me lucky, butthere's something in knowing where to drop a line. I'm down only for theday, but you follow me around and you'll know where to go next time."

  When they had told him of the adventure of the night before, Will Hackettslapped a heavy fist down upon his knee.

  "Good for you!" he cried. "So you've run foul of old Jim Martel, haveyou? Why, I offered to thrash him and his two boys only three weeks ago,for hanging around after dark where I had a trawl set. They come fromover eastward, and quarrel with everybody; and I wouldn't trust one ofthem with a rotten rope. You'd better keep away from them, though. He'sgot a hot temper, has Jim Martel."

  They were in the swell from the open sea now, and the _Viking_ and itscompanion, the _Gracie_, were lifting and dipping amid the long, rollingwaves. About them, and ahead here and there, clouds of spray, cast likechaff into the air, told of reefs; sometimes marked with a spindle, or acask set on the top of a pole, if it lay near the course; sometimes witha thin point of the ledge rising a few feet above water.

  Some three miles down the coast of Loon Island a reef of several rods inlength broke the force of the waves from seaward; and as these dashed inupon it they crashed into a thousand particles, which gleamed transientlywith the colours of the rainbow as the sun shone upon the drops. Closeunder the lee of this reef went Will Hackett, and cast anchor a few rodsaway, not far from another boat, already at anchor. The _Viking_followed, and likewise anchored at a little distance, and sails werefurled.

  Quickly the heavy cod-lines, equipped with two hooks each, and bulkysinker, were dropped overboard; and the boys waited expectantly, theirbaits close to bottom.

  "A prize to the one that gets the first cod," said Harvey.

  "What's the prize?" asked Bob.

  "Why, he can keep the cod's head," said Henry Burns. "Hello!" heexclaimed a moment later. "I've hooked on bottom, I guess. No, it must beseaweed."

  Henry Burns began hauling in with considerable effort.

  "Why, it's a fish!" he exclaimed the next moment. "There's somethingmoving on the end of the line. But he doesn't fight any. Comes up like somuch lead."

  "That's the way they act," said Harvey. "They don't make any fuss. Butyou've got a big one."

  Henry Burns, hauling with all his might, hand over hand, presentlybrought to the surface an enormous cod.

  "There's a whole dinner for a hotel in that fellow," said he. And,indeed, the fish would weigh fully twenty pounds.

  "Not quite so lively sport as catching mackerel, is it?" he remarked,looking at his hands, which were reddened with the chafing of the hardline.

  "No, this is more like work," said Harvey. "But they won't all runanywhere near as big as that. You've caught one of the old settlers."

  The fish were biting in earnest now, and the boys were bringing them inover the rail almost as fast as they could bait and cast overboard. Bynoon they had two great baskets full, stowed away in the cabin out of thesun, and were glad enough to take a long hour for rest, feasting on oneof the smallest of their catch, rolled in meal and fried to a temptingcrispness.

  Then near sundown they were among the first to weigh anchor and run forharbour, tired but elated over their first day's rough work.

  Will Hackett had advised them how to dispose of their catch. A trader atthe head of the harbour bought for salting down all that the fishermendid not sell alive to the schooners that carried them in huge wells, deepin their holds, to the Portland or Boston markets.

  So they ran in with the other craft, and took their catch in to his dockin their dory.

  The trader, a small, wiry, bright-eyed Yankee, scrutinized Henry Burnsand Jack Harvey sharply, as they entered the little den which bore theimposing word "_Office_" over its door.

  "So you're fishermen, eh?" he remarked. "Rather a fine craft you'vebrought down for the work. Guess you might manage to keep alive somehowif you didn't fish for a living."

  He was interested, though, when they told him their circumstances.

  "Good!" he exclaimed. "Well, I'm paying a dollar a hundredweight for codcaught on hand-lines, and less for trawl-caught. But you don't calculateto do trawl-fishing, I reckon."

  "Not just yet," answered Harvey.

  They hitched the tackle at the end of the pier on to the baskets of fish,and the cod were hoisted up to the scales.

  "Three hundred and sixty pounds, I make it," said the trader. "That'sthree dollars and sixty cents."

  The boys went away, clinking three big silver dollars, a fifty-centpiece, and a dime, and passing the money from hand to hand, admiringly.

  "That never seemed like very much money to me before," said Harvey,thoughtfully. "It makes a difference whether you earn it or not--and how,doesn't it?"

  "It's all right for the first day," said Henry Burns. "We'll do better aswe get the hang of it. And then later, if we get a catch of mackerel onthe first run of the fish, why, we've got the boat to make a fast tripover to Stoneland, and sell them to the hotel. There'll be money inthat."

  The next morning, beating out of the harbour early, they had anunpleasant experience.

  They had anchored off the dock at the head of the harbour, and had justbegun to work their way out through the channel, which was there quitenarrow, against a light southwest breeze. Henry Burns had the wheel, withHarv
ey tending sheet, and Tom and Bob working the single jib that theyhad set. A little way ahead of them a boat was coming in, running free.

  "There's our friend," remarked Henry Burns, noting the pinkey's sharp,queer stern. "It's old Martel coming in from under-running hishake-trawls. We'll try to keep clear of him."

  But it seemed this was not wholly possible.

  The _Viking_ was standing up to clear a buoy a short distance ahead,which marked the channel, and would just barely fetch by it if she wasnot headed off any. It became apparent soon, however, that the skipper ofthe pinkey was heading so that, if one or the other did not give way,there would be a collision.

  "Better give him the horn," suggested Tom, as the boys watched theoncoming boat.

  "No, I don't think we need to," said Henry Burns. "They see us. Look,there they are pointing. Old Martel knows what he is doing. It's just acase of bullying. We've got the right of way over a boat running free,and he knows it."

  "That's right, Henry," exclaimed Harvey. "We might as well show him weknow our rights. Keep her on her course, and don't give way an inch."

  There was plenty of water on the pinkey's starboard hand, and the coursewas free there; but for the _Viking_ to head off the wind meant failureto clear the buoy, and another tack, with loss of time. It was all a meretrifle, of course, but they knew the skipper of the pinkey was trying tocrowd them; and they were bound to stand on their rights.

  The pinkey came up perilously close; then, just barely in time, sheeredoff so that its boom almost came aboard the _Viking_. Henry Burns,unmoved, had held the _Viking_ close into the wind, without giving way aninch even when it had looked as though the two boats must come together.

  "We might as well fight it out right now with old Martel," he said,quietly. "Perhaps he will let us alone if he finds we're not afraid ofhim."

  Captain Jim Martel's anger at being outmanoeuvred was not lessened by thefigure of Jack Harvey standing up astern and grinning at him derisively.He glared back angrily at the young yachtsmen.

  But Harvey's blood was up, too.

  "Why don't you learn to sail that old tub of yours?" he called out,sneeringly.

  Martel's answer was to put his helm hard down, bring his boat about, andstand up on the track of the _Viking_.

  "Come on, we'll give you a tow out to sea again," cried Harvey.

  "Go easy, Jack," said Henry Burns. "He's the pepperiest skipper I've seenin all Samoset Bay. Better let him alone. He's angry enough already."

  "Yes, but he's to blame," said Harvey. "When anybody hits me, I hitback." And forthwith he made gestures toward the other boat, as of urgingit to hurry, by beckoning; and he coiled a bit of the free end of themain-sheet and threw it back over the stern, indicating that it was forthe other craft to pick up, so as to be towed by the _Viking_.

  The effect on Skipper Martel was, indeed, amusing. He sprang up from hisseat, handed the tiller to one of his boys and rushed forward, where hestood, shaking a fist at the crew of the _Viking_ and calling outangrily.

  He made a comical figure, with his black, shaggy head wagging, and withhis angry sputtering and his pretence of pursuit, whereas the _Viking_was leaving the pinkey rapidly astern. Henry Burns joined in thelaughter, but he repeated his warning: "Better let him alone, Jack."

  Which warning, now that the skipper of the pinkey strode aft again, JackHarvey finally heeded.

  "Funny how that fellow gets furious over nothing," he said. "We'll haveto have some fun with him."

  "You like an exciting sort of fun, don't you, Jack?" said Henry Burns,smiling. But it was plain he took it more seriously.

  They fished for four days more with varying success, and with a Sundayintervening. They were getting toughened to the work; their hands growingcalloused with the hard cod-lines; their knowledge of working their boatin rough water and heavy weather increasing daily; their musclesstrengthened with the exercise; and their appetites so keen that youngJoe might have envied them.

  One day it rained, but they went out just the same, equipped for it inoilskins, rubber boots, and tarpaulins, and made a good haul.

  "Well, here's our last day for a week or so," said Henry Burns, as theystood out one morning for the fishing-grounds. "It's back to Southportto-morrow. We mustn't get too rich all at once."

  It was a day of uncertain flaws of wind, puffy and squally, after a dayof heavy clouds. They were sailing under reefed mainsail, for at onemoment the squalls would descend sharp and treacherous, though therewould succeed intervals when there was hardly wind enough to fill thesails. They worked down to the fishing-grounds and tried several places,but with no great success. Some of the boats put back to harbour early inthe afternoon, dissatisfied with the conditions, as it was evidently anoff day for cod. Others, including the _Viking_, held on, hoping forbetter luck.

  Then, of a sudden, the wind fell away completely two hours before sunset,and the sea was calm, save for the ground-swell, which heaved up intowaves that did not break, but in which the _Viking_ rolled and pitchedand tugged at anchor.

  "Perhaps we will get a sunset breeze and be able to run back," saidHarvey.

  But evidently the fishermen, more weather-wise, knew better; for some ofthe lighter, open boats furled their sails snug, got out their sweeps,and prepared to row laboriously back the three long miles. Others of thebig boats made ready to lie out for the night.

  "Well, we've got a good anchor and a new line," said Harvey. "There'snothing rotten about the _Viking's_ gear. We'll lie as snug out here asin the harbour."

  They tripped the anchor just off bottom, got out the sweeps, and workedthe _Viking_ back a dozen rods or so from the shallow water about thereef. Then they dropped anchor again, with plenty of slack to the rope,to let the yacht ride easy with less strain on the anchorage. There werea half-dozen boats within hailing distance, similarly anchored, includingSkipper Martel and his pinkey.

  "We're in good company," said Henry Burns, laughing. "But I'm glad Jackisn't near enough to stir him up."

  Evening came on, and the little fleet resembled a village afloat, withthe tiny wreaths of smoke curling up from the cabin-funnels. The nightwas clear overhead and the hills of Loon Island shone purple in thewaning sunlight, streaked here and there with broad patches of blackshadow. The ground-swell broke upon the reef heavily, sending up a showerof spray high in air, weird and grimly beautiful in the twilight.

  "That's good music to sleep by," said Bob, as the booming from the reefcame to their ears while they sat at supper.

  "Yes, it's all right on a night like this," assented Harvey. "You'llsleep as sound as in the tent."

  It grew dark, and the little fleet set its lanterns, though it was mereconformance to custom in this case, since no craft ever made athoroughfare where they lay.

  "What do you think?" asked Henry Burns two hours later, as he and Harveystood outside, taking a survey of the sea and sky, and making sure oncemore that their anchor-rope was clear and well hitched--"What do youthink, Jack, do we need to keep watch?"

  He had quite a bump of caution for a youth who did not hesitate at timesto do things that others considered reckless.

  "Oh, it's still as a mill-pond," replied Harvey. "We've had theclearing-off blow, and there are the clouds banking up off to southward,where the breeze will come from in the morning. See, there isn't a manout on any of the other boats. No, we'll just turn in and sleep likekittens in a basket."

  So they went below.

  The roaring of the reef was, in truth, a not all unpleasant sound tothose who felt safe and snug in its lee, securely anchored. To be sure,there was a grim suggestion in the crashing of the swell against itshollows and angles at first, but the steady repetition of this became intime almost monotonous. There was the heavy, roaring, thudding sound, asthe swell surged in against its firm base. Then this blended into a crisprushing, as the waters raced along its sides; and then a crash as ofshattered glass as the mass thrown up broke in mid-air and fell back incountless fragments of white, frothing water upo
n the cold rocks.

  The boys went off to sleep with this ceaseless play of the waters intheir ears.

  The hours of the night passed one by one. And if any boy aboard the_Viking_ roused up through their passing and heard the surf-play upon thereef, there was no more menace in it than before. Just the same steadyhammering of water upon rock.

  Yet Harvey's prophecy of sound sleep was not wholly borne out--at least,in the case of Henry Burns. He was a good sleeper under ordinaryconditions, but he roused up several times and listened to the wash ofthe seas.

  "It may be grand music," he muttered once, drowsily, "but I can't say Ilike it quite so near."

  Something awoke him again an hour later. His perception of it as hehalf-sat up was that it sounded like something grating against the sideof the _Viking_.

  He sat still for a moment and listened. The sound was not repeated.

  "I thought I heard something alongside," he said aloud, but talking tohimself. "Did you hear anything, Jack?" he inquired in a louder tone, asHarvey stirred uneasily.

  There was no reply. Harvey had not wakened.

  "Hm! guess I've got what my aunt calls the fidgets," muttered HenryBurns, rolling up in his blanket once more. "It's that confounded reef.No, it's no use. I don't like the sound of it at night. Pshaw! I'll go tosleep, though, and forget it."

  Something just alongside the _Viking_ that looked surprisingly like adory, with some sort of a figure crouched down in it,--and which may ormay not have caused the sound that had awakened Henry Burns,--lay quietthere for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes,--a good half-hour in all. Then itmoved away from the side of the boat, passed on ahead for a moment, andstole softly away over the waves.

  The booming of the seas upon the reefs! How the hollow roar of it soundedfar over the waters. How the thin wisps of spray, like so much smoke,shot up through the darkness, white and ghostlike!

  A strange phenomenon! But if by chance there had been some shipwreckedman clinging to that reef, he might have fancied that the rocks to whichhe clung were drifting in the sea--strangely shifting ground and drawingup closer to a yacht at anchor.

  Or was it something different? Was the yacht really no longer lyinganchor-bound? And was it drifting, drifting slowly down upon the rocks,soon to be lifted high upon a crest of the ground-swell--and then to bedropped down heavily upon one of the streaming, foam-covered points ofledge?

  Crash and crash again! Was it louder and heavier than before?

  Henry Burns's eyes opened wearily.

  The sound of the sea seemed stunning. What was it about the noise thatseemed more fearful, more terrifying, more dreadful than before?

  He sprang up now. Yes, there could be no doubt. Something was wrong. Thesea rising, perhaps. The wind blowing up. There it came, again and again.It was louder--and louder still. A mind works slowly brought quickly fromsleep; but Henry Burns was wide awake now.

  The boys had turned in half-undressed, to be ready for an early start inthe morning. Henry Burns slipped on his trousers, scrambling about in thedarkness.

  "Jack, get up!" he cried, seizing his sleeping comrade and shaking himroughly. "Wake up, fellows--quick! Something's the matter."

  He burst open the cabin doors and rushed out on deck.

  No, there was no delusion here. The reef lay close aboard. The din of thebeating, crashing waters seemed deafening. The _Viking_, dipping andfalling with the long swells, was going slowly but surely down upon it.

  Henry Burns reached for a short sheath-knife that he carried when aboardthe yacht, moved quickly along from the stern to the foot of the mast,and cut the stops with which the sail had been furled. Then he dashed tothe bulkhead, and, without stopping to cast off the turns from thecleats, seized the throat and peak halyards and began haulingdesperately.

  The next moment, Tom and Bob had tumbled forward and caught hold withhim; while Harvey, emerging half-awake from the companionway, seized thewheel.

  Three athletic pairs of arms had the mainsail up quicker than it had everbeen set before.

  "Quick now with the jib!" cried Harvey. "That will head us off, ifthere's any breeze to save us. Jump it for dear life, boys."

  They needed no urging. It was set almost before Harvey had finishedspeaking. Tom, holding it off as far as he could reach to windward, stoodon the weather-bow, shivering in the cool night air and glaring fearfullyat the rocks close ahead. The white spray, writhing up half as high asthe mast, seemed to be coming nearer and nearer.

  Henry Burns, having seen the mainsail and jib set, and realizing therewas nothing left to do only to hope that there was wind enough stirringto fill the sails, dashed down into the cabin. He brought up the spareanchor, which he proceeded to bend on to a coil of rope. But the dangerhad passed before he had it ready to cast astern.

  The yacht, like a living thing, seeming to feel its own peril, had caughtjust the faintest of the wandering night airs in its great white sail.The tide, ebbing, was urging it down to destruction. Then, as the windcaught the sail, the boat responded slightly, but began to head up,pointing fair at the black rocks. Harvey let the sheet run off. The jib,held far out to windward, caught another faint puff of air and headed theyacht slowly but surely off the wind.

  The yacht had saved itself. Gliding ever so slowly, it skirted along theedge of the reef for a moment, till Harvey had brought it around fairlybefore the wind. Then there was one final contest between breeze andtide. The yacht hung upon the waves sluggishly, so close in upon thereefs that the spray, dashing over, wetted the boys aboard.

  Then it moved slowly up against the tide, rising and falling heavily uponthe seas, but gaining a little, and then more.

  It was enough. The spare anchor went overboard, the yacht brought up andheld. They dropped the sails once more, unharmed, with the black, hungryreef stretching out its white arms of foam and spray, vainly, balked oftheir prey.

  "O-oh!" said Harvey, sinking down on a seat. "That was a close shave. Butwhat could have made that rope part? That's what I can't understand. Itwas a brand-new one."

  They found out a half-hour later, after they had gone below and put ontheir jackets and warmed themselves and had returned on deck. They drewthe end of the line aboard and examined it by a lantern in the cabin.

  It was not broken. The end was clean, without a frayed strand in it. Ithad been severed with a single sweep of a fisherman's knife, sharp as arazor-blade.

  "Ah!" ejaculated Harvey. "We might have guessed. It's old Martel's work.We'll have the law on him for this."

  But when they peered across the water with the coming daylight there wasno pink-stern sloop to be seen, because it had gone out with the tidelong before, just as they went adrift, and was out upon the sea now,standing off to the eastward.

  "Well, we have learned two lessons," said Henry Burns. "One is to havethe spare anchor where it can be got at quicker when it's needed. I'dhave gone for that first if I hadn't remembered that we had it buriedunder that lot of stuff forward."

  "And what's the other lesson?" asked Bob.

  "It's to be never without a knife when you are sailing a boat," answeredHenry Burns. "I heard a fisherman say that once, and so I bought one towear in a belt aboard here. But I never thought just what it would meanto be without one when every second counts."

  "I wish young Joe were here," remarked Tom.

  "Why's that?" asked Harvey.

  "He would have the coffee on by this time," replied Tom. "That night airsent the shivers through me."

  "Something else sent the shivers through me," remarked Henry Burns. "I'llgo and start the fire."