CHAPTER VI. AN OLD RIVAL'S STRATAGEM.
The great event of the day, the finals of the hundred yards' swim, was reserved for the last. All the other events were over and every one was looking eagerly forward to the trial of speed between Frank Armstrong and Peters, for every one who had watched the early heats in this event knew that it lay between these two for first place. It was Seawall against the Point, or even more than that, for Peters was one of the best swimmers at the school he attended in New York City. It was then Seawall against the country! No wonder excitement ran high.
"All ready for the finals in the hundred yards' swim," shouted the referee through his megaphone. Out of their dressing rooms ran the six swimmers and lined up on the edge of the float. There was much craning of necks in the stand and everywhere to get a good look at the contestants.
"My money on Peters," said the individual who had proclaimed himself earlier in the day. "He'll show your Seawall champion the way."
"He'll show him the way to lose, maybe," said the Codfish. "They can't beat that boy Armstrong." Every one was taking sides as to the outcome, while the referee was stationing the six young athletes on the float edge. Little time was lost in preliminaries.
"Are you ready?" queried the high-pitched voice of the referee.
"Get set!"
"Crack!" went the pistol, and as if shot from a cannon the six hit the water together. Peters with a longer spring immediately shot out in front of the bunch, his arms flying like flails and his long legs beating the water rhythmically.
"Hurrah, see Peters go! He'll win easily," cried the friends of the New Yorker.
"Wait a minute; the race is just beginning," said another. "Wait till Armstrong strikes his gait. There, see him go up!"
Frank was indeed gaining. In none of his races was he ever able to get under way fast at first, but he could always quicken up when he had been going for a few seconds. This was what happened now. Slowly but surely he drew up on Peters and Bates, the friend of Peters, who had won the heat from Frank. At the half distance, he had shaken off three competitors and was closing on the fourth. Slowly he gained, when suddenly Bates, just ahead of him, swerved from his course. Frank looked up just in time to prevent running into him, but he was obliged to change his direction a trifle in order to pass. The swerve lost him ground, for Peters at this moment seemed to put on a fresh burst of speed.
Over the last twenty yards the race was a terrific one, the partisans of both sides yelling like mad for their favorites. On the boys came like whirlwinds. The water churned up into spray as they smashed through it. Thirty feet from the float Frank took his last look and his last gulp of air for that race, then, burying his head, he put every pound of strength he had left into driving himself forward. He was now so close to Peters that he could feel the eddy of water from his hand as it swept backward. Ten feet from the float, he fairly threw himself out of the water. He was alongside the leader now, and next thing he knew he crashed full tilt into the float. He raised his head to hear the shout:
"Peters wins! Peters wins!"
It was true Frank had touched only a fraction of a second too late. It was Peter's race. Frank dropped off the float and swam back slowly, all but exhausted.
Jimmy was at the starting float, and as he lent the tired racer a hand to mount to the planks, his face was white with rage.
"Wasn't good enough, was I?" gasped Frank.
"Good enough!" yelled Jimmy; "of course you were. That chump who was swimming behind Peters got in your way. I saw him cut across and block you."
"I don't think so," said Frank; "he was all in and didn't do it on purpose."
"I know better than that, and I'd swear it was a put-up job. You can beat Peters any day from ten yards to a million miles," said the indignant Jimmy. "I kicked to the referee about it, but he wouldn't allow a foul because Bates didn't touch you. Did he?"
"No," said Frank; "I had to shift a little for him and it put me out a bit. I don't think it made any difference in the race. Peters was too fast for me."
"Get out," said Jimmy, still hot and angry; "you know he isn't. I'd bet my boots you could beat him any day, and if I were you, I'd challenge him for a race with no one around to get in your way."
"I've had enough for to-day," said Frank. "We ought to get dressed and headed for home as soon as we can. There are some black clouds coming up over there in the west."
It was as Frank said. The day had been a warm one and thunder heads were now showing in the west. Down toward the horizon the clouds were piled thick and black, and every now and then the denser masses were edged by a little ribbon of fire. The lightning was beginning to play. The top of the pile was still white, for the lowering sun was shining full upon it; but soon this white top, climbing rapidly, shut off the sun.
The wind had just begun to pick up in puffs and eddies and the sailboats were scudding about like anxious swallows, when Mr. Armstrong hurried up to the dressing room where Frank was getting into his clothes. "Mother and I have a chance to go back on the trolley. Hurry up, son," he said. "It looks so bad over there to the west," jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the towering thunder-heads, "that I think you had better wait till the storm is over. Mother is nervous about your going to Seawall in the Black Duck."
"Oh, I guess we could get home all right," said Frank. "It isn't going to be very heavy, is it?"
For answer there came a blinding flash, and almost on its heels a roar of thunder that made the bathing houses dance on their foundations. The wind was running before the storm with almost hurricane force, lashing the sea into whitecaps.
"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Jimmy, "that must have hit somewhere nearby. See the old Black Duck jumping."
The Black Duck was indeed jumping, even though she was bound securely and lay partly in the lee of the dock. The wind and the rain came together, scattering the stragglers on the walks to places of shelter. In a few minutes the sea was beaten white and high waves sprang up like magic, their tops white-capped by the fierce drive of the gale.
"It is so heavy it can't last," said the Codfish, gingerly side-stepping a rivulet of water that broke through the shelter of the boys. "Just like a chap who goes too hard at the first of his race—can't stick it out," he added sagely.
But this particular storm did stick it out for some time. After an hour, however, the wind dropped almost as suddenly as it had sprung up, the thunder muttered itself out, and the sea began to go down. Lacking the pressure of the gale behind it, the whitecaps soon disappeared, but in their place ran a long swell, down which the little sailboats at anchor coasted and rose again to the next, like some kind of a seabird.
"We will have a tippy time of it going home," observed the Codfish, as in the last few sprinkling drops the boys sought the wharf.
"Yes, and we aren't going to have much company, I guess," said Frank.
"Their pedal extremities have congealed, evidently," observed the Codfish. "Here comes your father to say, 'No, thank you, Frank, we will go up on the trolley to-night; we don't care for coasting.'" The boys laughed. For that was just about what Mr. Armstrong had come to repeat. "And I guess the others of your excursion are going back the same way," he added. "I saw the Slocums light out for Seawall in an automobile five minutes ago."
"I'll wait a little while," said Frank, "for my party, and then if they don't come I'll dig out for home, too."
"I wouldn't wait too long," was his father's parting observation as he turned to go. "Mother says she wishes you would leave the boat down here to-night and come for it in the morning. How about it?"
"Oh, there's no danger. We'll be home in a jiffy. The tide is low and I'll have to go outside of Pumpkin Island to avoid the reef. Don't worry about us. The four of us could take her to New York to-night. Couldn't we, Jimmy?"
"Sure thing," said that individual, who rather enjoyed the prospects of the trip up. Lewis and the Codfish were not so hopeful, but they said they would stand by the ship. Mr. Armstrong turned again and left the boys with a last warning word.
"Where did the Human Fish, Peters, go to?" inquired the Codfish, as Jimmy fussed with the motor and Frank sponged off the seats. Very little water had entered the boat, most of it having been shed by the very efficient awning which covered her from bow to stern.
"Don't know," said Frank. "I wasn't interested in him after I saw that he hit the float first."
"Oh," said Lewis, "I saw him jump into his motor boat with that chap who got in your way, just as soon as the race was over, and light out. Guess they were trying to get down to the Peters' dock before the storm came on so hard."
"He had good nerve, starting then," said Jimmy.
"Or bad judgment," said the Codfish. "Sometimes the one looks like the other."
"Here, stop getting sarcastic and help with these ropes," growled Frank. "They are all in hard knots. What Indian tied them like this?"
Soon they freed themselves and the motor, under slow speed, began to revolve. They backed slowly out from the dock. Nothing was left of the gay scene of an hour or two before.
"Funny what a little water will do," observed the Codfish, turning to look at the deserted stand, pier and floats.
"Yes, and it's funny what a little wind will do to water," commented Frank as the Black Duck got under way. He was driving her over the waves at a little angle and she pitched and rolled tremendously.
The Codfish didn't like it at all, and Lewis, after five minutes of this kind of going, began to look white in the failing light.
Frank headed his craft well out beyond the Pumpkin to avoid the treacherous rock teeth that showed white in a long broken line. He had a great respect for their destroying abilities. The tide, too, was on the turn, and he dreaded getting caught in the suck of it. Many boats had met disaster there. So he headed her straight out into the bay, so straight indeed that the Codfish finally cried out:
"Where in thunder are you heading for—France, or is it Spain?"
"Don't be impatient," said the captain, "we'll turn in a minute."
He had hardly spoken the words when the motor began to miss fire. Instead of the steady hum of the exhaust, it was now an irregular chattering. The boat checked materially as the pistons choked in the dead cylinders. Frank threw on more gas and for a minute or two the engine picked up and resumed its regularity. Then it missed, sputtered, choked, gave one or two expiring explosions and died completely.
"Well, this is a nice mess you've got us into, isn't it?" whimpered Lewis. There was a note of grave anxiety in his voice. "I didn't want to come, but I thought you knew all about your old boat."
"What's the matter, Old Mother Goose?" cried the Codfish whimsically. "We're not dead yet. Keep your lip stiff. Frank will have it fixed in a minute."
Frank was working over the batteries with a face on which worriment showed in spite of himself. He gave the battery box a shake, tightened up the connections and cranked the motor. There were half a dozen explosions and silence fell again, broken only by the lapping of the running tide against the Black Duck's sides. Hastily he disconnected the wires and tried for a spark on the individual batteries. Then he connected the batteries in series, and tried again. There was a faint flash, very different from the long, hot spark from full batteries.
Frank dropped the terminals and looked up into the faces of the three boys, who were intently watching him.
"What's the matter?" inquired Jimmy. "Batteries?"
"Just that and nothing else. There isn't enough juice in the whole lot of them to light a grain of powder."
"Nice pickle we're in," grumbled Lewis. "Isn't it up to the captain to have his batteries all right?"
"Oh, shut up," commanded Jimmy. "It isn't Frank's fault that the old batteries are in trouble."
"No," said Frank; "I renewed them, you remember, only day before yesterday—six brand new ones, at twenty-five cents per. The rain must have got in somehow and short-circuited them. The shaking by the motor gave them life enough to carry us out here and then they died. See, there isn't a bit left." He tried again, rubbing the ends of the terminals together, but for all the result in the way of ignition they might as well have been made of wood.
"Well, never mind," said Jimmy, "we're drifting the right way. Look at us go! That's Seawall over there, and while we are going sideways, like a crab, we may fetch up all right."
"Sure thing," said Frank, "we are going sideways and fast, too. The tide here runs like a mill-race, but night is coming faster than we are going, and it's going to be as black as your shoes in ten minutes."
"That's an encouraging sign," said the Codfish, "for my shoes are yellow, and I don't mind yellow nights in the least." The Codfish was always cheerful under difficulties.
Not so Lewis. He grumbled and growled and blamed everybody for the plight in which they found themselves. "If I don't turn up by dark, mother will have a fit," he added.
"Well, I guess all our mothers will have fits," observed Frank quietly, "but that isn't going to help us out of this trouble."
"Do you know how the drift of this tide goes?" inquired the Codfish. "It might sweep us in shore far enough so that one of you fish-men could jump overboard and swim ashore for help."
"Yes, that's a good scheme. Owing to the curve of the Seawall shore we are now about a mile out. The current splits on Flat Rock, which ought to be showing pretty soon if we have light enough. If we have luck to swing over to the shore side of the rock we will drift pretty close, but if we go on the outside of it we are likely to go on up the coast or out to sea."
"Fine mess we're in," growled Lewis, who grew more nervous as the night drew down over the waters.
"Oh, say something new," snapped the Codfish sharply. "We've heard that for a long time. Can't you think up an original remark?" Lewis glowered in silence, muttering to himself. Jimmy sat down on the bottom of the boat and began to tinker with the batteries, while Frank and the Codfish stood up and peered into the gathering darkness.
"Listen, what was that?" whispered Frank. "Didn't you hear some one calling?"
The four huddled together close. Jimmy left his tinkering and Lewis forgot his hard luck for the moment.