“We’ll just show this lobster to the fish-warden, my son,” said the squire. “Then we’ll go home to supper.”
“Squire Brackett, you aren’t really going to complain on us, are you?” piped Little Tim, out of breath. “We didn’t mean to break the law, you know.”
“Get out of here, you little ragamuffin!” exclaimed the squire, reddening and waving Tim out of his path. “Somebody’s got to teach you youngsters a lesson—playing your pranks ’round here, day and night. Somebody’s got to uphold the law. Sooner you boys begin to have some respect for it, the better for honest folks on the island.”
“Well, if a chap breaks the law without thinking, do you want him to ‘catch it’ just the same?” queried young Tim. “P’r’aps you have eaten short lobsters, yourself.”
“Certainly, any person that breaks the law ought to be punished—every time,” replied the squire. “That’ll teach ’em a lesson. I’ll show you boys that when you come down here you’ve got to behave, or suffer for it.”
“Because,” continued young Tim, “you were breaking the law, yourself, this afternoon—you and Harry.”
Little Tim dodged back out of reach, in a hurry; for the squire made a dart at him, turning purple with anger.
“What do you mean, you young scamp!” cried the squire. “Just let me get you by the ear once. Accusing me of breaking the law!”
Little Tim’s nimble bare feet carried him out of the way of the squire’s arm. From a safe distance, he continued:
“Yes, you and Harry were breaking the law, out there in the boat. You were tied up to one of the spar-buoys. They belong to the gov’ment. I’ve heard a fisherman say so; and it’s fifty dollars fine for any one to moor a boat to one of ’em. Didn’t you know that, squire?”
Little Tim asked this question with a provoking innocence that nearly threw the squire into an apoplectic fit.
“Pooh!” he exclaimed. “Pooh!” He turned a shade deeper purple, feigned to bluster for a moment, and then, realizing, with full and overwhelming consciousness, that what Little Tim had said was true, subsided, muttering to himself.
The squire stood irresolutely in the street, holding the lobster in one hand, and glaring in a confused sort of way at Little Tim, who was now grinning provokingly.
“Here, you young scamp,” he said at length, “come here.”
Little Tim approached, discreetly.
“Now,” said the squire, hemming and hawing, and evidently somewhat embarrassed, “on second thought, I—I’m going to let you youngsters off this time. I guess you didn’t intend to do anything wrong, did you?”
“No, sir,” replied Little Tim, looking very sober and serious, but chuckling inwardly.
“Well,” said the squire, “I think I won’t complain of you this time. We’ll just drop the whole affair. Of course a mere nominal fine of fifty dollars wouldn’t be anything to me; but I reckon twenty dollars would be kind of a pinch for you boys, and you have been working pretty industriously. You go along now—but look out, and don’t do anything of the sort again.”
Little Tim bolted for the camp.
The squire stood for a moment, scowling after the vanishing figure, and glancing out of the corner of an eye at his son, Harry, to see if that young man was treating the incident in its proper light—to wit, with respect to his father. Harry Brackett was discreetly serious.
“Harry,” said the squire, finally, handing over the piece of incriminating evidence, “you take those lobsters up to the house and tell your mother to boil them for supper.”
“The short one, too?” asked Harry Brackett.
“Yes, confound you!” roared the squire. “Take them both along. Do you think I buy lobsters to throw away? Clear out! And, look here, if I hear of your saying anything about this affair to any one, you’ll catch it.”
Harry Brackett departed homeward, while the squire, muttering maledictions on Harvey, his crew, and Henry Burns, entered the village store.
“Those boys have altogether too much information,” he said. “I’d like to know if that young Henry Burns put him up to that.”
As for Henry Burns, his mind had been given over for some time to the consideration of a different matter. He, himself, couldn’t have told exactly just when and where he had formed a certain impression; but, once the idea had impressed him, he had turned it over and over, looking at it from all sides, and trying to recall any incident that would shed light on it.
He had a habit of thinking of things in this way, without saying anything to anybody about them until he had made up his mind. And what he had been considering in this way, for a week or more, was nothing less than the yachtViking, and their departed friend, Mr. Carleton.
“Jack,” he said, as he and Harvey sat cooking their supper on the stove in the cabin, the evening following this same afternoon’s fishing, “do you know I believe there is something queer about theViking.”
“Not a thing!” exclaimed Harvey. “She’s as straight and clean a boat, without faults, as any one could find in a year.”
“No, that isn’t what I meant,” said Henry Burns, smiling. “I almost think there’s something about her that we haven’t discovered. Did you ever think there might be something hidden aboard the boat that’s valuable?”
“Cracky! no,” replied Harvey. “What in the world put that into your head?”
“Mr. Carleton did,” answered Henry Burns.
“Mr. Carleton!” exclaimed Harvey. “Why, I never heard him say anything like that.”
“Neither did I,” said Henry Burns. “It’s what he did—breaking into our cabin, and that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” asked Harvey, somewhat incredulous, despite his having considerable faith in the ideas of his companion.
“Why, he tried to do it once before,” said Henry Burns.
“He did?” queried Harvey, in amazement. “You never said anything to me about it.”
“No; because I didn’t think so, myself, at the time,” replied Henry Burns. “You see, it was over there that night at Springton. Do you remember the man on the beach next morning?”
“Go ahead,” said Harvey. “Perhaps I’ll see it when you tell it.”
“Well,” continued Henry Burns, “I mean the old fisherman that spoke to Mr. Carleton just as we were pushing off. Don’t you remember, he spoke about Mr. Carleton’s borrowing his skiff to go out to his yacht the night before? Now you just think how Mr. Carleton looks—tall and nicely dressed—and that big blond moustache—and then that heavy, deep voice of his. That fisherman wasn’t mistaken. He remembered him. It was only the night before, too, mind you.
“And, besides, the fisherman asked him if he had found his own boat all right in the morning. Now, don’t you see, whoever it was that borrowed the fisherman’s boat had gone down to the place where we had left our tender, expecting to find a boat at that very spot. You put the two things together, and it looks like Mr. Carleton. I didn’t think of it then, but I’ve been thinking of it since.”
Harry gave a whistle of astonishment.
“And he hadn’t lost that pin at that time, either,” said Henry Burns. “Nor had he lost the pin he told about, the night after, when he was looking about the cabin with a light, while we were asleep. Then, I don’t believe he had lost any pin at all when he broke into our cabin; and if he had, why didn’t he wait till we came up? He knew we would be back in an hour or two. No, sir, he was after something in that cabin.”
“Well, if you don’t think of queer things!” exclaimed Harvey. “Anything else?”
“Nothing of itself,” replied Henry Burns, thoughtfully. “But isn’t it kind of queer that he should have tried to buy theVikingwhen he had seen her only once? I’m sure Harry Brackett was making an offer for him. He had just come from Bellport, you know; and that’s where Mr. Carleton was staying. Now a man doesn’t usually buy a boat offhand that way.”
“That’s so,” assented Harvey. “Well, what do you make of it all?”
“Why, that’s what puzzles me,” said Henry Burns. “But you know how we came by the boat, in the first place. Supposing the men that owned her, and who committed that robbery up at Benton, had hidden something valuable aboard her, and that Mr. Carleton had heard of it. Naturally, he would try to get hold of it, wouldn’t he?”
“Whew!” ejaculated Harvey. “But how could he hear of it? The men that committed the robbery are in prison.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Henry Burns. “But persons can visit them on certain days, in certain hours. There are ways in which Mr. Carleton could have got the information.”
Jack Harvey was by this time wrought up to a high pitch of excitement.
“We’ll overhaul her this very night,” he cried. “We’ll light the lanterns and go over her from one end to the other. Say, do you know, it might be hidden in the ballast—in a hollow piece of the pig-iron, I mean. Of course the ballast was taken out of her last fall.”
Henry Burns gave a quiet smile.
“It might be,” he said, “but more likely somewhere about the cabin. We better wait till morning, though, and do the job thoroughly. We’ll get Tom and Bob out then, to help—especially if you want to go through the ballast.”
“I’ll turn her upside down, if necessary,” cried Harvey, who was fired with the novelty of the adventure. “Well, perhaps we better wait till morning. But I don’t feel as though I could go to sleep.”
“I can,” said Henry Burns, and he set the example, shortly.
“Well, if he can’t think of weirder things, and go to sleep more peacefully than anybody I ever heard of!” exclaimed Harvey, as he put out the cabin lantern and turned in for the night.
On his promise of secrecy, they let George Warren into the scheme next morning. The other Warren boys had gone up the island. So, at George’s suggestion, they took theVikingup the cove, alongside theSpray, and lashed the two boats together.
“Now you can take the ballast out on to the deck of our yacht, if you want to,” said George Warren.
“Let’s overhaul the cabin, first,” said Henry Burns.
As for Jack Harvey, he wanted to overhaul the whole boat at once, so filled was he with the mystery and the excitement of the thing. He threw open this locker and that, piled their contents out on to the cabin floor, and rummaged eagerly fore and aft, as though he half-expected to come across a hidden fortune in the turning of a hand.
“Look out for Jack,” said George Warren, winking at Henry Burns. “With half a word of encouragement, he’ll take the hatchet and chop into the fine woodwork.”
“I’ll bet I would, too,” declared Harvey, seating himself, red-faced and perspiring, on one of the berths. “Say, Henry, where do you think it is?”
“Probably under where you’re sitting,” replied Henry Burns, slyly, winking back at George Warren.
Harvey jumped up, with a spring that bumped his head against the roof of the cabin; whereupon he sat down again, as abruptly, rubbing his crown, and muttering in a way that made the others double up with laughter.
“That’s a good suggestion, anyway,” he said, making the best of it. And he fell to tossing the blankets out of the cabin door. He searched in vain, however, for any hidden opening in the floor of the berth, and sounded fruitlessly for any suspicious hollow place about its frame.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” suggested Henry Burns; “you and Tom start forward, and George and I will start aft, and we’ll work toward one another, examining everything carefully as we go. We’ll pass the stuff to Bob and he can carry it outside.”
Setting the example, Henry Burns began with the provision locker on the starboard side, next to the bulkhead. He took everything out, scrutinized every board with which the locker was sealed, and tapped on the boards with a little hammer. But there was no unusual fitting of the boards that suggested a hidden chamber, nor any variance in the sound where the hammer fell, to warrant cutting into the sides of the locker. He examined top, sides, and bottom, with equal care and with no favourable result.
Next, on the starboard side, was the stove platform and the stove. There was no use disturbing that, so he passed it by.
A chamber, sealed up and lined with zinc for an ice-box, afforded a likewise unfavourable field for exploration.
Then came a series of lockers, with alcoves and shelves between, which occupied the space above the berths. These, and the drawers beneath the berths, were searched, but yielded no secrets.
George Warren, on the port side, searched likewise, but with equally discouraging results.
Harvey, forward, had the hatch off and the water-casks and some spare rigging thrown out on deck. The cabin deck and cockpit of theVikinglooked as though the boat had been in eruption and had heaved up all its contents.
“My!” exclaimed George Warren, “this is hot work. I feel like a pirate sacking a ship for gold.”
“Only there isn’t any gold,” said Harvey; “but I’ll try the ballast before I quit.”
“I’m afraid that’s not much use,” said Henry Burns. “They wouldn’t go so deep as that to hide anything. I’m afraid I’ve raised your hopes for nothing.”
But Harvey was not for giving up so soon; and, seeing his heart was set on it, the others took hold with a will and helped him. They took up the cabin floor and lifted out the sticks of ballast.
“Glad there isn’t very much of this stuff,” said George Warren, as he passed a heavy piece of the iron out to Harvey.
“Well, so am I,” responded Harvey. “There’s lead forward, so we won’t disturb that. But I’ve heard of hiding things this way, and there might be a hollow piece of the iron, with a cap screwed in it, or something of that sort.”
“He must have been reading detective stories,” said Henry Burns.
Perhaps Harvey, himself, came to the conclusion that he was a little too visionary; for, after he had sounded each piece with the hammer until they had a big pile of it heaped outside, he grinned rather sheepishly and suggested that they had gone far enough. The boys needed no second admission on his part. They passed the stuff in again, and it was stowed away as before.
“Say, Henry,” said Jack Harvey, when, after another half-hour, they had restored the yacht to its former order, “this wasn’t one of your jokes, was it—this hidden treasure idea?”
Henry Burns sat down by the wheel, wearily.
“No, it wasn’t, honour bright,” he replied. “But I guess it is a kind of a joke, after all. You four can pitch in and throw me overboard, if you like.”
But they were too tired to accept Henry Burns’s invitation.
The summer days went by pleasantly now, with naught to interrupt the enjoyment of the yachtsmen. The three yachts, theViking, theSurprise, and theSpray, went on a friendly cruise around Grand Island, putting in at little harbours overnight, and the crews waking the stillness of many a small hamlet with their songs and skylarking at twilight. They had races from port to port, the largest boat giving the other two time-allowance. They fished and swam and grew strong.
Toward the middle of August, the crew gave up lobster catching and stored the lath-pots away for another year. TheSurprisetook to going on voyages down the bay, fishing on its own account. In fact, Harvey’s four charges had developed a surprising and most commendable ability to look out for themselves, without assistance from him and Henry Burns.
TheViking, too, went on a ten days’ fishing voyage to the outer islands, cleaned up a good catch of cod and hake, and came back, with all the gear neatly packed away, ready to store for the winter.
There had been only one thing lacking for the season’s complete financial success. The mackerel had not appeared around the coast. It was getting near the first of September, and the local fishermen had lost hope of their coming.
“Guess it’s going to be an off year,” remarked Captain Sam. “They’re uncertain fish. One year you can almost bail ’em out with a pail, and another year they just keep away. They’re getting a few down around Cape Cod, I hear, but I reckon the seiners have cleaned ’em out so there won’t be any ’round these parts.”
Nevertheless, the young fishermen were alive to the possibility of their coming. They scanned the water eagerly for signs of a school whenever they were cruising, and, at early morning, watched the harbour entrances in the hope they might see the fish breaking.
“If we could only get the first run of them,” said Little Tim, “we’d just make a fortune. The big hotels down the bay haven’t had any this season, except those they’ve sent to Boston and Portland for. They’d take the whole boat-load.”
Little Tim was, in fact, the greatest optimist to be found around Grand Island. Perhaps it was because he knew less about signs and indications of fish, and trusted only to his own hopes. The old salts shook their heads and agreed it was surely an off year. But, wherever theSurprisecruised, if there was not a sea on, and the yacht was sailing slowly enough to admit of it, Little Tim had a line overboard, trolling far astern. The jig was baited with a white strip of fish, to catch the eye of any hungry mackerel that might have ventured into the bay, despite the predictions of the islanders.
Then, early one afternoon, Little Tim’s faith was rewarded. They were sailing lazily along, with a light west wind, in the lee of the small islands back of Hawk Island, some six or seven miles below Southport. Little Tim, seated on the after-rail, had his usual line astern, and the crew had had their usual jokes at his expense—especially when, now and then, a tug at the line, which had set Tim’s heart jumping, had proved to be only a floating bunch of seaweed, greatly to the chagrin of Tim, and to the amusement of the others.
There came a smart tug at the line, and Little Tim was up like a rabbit out of its hole. He seized the line and began hauling in rapidly.
“Tim’s got some more seaweed,” said Allan Harding. “Too bad there isn’t money in that. He’s pulled enough up alongside the boat to make us all rich.”
“No, it isn’t!” cried Tim, excitedly. “Look, there’s a fish coming in—hooray! It’s a mackerel, too. See him shine.”
Little Tim yanked the fish out of water, with a jerk that sent fish and mackerel-jig higher than his head. But there was no mistake about it. There was a mackerel, flopping and jumping in the bottom of the boat, glistening and gleaming, with its mingled shades of green and black and white.
“Isn’t he a beauty?” exclaimed Tim, dancing about in wild excitement. “It isn’t a No. 1 size—only a ‘tinker;’ but it’s a mackerel sure enough, and they don’t come alone, these fellows. There are more. Get out the lines.”
But his companions, no longer scoffing, were as excited as he. Joe Hinman had the boat up into the wind, in a twinkling. The other two boys had the sail down on the run, and furled, with a couple of stops about it, and they were drifting slowly, the next moment, with lines out on every hand.
However, Little Tim proved to be more of a discoverer than prophet. The fish, if there were more of them about, were not running in large numbers. They caught a few more scattering ones, but they could see no school in sight. They stuck to it, however, till the middle of the afternoon.
“They’re coming in, though,” said Joe Hinman; “and we are the only ones that know it. We haven’t the bait for much fishing, anyway; so let’s run up to harbour while the wind lasts, tell Jack and Henry Burns, and we’ll all come down here again early in the morning, before the other boats get out.”
Little Tim, winding up his line reluctantly, drew one more fish in before they set sail, well-nigh going overboard in his excitement.
They reached Southport Harbour about five o’clock, and ran close alongside theViking, which lay at its mooring.
“We’ve got something good for supper, Henry,” said Little Tim to Henry Burns, who was busily engaged cleaning up the decks of the yacht, with a broom which he dipped overboard now and then.
“Better send up and invite young Joe down,” said Henry Burns, paying little attention to the new arrivals. “Jack and I are going into the tent, to eat supper with Tom and Bob.”
“All right,” said young Tim. “It may be your only chance, though, to eat one of these this summer.” Henry Burns glanced up from his work at the string of six mackerel which Tim proudly displayed. Then he flung down his broom and ran to the companionway.
“Jack, come out here,” he cried. “They’ve got some mackerel. They’ve come at last.”
Harvey emerged hurriedly from the cabin, and gave a whoop of exultation when he saw the fish.
“We want to go down first thing in the morning,” said Joe Hinman, “before any of the other boats get out. There’ll be money in the first catch, if we have any luck.”
“We won’t wait till morning,” said Henry Burns, decidedly. “We’ll start to-night, and be on the grounds first thing. I’ll get Tom and Bob out. You fellows get your lines ready and we’ll go and catch some bait right off.”
Henry Burns, while not of excitable temperament, had a way of doing things sharply and promptly when occasion demanded. He went below and presently gave a signal of three short toots on the fish-horn, in the direction of the camp. Bob was alongside next moment, in the canoe.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Get ready for a trip down the bay,” replied Henry Burns. “We’re off to-night, just as soon as we get the bait. The mackerel are in. Tim’s found them at last.”
Tim showed the crew’s catch.
“Fine!” exclaimed Bob. “I’ll tell you what,” he added, “I’ve got supper under way. Let me take those fish, and I’ll cook them, too, and get supper ready for all of us, while the rest of you catch the bait. Tom will come out and help you.”
Tim tossed the fish into the canoe, and Bob hastened ashore.
They were all out in the cove shortly, with lines down close to the muddy bottom, for flounders and sculpins. The tide, at half-flood, served them fortunately, and soon the fish began to come aboard. Then, when they had their catch, they rowed around to the wharf, dropping Henry Burns ashore near the Warren cottage.
TheSpraywas gone from harbour; but Henry Burns left word for the Warren boys to follow, in the morning, impressing the importance of secrecy on Mrs. Warren, with a solemnity as great as if they were going after hidden gold.
At the wharf, near the beach, a huge sort of coffee-mill was set up, which the mackerel fishermen used for grinding bait—but which had had no service thus far this year. Chopping the fish into pieces, they threw these into the mill, whence they dropped into a big wooden bucket, ground into a mess that might, as Little Tim remarked, look appetizing to a mackerel, but didn’t to him.
“There, we’ve got ‘chum’ enough,” said Harvey, when the bucket was two-thirds filled. “We’ll need the rest of the fish to bait the hooks. Come on, before any of the fishermen see what we are doing.”
They rowed around quickly to the camp, whence the odours of supper emerged, appetizingly. Bob had been as good as his word, and everything was ready. They sat about the opening of the tent, and did full justice to Bob’s cooking.
“Lucky it’s going to be a good night,” said Henry Burns, glancing off at the sea and sky. “Looks like a little breeze, doesn’t it, Jack?”
“I hope so,” replied Harvey. “We’ll start, anyway. It’s clear, and it won’t be like drifting about down off Loon Island, if we get becalmed.”
“Can’t stop to clean up dishes to-night,” said Bob, as he piled the stuff into the tent, as soon as they were finished. “We usually leave things more shipshape, don’t we, Tom?”
They tied the flap of the tent carefully, saw that the tent-pegs were firm, and the guy-ropes all right, and departed. By half-past seven o’clock they were out aboard, and the two yachts were under way.
“Too bad theSprayisn’t coming along,” said Henry Burns; “but I’ve left word for them to follow in the morning.”
There was a light westerly breeze blowing, which was favourable for a straight run to the islands, with sheets started a little, and everything drawing. They set the forestaysail and both jibs and the club-topsail on theViking; and, there being no sea, with the wind offshore, they made fast time.
TheSurprise, with everything spread, followed in the wake of the larger yacht.
“We’ll tell the mackerel you are coming,” called Henry Burns to the crew.
“They know it already. We told them we were coming back. We saw ’em first,” responded Tim.
They were among the islands by ten o’clock, though the wind had fallen. They anchored in the lee of one, and prepared to turn in.
“We ought to be out early,” said Harvey; “but how are we going to wake up? I’m sure to sleep till long after sunrise, unless somebody wakes me. We ought to have some alarm to set, to wake us.”
“Don’t need it,” replied Henry Burns. “I’ll set myself. I don’t know how I do it, but if I go to bed thinking I want to wake up at a certain hour, I almost always do wake at about that time. How will four o’clock do?”
“Early enough,” said Harvey; “but don’t over-sleep.”
Sure enough, Henry Burns was awake next morning by a few minutes after four o’clock; but he was not ahead of Little Tim, this time, who was so excited that he had slept all night with one eye half-open, and who had been up once or twice in the dead of night, thinking it must be near morning. He was over the rail of theViking, at the first appearance of Henry Burns, and, between them, there was no more sleep for anybody.
It was dead calm over all the bay; and, one thing was certain, there was as yet no news of the mackerel having come in, for there were no boats out.
“We’ve stolen a march on the fishermen for once,” exclaimed Tom, as they ate a hurried breakfast and got the lines ready. “I wonder if the mackerel are looking for breakfast, too.”
They put out, shortly, in the two dories, rowing down a half-mile to where the crew had seen the fish the night before. There was no sign of the water breaking, anywhere, to denote the presence of a school.
“Never mind, we’ll throw out, anyway,” said Harvey. “Sometimes they’re around when they don’t break. They may be feeding deeper.”
Taking a long-handled tin dipper, he filled the bucket of bait nearly to the brim with sea-water, and stirred it vigorously for a moment. Then he took a dipper of the stuff and threw it as far from the boat as he could, scattering it broadly over the surface of the water.
They waited, watching eagerly, but the bits of ground fish sank slowly, undisturbed.
“Don’t seem to be at home,” muttered Harvey. “Row out a little farther, and we’ll try them again.”
They repeated the manœuvre several times, but each time the bait was untaken. It sank slowly, each tiny particle clearly defined in the still water, settling in odd little patches of discoloration.
Then, of a sudden, there was a sharp severance of one of these patches, as though an arrow had been shot through it. The next moment, there was a darting here and there and everywhere. The pieces of fish disappeared in tiny flurries. At the same time, the surface of the water broke into myriads of tiny ripples, as though whipped up by a breeze.
“They’re here,” whispered Harvey. “Get out the lines.” He filled the dipper once more and threw it broadcast, but this time nearer the boats. They threw out the lines, baited with the shining pieces of flounder.
It seemed as though every bait was seized at once; for, in a moment, every boy was pulling in, and a half-dozen mackerel came over the gunwales together.
They baited up anew, then, knowing that no bait serves so well for mackerel as a piece cut from the under side of the fish, itself. This, white and shiny, and pierced twice through the tough skin with the barb of the hook, would indeed often answer several times in succession, without rebaiting.
They rigged two lines for each fisherman, tying an end of each line to the gunwale, so that, when a bite was felt, one of the lines could be dropped while the fish on the other was hauled aboard. The mackerel, indeed, bit so ravenously that it was hardly necessary to stop to see if a fish was hooked, but only to catch up one line, as quick as a fish had been removed from the other and that line thrown out, and haul in again. Nine times out of ten there would be a mackerel on the hook. Standing up in the dories, to work to better advantage, they were soon half knee-deep in the fish.
“We’ll fill the boats, if they keep this up,” said Harvey. “Tom, you’re nearest the oars; just row back toward the yacht, easily, and we’ll toll them up that way.”
He threw out more bait, as Tom worked the dory back, and the whole school followed, hungrily. In a few minutes the boys had climbed aboard the yachts and were fishing from them, to better advantage.
A half-hour went by, and the fish had not ceased biting. The boys were drenched to the skin from their hips to their feet, with the drippings from the wet lines; for, in their haste, they had not stopped to don their oilskin breeches.
“We ought to have known better, with all the experience we have had this summer,” said Henry Burns; “but never mind, we’ll make enough out of this catch to buy new clothes, if the wind only serves us, later.”
By the end of an hour, the sun was up and gleaming across the water.
“They’re likely to leave us soon, now,” remarked Harvey; but, oddly enough, the fish still remained about the boats in such numbers that the water seemed fairly alive with them. However, with the warmth of the sun’s rays, the voracity of the mackerel abated somewhat, and they began pulling them in more slowly.
“I’m just as glad,” exclaimed Tom, whose arms, bronzed and muscular, were nevertheless beginning to feel the novel exercise. “My arms and wrists ache, and I know I’ll never be able to stand up straight again. My back is bent, and frozen that way, with leaning over this rail.”
Suddenly, after a quarter of an hour more, the fish began making little leaps half out of water, breaking the surface with little splashings and whirls.
“They’ll be gone now,” said Harvey. “Some bigger fish are chasing them. That’s what makes them act that way.”
This seemed to be true, for presently the water that, a moment before, had been alive with the darting fish, became still and deserted. They took one or two more, by letting their baits sink deep in the water, but the big catch was ended.
“It’s pretty near a record for hand-line fishing in a single morning around here, I guess,” said Harvey. “How many do you think we’ve caught, Henry?”
“Nearly five hundred, I should say,” answered Henry Burns.
“More than that, I’ll bet,” exclaimed his enthusiastic comrade. And for once, at least, Harvey was nearer correct than Henry Burns; for, when they had counted them, some hours later, there were five hundred, and eighteen more, in theViking’scatch; and as for the crew of theSurprise, they were only fifty below this figure.
“Oh, but I’m hungry!” exclaimed Bob, dropping on to the seat. “And, say, it’s somebody’s else turn to cook breakfast.”
“I’ll do it,” said Tom.
“Well, you go ahead,” said Henry Burns, “and the rest of us will stow these fish down below, out of the sun.”
They went to work with a will, the crew of theSurprisedoing likewise.
“Too bad to stow fish in this nice, clean cabin,” said Joe Hinman; “but never mind, we’ll have to turn to, by and by, and scrub it, that’s all.”
They had the luck with them, again; for hardly had they begun to prepare breakfast, than the water rippled with a second day’s westerly breeze. They got the two yachts under sail, without a moment’s loss of time.
“See here, Joe,” called Harvey, as the yachts began to fill away, “we’ll play fair with you. We can outsail you some, and we shall get to Stoneland before you do. We’ll take the big hotel in the harbour, and then the market. The market will buy all that either of us have left. We’ll leave you the other hotel, a half-mile up the shore. There are ’most as many guests there, and they’re all summer boarders, so they’ll take as many fish. If we break a stay on the trip over and get delayed, you give us the same chance, eh?”
“Ay, ay,” responded Joe. “Good luck!”
The wind not only came sharp and strong, an hour later, but there were thunder-clouds in the sky, down near the horizon-line, and the breeze was full of quick flaws and was treacherous. Before they were half-way over to Stoneland, they were sailing under two reefs and making the water fly.
“It’s great!” cried Harvey, hugging the wheel, in his delight. “Let her blow good and hard as long as it doesn’t storm. We’ll do the fifteen miles in an hour and a half, at this rate.”
The two yachts were lying well over in the water, crushing it white under the lee-rail, and making fast time.
“We’ll get a storm, too, by nightfall,” said Henry Burns, looking weather-wise at the sky. “But we shall have sold our fish first, and we’ll be snug behind the breakwater. So let it come.”
The yachtsmen were in great spirits. Even Henry Burns betrayed symptoms of excitement as they ran into the harbour, early in the forenoon, and brought theVikingup neatly at the hotel wharf.
A few minutes later, Henry Burns and Jack Harvey approached a somewhat important-appearing person on the hotel veranda, who had been pointed out to them as the proprietor.
“Fish? No, I don’t buy fish,” he answered, shortly, in reply to Henry Burns’s question. “See the steward. He attends to that.”
Harvey reddened, but Henry Burns smiled and said:
“That’s all right, Jack. We’re only fishermen, you know. Come on, we’ll see the steward. We’ll make him pay more for the fish, just because the proprietor was haughty.”
Henry Burns was fortunate enough to catch the steward in the hotel office, where he stated his errand, coolly, before some of the guests.
“Good!” exclaimed one of them. “You’d better get ’em, Mr. Blake. You haven’t given us any fresh mackerel this season.”
“He’ll have to buy some, now, whether he wants to or not,” said Henry Burns to Harvey, as they followed the steward into his private office.
“Now see here,” said the steward, “I’ve got some six hundred guests in this house, and I need about three hundred fish. I want a fairly easy price for that many.”
“Twenty cents apiece, right through,” answered Henry Burns, promptly.
“Ho! That’s too much,” said the steward. “Can’t do it. Try again.”
“That’s the figure,” insisted Henry Burns. “You’ll have to pay more, if we sell them to the market, you know. Then there’s the hotel up the shore. What would your boarders say if we took them up there and sold them?”
Steward Blake looked at Henry Burns sternly for a moment; then a grim smile played about the corners of his mouth.
“You’re kind of sharp, aren’t you?” he asked. “Well, I guess you’ve got me there, as these are the first of the season. Throw in an extra dozen for good measure, and it’s a bargain.”
“All right,” said Henry Burns.
A few moments later, with three twenty-dollar bills tucked away in a wallet in his inner waistcoat pocket, Henry Burns, with Harvey, was going briskly down to the wharf, where he and his comrades were soon engaged in loading the fish into the hotel wagon.
“We can be haughty now, ourselves,” he said, as they got under way once more and stood down for the market.
Ten cents apiece was the marketman’s figure, and they let the remainder go for that. Then, with eighty dollars for the entire morning’s catch, they went aboard theVikingand punched and pummelled one another like a lot of young bears, from sheer excess of joy.
“I wonder how the crew will come out,” said Harvey. “I’m afraid they won’t do as well at a bargain as you did, Henry.”
“Perhaps so,” said Henry Burns. “They’ve got Little Tim aboard, and he’s pretty shrewd, sometimes.”
And indeed, it was at Little Tim’s suggestion that theSurprisewent on up the coast, after the crew had done business with the hotel left for them according to the agreement, and they sold the remainder of their catch at the hotel at Hampton, three miles farther on. And they, too, found themselves rich at the end of their bargaining, with sixty dollars to divide among the four of them.
Then, as the day wore on threatening, with the thunder-clouds slowly mounting higher, and the wind coming in fiercer gusts, the yachts, each in a safe harbour, laid up for the day. The respective crews wandered about the towns as if they were each, individually, the mayor, or at least were a party of the selectmen.
The Warren boys, having returned on the previous evening, and being apprised by Mrs. Warren of the news confided to her care, were disappointed not to have joined the party; but they made ready, the next morning, to follow. Then the early morning steamer from Bellport brought them a letter, saying that Mr. Warren, senior, would arrive on the night-boat from Benton, and had arranged for a week’s cruise with them, among the islands. So they changed their plans to a short run down toward the foot of Grand Island, to be back at nightfall.
There, again, the fortune of sailing was against them. By mid-afternoon, when they would have put back, the storm threatened.
“No use,” said George Warren, reluctantly. “We’ll have to wait for it to blow over. We’ll be glad enough of this good harbour in a half-hour more.”
The storm broke soon after, heavily. By five o’clock it was pouring in torrents, with sharp flashes of lightning illumining the darkened waters of the bay. By six o’clock it eased up a little.
“Well, one of us is in for it,” said George Warren. “Somebody’s got to tramp up the island, home. Father will be down, and he won’t like it, to find us gone. The other two can sail the yacht up in the morning. We’ll draw lots to see who goes.”
To the immense relief of his brothers, the lot fell to him. They consoled him, but with satisfaction not all unconcealed. He took it in good part, however.
“Don’t feel too bad about it, Joe,” he said, as he bade them good night. “I know you wanted to go home, but I’ll tell the folks you’re comfortable.”
He started off in the drizzle. They had run down about seven miles, and there was that length of muddy road ahead of him. It was not his fortune to accomplish much of his journey, however. Three miles up the island, the storm resumed its fury, blowing the rain fiercely in his face, while the whole island seemed to shake with the crashing of the thunder. It was useless to contend against it, and, at length, he turned in at a farmhouse by the roadside, and sought shelter.
“Yes, indeed,” said the housewife, to his request. “There’s the spare room at the end of the hall up-stairs for you, and welcome. There’s wood in the wood-box, too, and you can build up a fire in the fireplace and dry your clothes. You’re as wet as a drowned cat. When you’re dried out, come down-stairs and I’ll have a cup of tea for you. We’ve had a boarder for two days in that room, but he went away yesterday; and I’m glad he’s gone, for your sake.”