Chapter XII: The Surprise Sets Sail Again

The work on the _Surprise_ had gone on famously, though it had been a hard task. The labour of cleaning her, inside and out, had been well begun down in the Thoroughfare, but there remained still much to be done after she had been floated up into the harbour of Southport.

First, the boys had brought her in on the beach, at a point a little way up the cove from the Warren cottage, where there was a break in the rocky shore, and a clean strip of sand extended back from the water’s edge. There they had raised her on blocks and shored her up so they could work to advantage.

They swarmed over and in and out of her then like ants in an ant-hill, every boy lending a hand, from the Warren brothers to the campers down below. They scrubbed and scraped her, inside and out, and washed her insides with soap and hot water.

Then, following Captain Sam’s advice, they built a fire on the shore and melted a kettle full of pitch and tar. When they had gone over the entire planking of the boat, setting up the nails that had slackened with the straining it had undergone, and had driven many new ones in between, Harvey, equipped with an enormous brush, and having taken up the cabin flooring, smeared the inner part of the boat’s planking with the tar and pitch, filling all the seams with it.

Then they went over the entire hull on the exterior, tightening it up, scraping, sandpapering, and rubbing until their hands were blistered and their arms ached. Then came the painting of the cabin and outer hull, and the scraping and varnishing of the decks. The mast and ballast they had brought up from the Thoroughfare. The latter, cleansed of its rust and given a coating of hot coal-tar, was ready to be stowed aboard. The mast, scraped and varnished till it glistened once more, had been carefully stepped and fastened above and below. The yacht _Surprise_, with clean, shining spars, with polished, glistening decks, and with hull spotless white, was ready once more for the water. Long before they had tested their work with innumerable buckets of water thrown aboard, and had found her tight and not a leak remaining.

Jack Harvey eyed the yacht admiringly, as he paused, half-way up the bank from where she stood. His companions in the day’s work had gone on ahead.

“She’s a fine old boat,” he said, “and she’s just as good as new. I’ve had a lot of fun in her, too. I’ll never have any more fun in the _Viking_ than I’ve had in her, though the _Viking_ is bigger and handsomer. I’d be satisfied with the _Surprise_ if I hadn’t got the other one.”

The moment seemed almost opportune for the offer that followed.

“That’s a fine craft there,” cried a voice so close in Harvey’s ear that it made him jump, for he had been so lost in the admiration of the _Surprise_ that he had not heard the sound of any one approaching. He turned quickly, and there was Mr. Carleton.

“Doesn’t look much as though she had been under water all winter, does she?” asked Harvey.

“I should say not,” replied Mr. Carleton. “Looks as though she was just out of the shipyard. I don’t see what you need of the _Viking_ when you’ve got such a boat as this. You’d better let me hire the _Viking_ from you for the rest of the summer.”

“Sorry,” replied Harvey, “but I can’t do it. You see, I’ve promised to let the crew have this boat, and they have set their hearts on it. I wouldn’t disappoint them now for a hundred dollars.”

“How about two hundred dollars?” suggested Mr. Carleton.

Harvey hesitated for a moment.

“No!” he cried, determinedly, “not for a thousand dollars. There! I’ve said it, and I mean it. I want the money bad enough, too. But the crew are going to have this boat. We’ve made all the arrangements, and we are using the _Viking_ for fishing, and we’ve got to be off for another trip, too, for we have been about here, earning nothing, for quite awhile now.”

“I’ll give you eighteen hundred dollars if you will sell the _Viking_,” said Mr. Carleton.

Harvey shook his head stubbornly.

“No use,” he said. “But,” he added, “you can arrange with the crew to take you sailing easy enough when we aren’t around here. They’ll be glad to have you go.”

“Hm!” exclaimed Mr. Carleton. “Well, all right; but if you change your mind, let me know.

“When are you going to launch this one?” he added.

“Why, I think we’ll put her into the water this evening,” replied Harvey. “That is, if we don’t get a shower. The moon will be up and the tide right. That’s why we are coming away so early now. We’re going up to the Warren cottage to get out some Japanese lanterns, and get the cannon ready. When we launch her, we are going to run a line from the masthead to the stern, and hang a chain of the lanterns, light them, and tow the _Surprise_ around to the wharf in style, and fire a salute. Then she’ll be ready for Captain Sam to fit the sails in the morning. Better come around and see the fun.”

“Will you all be over here?” inquired Mr. Carleton.

“The whole crowd,” answered Harvey.

“Then I’ll be on hand sure,” said Mr. Carleton—but added to himself, “if I don’t have something else to do.”

There seemed to be no prospect of anybody taking part in a launching on this particular evening, however, for the dark clouds that had warned Harvey spread over the sky, and a quickly gathering summer shower was soon upon them. Harvey hurried up to the Warren cottage for shelter, and Mr. Carleton started back on the run toward Captain Sam’s.

A rowboat or two out in the harbour put hurriedly in to shore. The occupant of one of these latter craft, scurrying in and dashing homeward, had, it seems, been noticed by Squire Brackett through his glass from his observation-tower.

“Harry,” he said, as that young man came into the house, somewhat red in the face and out of breath, “what were you doing just now out around the _Viking_? I saw you row out behind her, and it took you at least three minutes or more to come in sight again. You didn’t go aboard her, did you?”

“No, I didn’t go aboard,” replied Harry Brackett, sulkily.

“Well, see that you don’t,” said Squire Brackett, emphatically. “You might not mean any harm by it, but you’ve had some trouble with those boys already this summer, and they wouldn’t like having you aboard unless they invited you.”

“Hm! well, if I wait for that I’ll never step aboard that boat,” exclaimed Harry Brackett. “And what’s more, I don’t want to go aboard. I wouldn’t go if they asked me.”

Having thus declared himself, Harry Brackett bolted his supper and vanished.

The shower, of rapid approach, was of equally brief duration. It had begun raining big, splashing drops about half-past four o’clock. Now, an hour later, it was brightening again, the sun darting its rays forth from the breaking cloud-banks, and the rain-drops dripping only from eaves and tree-branches.

Henry Burns and Harvey were vastly elated. The launching need not be put off, for the evening would be fair. They left the Warren cottage and hurried down alongshore to where they had left their tender, rowed out to the _Viking_, and began their preparations for supper.

“Henry,” said Harvey, “there’s some sunlight left yet, and just enough breeze to dry the sails nicely before we leave. The sooner they are dried the less likely they are to mildew. Shall we run them up?”

“Yes, let’s be quick about it,” replied Henry Burns. “The fire’s ready for the biscuit.”

They seized the halyards, one the throat and the other the peak, and began hauling. The sail went up smartly—when, all at once, there was an ominous, ripping sound.

“Hold on!” cried Harvey, “something is caught.”

“Well, I should say there was!” exclaimed Henry Burns, when he had made his halyard fast, and started to examine. “Cracky! but there are two big tears in the sail.”

“I don’t see how that can be,” said Harvey, joining him. “It’s a stout, new mainsail.”

“Why, I see what did the mischief,” he exclaimed, the next moment. “The reefing-points are caught in two places. That’s funny. We shook all the reefs out the last time we brought her in.”

“Look and see if it’s funny,” said Henry Burns, quietly. “I suppose somebody thought it was funny. Those knots didn’t tie themselves.”

Harvey examined them, while his face reddened with anger.

“I’ll bet I could guess who did that!” he cried.

“We’ll attend to his case if you guess right,” responded Henry Burns.

The knots certainly could not have caught themselves. There had been design in the act. In two places along the sail, one of the points for the fourth reef had been tied with one of the first. The consequence of this was, that when the united strength of the boys had come to bear directly on these two places, instead of being exerted evenly along the entire sail, the canvas had given away.

Harvey clinched his fist for a moment, opened his lips, as though about to give vent to his anger, and then suddenly subsided, with an expression on his face that half-amused Henry Burns.

“Say, Henry,” he said, “I’ve played the same kind of a joke myself before this, so I guess I might as well grin and bear it. But,” he continued, doubling up his fist once more, “perhaps I won’t take it out of that young Harry Brackett just the same, if I find out he did it.”

Henry Burns smiled assent.

“Never mind,” he said. “We can mend the tears so they won’t show much.”

They untied the knots, raised the sail, and let it dry while they ate their supper.

“Say, Tim,” said Harvey, an hour later, as they stood on shore by Tom and Bob’s tent, where the campers from down below had also assembled, “will you do something for me?”

“Sure,” replied Little Tim. “What is it?”

“Well, we want you to stay out aboard the _Viking_ while we go up the cove and get the _Surprise_ off and float her around,” said Harvey. “You see, Henry and I have decided not to leave the _Viking_ deserted at night after this—that is, unless we have to. But what we want to-night particularly is for you to stay aboard and keep watch, and see if you notice Harry Brackett around the shore or the wharf, looking off toward the _Viking_. He’s played us a fine trick, and made us tear our mainsail—that is, we think he did it. But whoever it was will probably be around to see if the trick worked. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No-o-o,” answered Tim; “but don’t fire the cannon till you get around the point.”

“We won’t,” said Harvey. “Here’s the key to the cabin.”

Little Tim rowed out aboard.

It seemed, however, as though his vigil was to be a fruitless one. Certainly, Harry Brackett failed to put in an appearance. Little Tim stretched himself out on the seat and waited impatiently.

“I don’t see what Jack wanted to make me stay here for,” he remarked, when eight o’clock had come and gone and it was close upon nine, and the moon was rising.

Presently, however, he sat up and listened. Yes, there was somebody rowing out from shore. Tim strained his eyes eagerly. Then shortly he made out a somewhat familiar figure.

“Hello, Mr. Carleton,” he called; “I thought they said you were going up to the launching.”

The man in the boat stopped rowing abruptly, and turned in his seat. But if he was surprised to find anybody aboard the _Viking_ he did not show it.

“So I am,” he replied. “Don’t you want to go up with me?”

“Can’t do it,” replied Little Tim. “I’m on watch. You’d better hurry, though. The tide is about up. She’ll be afloat soon now.”

Mr. Carleton rowed away. But he was not over-impatient, it would seem, for he rowed leisurely. In fact, he did not get up to the place of the launching at all, but paused off the wharf and sat idly in the stern of his boat, smoking and enjoying the beauty of the rising moon.

The yacht _Surprise_ was at last afloat in all its glory of new paint and shining spars. She came around the point presently, towed by two boats filled with the boys, the string of lanterns, with candles lighted, swaying almost dangerously in the night breeze. The rowers halted abreast the _Viking_, the report of the cannon rang out over the waters and up through the quiet town, and the _Surprise_, now at anchor, lay waiting for the morrow, when Captain Sam should stretch the sails.

“Great success, wasn’t it?” cried Tom Harris to the occupant of a rowboat that had drifted up to them.

“Great!” replied Mr. Carleton. “Great! Sorry I didn’t get over in time to see her go into the water.”

Mr. Carleton made up for his delinquency the next day, however, for he was on hand early, and was much interested in the work of Captain Sam. He knew something of reeving rigging, too, it seemed, and lent a hand now and then. Joe Hinman and the crew liked him better than ever for it.

He was down again after dinner, too, and ready as ever to be of assistance.

“Hello,” he said, looking over toward the _Viking_, “are the other chaps going to play truant this afternoon, and leave us to rig the _Surprise_? I see they’ve got sail up.”

“Oh, they’re off for a week’s fishing down among the islands,” said Joe. “Jack said for us to go ahead and run the _Surprise_ as soon as Captain Sam gets her ready. There they start now. They’ve cast off.”

The _Viking_ was, indeed, under way, with Henry Burns and Harvey and Tom and Bob waving farewell.

“Where are you bound?” called Mr. Carleton, springing to the rail and hailing the _Viking_.

“Down the bay, fishing,” answered Harvey.

“Great!” cried Mr. Carleton. “Bring her up a minute, and I’ll come aboard and make the trip with you.”

Harvey looked at Henry Burns inquiringly.

Henry Burns glanced back at Mr. Carleton, but without altering the course of the yacht.

“Good-bye,” he called, pleasantly. “Sorry, but we’ve got a full crew. Couldn’t pay you high enough wages, anyway. Next trip, perhaps. Good-bye, fellows.”

Mr. Carleton watched the yacht, footing it fleetly southward; and there was a look of genuine disappointment on his face.

“Never mind,” said Joe Hinman, “come along with us. We’re off for a little cruise ourselves, in the morning. We’d like to have you go.”

“No, thanks,” replied Mr. Carleton. “I think I will wait ashore this trip—yes, I will go, too,” he said in the next breath. “I tell you where we will go. We’ll sail down to Stoneland. I haven’t been down that far yet. I’m with you.”

“All right,” said Joe. As a matter of fact, he had not contemplated so long a trip until the sails had been fully stretched and fitted under Captain Sam’s eye. But there was something positive about Mr. Carleton’s assertion. He said it with an assurance that seemed to take it for granted that that settled it. So Joe good-naturedly acquiesced.

“By the way,” said Mr. Carleton the next morning, when they had met outside Rob Dakin’s store, “have you got a chart of these waters aboard?”

“No,” answered Joe. “Jack has all that stuff aboard the _Viking_. But we don’t need a chart around this bay, do we, fellows? Not to go as far as Stoneland even. We know the bay all right.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” responded Mr. Carleton; “but I like to see where I am sailing for my own information. I’ll get one in the store.”

Mr. Carleton providing not only a chart for the voyage, but a quantity of provisions as well, they set out in high feather. It certainly was a stroke of luck, now that Harvey’s pocket-money was low, to have so liberal a passenger.

He was an interested and discerning sailor, too, was Mr. Carleton. He had a sailor’s interest to read the depth of water on the chart as they sailed, and to note the points of land off at either hand, and the islands by name, as they went southward. And he traced it all accurately on the chart as they progressed, with a little pencilling, especially when they sailed between some small islands at the foot of Grand Island.

“I like to know where I am, don’t you?” he asked of Joe Hinman. “I may buy a yacht of my own down here some day.”

He was interested in the harbour of Stoneland, too, and in the town; and he took them all up to a store there and bought them bottled soda, and bought their supper the night of their arrival there—which was the second night after their departure from Southport.

Then, at his suggestion, they cruised a little way down the channel that was the thoroughfare out to sea, on the following morning, and would have liked to go farther, but that Joe Hinman declared they must be getting back, as the crew had an idea of doing some fishing on their own account, to help Harvey out with expenses.

“There!” exclaimed Mr. Carleton, as they headed about finally, “there’s our course by the chart, laid down as fine as you please. I’m going to give this chart to you—after I amuse myself with it awhile.”

But be it recorded that when the trip had been ended, several days later, Mr. Carleton did not leave the chart aboard the _Surprise_, but took it ashore with him.