Go-Ahead; Or, The Fisher-Boy's Motto

by Harry Castlemon

As the fisher-boy spoke, he cast off the line with which the Go Ahead was made fast to the beach, got out one of his oars to serve as a rudder, and, thanking the boat-builder for his repeated wishes for unbounded success, filled away for his pier. A strong breeze was blowing directly down the harbor, and this gave Bob a splendid opportunity to judge of the sailing qualities of his new craft. All of Mr. Graves's boats were warranted fast, but Bob soon came to the conclusion that never had a skiff been launched at his yard that could be compared to the Go Ahead No. 2. Her sail was as large as she could conveniently carry; and, when she had got fairly started, she took a "bone in her teeth," and moved down the harbor at a rate of speed that delighted her young skipper.

The fisher-boy was in his element; and the only thing that kept him from shouting at the top of his lungs, was the fear of attracting the attention of the people on the wharves. So overjoyed was he that he could scarcely sit still. He kept looking over every part of his boat, first up at the sail, then at the clean thwarts and dry bottom, so different from his old scow, and then he would say to himself: "Is she really mine? I never thought I should be able to own a boat like this! But she does belong to me, and no mistake; for I remember writing out a note for Mr. Graves. Now, Sam Barton, bring on your clumsy old yawl."

This last remark, although uttered for the benefit of the bully, did not reach his ears, for he was too far off to hear it, and besides, he was busy. A party of half a dozen persons were standing upon the wharf, and Sam was sculling leisurely across to attend to their wants. Now, that Bob Jennings, as he imagined, had been disposed of, he had nothing to fear from rivals, and he was taking his own time in getting across the harbor. This did not seem to suit the gentlemen on the wharf, for they several times requested him to "hurry up," an invitation which Sam, being too lazy to heed, pretended that he did not hear. He moved his oar slowly about in the water, expending just strength enough upon it to keep his yawl in motion, and his eyes, probably from the force of long habit, were wandering up and down the harbor, as if in search of more customers.

"Come, boy, make haste, there!" shouted one of the men. "We don't intend to stand here in this hot sun much longer."

Sam, however, did not arouse himself in the least. On the contrary, he stopped sculling entirely, and stood looking up the harbor at a trim little craft that was coming directly toward him. He did not remember of having seen her before, but he could have recognized her skipper as far as he could see him.

"Well, now, if this yere don't beat all the world!" said Sam to himself, stooping down and shading his eyes with his hand to obtain a better view of the approaching boat. "If I hadn't seed Bobby Jennings sunk this mornin', I should say that that was him. But where could he get a tidy little vessel like that? I declare; if she aint the purtiest little—"

Sam's admiration for the approaching craft ceased very suddenly, as he noticed her somewhat singular movements, and began to understand their meaning. When he first discovered her, her bow was pointed toward the wharf, as if her skipper intended to make an attempt to take his passengers away from him; but now she was headed directly down the harbor, and was coming toward him like an arrow from a bow. She was laying almost on her side, the spray was dashing wildly about her sharp bows, and her skipper's face wore an expression that Sam did not like to see. He remembered what he had done that morning, and, believing that the fisher-boy was about to take ample revenge upon him, he turned and sculled down the harbor with all the speed he could command. But in spite of all his exertions, the skiff gained rapidly, and the bully, seeing that escape was impossible, became so terrified that his face grew pale, and his heart thumped against his ribs like a trip-hammer.

"Hallo, Bobby!" he called out in a trembling voice, as soon as his rival came within hearing; "what a nice boat you've got, Bobby!"

An angry shake of the head was the only reply he received, and the skiff came on as fast as ever.