Chapter IX.
The Great South Bay, the eastern half of which is often called Moriches Bay, is separated from Quantuck Bay by a neck of land less than a mile wide. Through this neck a narrow channel was cut many years ago, and the ebb and flow of the tides have scoured it out, until it is now ten or twelve feet deep in many places. The Ghost, after passing Sunday at anchor, sailed gayly up the channel on Monday morning, until she was unexpectedly stopped by a bridge, and her crew found themselves again compelled to take the mast out. She was brought close to the side of the bridge, and made fast, for the tide was running rapidly, and the boys went ashore to devise means for unstepping the mast.
"It's going to be hard work," said Charley, "but I think we can do it. We can take the throat halyards and use them for a tackle, and we ought to be able to hoist that mast out."
"Let's try the plan we tried at the Coney Island bridge," said Joe.
"We had two colored men to help us then," said Charley, "but they're not here."
"Somebody will be here before long. Look at the road. There's a great deal of travel on it, and if we wait a while we'll be sure to have some help."
"But we don't want to ask people to help us," urged Charley. "We ought to be able to get along without help."
"If people want to help us, why shouldn't we let them?" said Harry. "Let's get everything ready for hoisting the mast out, and then if anybody comes along and offers to help us, it would be ridiculous for us to say no."
By the time the halyards were unrove, a wagon-load of men on their way to the beach, drove up, and stopped to look at the Ghost. "You can't get that mast out alone," said one of the men; "we'll just lift it out for you." They did so, and then, after the boat had been brought to the other side of the bridge, they were about to step the mast, when one of them said, "If you boys are going right through to Shinnecock Bay, you'd better not step that mast till you get to the other side of the Quogue bridge."
"Is there another bridge that we've got to go under?" asked Charley.
"There's one on Quogue Neck, about a mile from here, and it won't be worth while for you to try to sail that distance, and then have to get your mast out again."
This was so evident that the boys at once decided to pole across Quantuck Bay. The mast was therefore laid along the deck, and after rowing the Ghost through the deep channel into the shallow water of Quantuck Bay, they poled her swiftly toward the entrance of the channel that led to Shinnecock Bay.
It was easy enough to see where the entrance to the channel was, but it was not an easy thing to reach it. The water was so shallow that the boat continually ran aground. A dozen times the boys had to turn back and try a new route, and more than once they had to get overboard to push the boat clear of a sand-bank. It took them nearly four hours to cross a bay that was less than a mile wide, and when they at last reached the entrance to the Shinnecock ditch, it was long after their lunch-time.
"There's another fog coming up," exclaimed Charley, looking toward the southwest. "This is too bad."
"And what makes it worse is that the wind has all died out," remarked Tom.
"We have had all kinds of weather since we started on this cruise," continued Charley. "Now I made sure that after the gale we had yesterday, we should have clear weather for a while."
"Let's get through to Shinnecock Bay, anyhow," said Harry. "We may be able to get as far as the light-house before the fog shuts down on us."
The oars were immediately got out, for the water was now too deep for poling, and Tom and Harry rowed the Ghost slowly up the ditch. It was literally a ditch, having been lately dug to connect the two bays, between which there had been no water communication for many years. Half way to Shinnecock Bay was the Quogue bridge. Here too the boys met some gentlemen, who had been snipe-shooting, and who helped them step the mast. It was not, however, worth while to set the sail, for there was not a breath of air stirring, and so the oars were resumed, and through the thick fog the Ghost proceeded into Shinnecock Bay.
"We might as well keep on till six o'clock," said Charley. "If we steer about north-northeast by compass, we will get somewhere. I don't know exactly where, but at any rate we can't go far out of our course. The chart doesn't show any inlet into Shinnecock Bay, so we can't possibly get out to sea."
"The tide is running into the bay, and it was running pretty strong at the bridge. We can drift along with it, and row very easy," said Tom.
"How far down is the light-house?" asked Joe.
"Well, it's half way down the bay, so it can't be more than five miles from where we are. We can certainly get there before night."
So the two oarsmen rowed easily onward, without bending their backs enough to tire themselves, and frequently resting altogether and letting the boat drift. Joe grew restless after a time, and threw himself down on his back on the bottom of the boat, and began to sing. This was more than Harry could stand, for Joe's singing reminded every one who heard it, of the singing of a cat on the back fence. Harry tried to poke him gently with an oar, but unluckily he hit the compass, knocked it over, and broke it.
"Now we're in a nice fix," exclaimed Charley. "We won't find the light-house to-night, and the best thing we can do is to try to find the shore."
"Here's a little cat's-paw," said Tom. "Sha'n't we get the sail up?"
"I suppose we might as well. The wind is probably from the southwest, for that is the way it was blowing this morning."
The sails were set, and as the breeze increased, the Ghost began to skim over the water.
"What are we going to do when we reach the east end of Shinnecock Bay?" asked Charley, after a while.
"Why, I suppose," Harry replied, "we'll have to turn round and sail back again."
"Why not get over into Peconic Bay, and come home through the Sound? According to the chart, the two bays are only a mile apart at Canoe Place, and there is a pond half a mile wide lying just in the middle of the neck of land that separates them, so we should only have to make two carries of a quarter of a mile each."
"But how do we know that there isn't a big hill, or something of that kind, in the way?" asked Harry.
"The reason why it is called Canoe Place must be that the Indians used to carry their canoes across from one bay to the other. Now if canoes can be carried across, the road can't be very hilly. The chances are that we should find nothing worse than a level meadow, and if we could get a team of horses, I believe we could get the Ghost into Peconic Bay."
"It strikes me," interrupted Joe, "that we'd better find out where we are now before we lay plans for what we're going to do next week. We may sail around in this fog and never find the shore for three or four days. This must be a pretty big bay, for there's a regular long swell here."
"Oh, nonsense, Joe! we'll come to land in a few minutes now," replied Charley.
"You weren't with us the time we were lost in a fog on Brandt Lake. That's a little bit of a lake, but we rowed nearly all night before we struck the shore."
"Never mind about that now, Joe," said Tom. "We want to talk about Charley's plan for getting into the Sound. I'm in favor of it if it can be done, for it would be a great deal better than sailing back over the same ground twice."
"Same water, you mean," suggested Joe.
"Of course I do. Boats don't sail on the land, do they? Hullo! here is a young squall."
"And a very lively one it is. I wish it would blow the fog away," exclaimed Charley.
"It's getting chilly," said Harry. "I should like to get ashore and build a good fire.'"
"What do you say about going home through the Sound, Harry?" asked Charley.
"I say let's do it by all means, if we can."
"What do you say, Joe?"
"The Sound can't be any wetter than the South Bay, so I'm in favor of trying it," replied Joe.
"Then we'll consider it settled that we sail to the end of Shinnecock Bay, and then go to Canoe Place and cross over to Peconic Bay. Slack those peak halyards a little, will you, Tom. If this squall lasts, we shall have to put in a reef."
The wind was now blowing so fresh that in almost any other circumstances the young Captain would have reefed the mainsail, but he was in constant expectation of reaching the shore. The long swell which gently rocked the boat was very unlike the short swells of the Great South Bay. "There's something very strange about this," said Charley. "We must have sailed at least ten miles, and the bay is only ten miles long. Why haven't we struck the shore?"
"How long ago was the chart made?" inquired Tom.
"I've had it—or rather father has had it—over three years," said Harry.
"An inlet may have opened into Shinnecock Bay since that chart was made," said Tom. "New inlets do open into these bays in winter storms, for I've read of such things in the newspaper."
"Try if you can touch bottom with an oar. I'm pretty sure you can't," said Charley.
Tom tried, but could find no bottom.
"Then, boys, we'll haul down the mainsail and jib, and let her drift for a while."
OUT AT SEA.
The Ghost came up in the wind, and the sails were dropped and furled. "Now," resumed Charley, "I want you to keep cool, and not to let yourselves get frightened. The truth is, boys, that we are out at sea."
"But we can't be," cried Harry. "There isn't any inlet."
"There must be an inlet," Charley replied, "and we've drifted out through it. This swell is the swell of the Atlantic. It's impossible to have anything like it in a little shallow bay."
"What shall we do?" asked the boys, all together.
"We can't do anything till the fog lifts, and we find out where we are. The compass is gone, we don't know which way the wind is, and we can't even hear the surf. The only thing to do is to wait for clear weather."
While they were talking, the sea had begun to break into white caps, and Charley ordered the mainsail to be set close reefed. "If we don't get some sail on her," he explained, "we shall have the water coming aboard."
"But we may be running further away from the land all the time," said Harry.
"Very likely; but we can't help ourselves, for we must keep steerage-way on her, and keep her from getting swamped. We'll sail as close to the wind as we can. If the wind is southwest, and if we keep it on our port bow, we shall be drifting in toward the shore, and if it's blowing from some other direction, we sha'n't be making headway enough to do much harm."
"You know best," said Tom. "We'll do as you say."
"I would give almost anything," continued Charley, "if the fog would only lift. However, the wind must blow it away."
"We must have gone out of the inlet when we were letting her drift with the tide; but why we didn't notice it I can't understand," remarked Harry.
"There was no wind at the time, and we were busy talking," said Charley. "Come to think of it, we never noticed that we couldn't hear the surf until just now. I remember hearing it when we were in the ditch, but I haven't the least idea when we lost the sound of it."
"The fog is breaking," cried Joe. "It's clear overhead."
"And the wind is rising fast," added Charley, "and the sea is getting up. In another half-hour we sha'n't dare to keep the mainsail on her, for there will be too much of it, even though it is close reefed."
Joe and Charley were both right. The fog was growing thinner, and the wind was rising, but the wind rose even faster than Charley had predicted. In the course of the next twenty minutes it was blowing so hard that it was no longer safe for the Ghost to carry her mainsail. Charley ordered it to be hauled down, the jib to be set, and the boat to be put before the wind. The moment the jib filled, the Ghost started away like a runaway horse, but whether she was heading for the beach or for the Bermuda islands it was impossible to guess. For another half-hour the fog hung around them, and then all at once it vanished like a curtain that is suddenly drawn up. The boys eagerly looked in every direction for land. None was visible except in the northwest, where the low gray line of Long Island, and the slender tower of a light-house, could be faintly seen at a distance of at least twelve miles. The wind blew directly from the land, and the impossibility of beating back to the shore was manifest.