Four Afloat: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Water

For a moment there was silence in the cockpit of the Vagabond. Nelson and Bob looked serious, Tom somewhat frightened, and Dan as happy as a lark. It was Bob who first broke the silence.

“How fast can one of those tugs travel?” he asked. Nelson shook his head.

“It depends on the tug,” he answered. “That one looked pretty small, and so I guess her engine isn’t very powerful. But even so, it’s likely she can give us a mighty good run.”

“How’s our engine running?” asked Bob.

“Full speed,” was the reply. “If it was dark we could lose them easily, but it won’t be dark for an hour and a half yet. Well, we’ll give them a good chase of it, anyway.”

“Even if they catch us, what can they do?” scoffed Dan. “I’d just like to see them try to set foot on this boat!”

“Well, I guess they could do it if they got alongside,” answered Nelson dryly. “I noticed about five men on that tug.”

“But they haven’t any right to!” protested Tom.

“I don’t believe they’d care much about that,” said Bob. “So what we’ve got to do is to keep away from them. Watch for her at the mouth of the harbor.”

They watched in silence. One minute passed, another; then the tug stuck her blunt nose around the sandspit and headed after the Vagabond. She was a good half mile astern, but from the way in which she was coming it seemed to the boys extremely unlikely that she would stay at that distance very long.

“Gee!” quoth Tom anxiously. “Isn’t she humming!”

“She certainly is,” answered Bob. “But, then, so are we, for that matter.”

“I’ll go down and have a look at the oil cups,” said Nelson. “I’d hate like thunder to have the engine stop at this stage of the game.”

“Gu-gu-gee! If it did!” muttered Tom fearfully.

“Keep your courage up, Tommy,” laughed Dan. “What you need is something to eat. So do I, for that matter. But I suppose we can’t talk supper yet, eh?”

“No; let’s wait until we see how this thing’s coming out,” said Bob. “Where’s the runaway, Nelson?”

“He’s down here,” answered Nelson from below. “I’ve told him what’s up, and he says he’ll go back to his friend if it’s going to get us into trouble.”

“To the captain? Get out!”

“Nu-nu-nu-not on your lu-lu-life!” cried Tom.

“That’s the stuff, Tommy,” said Dan, clapping him on the back. “The old guard dies, but never surrenders, eh? Now, look; you go down and see if you can’t find something we can nibble on – crackers or bread and butter – will you?”

“Yes, there’s plenty of pilot bread,” answered Tom. “Shall I butter some?”

“No; let’s have it au natural, Tommy. That’s French and means something, but I don’t remember just what. No; pilot bread is better without butter. Scoot along, now; we may have a desperate battle before us,” with a wink at Bob, “and we must have our bodies fortified. Whatever that is,” he added, as Tom went below.

“I don’t see that she’s gained any,” said Bob presently.

“No,” answered Dan. “Lost, if anything.”

The welcome news was passed below to Nelson, and he came up to see for himself.

“That’s right,” he said. “They’ve dropped back a little, and I’m mighty glad of it. The fact is, we aren’t getting all our speed. There’s something wrong somewhere, and I guess it’s the gasoline. It was probably pretty poor stuff; full of water, I dare say.”

“But there’s no fear of the engine stopping, is there?” asked Bob. Nelson shook his head.

“Not likely; but she’s missing a spark now and then, and she may do worse than that. I don’t believe we’re doing better than ten and a half miles.”

“Well, if we can beat her at that,” said Dan, “what’s the use of worrying?”

Tom came up with a dish of pilot bread and a jar of marmalade, and there was an impromptu feast in the cockpit.

“How about the kid down there?” asked Dan. “Maybe he’s hungry, too.”

“That’s so,” exclaimed Nelson. “I’ll take some of this truck down to him.” When he returned he said: “Glad you thought of it, Dan; the poor duffer’s putting that pilot bread away as though he hadn’t seen a square meal in an age.”

“Maybe he hasn’t,” said Bob. “I don’t believe the grub’s very good at the captain’s table.”

“Much the fellow down there would know about the captain’s table,” scoffed Dan. “He probably ate in the forecastle.”

“Not if he was cabin boy,” returned Bob. “Cabin boys eat at the officers’ mess.”

“Who said he was cabin boy?” asked Dan. “I’ll bet he was just a – a sort of apprentice. Why can’t we have him up here and hear what the row is?”

“They might see him from the tug,” said Tom, glancing uneasily toward that boat.

“What if they do? They know he’s here, anyhow. Call him up, Nelson.”

And in a moment he appeared at the steps, glanced about him anxiously and diffidently, and stood as though awaiting further instructions. He was a small boy, but he looked hard and healthy. His rather thin face was bronzed by the wind, and the skin on the end of his funny little upturned nose was peeling off, perhaps from the same cause. He didn’t look overly clean, but he had rather nice, honest brown eyes and a serious mouth, at one corner of which, just at present, a flake of pilot bread was adhering. He was dressed in a pair of brown trousers, which were neither long nor short but which left off a good three inches above his shoes, a blue-and-white-striped cotton shirt, guiltless of collar or tie, and a jacket, very much too large for him, of a color once blue and now a queer brownish purple. His hands were broad, and brown and scarred – not at all pretty to look at – with broken and blackened nails. On his touseled brown hair he wore a dirty canvas cap. As the Four observed him for a moment in silence, he took off his cap, awkwardly and hesitatingly, and clutched it in his hands.

“What’s your name?” asked Bob kindly.

“Spencer Floyd,” was the answer in a husky voice that seemed years too old for him.

“Well, Spencer, supposing you sit down there and tell us what the trouble is,” Bob suggested. “Your friend the captain’s after us in the tug back there, but I don’t believe he’ll catch us. What’s the trouble between the captain and you? Let’s hear about it.”

The boy climbed up so that he could see the pursuing tug. He watched it for a moment silently. Then he sat down obediently on the top step and looked at his cap. Evidently he needed prompting.

“Wasn’t the captain good to you?” asked Dan. Spencer shook his head slowly.

“He beat me,” he muttered finally.

“Beat you, did he? What for?”

“’Cause I wanted to go home.”

“Where do you live?” asked Nelson, taking up the role of examiner.

“Mullen’s Cove.”

“Where’s that?”

“Long Island.”

“Oh, Long Island, eh? Folks living?”

“My mother is,” answered the runaway. “My father died three years ago. He was first mate on the Independence.”

“Fisherman?”

“Yes, sir; seiner. She was wrecked on the Banks.”

“Oh!” said Nelson sympathetically. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. He didn’t leave much money, but we own our house, and ma she raises vegetables and sells milk.”

“I see. And where does the captain come in? By the way, what’s his name?”

“Captain Sauder.”

“Not soft solder, I’ll bet,” murmured Dan.

“Is he a relative of yours?” Nelson asked.

“No, he ain’t,” was the decided reply. “But he and my father used to be together on some boat once. And he used to come and see us sometimes. And when father died, he offered to take me and learn me to be a sailor. So ma, she let me go for a year.”

“Did you like it?”

“No, sir.”

“But you stuck it out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then what?”

“When my time was up with him I told him I was going to leave and go home. But he said I couldn’t. Said I’d signed articles for two years, and if I tried to get away he’d flog me.”

“Did you try?”

“Yes, sir, about three weeks ago. But he caught me.”

“Did he flog you?”

The boy shivered and nodded.

“Bu-bu-brute!” growled Tom.

“And you say you never signed anything?”

“No, sir, I never did. And I ain’t heard from my mother for most a year, and – and – ” He stopped and sniffed, the tears welling into his eyes.

“That’s too bad!” said Nelson. “But don’t you worry. We’ll get you ashore somewhere, and you can get home.”

“I guess he’ll catch me,” said the boy hopelessly.

“Oh, no, he won’t! Got any money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much?” Spencer observed his questioner suspiciously for a second. But Nelson’s face showed only kindness and sympathy, and the boy’s eyes dropped.

“’Most two dollars,” he answered.

“Well, that’s not a great deal, is it? Did you get paid on the ship?”

“Fifty cents a month.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Dan. “Isn’t he the reckless captain!”

“Well,” said Nelson, “I don’t pretend to know what the law is in such cases, but I’m for getting Spencer back to his home. Maybe we’ll get in trouble about it, though. What do you fellows say?”

“Trouble be blowed!” said Dan. “If he hasn’t got the law on his side, he ought to have.”

“That’s so,” said Bob. “We’ll help him along. How about it, Tommy?”

“If we du-du-du-don’t we deserve tu-tu-to be ki-ki-ki-ki – ”

“You’re missing sparks, Tommy,” warned Nelson.

“Water in his gasoline,” said Dan, with a grin.

“ – to be kicked!” ended Tom explosively and earnestly.

“And so we do,” agreed Nelson. “How’s the enemy coming on?”

“Just about holding her own, I’d say,” was Bob’s verdict. “What are your plans, Nel?”

“Make for Provincetown, over there. We ought to reach it a little after dark at this rate.”

“Then what?”

“Put the boy ashore, give him a few dollars, and trust to him to keep out of the way.”

“But look here, Nel. If we land him at Provincetown, he’ll have to come back all around the Cape. That’ll take him an age.”

“There’s the railroad. Why can’t he take a train?”

“Suppose he does? All Captain Chowder, or whatever his name is, will have to do is to go down the Cape and head him off.”

“That’s so,” answered Nelson thoughtfully. “But it seems to me he ought to be able to hide out for awhile. The captain can’t afford to spend much time chasing him. What do you say, Spencer? Do you think that if we put you ashore at Provincetown, you could keep out of the captain’s way?”

Spencer shook his head.

“He’d get me,” he muttered. “He’d say I had deserted, and then they’d be looking out for me along the road.”

“He’s right,” said Dan. “That’s just what would happen. They’d probably telegraph along the railroad, and he’d be yanked back to the Henry Nellis quick-time. That won’t do. We’ve got to think of some other scheme.”

“I wish I’d started up the coast,” said Nelson regretfully. “We might have made Plymouth easily, and if we’d got him ashore there he’d have had the whole State to hide in.”

“Do you suppose the captain will come after him if he gets home?” asked Dan.

“How about that, Spencer?” Nelson questioned. “Do you think the captain would take you away again?”

“No, sir,” answered the boy, with a decisive shake of his head. “Ma wouldn’t let him after I’d told her about his beating me.”

“Well, then,” said Nelson, “what we’ve got to do is to get you home. Let’s see that chart of the Long-Island coast, Dan. It’s down there in the locker.”

The chart was produced and spread out on Nelson’s knees.

“Now, let’s see. Where’s Mullen’s Cove situated, Spencer?”

“It’s near Mattituck, sir.”

“Mattituck, Mattituck,” murmured Nelson. “That has a familiar sound. Let me see, now, where – Oh, here it is! And here’s Mullen’s Cove, too.”

“May I look at it, sir?” asked Spencer eagerly.

“Yes; come here. Here it is, see?”

The boy leaned over Nelson’s shoulder and looked for a long while without saying anything. Then, with a sigh —

“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “That’s where I live – right there.” He placed a blackened finger on the chart. “It – it’s almost like seeing home, ain’t it?” he asked shyly. Nelson didn’t answer, but he folded the chart up in a determined manner and tossed it to Dan.

“You stay right here with us, Spencer,” he said, “and we’ll put you ashore at Mullen’s Cove, if it takes a week to do it. Now I’m going to look at the engine.”

A moment later he was up again and looking anxiously back across the water. The sun was sinking, and the long, level rays were tipping the little waves with gold. In the hollows purple shadows were floating. Back of them, perhaps a little more than a half mile, the tugboat was following doggedly in their wake. Nelson glanced at Bob and their eyes met.

“She’s missing like anything,” muttered Nelson ruefully. “It’s that blamed gasoline we bought this afternoon; seems like it was half water. I’ve done everything I know how, but it doesn’t make any difference. She’s missing about a third of her explosions. I wish to goodness it would get dark!”

“It will be in about half an hour,” answered Bob hopefully.

“I know, but – ” He stopped, staring at Bob. The engine had ceased working! But in another instant it had started again. With a frown, Nelson went below. Bob glanced back at the tug. Already it seemed to have gained on them. Dan and Tom were talking to Spencer, and had not noticed anything. The Vagabond had covered some fourteen miles of the twenty that lay between Sanstable and Provincetown, and now the “toe of the boot,” as the tip end of Cape Cod has been fancifully called, lay before them well defined in the last flare of sunlight. Directly to the east the curving coast was perhaps a mile nearer to them than was the harbor of Provincetown, but to alter their course would be giving an advantage to the pursuers, since it would enable them to cut across, and perhaps head off, the Vagabond before port was reached. Bob studied the chart before him and saw that, even if they turned eastward, they would have difficulty in finding a harbor. If the engine would hold out, their best plan was undoubtedly to keep on around the Cape. It was doubtful if those on the tug would care to keep up the chase when they saw that the Vagabond was not putting in at Provincetown; or, if darkness came before they reached the end of the Cape, they could head northwest and perhaps throw the tugboat off the track. But it all depended on the engine. Bob leaned down so that his head was inside the hatchway and listened. The sound that reached him was not reassuring. The engine was missing spark after spark, sometimes stopping for seconds at a time. He raised his head and again looked back over the darkening water. There was no longer a half mile between the launch and the tug, nor anything like it. Unless something happened, very soon the chase was as good as over!

And something did happen, and almost instantly, but not what Bob would have chosen. The engine stopped altogether! Nor, although Bob listened and waited with anxious ears, did it start up again. Dan and Tom and Spencer looked at Bob and one another with inquiring eyes. The moments passed. The Vagabond slowly lost headway. Then Nelson’s face appeared at the engine-room door.

“It’s all up, I guess,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take the vaporizer apart, and that will take some time. And even then I’m not sure that she’ll work. Where’s the tug?”

“About a quarter of a mile away, and coming like thunder!” answered Dan.

“Well, I’ll be as quick as I can,” said Nelson sadly, “but I guess our goose is cooked!”

He disappeared again, and in the silence that ensued those above could hear the sound of the wrench as it fell to work. Back of them, coming nearer at every turn of her propeller, raced the tugboat.

The Vagabond rolled lazily in the little waves.

Dan began to whistle cheerfully.

CHAPTER X – SHOWS THE CREW OF THE VAGABOND UNDER FIRE

Even Barry seemed to appreciate the awkwardness of the situation. He got out of the chair he was occupying, jumped on to the stern seat, put his front paws on the coaming, and looked back inquiringly at the approaching craft, his little black nose sniffing and twitching. Then he jumped down, trotted to the engine-room entrance, looked in, and scratched twice on the brass sill, as though begging Nelson to start up the engine again. After that he climbed to the side deck, from there to the roof of the cabin, and settled down, shivering in the little, chill evening breeze, against the wheel, on which Bob was leaning. He had done his best for them; now they would have to look after themselves; personally he was going to sleep.

Spencer Floyd, anxious but silent, sat, out of sight again, with his back against one of the doors beside the entrance. Dan stood up, hands in pockets of his duck trousers, and watched the on-coming tugboat with smiling face. Tom, too, was on his feet, but he didn’t stand still, nor were smiles visible on his rotund countenance. He went nervously from Dan to the cabin entrance, where he leaned down and asked Nelson how he was coming on. All the reply he received was a growl.

“There’s our friend the captain in the bow,” observed Dan. “Dear old captain! How I long to meet him once more! By the way, Spencer, you’d better go down and keep out of sight as long as you can. My old friend the captain has a quick temper, and the sight of you might infuriate him. It would be awful if he went mad and bit the bow off the tug.”

Tom giggled hysterically.

“Wu-wu-wu-wish he’d fu-fu-fu-fall over-bu-bu-board!” he said.

“The wish does you credit, Tommy,” answered Dan, as he followed Spencer below. “I’ll be right up again, fellows,” he added.

Nelson, on the floor beside the engine, was toiling desperately, the perspiration trickling down his nose. About him lay sections of the brass vaporizer, wrenches, screwdrivers, and nippers. He looked up inquiringly as Dan went by toward the stateroom.

“Oh, she’s about a couple of hundred yards away,” said Dan lightly.

“I’m almost through,” said Nelson. “Keep them off two minutes more, Dan, and I’ll try the engine again.”

“Oh, we’ll keep them off! That’s right, Spencer, my lad, you lie down there and be comfortable. And don’t you worry; old Bluebeard hasn’t got you yet!”

As he went up the steps he turned and called down softly to Nelson:

“Here they are, Nel, coming alongside. But I’ll see that you get your two minutes, so keep agoing.”

The tug’s engine had stopped and she was sliding slowly forward through the water with her bow set for the Vagabond’s port rail. On the forward deck stood the captain of the Henry Nellis, the tugboat captain, and another man, possibly a mate. The cook, a long and much-soiled apron enveloping his portly form, looked on interestedly from the door of the galley. In the wheelhouse was a third hand. On the face of Captain Sauder was a smile of triumph which struck those on the launch as being far more disagreeable than his scowl.

“Pretty smart, weren’t yer?” greeted the captain as the tug floated up. There was no reply, and the captain concluded to attempt sarcasm.

“Real nice of you to stop and wait for us,” he said with a chuckle; “real friendly, I call it.”

“Captain,” answered Dan sweetly and earnestly, “we’ve been simply devastated with grief since we left you. Your gentle words and kindly deeds won our hearts, and we just couldn’t go on without one more sight of your dear face.” (“Keep her off with the boat hook,” he muttered aside to Bob.) “And – yes, you have,” cried Dan joyfully, “you’ve brought your dear face with you, haven’t you? I was afraid you’d change it!”

The captain and the crew of the tug were smiling broadly, but the object of Dan’s raillery went purple in his “dear face,” and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. (“For all the world,” as Tom said afterward, “as though he was going to bu-bu-bust up!”)

“You young whelp!” he roared.

A bell rang in the engine room and the tug – the Scout, as the gilt letters over the wheelhouse announced – trembled as the propeller was reversed. Up came the bow with its big rope fender, and Bob, boat hook in hand, stood ready. As the tug slid alongside Bob reached out with the hook, and the tug, instead of nestling up to the launch, sheered off.

“Here! What are you doing that for?” yelled Captain Sauder.

“Saving our paint,” answered Bob calmly. There was five feet of water between the two boats.

“Bring your boat hook here!” called the tugboat captain to one of the hands. “You boys might as well give in,” he added, not unkindly. “You’re beat, I guess. Where’s Captain Sauder’s boy?”

“Didn’t you meet him?” asked Dan, in surprise. (“Don’t let that fellow get his hook on to us, Bob!”) “Why, he started to walk back half an hour ago; said he couldn’t stay away from the captain there any longer. Sure you didn’t pass him?”

The tugboat captain chuckled. But Captain Sauder, muttering inarticulate things, seized the boat hook from the deck hand and sprang toward the stern, which was now opposite the cockpit of the launch. There was an eight-foot haft on the hook he held, and he would have experienced no difficulty in reaching the launch had not Bob interfered. But every time the captain tried to get his hook fixed around one of the awning posts or over the edge of the coaming, Bob politely but firmly knocked it away. The captain’s remarks were unfit for publication, and even Barry looked pained. After a moment of this duel the tugboat captain came to the rescue.

“Back her and bring her alongside,” he called to the man at the wheel. The bell rang and the Scout slid back a few yards. The bell rang again, the man at the wheel twirled the spokes around, and the blunt nose of the tug poked its way toward the launch’s quarter. On the bow stood the captain of the Henry Nellis, ready to leap aboard the Vagabond as soon as the boats touched.

Tom, I think, would have liked to saunter below about this time, but to his credit let it be known that he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he stood firmly in the center of the cockpit and grinned pathetically. Dan, glancing swiftly about him, saw that grin and wondered whether Tom would ever be able to get it off again. Then the tug was ready to bump and the moment for action had arrived.

Bob did his best with the boat hook, but the tug had too much way on to be stopped or shoved aside. Bob, although he went red in the face, had to give ground. Then the two boats met with a shock that almost threw Tom off his feet, but did not disturb his grin, and Captain Sauder made ready to jump.

But he didn’t jump, because he happened to look to see where he was going, and in looking caught sight of the revolver in Dan’s hand. The muzzle of it, which was pointing directly at the captain, glistened uncannily in the twilight, and the captain paused. There followed a moment of silence, disturbed only by the sound of Nelson’s hurried footsteps in the cabin. Then —

“Drop that!” roared the captain of the Henry Nellis.

But Dan did nothing of the sort. Instead he asked:

“Where are you going, captain?”

“I’m going to fetch that boy you’ve run away with!” was the answer. “Don’t you think you can scare me with that toy pistol!”

“Nonsense!” answered Dan quietly. “You know this isn’t a toy, captain. It’s got five thirty-two bullets in it, and I’m just dying to see whether they’ll come out if I pull the trigger. It’s a mighty easy sort of a trigger, too,” he added musingly.

Bob and Tom stared fascinatedly, Tom’s grin spreading until it revealed his teeth and made him look like a catfish; or so, at least, Bob declared later on. Captain Sauder stared, too, and so did the others on the tub. But no one seemed inclined to offer advice or to step into the range of Dan’s revolver. Captain Sauder growled and swore under his breath, and his fists clenched until the veins stood out on the backs like cords.

“You’d murder me, would ye?” he said finally.

“Not a bit of it, captain,” answered Dan cheerfully. “I’d do my best to plug you in some place where it wouldn’t really matter very much. But I’m not a dead-sure shot, you know, and I might make a mistake. Anyhow, there’s one thing certain” – and Dan’s voice rang out earnestly – “and that is that if you put your dirty old feet on this deck you’re going to get shot, I don’t know just where, and what’s more I don’t care. You might as well believe that.”

And the captain, looking at Dan’s flashing blue eyes and bristling red hair, somehow did believe it. He shook his fist in Dan’s face.