THE LAST CRUISE OF "THE SLUG."
By Thomas Edwin Turner.
CÆSAR AND THE PEACOCK. ([SEE NEXT PAGE.])
lifford and Jack went down from Brooklyn last summer to spend a few weeks with Clifford's aunt, in the cozy old homestead on the Shrewsbury River. Yachting was to be their chief enjoyment. To be sure, they were not practical yachtsmen; but Jack said he "had read up the subject," and Cliff "had been out in a yacht once or twice," so they had no fears.
Clifford and Jack were second cousins, and great friends; but Jack had been in the habit of spending his summers at Saratoga, and accordingly he looked forward to his present trip with the feeling of an adventurous explorer of unknown regions. And in order to be prepared for every emergency, he brought an "outfit" that filled a strong trunk, two valises, a shawl-strap, and a number of queerly-shaped packages.
Clifford, who for several years had spent a part of each summer at his aunt's, carried a handbag. When Jack asked him where the rest of his things were, Clifford, with a glance at his cousin's paraphernalia, answered that he preferred to keep his "outfit" at his aunt's. He was not likely to need it elsewhere, and he saved expense for extra baggage.
But Cæsar was Jack's chief reliance and most weighty responsibility. Cæsar was a dog;—according to Jack, a setter-dog. And as Clifford was unable to state what was the dog's breed, if it were not a setter, Jack felt that he had established his point. Moreover, when Cæsar, upon their arrival at Mud Flat, immediately celebrated the occasion by slaughtering eight out of a brood of eleven Cochin China chicks that were great pets of their hostess, Jack claimed that his pet's success as a game dog was assured beyond cavil. Jack was somewhat discouraged on learning that the principal "game" in that vicinity was the sideling "shedder," or crab, and he acknowledged that in the pursuit of such plunder he feared even Cæsar was not ambitious. But nothing ever discouraged Cæsar, and he had more fun with Miss Goodmaid's favorite peacock than all the game in New Jersey would have afforded him; as subsequent events developed the fact that he was mortally afraid of a gun. This is not strange, considering that he had spent the previous eight months of his short life in a stable on Henry street, in Brooklyn. Indeed, his principal amusement during the rest of the boys' visit, was to chase the gorgeous bird of Juno into the branches of a pear-tree, and stand below and bark.
Though this was severe on the nervous organism of the peacock, it seemed to afford unlimited satisfaction to Cæsar, and it kept him out of so much other possible mischief, that he was rarely interfered with on these occasions.
JACK EXHIBITS HIS "OUTFIT."
As soon as Jack could have his luggage taken to the house and put in the room the boys were to occupy, he hastened to unpack his outfit before the wondering eyes of Clifford. A handsome double-barreled shot-gun, Clifford suggested, might be used in trying to kill his aunt's three remaining chickens; a delicate split-bamboo fishing-rod might come in well for catching live bait, if they were not in a hurry; and an extensive collection of artificial flies would perhaps serve to frighten away the mosquitoes. A large horse-pistol Cliff thought would be "just the thing for picking off bull-frogs in the marshes"; but he was forced to tell his cousin that he feared his shooting-coat, his fine yachting suit, his knickerbockers for mountain climbing, and his tennis flannels, would scarcely be needed in that vicinity.
Poor Jack looked ruefully at his expensive "outfit," which Clifford seemed to prize so little, and then he asked his cousin to tell him what specialties of costume and accouterments were best fitted to the Shrewsbury region. Without answering in words, Clifford simply pointed to a closet, through the open door of which could be seen, hanging from hooks, a broad-brimmed straw hat, a blue flannel shirt, a stout pair of trousers, and a lanyard. A large jack-knife lay upon the shelf, and a substantial pair of high shoes stood firmly on the floor.
Little more was said concerning the subject that evening, but Jack went to bed in a very sober frame of mind. In the morning, he put all his fancy toggery back into his trunk, selecting only such useful garments as Clifford suggested, and took an early opportunity of purchasing a hat which was an exact counterpart of the one worn by his cousin.
Indeed, it was dangerous to mention the word "outfit" in Jack's hearing for a long time.
Clifford's aunt, Miss Goodmaid, was asked to tell them where they could hire a sail-boat for their proposed trip; she had heard that Johnny Peltsman, the carriage-maker's son, in Mud Flat, had such a boat, and to him the boys went to "negotiate."
Johnny Peltsman did have a boat, which he said he would let, if he "could get his price." The Slug, he admitted, looked a trifle heavy, and, while under "proper conditions" she would go fast, Johnny confessed that she couldn't sail very close to the wind. Upon payment of five dollars, he said, the boys might have the boat for two weeks.
"Done!" cried Jack, eagerly. "I dare say she will suit us perfectly. Some people may like boats that sail close to the wind. But a boat to suit me must be able to slide away from the wind, and not stay crawling around close to it!"
Clifford's face was a study as his partner thus aired his nautical opinions, while Johnny Peltsman greeted the remark with open-mouthed astonishment; and when Jack concluded his observations, Johnny said earnestly:
"By the way, young friend, it is understood, of course, that if you sink or wreck the Slug, you must pay damages."
"Certainly, if we lose the yacht, you shall be paid for it," Jack answered, feeling rather indignant at the suggestion.
THE BOYS ENGAGE THE "SLUG."
Being directed to the place where the Slug lay, the boys hastened away to take immediate possession. Johnny stood looking after them until they were out of sight. Then turning to enter his shop, he soliloquized:
"Well, that beats all! The idea of hiring a boat without seeing it, and not caring to have it to sail close to the wind! I suppose, of course, those chaps can swim." And with an ominous shake of the head, Johnny resumed his carriage-making.
Our heroes found their prize lying in a little cove just above the bridge. The Slug was a flat-bottomed center-board boat, fifteen feet long, five feet across the stern, and narrowing gradually to a point at the bows. A more clumsy sail-boat was never seen. But Jack only noticed the two large lockers, and with unbounded satisfaction, remarked to his cousin:
"We can stow away a big stock of provisions in those boxes, Cliff."
It was Friday, so the two boys decided to give the "yacht" a short trial-trip down to the Highlands and back. In that way they would become familiar with the boat, and on Monday morning would be ready to start on a week's cruise. It chanced that a flood-tide was just beginning when the lads shoved the Slug well out into the river, while the wind was blowing a brisk gale straight down-stream, the very direction in which the boys wished to go. Clifford was enough of a sailor to step the little mast and properly set the leg-of-mutton sail for a breeze directly astern. With a strong wind behind her, and only a weak tide opposing, it was not surprising that the Slug made a progress quite satisfactory to the two amateur yachtsmen. As the tide increased in force, however, the boat went slower and slower, and it was six o'clock when the Highlands "hove in sight," as Jack said—having learned that and other nautical terms from his story-books. On finding how late it was, Clifford remarked:
"We'd better be making for home."
The boys managed to put the Slug about, and very soon Jack ascertained that there were times when it was an advantage to have a boat able to sail close to the wind; for, as the breeze still blew down-stream, Clifford found it simply impossible to beat up the river in the Slug. The truth was, the only "proper conditions" under which Johnny Peltsman's boat would sail at all were those of going straight before the wind!
"'HOW CAN YOU SLEEP?' ASKED CLIFFORD."
Clifford told Jack that they must "row the old tub back to Mud Flat," and both boys pluckily bent to the work. It was hard work, too. The oars were long and heavy, the boat was as unwieldy as a raft of logs, and at length Jack exclaimed:
"It seems to me, Cliff, that the scenery along this river is very monotonous. We passed just such banks and houses as those over there, ten minutes ago."
Clifford threw a hurried glance shoreward, looked down at the water, and immediately pulled his oar into the boat, saying:
"The fates are against us, Jack. In spite of our pulling and tugging, we are actually drifting down-stream. The tide has turned; it's dead against us, and so is the wind. It would take a Cunarder to tow this miserable scow back to Mud Flat, now."
"What's to be done?" asked Jack, suddenly realizing that they might be swept out into the bay, where the whitecaps gave evidence that a very high sea would be encountered.
"Neither of us can swim very far," said Clifford. "Our only chance is to land on that little island, yonder. Luckily we're drifting straight toward it."
Favored by the current, the boat was carried close to the sand-bar of the island, and by a vigorous use of the oars they were able to bring their craft safely to land.
"We'll have to stay here until slack water," said Clifford, "and then perhaps we can row across to the shore. The next slack will be about midnight, so we'd better camp here and take advantage of to-morrow morning's slack. Then we can cross to the Highlands Landing, a short distance below here, and go back by steamboat. The Seabird will tow the Slug home for us."
"All right; I'll stand by you," laconically answered Jack.
They at once set about gathering grass and sea-weed with which to make a bed, intending to use the Slug's sail for a covering. After a couch had been arranged to their satisfaction, the two friends strolled around their domain, which they found to be a little larger than a city lot. During their walk, the boys caught four or five soft-shell crabs, which the epicurean Jack prudently stowed away in one of the lockers.
The mosquitoes had troubled the lads greatly from the moment they landed on the sand-island; and, as they had no matches and could not make a "smudge," they soon decided to "turn in" as Jack technically stated. But then the vicious insects attacked their victims in clouds, until the boys were forced to cover their heads and hands completely with the sail; and in that uncomfortable condition they finally fell asleep.
It seemed but a short time to Clifford before he became conscious of a stinging, smarting sensation on his face that was almost unbearable, and he awoke to find that he was literally covered with swarms of the poisonous little pests, while Jack, snugly rolled up in the sailcloth of which he had taken complete possession in his sleep, snored loudly.
Slapping, brushing, and shaking off his tormentors, Clifford punched his companion and exclaimed:
"How can you sleep through this?"
"Oh, I'm all right," answered Jack, in smothered tones.
"Well, I'm not!" growled Clifford, as he sprang to his feet and proceeded to spend the few hours until daybreak in battle with his small but ferocious enemies.
At sunrise, the castaways refreshed themselves with a prolonged bath; and then, hungry as bears, they impatiently waited for slack water, when they sprang into the Slug, and by long and hard work, at last reached the mainland not far above the Highlands.
"THE TWO HUNGRY LADS WERE SOON DISPATCHING THEIR BREAKFAST."
An investigation of their finances showed the boys that they had, together, exactly sixty-five cents. With that sum, therefore, they had to provide a breakfast, pay steamboat fares home, and meet unknown incidental expenses. A little shop was soon found where coffee, butter, and a roll would be furnished to each boy for thirty cents. Their fares home would amount to twenty cents; and the boys decided to take the chance that fifteen cents would prove adequate to the unforeseen. Remembering the soft-shell crabs in the locker, Clifford induced the good-natured landlady to cook them "without extra charge;" and soon the two hungry lads were dispatching their thirty-cent breakfast, which included fried potatoes, also "donated" by the kind-hearted hostess.
At ten o'clock on that eventful Saturday morning, the young navigators re-embarked and dropped down with the tide to the steamboat landing at the Highlands.
The boys soon saw the Seabird plowing her way to the landing. When she had landed, the Slug was quickly made fast to the stern of the larger boat, and ere long the steamer was bearing them homeward.
Seated well forward on the upper deck, the boys were congratulating themselves on being at last free from all anxiety, when suddenly they were startled by loud cries from the stern of the steamboat:
"Hi! Hi! You lads who own the little boat astern! Hurry! quick! quick! She's sinking! she's sinking!"
Running to the spot whence came those warning shouts; Clifford and Jack looked down at the Slug and saw that the small center-board had been thrown entirely out of its trunk by the force of the water which had been churned to a white foam under the huge paddle-wheels of the Seabird,—and a broad stream pouring through this opening into their "yacht" threatened each moment to swamp it.
"Bother that yacht! She's going to haunt us all our lives!" cried Jack, in dismay; but Clifford, taking in the state of affairs at a glance, ran to the lower deck, and with one stroke of his pocket-knife cut the Slug's painter, and then the two boys silently and sadly watched their boat drop far behind in the fan-shaped wake of the larger vessel.
"She may be picked up by some one alongshore, but, more likely, she'll go to the bottom," thoughtfully remarked Clifford.
"I don't believe it," said Jack; "that yacht will never sink! She will be turning up against us all through life, bringing trouble and disgrace."
In due time, the boys arrived at the Goodmaid homestead, where they received a warm welcome from Clifford's aunt, who had almost begun to fear that her young guests were at the bottom of the Shrewsbury.
On Monday morning, bright and early, the two boys started down the left bank of the river to find their boat. They found it after an hour's walk. It had been hauled out upon the beach. The Slug had been sighted and recovered by a farmer living alongshore. After paying two dollars as salvage, Jack asked the farmer concerning the best way of getting the boat home.
"There are three ways," answered the man, thoughtfully. "The first is to wait till there's a hurricane blowing straight up the river, when perhaps you can sail up. The second is to hire me to row her up. And the third is to let me put the boat on my lumber wagon, and haul it up to Mud Flat."
"Of the three, which would be best?" persisted Jack.
"Well," replied the farmer, "you may have to wait weeks for the hurricane; I will haul the boat for two dollars; and I will undertake to row it up the river—(though, understand, I don't say how long I shall be about it)—but row her up I will, somehow, and charge you only two hundred and fifty dollars for the job. And that's very cheap, I can tell you, for I know that boat!"
It is hardly necessary to say that the boys decided that the Slug should go home on wheels, provided they might ride, too, without increase of pay. By the use of rollers, an inclined plane and levers, the boat was safely hoisted upon the wagon. The farmer occupied the bow, and Jack and Cliff each sat on a thwart.
And now, for the first time in her history, the Slug was under complete control. The whip cracked, the horses strained at their collars, the wheels rolled, and away went Jack's "yacht," trundling homeward. The road led past the Goodmaid farm, and over the long bridge crossing the Shrewsbury. As they neared the farm, the boys raised a shout, and Cæsar, Jack's mongrel and mischievous dog, leaving the peacock for a moment, came bounding out to meet them.
True to his nature, he at once began a series of noisy gambols about the farmer's young and high-spirited horses. But soon wearying of that harmless jumping at the wagon, the dog suddenly ran under the forward wheels, and sprang at the long fetlocks of the "near" horse.
Like a flash, the team made a wild plunge, and dashed down the road. The wagon was jerked from beneath the Slug, and the boat and its passengers fell heavily to the ground. The anchor, dropping between the wagon-box and a wheel, became firmly fixed; while the line to which the anchor was attached, being good manilla rope, was uncoiled and dragged after the horses with great rapidity.
Fortunately, the boys and the driver had time to jump out of the "yacht" before the anchor-rope was all "paid out," and so, with the exception of a bad shaking-up and a few bruises, they suffered no injury from their unceremonious disembarking. But the sudden fall had "broken the backbone" of the Slug, as Jack expressed it; and, as if that were not enough, the poor boat, as it hung by the painter, was swung, bumped, knocked, and dragged along, until it was literally reduced to fragments. There was scarcely a residence in all Mud Flat that did not have, long afterward, some satisfactory reminder of the last cruise of the Slug.
But all agreed that the old boat had one virtue—it made famous firewood!
THE GREAT SPRING-BOARD ACT.—BY THE ENTIRE COMPANY.