CHAPTER I. THE CAMP
On a certain afternoon in the latter part of the month of June, thelittle fishing village of Southport, on Grand Island in Samoset Bay, wasawakened from its customary nap by the familiar whistle of the steamboatfrom up the river. Southport, opening a sleepy eye at the sound, madedeliberate preparation to receive its daily visitor, knowing that thesteamer was as yet some distance up the island, and not even in sight,for behind the bluff around which the steamer must eventually come thetown lay straggling irregularly along the shore of a deeply indentedcove.
A few loungers about the village grocery-store seemed roused to a renewedinterest in life, removed their pipes, and, with evident satisfaction atthis relief from island monotony, sauntered lazily down to the wharf. Thestorekeeper and the freight-agent, as became men burdened with thepresent responsibility of seeing that the steamer was offered allpossible assistance in making its landing, bustled about with importance.
Soon a wagon or two from down the island came rattling into the village,while from the hotel, a quarter of a mile distant, a number of guestsappeared on the veranda, curious to scrutinize such new arrivals as mightappear. From the summer cottages here and there flags were hastily runup, and from one a salute was fired; all of which might be taken toindicate that the coming of the steamer was the event of the day atSouthport--as, indeed, it was.
Now another whistle sounded shrilly from just behind the bluff, and thenext moment the little steamer shoved its bow from out a jagged screen ofrock, while the chorused exclamation, "Thar she is!" from the assembledvillagers announced that they were fully awake to the situation.
Among the crowd gathered on the wharf, three boys, between whom thereexisted sufficient family resemblance to indicate that they werebrothers, scanned eagerly the faces of the passengers as the steamer cameslowly to the landing. The eldest of the three, a boy of about sixteenyears, turned at length to the other two, and remarked, in a tone ofdisappointment:
"They are not aboard. I can't see a sign of them. Something must havekept them."
"Unless," said one of the others, "they are hiding somewhere to surpriseus."
"It's impossible," said the first boy, "for any one to hide away when hegets in sight of this island. No, if they were aboard we should have seenthem the minute the steamer turned the bluff, waving to us and yelling atthe top of their lungs. There's something in the air here that makes onefeel like tearing around and making a noise."
"Especially at night, when the cottagers are asleep," said the third boy.
"Besides," continued the eldest, "their canoe is not aboard, and youwould not catch Tom Harris and Bob White coming down here for the summerwithout it, when they spend half their time in it on the river at homeand are as expert at handling it as Indians,--and yet, they wrote thatthey would be here to-day."
It was evident the boys they were looking for were not aboard. The littlesteamer, after a violent demonstration of puffing and snorting, duringwhich it made apparently several desperate attempts to rush headlong onthe rocks, but was checked with a hasty scrambling of paddle-wheels, andwas bawled at by captain and mates, was finally subdued and made fast tothe wharf by the deck-hands. The passengers disembarked, and the samelusty, brown-armed crew, with a series of rushes, as though they fearedtheir captive might at any moment break its bonds and make a dash forliberty, proceeded to unload the freight and baggage. Trucks laden withleaning towers of baggage were trundled noisily ashore and overturnedupon the wharf.
In the midst of the bustle and commotion the group of three boys wasjoined by another boy, who had just come from the hotel.
"Hulloa, there!" said the new boy. "Where's Tom and Bob?"
"They are not aboard, Henry," said the eldest boy of the group.
The new arrival gave a whistle of surprise.
"How do you feel this afternoon, Henry?" asked the second of thebrothers.
"Oh, very poorly--very miserable. In fact, I don't seem to get anybetter."
This lugubrious reply, strange to say, did not evoke the sympathy which alistener might have expected. The boys burst into roars of laughter.
"Poor Henry Burns!" exclaimed the eldest boy, giving the self-declaredinvalid a blow on the chest that would have meant the annihilation ofweak lungs. "He will never be any better."
"And he may be a great deal worse," said the second boy, slapping theother on the back so hard that the dust flew under the blow.
"Won't the boys like him, though?" asked the third and youngestboy,--"that is, if they ever come."
Henry Burns received these sallies with the utmost unconcern. If heenjoyed the effect which his remarks had produced, it was denoted only bya twinkle in his eyes. He was rather a slender, pale-complexioned youth,of fourteen years. A physiognomist might have found in his features anunusual degree of coolness and self-control, united with an abnormalfondness for mischief; but Henry Burns would have passed with theordinary person as a frail boy, fonder of books than of sports.
Just then the captain of the steamer put his head out of the pilot-houseand called to the eldest of the brothers:
"I've got a note for you, George Warren. A young chap who said he was onhis way here in a canoe came aboard at Millville and asked me to give itto you; and there was another young chap in a canoe alongside who askedme to say they'd be here to-night."
"Hooray!" cried George Warren, opening and reading the note. "It's theboys, sure enough. They started at four o'clock this morning in thecanoe, and will be here to-night. Much obliged, Captain Chase."
"Not a bit," responded the captain. "But let me tell you boys something.You needn't look for these 'ere young chaps to-night, because they won'tget here. What's more," added the captain, as he surveyed the water andsky with the air of one defying the elements to withhold a secret fromhim, "if they try to cross the bay to-night you needn't look for them atall. The bay is nothing too smooth now; but wait till the tide turns andthe wind in those clouds off to the east is let loose! There's going tobe fun out there, and that before many hours, too."
With this dismally prophetic remark the captain gave orders to cast offthe lines, and the steamer was soon on its way down the bay.
The three brothers, George, Arthur, and Joe Warren, and Henry Burns leftthe wharf and were walking in the direction of the hotel, when a remarkfrom the latter stopped them short.
"Did it occur to any of you," asked Henry Burns, speaking in a slightlydrawling tone, "that we shall never have a better opportunity to play apractical joke on your friends than we have to-day--?"
"What friends?" exclaimed George Warren, indignantly.
"I thought you said Tom Harris and Bob White were coming down the riverto-day in a canoe," said Henry Burns, in the most innocent manner.
"And so they are. And you think we would play a joke on them the firstday they arrive, do you? I believe you would get up in the night, HenryBurns, to play a joke on your own grandmother. No, sirree, count me outof that," said George Warren. "It will be time enough to play jokes onthem after they get here. I don't believe in treating friends in thatway."
"Rather a mean thing to do, I think," said Arthur Warren.
"I'm out of it," said Joe.
"It doesn't occur to any of you to ask what the joke is, does it?" askedHenry Burns, dryly.
"Don't want to know," replied George.
"Nor I, either," said Arthur.
"Keep it to play on Witham," said Joe.
"Then I'll enlighten you without your asking," continued Henry Burns,nothing abashed. "You did not notice, perhaps, that though your friends,Tom and Bob, did not come ashore to-day, their baggage did, and it isback there on the wharf. Now I propose that we get John Briggs to let ustake his wheelbarrow, wheel their traps over to the point, pitch theirtent for them, and have everything ready by the time they get here. It'srather a mean thing to do, I know, and not the kind of a trick I'd playon old Witham; but there's nothing particular on hand in
that line forto-day."
Henry Burns paused, with a sly twinkle in his eyes, to note the effect ofhis words.
"Capital!" roared George Warren, slapping Henry Burns again on the back,regardless of the delicate state of that young gentleman's health. "Wemight have known better than to take Henry Burns seriously."
"Same old Henry Burns," said Arthur. "Take notice, boys, that he never isbeaten in anything he sets his heart on, and that his delicate healthwill never, never be any better;" and he was about to imitate his elderbrother's example in the matter of a punch at Henry Burns, but thelatter, though of slighter build, grappled with him, and after a moment'sfriendly wrestling laid him on his back on the greensward, therebyillustrating the force of his remark as to Henry Burns's invincibility.
The suggestion was at once followed. Within an hour the boys had wheeledthe baggage of the campers to a point of land overlooking the bay.
"It's all here," said Henry Burns, finally, as two of the boys depositeda big canvas bag, containing the tent, upon the grass, "except that onebox on the wharf, which looks as though it contained food."
"We can let that stay there till we get things shipshape here, or getBriggs to put it in the storehouse by and by," suggested young Joe.
But if they could have foreseen then that the leaving of the box thereupon the wharf, seemingly such an inconsequential thing, was to be themeans of creating no end of trouble, it is quite possible that even youngJoe himself, though rather fond of his ease, would have brought it awayon his own shoulders; but it seemed of no consequence whether it shouldbe removed then or later, and so the box remained where it was.
It required but a brief time to pitch the tent. It was a large,square-shaped canvas, with high walls on two sides, so that a person ofmedium height could stand erect there, and running to a peak at the topin the usual "A" shape. Putting the frame, of two poles and across-piece, together, and drawing the canvas over it as it lay on theground, the two larger boys raised it into position while the othersdrove the pegs and stretched the guy-ropes.
"Now, then," drawled Henry Burns, "if you care to, we can carry the jokestill further by cutting some poles and putting up the bunks."
This proposition also meeting with approval, Henry Burns and the eldestof the Warrens started for the woods, about a mile distant, to cut somespruce poles, leaving the younger brothers to complete the pegging of thetent, ditching it, and getting things in order.
The spot which had been selected for the camping-ground was one of themost beautiful on the island. It was a small point of land projectinginto the bay, with a sandy beach on either side. Its outermost extremity,however, ended in a wall of ledge, which went down abruptly, so that thewater at high tide came up to within a few feet of the greensward, and atlow tide dropped down, rather than receded, leaving no bare rocksexposed.
A few spruce-trees grew on the point, sufficient to give shade, and inthe midst of a clump of them was a clear spring of water that was cool toiciness during the hottest days. The point commanded a view of the entirebay on the eastern side of the island, so that when the breeze came upfrom the south, as it did almost daily through the summer, blowing freshand steadily, the billows over all its broad surface seemed to be aimingtheir blows directly at it, while every breath of wind was laden with asalt odour that was health-giving and inspiring.
It was a choice bit of land that Bob's uncle had purchased several yearsago, when a few speculators had thought the island might be "boomed" as asummer resort. The little fishing village of Southport, which numberedthen some twenty odd houses, had, indeed, been augmented by the "boom" byabout the same number of cottages; and adjoining the old tavern there hadbeen built a more imposing structure, the new and the old composing thesummer hotel.
But the village had not "boomed." It remained the same peaceful, quiet,quaint, and interesting village as of yore. Those cottagers who remainedafter the boom died out were rather glad than otherwise that thepicturesque place had not been transformed into a fashionable resort.They liked it for its tranquillity and quaintness, and soon came intosympathy and friendliness with the villagers, who had parted with theirlands only with the greatest reluctance, and who viewed the new order ofthings with a suspicion born of years of conservativeness.
The gaiety of the place centred about the hotel, where, too, the greaternumber of the guests were those who came year after year, and who wouldas soon have thought of going to Jericho as to any other place than theisland.
The leading citizen of the village was Squire James Brackett, and itsmoving spirit one Captain Curtis, or "Cap'n Sam," as he was familiarlyknown. The former owned the best house in the village, a big, rambling,two-story farmhouse, perched on the hill overlooking the harbour. He wasa vessel-owner and a man of importance. He was the only man in the townwho had persistently refused to associate with the summer residents,which some attributed to the fact that he feared lest their coming mightdisturb his sway over town affairs.
Captain Sam was a man of altogether different stamp. It is safe to say hewas on good terms with everybody on the island. He was for ever busy; thefirst man to arise in the town, and the last to retire at night. In fact,it is a fair assumption that, had Captain Sam deserted the island at anearly date in its history, the town might have eventually fallen so soundasleep that it would not have awakened to this day.
Captain Sam united in his activities the duties of storekeeper, coal andice merchant, musician, constable, and schoolmaster, the latter vocationoccupying his winter months. The energy of the village was concentratedin this one man, who seemed tireless. He was on intimate terms witheverybody, and knew everybody's business. That he was rather good-lookingwas the cause of some pangs of jealousy on the part of young Mrs. Curtis,when business called her husband away among the housewives and maids ofthe village. Finally, Captain Sam had a voice which defied walls anddistance. It was even told by some of the village humourists that he hadonce stood at the head of the island and hailed a vessel sailing aroundthe extreme southern end, thirteen miles distant.
Grand Island, lying in the middle of the bay, almost divides the upperpart of it into two big bodies of water, so that there are two greatthoroughfares for vessels, leading out to sea, the western being the moregenerally used, for it is a more direct passage. The eastern bay isfilled with islands at the entrance to the sea.
In the course of an hour, the boys who had gone to the woods returned tothe camp, bringing with them four spruce poles. These were quicklytrimmed of their branches, and cut to an even length of about seven feet.Then, four stakes being driven into the ground on each side of the tentunder the walls, to form the legs of the bunks, the poles were mounted onthese and made fast. Then pieces of board were nailed across from pole topole, and on these were placed mattresses stuffed with dry hay fromCaptain Sam's stable.
"There," said young Joe, throwing himself on one of them, "is a springbed that can't be beaten anywhere. I know some think spruce boughs arebetter, but they dry, and the needles fall off, and the bed gets hard.These will last all summer."
The pliant spruce poles were as good, indeed, as springs.
In the meantime the younger boys had dug a trench completely around thetent, extending to the edge of the bank on one side of the point, so thata heavy rain could not flood the floor. In the rear of the tent they hadset a huge box belonging to the campers, made of a packing-case andprovided with a cover that lifted on leather hinges, and a padlock. Itwas, presumably, filled with the camp outfit. In one corner of the tent,on a box, they placed a large oil-stove and oven. The bedding was takeninside, and everything made shipshape. The comfort of the prospectivecampers seemed assured.
Over the top of the tent they had also stretched a big piece of stoutcloth, made for the purpose, which was fastened to the ground at the endswith guy-ropes and pegs, and which was to protect the tent againstleaking water in any long rainy period, and also serve as additionalshade in hot weather.
The boys had done a hard afternoon's work. Pinning back
the flaps of thetent, they sat at the entrance and looked out across the bay. The wind,which blew from the southeast, had not grown idle during the afternoon,but had increased steadily, and now came strong and damp from off thebay, rushing in at the opening of the tent and bulging it out so that ittugged violently at the ropes.
"It won't do to leave the tent-door unpinned," said Henry Burns. "It'sgoing to blow great guns to-night." So, closing the entrance and makingit fast, they went to the edge of the bank and sat there.
"It's rough out there now," said George Warren, pointing to the bay,which was one mass of foaming waves; "but it will be worse from now tillmidnight. The wind is going to blow harder and the tide is just beginningto run out."
The tide indeed set strongly down the island shore, so that when it metthe wind and waves blown up from oceanward it made a rough and turbulentchop sea.
All at once as they sat there a sailboat rushed out from behind theheadland across the cove and thrashed its way through the white-cappedwaves, heading down the island and throwing the spray at every plungeinto the seas. Those aboard had evidently a reckless disregard for theirown safety, for, although such few coasters as could be seen in thedistance were scudding for harbour, fearful of the approaching storm,this craft carried not only full mainsail and forestaysail,--sail, too,that was large for the boat at all times,--but a topsail and a jib. Theboat was hauled well into the wind and heeled over, so that the wateragain and again came over the board into the cockpit.
Perched upon the windward rail were three boys. A fourth, a boy evidentlynear George Warren's age, stood at the wheel, seemingly the mostunconcerned of all. He was large of his age and powerfully built, and hissleeves, rolled above the elbow, showed two brown and brawny arms. Afifth boy, somewhat younger in appearance, lying in the bottom of theboat, with feet braced against the side, held the main-sheet.
The boat was a white sloop, about thirty feet in length over all, andclearly fast and able.
"I'll say one thing for Jack Harvey and his crew," exclaimed GeorgeWarren, as the yacht rushed by the point, "although I think they're amean lot. They can handle a boat as well as any skipper on the island.And as for fear, they don't know what it means."
"Look!" he cried. "Do you see what they are doing?" as the yacht wassuddenly brought, quivering, into the wind and headed away from theisland on the other tack. "There's nothing in the world Jack Harvey'sdoing that for except to frighten the hotel guests. He sees the crowd onthe piazza watching him, and is just making game of their fright. He'llsail out there as long as he dares, or until his topmast goes, just tokeep them watching him."
And so indeed it proved. An anxious crowd of summer guests at the hotelhad no sooner begun to rejoice at the boat's apparent safety, than theysaw it go about and head out into the bay once more. Then they breathedeasier as it headed about again, and came rushing in. Then as it oncemore headed for the bay, they realized that what they were witnessing wasa sheer bit of folly and recklessness. Angry as they were, they could butstand there and watch the yacht manoeuvre, the women crying out whenevera flaw threw the yacht over so that the mainsail was wet by the waves;the men angry at the bravado of the youthful yachtsmen, and vowing thatthe yacht might sink and the crew go with it before they would lift ahand to save one of them. All of which they knew they did not mean,--afact which only increased their irritation.
"Ah!" said George Warren, as a big drop of rain suddenly splashed on hischeek. "Perhaps this will drive them in, if the wind won't." It had,indeed, begun to rain hard, and, although the crew of the yacht must havebeen drenched through and through with the flying spray, the water fromthe sky had, evidently, a more dampening effect on their spirits, for theyacht was headed inshore, and soon ran into a cove about three-quartersof a mile down the island, behind a point of land where, through thetrees, the indistinct outlines of a tent could be seen.
And so, as it was now the time when the sun would have set upon the bay,if it had not been shut out from sight by a heavy mass of clouds, and asthe wind came laden with rain, which dashed in the faces of those whowere out-of-doors to encounter it, the boys turned from the spot wherethey had gathered and hurried for shelter, the brothers to their cottage,and Henry Burns to the hotel.
The tent, swayed by the fierce gusts of wind, tugged at its ropes; thereckless crew of the white sloop had found shelter, and those vesselsthat were out upon the bay eagerly sought the same.
But in that part of the bay which rolled between the northern end of theisland and the mouth of the river, fifteen miles away, a greater piece ofrecklessness was being enacted than was ever dared by Harvey and hiscareless crew. There was none on shore there to witness it, for theisland at that extreme end was bare of settlement.
A mile from the nearest land, seemingly at the mercy of a wild sea whichthreatened every moment to engulf it, a small canoe slowly and stubbornlyfought its way toward the island shore. At a distance one would havethought it a mere log, tossed about at random by the waves; and yet, onewatching it would have seen it slowly draw ahead, glide from under thespray that broke constantly over its bow, and still make progress;sometimes beaten back by billows that tumbled fast one upon another, butgaining something through it all.
There were two occupants of the craft, and, though but mere youths, nonecould have handled the paddles more skilfully. Yet it was a question ofthe great sea's strength against their endurance. What would happenshould they find that there came a time when they made no gain? If theyturned about, even supposing that were possible, the storm might drivethem across the bay once more, but their strength and courage would begone, and they could hardly hope to reach the shore. It was either theisland goal or nothing.
One standing on the shore would scarce have seen them now. Darkness beganto hide them. But the island loomed up, dim and shadowy, before them, andthey struggled on against the storm.