Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or, Four Chums Abroad

Buster was glad to find that as yet there were no signs of discoloration, as he had feared.

“It may last a few days,” he cheerfully declared, “but that’s the extent of the damage. I consider that I came off better than I deserved. But then, who’d think a bare hook would catch anything?”

“Well, Buster,” warned George, “be sure you don’t fasten your fishline to your leg, or around your neck. You never can tell what’s going to happen; and after you’re drowned it’s no time to be sorry.”

“I think we’d better go ashore below, where the trees come down to the edge of the bank,” suggested Jack just then, showing that all this while he had been keeping a sharp lookout ahead.

“It makes me think of places where we’ve pulled up over along the old Mississippi,” said Josh; “I wonder now do they have tramps over here, who prowl around looking for a chance to steal what they can lay hands on.”

“I don’t believe they do,” George told him; “for they regulate such things a lot better than we do over the big water. Tramps are a luxury here, while with us they flourish like the green bay tree; the woods are full of them.”

Jack took the boat in closer to the shore. On seeing the proposed landing place at closer quarters all of them seemed to be of the same opinion. It looked like just the camping ground they were looking for. A fire might be built for cooking purposes, and the district seemed lonely enough to make it appear that they might not be disturbed during their short stay of a single night.

On the following morning they expected to be once more on the move down the long and sinuous stream that covered hundreds of miles before emptying its clear water into the Black Sea.

As soon as the landing was effected Buster waddled clumsily ashore.

“I hope somebody will have the kindness now to get that blaze started right away,” he was saying; “I’d do it myself, but I’m afraid all the matches I had in my pocket must have been soaked, and they wouldn’t light easy.”

“I’ll take care of the fire, and do the cooking tonight in the bargain if you want me to, Buster,” Josh told him.

“That’s kind of you, Josh, and I won’t forget it in a hurry, either. Fact is this arm of mine pains a little too much for me to sling the pots and skillets around in my customary way. But fry me two eggs, remember, Josh; I’d say three if nobody kicked up any sort of a row.”

“You shall have them, Buster,” Josh told him; “because the chances are we can pick up as many as we want as we go along.”

“But no fish for supper tonight, how’s that?” George demanded, trying to frown at Buster.

“Oh, well, nobody really promised you any,” the latter explained. “But if there are any fat grubs in some of those rotten stumps around here I’m meaning to have a line out with three hooks to-night, and mebbe, George, you can indulge in fresh fish for breakfast. Will that do?”

“Guess I’ll have to make it; besides, ham and eggs suits my taste well enough this time. I’ll forgive you, Buster, only be careful not to get our mouths watering for fish again when it’s only a floating log you’ve caught.”

Josh was already busy with the fire. He had long since graduated in this department of woodcraft, and knew about all there was going in connection with fires of every description.

Then, too, he could cook in a way to make the mouths of his chums fairly water. Josh had a way of browning things so cleverly that they were unusually attractive, where so many boys more careless would frequently burn whatever they had on the fire, and in a happy-go-lucky fashion dub it “pot-luck.”

“One thing sure,” said Jack, as they sat around waiting for the call to supper, “we’re a lucky set to have two such willing workers with the pots and pans as Buster and Josh here.”

“That’s right,” declared George, agreeable for once; “it would be hard to find their match, search where you will. What one lacks the other makes up for, and the opposite way around too. And we want them to know we appreciate their services, don’t we, Jack?”

“Come, now, no taffy, George,” said Josh, though his eyes sparkled under praise from such a source; “as they used to say in olden days, beware the Greeks who come bearing gifts. And when you get to praising anything there must be a deep motive back of it.”

“There is,” assented George frankly, “a very deep motive, for I’m hollow all the way down to my heels, seems like. Sure the grub must be done by now, Josh. That’s a good fellow, ring the bell for us to gather round.”

Whenever these lads were sitting about the camp fire they always had plenty of fun on tap. If “jabs” were given at times it was done with such good-natured chaff that no one could get provoked.

So they started to discuss the supper Josh had prepared. Meanwhile Buster had managed to dry himself after a fashion by turning around near the fire, presenting first one side and then another to the heat. He likened himself to a roast fowl on the spit, and jokingly asked the others how they would have him served.

“After I’m all through eating my share of the excellent mess Josh here has provided for us,” Buster remarked, when his mouth chanced to be empty, which was not often, by the way, “I know what I mean to do.”

“Oh, anybody can guess that the first shot out of the locker,” George asserted; “that is if they know what a fellow you are for remembering things. Of course you mean to smash some of these rotten stumps, and find out if they contain any grubs. Stumps are fine for holding the same, I understand; at least over where we live; and I guess grubs are grubs the world over.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m aiming to do,” Buster admitted. “Just because I had the hard luck to be dragged overboard by a measly old log, don’t think I’m the one to be scared off. If there are any fish in this Danube River, and they like bait such as I can offer them, we’re bound to have a mess for breakfast.”

“Hurrah! That’s the ticket!” cried Josh; “if at first you don’t succeed try, try again. I plainly perceive that my honors as boss fisherman are going to be put in peril if this thing keeps on. I’ll sure have to get out a line myself, and run you a race, Buster.”

“Wish you would,” snapped the other, as though this just suited him.

“You remember,” continued Josh, “we had some pretty tall rivalry in that line once or twice before. Never mind who came out first best; that’s ancient history, and pretty musty by now. You find enough worms and I’ll get a rig ready, Buster.”

George rubbed his hands as though the prospect looked pretty bright to him. With two ardent anglers engaged in a warm contest to see who could do the better in the way of making captures, those who loved fresh fish might expect to be well taken care of.

When the supper had been disposed of, and every one declared he felt “full to the brim,” Buster secured the little camp hatchet they had been wise enough to fetch along with them, and which had been a useful adjunct on many past outings.

With this in hand he started to attack some of the old stumps that could be seen scattered around. Josh felt considerable interest in his labors, as from time to time he could be heard calling out, and asking what the score was.

“Got three dandies in that stump,” Buster presently made answer, “and here’s a whole nest of bigger ones than the others. Say, we’re fixed all right, my friend, so far as plenty of attractive bait goes. I can see a lovely time among the finny tribes when some of these fat boys get in the drink. They’ll actually fight among themselves for a chance to bite; especially if you spit on your hook after impaling the grub.”

By the time he had placed a full dozen of the victims of his hunt in the little can that had contained sardines at one time, Buster pronounced himself ready to begin serious operations.

Josh had in the meantime managed to get his line ready just as Buster finished his work; George told him it looked suspiciously as though he had been “soldiering,” and meant to let his rival do all the work; but gallant Buster, hearing all this talk, immediately came to the rescue.

“And why shouldn’t Josh take it easy, after going to all the trouble to prepare that fine supper?” he demanded. “You’ve got a bad habit, George, of looking a gift horse in the mouth, and the sooner you break yourself of it the better. Now, come along Josh, and let’s find a good place for throwing our lines out into the river.”

“We’re not going to be partial or play favorites,” warned Jack, laughingly; “may the best man win; but please don’t try to give us any more planked shad, Buster, you hear!”

CHAPTER VII

WHEN THE STORM CAME

As Buster had taken a survey of the situation before darkness came along, he knew of a promising point close at hand. Here they could toss their lines out, and let the current drag them partly down-stream.

It was not the kind of fishing that the boys preferred, because they were accustomed to using jointed rods, and even casting artificial flies with which to lure the frisky trout or the hard-pulling black bass to their destruction. But as Buster wisely declared, “When you’re fish hungry you’ve just got to shut your eyes and get ’em any old way; results are what count then, not methods.”

Presently Buster had a savage bite, and drew in a squirming victim. He eyed this in the light of the rising moon and then remarked:

“I don’t know the species that fellow belongs to, but he looks good to me, and all I hope is there are a lot of his uncles and his cousins and his aunts hanging around, anxious for grub bait. Hello! Got one, have you, Josh? Bully for you! Whew! He’s a scrapper in the bargain, I tell you. I hope he doesn’t break loose, and give us the grand laugh!”

Buster’s interest was so taken up with what was going on near him that he forgot his own line for the time being, until a quick summons at the other end announced that one of the said finny relations seemed anxious to follow the first victim to the shore.

Then both boys were kept busy pulling in hand over hand. They succeeded in landing both prizes, which fact made them very joyful.

“Only needs one more to complete the first circle, though I think I’d like two for my share, Josh, and so might all the rest. You see there’s a heap of waste when you come to take off the head and tail. Let’s hurry up and get ’em while the bitin’s good. You never can tell when fish will quit takin’ hold.”

It was certainly less than half an hour after they first started off when the two sportsmen came strolling back to the bright camp fire dangling a pretty string of still lively fish between them on a little pole.

“Two apiece, and one left for luck!” announced Buster, triumphantly, as the other fellows jumped to their feet with expressions of pleasure to look the catch over.

“They ought to be cleaned right away, and a little salt rubbed inside so they’ll keep nice and fresh over night,” said Josh, “so let’s get busy, Buster.”

“But don’t you think that ought to be our part of the business?” asked George, although there was not very much animation in his manner, for George hated to handle the job of cleaning fish, though when it came to eating them no one ever knew him to make any objection.

“Now that’s kind of you, George, to offer to do the thing for us,” observed Buster, sweetly; “especially since we know how you detest the job. Thank you, but as our hands are in, Josh and me can attend to them all right.”

Josh, however, did not look overly well pleased when he heard Buster say this. Truth to tell, he had already arranged it in his wicked heart that George should be trapped into “doing something for his keep.”

“We’ll let you off this time, George,” he remarked, pointedly, “but the very next batch of fish we haul in you can tackle the job.”

George only chuckled, and drew a sigh of relief. Perhaps he may have said to himself that sometimes people count their chickens before they are hatched, and that possibly there might never be another “batch;” remembering the story of the small boy who while eating an apple, upon being appealed to by an envious comrade to give him the core, told him “there ain’t a-goin’ to be any core, Jimmy.”

In due time the fish were laid away in a safe place where no roving animal was apt to discover and appropriate them. Buster might in his happy-go-lucky fashion have been careless in this particular, but shrewd Josh was far too smart to take unnecessary chances.

“We don’t know anything about the country around here,” he told the others. “They may have wild animals, and again p’raps there’s nothing of the kind to be feared. But it’s best to lock the stable before the horse is stolen.”

So the fish were kept aboard the boat, although from time to time George might have been observed to sniff the air suggestively as he prepared to sleep, plainly indicating that he disliked the fishy smell. But then George always was what Josh called “finicky” in his habits, and the rest seemed to pay little or no attention to things that annoyed the particular one.

When morning came, without any untoward happening, Buster took particular pains to cook that mess of fish to a beautiful brown color. He followed the old and well known camp method of first throwing several slices of fat salt pork into the skillet and rendering it down. Then when it was boiling hot he placed as many of the fish as it would accommodate in the pan, first rolling them in cracker dust. Turning them back and forth as was necessary he finally had them looking so appetizing that the others refused to wait a minute longer, but made a raid on the lot.

The breakfast was a pronounced success. Even George was heard to say that he did not care how soon it was repeated; which was quite reckless on his part, since he had been given due warning as to his duties next time.

The sun was well up and shining brightly when they left the scene of their camp. It promised to be a rather warm day, Josh predicted, after taking a look around at the sky, and sizing up the breeze. Josh pretended to be something of a weather sharp, though hardly calling himself a prophet along those lines.

“And,” said he, as they started down the river again, “it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if we ran into a squall before we see that old sun go down tonight.”

“Do you really mean that, Josh?” asked Buster.

“All humbug,” muttered George, disdainfully, as though he never pinned any faith on “signs,” and considered all weather predictions as founded on mere guess work.

Josh shrugged his shoulders as he went on to say:

“Oh! very well, just wait and see if I know beans or not, that’s all. They have some pretty lively thunder storms along the Danube, I’m told, and if that’s so what better time than in August could you expect to run across one? Course I may be mistaken, because I’m only a tenderfoot of a weather sharp; but wait and see.”

“Oh! we will, Josh, we will,” replied George, in his tantalizing way.

The morning passed pleasantly enough, though as noon came on it might be noticed that everybody showed signs of being hot. The sun certainly did blaze down upon them, and it was even warmer inside the cabin of the powerboat than outside, so it seemed useless trying to get any relief by seeking the shade.

They drew in at a place where there were trees, just to lie around for possibly an hour under their shelter, while they ate a cold “snack.” It was too furiously hot to dream of building a fire and making a pot of coffee.

Then once again they embarked for another run down-stream. Jack figured they had covered more distance that morning by five miles than on the other day. This fact cheered them up immensely, and as they continued to go with the current they took their customary interest in what was to be seen along the eastern shore, where they would not have the bright rays of the declining sun in their eyes.

Many were the odd sights they beheld from time to time. First it was this thing that attracted them, and hardly had their exclamations of delight ceased than something else would be discovered further down that chained their attention until they were close enough to make out its character.

One thing Jack called their attention to, and this was the fact that they were meeting with more evidences of mobilization than ever, as they proceeded further from the Hungarian capital.

The news may have been belated in reaching many of these interior hamlets and pretty little towns along the Danube; but it must have arrived at last, and no end of excitement had followed.

They saw scores and even hundreds of men in uniform, some marching in squads as if hurrying to join the colors; others guarding bridges, or other vulnerable structures, the latter doubtless being old men who could not go to the front, though still possessing the military spirit, and desirous of doing something for the country of his birth.

Jack was delighted with this chance to see things he had often read about but never really expected to set eyes on.

“I used to believe that it was a terrible crime to have every young fellow serve a couple of years in the army before he could go into business, and then be reckoned as belonging to the reserves, but I’m changing my mind some, let me tell you,” was what he said later in the afternoon.

“How’s that, Jack?” asked Buster.

“Well,” continued the other, obligingly, “in the first place it makes for a love for their country when they know they represent a unit in her defense. Then again it goes to make the young fellows amenable to discipline, something millions of boys in our country are lacking in. It teaches them to be frugal, and the life outdoors makes them a lot more healthy.”

“Sounds good to me, Jack,” assented Josh.

“I know we’ve done a heap of talking over in America about the mad folly of Germany in making every young man serve a term in the army, and boasted that our boys needn’t ever fear of being forced to join the colors; but perhaps, fellows, after this world war is over, we’ll be doing the same thing. Preparedness is what is going to count for a whole lot, let me tell you; and both Great Britain and the States will learn a lesson before they’re through.”

At the time of course Jack was only taking a vague peep into the future; but events that have happened since then show he had a wise head on his young shoulders. When these words are being penned camps are springing up all over the States where business men can have a month’s training in military ways; and those who come back home admit that they have taken on a new lease of life, such are the great benefits to be obtained in that fashion.

It must have been past the middle of the hot afternoon, when the boys were lolling about, almost panting for breath, and taking things as easy as possible, that a sudden sound startled them.

“Thunder!” ejaculated Buster, as he popped up his head to look around.

Black clouds were sweeping swiftly down back of them, and even as they looked a flash of vivid lighting resembling a forked dagger shot toward the earth, almost immediately succeeded by another deep-toned burst of thunder.

“What do you say to that, George?” demanded Josh, turning a triumphant face on the other.

“Oh! seems like you hit the mark with that guess,” admitted the other, “but then anybody might one out of three. Besides, we haven’t got the storm yet, have we? It may go around us.”

“No danger of that,” declared Josh; “these summer storms nearly always follow the channel of a river. I’ve known ’em to pour down pitchforks for half an hour on the water and the other bank, and never a drop fall on me. But we’ll get all the rain you want to see right soon now.”

“I do hope it’ll cool the air some then,” complained Buster, who being stouter than any of his chums, must have suffered more in proportion from the heat.

“What had we better do, Jack?” asked George, surveying the black clouds uneasily.

“It’s too bad that we don’t happen to see any cove where we could run in and stay,” replied the pilot; “so on the whole I think we’d better make a turn and head into the storm that’s coming down the river.”

“That sounds good to me!” declared Josh, instantly understanding the benefit such a course would likely bring to them; “our cabin is partly open in the rear, but well protected forward. We can use that tarpaulin to cover the well back here, and after all the storm won’t last long. Swing her around, Jack, and edge in a bit closer to the shore while you’re about it. The river is pretty wide right here.”

It seemed three times as wide to Buster just then, as at any time before; but of course this came from his suddenly awakened fears.

“How deep do you think it can be out here, Josh?” he asked after another fearful rolling crash of thunder had passed into rumblings in the distance.

“Oh! a mile or so,” replied Josh, carelessly.

“Whee! then all I hope is we don’t get blown over on our beam-ends, and have to swim for it,” Buster was heard to say.

They had just managed to get the boat headed up-stream when the squall struck them with almost hurricane force. The water was lifted and flung against the little boat with terrific violence. Indeed, the boys working energetically could hardly manage to fasten the stout tarpaulin to the hooks by which it was meant to be secured in an emergency like this, so as to cover the open well at the stern.

The rain began to come down in wild gusts, the wind howled around them, the boat rose and fell frantically, and Jack had all he could do to keep the plunging craft headed into the furious storm.

It grew almost dark around them. Water found entrance despite the cover, and the boys prepared to take a soaking. As they were not made of salt, and had undergone many privations and discomforts during other days, they uttered no complaint. Indeed, Buster was telling himself that it would be all right if they only got through in safety; clothes could be easily dried, but it was another thing to be wrecked out on a raging river in a storm like this.

The waves were mounting pretty high, so that with every plunge they could tell that the propeller was fighting the air, as it was hoisted above the resisting water. This was what alarmed Jack, for he knew the danger attending such a sudden and constant change of speed.

He tried the best he could to ease the strain each time they rose and fell; but it was always with an anxious heart that he listened to hear if the propeller still continued to do its duty after every mad plunge.

Minutes had passed, just how long a time since the beginning of the storm none of the boys could tell. Then all at once every one noticed that they had ceased to progress steadily. The noise of the churning propeller had also ceased.

“We’re turning broadside to the blow, Jack!” shouted Buster, although that was hardly the case as yet, his fears magnifying the danger.

“What happened, Jack?” roared Josh.

“Engine’s broken down, and we’re at the mercy of the storm!” came the staggering reply.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SPORT OF THE ELEMENTS

“Just what I expected!” exclaimed George, when he heard what Jack had to say.

“Will the boat upset, do you think?” bellowed Buster, as he fancied he could feel the craft already tilting dangerously, so that he “sidled” across to the other side of the crowded little cabin.

“Oh! I hardly think it’ll be as bad as that,” the commodore told him; “but while we’re about it we’d better fasten on these life preservers!”

They had discovered half a dozen cork belts under one of the lockers, and these Jack proceeded to hastily throw out. Every fellow was immediately engaged in trying to buckle one about his person, well up under the arms.

The thunder bellowed at quick intervals, so that talking could only be indulged in between these outbursts. It was almost dark inside the cabin of the rocking boat, and of course the boys were all very much excited, not knowing what was going to happen at the next minute.

“Be sure to get it up under your arms, Buster,” warned Jack, while he worked.

“Yes,” added Josh, who could be sarcastic even when confronted by such danger, “for if the old thing slips down any it’ll keep your feet out, and your head under water. Better put two more on you, Buster, because you’re a heavyweight, you know.”

Perhaps Josh was joking when he said this, but Buster took it all solemnly enough.

“Guess I will, if the rest of you don’t need ’em!” he declared. “If you’re done fixin’ yours Josh, please lend me a hand. I don’t seem able to get the fastening the right way. Oh! we nearly went over that time, didn’t we?”