Chapter XVI: A Treaty of Friendship

It was late the following morning when Tom and Bob awoke. The sun was well up, and the light was streaming into the tent. Their eyes opened on unfamiliar objects and on strange surroundings.

“It gave me the strangest feeling,” said Tom, telling Henry Burns about it some time later. “At first, before I was fully awake, I had forgotten where I was, and I thought I was back in our own tent upon the point. Then it flashed over me that that was gone, and the next moment I remembered that I was down there in Harvey’s camp, and you can’t imagine what a queer feeling it gave me.”

Harvey and the crew had already arisen, and Tom and Bob could hear the crackling of a fire outside, where they were preparing breakfast. Harvey had awakened apparently as strong as ever, unharmed by his terrible experience of the night before.

“Hello, Bob,” said Tom, as they looked across the tent at each other. “Do you know where you are? Isn’t this a queer scrape? I wonder what will come of it.”

“Hello,” answered Bob, yawning and stretching. “Oh, but how I did sleep. I feel as though I had slept about a week. I never was so tired in my life. Say, this is queer, isn’t it? Who’d ever have thought we would be sleeping here, of all places.”

They arose and stepped outside.

The crew paused in their work and looked up, while Harvey advanced to meet his guests.

“Hello,” he said. “We thought we’d let you have your sleep out. You must have been played out.”

“Hello,” answered Tom and Bob. “We thought you were far worse off than we,” continued Bob, “but you seem to have come out of it all right.”

Harvey had by this time come up to them. He paused, hesitatingly, for a moment, while his face flushed. Then he put out his hand.

“Will you shake hands with me?” he asked.

Tom and Bob, for answer, extended each his right hand and grasped that of Harvey.

“Thank you,” said Harvey, simply. “I don’t deserve it, I know.”

There may have been the faintest suspicion of moisture about his eyes.

“Come over here,” he said, and led the way to a big log that lay near the fire, close by where the crew now stood. “I want to say something to you, and so do the fellows, too.”

There was an embarrassing moment as Tom and Bob seated themselves on the log, while the crew stood awkwardly by. They seemed uncertain what to do or say to these brave young fellows, whom they now knew had risked their lives to save their leader. With boy-like reticence, they were too ashamed to speak. Harvey broke the silence.

“The fellows and I don’t know hardly what to say to you,” he said. “The crew want to tell you how ashamed we all are for the way we have treated you, and they want to thank you for what you did for me; but they can’t begin to tell what they feel,—and no more can I,—but they want me to speak for them, too, as I’ve been their captain in all we’ve done, as well as aboard the yacht.

“They know what you did for me,” continued Harvey. “I told them the whole story this morning. There never was anything braver than what you did, and they all know it now as well as I do. They know you were as near drowning as I was, at the last, and you wouldn’t give up and let me go, but stuck to me till the end, and couldn’t have saved your own lives if there had been another rod to go.

“I wouldn’t be here now, if it wasn’t for you—”

“Well, you would have done the same for us, and so would the crew,” said Tom, eager to spare the other’s mortification as much as possible, and feeling his heart kindling toward his late enemy.

“I don’t know whether I should or not,” replied Harvey. “I don’t think I’m so much of a coward, even if I _have_ been doing things that look that way. But that doesn’t make our position any the better. It isn’t what we would have done for you in the same danger that counts. It’s what we have been doing to you ever since you landed on the island that makes our case so bad.”

“I tell you,” Harvey exclaimed, vehemently, as he arose from the log, “we’ve been a lot of fools and we’ve been thinking all the time that we were smart. It just came to me like a flash, as I thought I was going down out there, all the mean things I’ve been doing and what a fool I’ve been. I knew it all the time, too, I guess, only I didn’t care. But you fellows have just brought it home to us hard, and we are going to try to square things up all that we can.

“Now, first,” continued Harvey, taking a long breath and speaking earnestly, “we’re sorry we stole that box of yours from off the wharf. We knew it was yours all the time, too, though I said we didn’t. Of course we couldn’t help knowing. We don’t blame you, either, for blowing up the cave—”

“We didn’t intend really to blow it up,” interrupted Tom. “That was my idea, to burn up some of the stuff, just to get even, and we were nearly scared to death when the explosion came off. We thought you were all killed.”

“Well, I believe you now,” said Harvey, “although I didn’t before. I can see just how it happened, too. The fact is, we had some powder and kerosene there, hidden away. That’s what caused it. Well, anyway, we don’t blame you for setting the fire, and we shouldn’t blame you now, if you had meant to blow up the cave, too. We deserved it.”

“We’re sorry it happened, anyway,” said Bob.

“Now,” added Harvey, “there’s another thing, and that’s the tent. Of course you knew we took it, although you couldn’t prove it. You hadn’t any doubt about it, had you?”

“Well,” replied Tom, “we did kind of think so, although we couldn’t be sure.”

“Of course you thought so,” said Harvey, “because nobody else would have done it. However, you are going to get the tent back all right.”

“Hooray!” cried Bob.

“You’re not half so glad as I am,” exclaimed Harvey. “You bet I’m glad we didn’t harm it. It’s safe and sound, and you wouldn’t guess where it is in a hundred years. It’s up in the old haunted house, stuffed away in the garret, under the eaves. We didn’t dare keep it and we didn’t want to destroy it. In fact, we had decided to put it back on the point some day, after we had kept it as long as we wanted to.”

“We’ll set it up again this afternoon,” cried Tom.

“No, you won’t,” answered Harvey, quickly. “We’re going to do that for you, that is, if you will let us. We want to put it up in as good shape as it was before. We’ll feel better about it then, eh, fellows?”

“That’s right,” responded Joe Hinman. And the others nodded assent.

“Now, one thing more,” said Harvey. “You saw what we had in the cave. There were some things that belonged to Spencer, and one of the first things I do to-day will be to go up there and settle up with him. Then I’ll feel as though I was ready to start fair again.

“And now if you fellows will sit down and have some breakfast with us, then we’ll sail up right after it and get the tent and have it up for you just as quick as we can. We can’t do it any too quick to suit us.”

So Tom and Bob seated themselves with their new-found friends. George Baker, who had the fry-pan all heated and a big dish of batter mixed, proceeded to fry a mess of flapjacks, while Joe Hinman poured the coffee. All the old enmity had vanished in a night, and they laughed and joked as they sat about the campfire like friends of long standing.

Then, when they had finished, and had shaken hands once more all around, and Tom and Bob had departed for the Warren cottage to explain their strange absence, and to acquaint the Warrens with the new turn of affairs, Harvey and his crew got sail on the _Surprise_ and headed up alongshore for the haunted house.

“There,” cried George Warren, as the boys appeared in sight a little later, “didn’t I tell you, mother, not to worry about Tom and Bob? You ought to know them by this time. They know how to take care of themselves.”

“Well, the next time you go off for all night,” exclaimed Mrs. Warren, a little impatiently for her, “I wish you would let me know about it beforehand. I don’t like to have to worry about you, and I can’t help it if you start off in that canoe and don’t come back.”

“I don’t blame you for not liking it,” replied Tom, “and we’ll try not do it again. But we really couldn’t help this. We met with an adventure.”

“What, you didn’t see the _Eagle_, did you?” cried George Warren.

“No, you’re wide of the mark,” laughed Tom. “We’ve given up that hunt for good. No, we had a different sort of an adventure altogether. Where do you suppose we slept last night?”

“With Henry Burns,” said young Joe.

“No.”

“Down on the beach?” said Arthur.

“No.”

“Give it up,” said George.

“Well, you wouldn’t guess in a hundred times trying,” said Tom, “so I’ll tell you. It was in Jack Harvey’s camp.”

“Harvey’s camp!” exclaimed the three brothers, in chorus.

“Yes, sir, Harvey’s camp.”

“I didn’t know they were off on a cruise,” said George. “Oh, I see, you’ve been getting even, have you? And how about the camp? Is it still there? What have you done with that?”

“It’s still down there,” laughed Tom. “We didn’t do anything to it at all. In fact, the crew were all there, and Harvey, too. We stayed there because they invited us. And, what’s more, we have just had breakfast with them all.”

The Warrens stared at Tom in amazement.

“Had breakfast with Harvey and his crew! Oh, say, you fellows, quit fooling now, and tell us where you have been.”

“Well,” said Tom, “listen and we’ll tell you the whole story. We’ve been having our revenge.”

And Tom related the story of the night’s adventures.

Good Mrs. Warren fairly hugged them with delight when they had concluded.

“That’s just splendid,” she cried. “That’s a splendid revenge. That’s the kind that counts for most. But I want to hear Jack Harvey tell the story now. I know you haven’t told half about the rescue. I want to hear him tell how brave you were.”

“He’ll exaggerate it,” said Bob. “He’s our friend, you know, now.”

“Well, I’m glad enough you are all friends,” exclaimed Mrs. Warren. “You must go and tell Henry Burns.”

When Jack Harvey and his crew had returned from the haunted house, and had anchored off the point and had brought the tent ashore, they found assembled there to greet them the entire group of comrades, the Warren boys, Henry Burns, and Tom and Bob.

There was a general hand-shaking all around, and then they all set to work to pitch the tent. It didn’t take long to do it, either, for Tom and Bob had saved the poles that had supported the canvas, and there were hands enough to jump at every rope and bring it taut into place. And everybody went at it in such good spirit, and everybody was so pleased and so willing to lend a hand, that the tent was up in its old place again almost as quick as it had come down.

Then they rushed off in high spirits to the Warren cottage for the camp-kit and the boxes and the blankets and all the camp equipment, and packed it down on their shoulders as fast as they had ever done anything in all their lives.

And Mrs. Warren did hear the story of the rescue from Jack Harvey’s own lips, and was prouder than ever of her boys’ friends, Tom and Bob.

Then, when everything was shipshape, and Harvey and his crew were about to take their departure, he said: “We want all you fellows to come down to-morrow evening and take supper with us, the whole of you. You see, I’ve just got my allowance from the governor, and he’s mighty generous to me, more than I deserve. It comes in just at the right time. You’ll be sure and come, all of you?”

“We’ll be there,” answered Henry Burns.

“Indeed we will,” said young Joe.

“And remember Joe counts for two when it comes to the supper-table,” said George.

“We’ll have enough,” said Harvey.

“We’ll go along with you to your camp,” said Tom, “and get our canoe. That is, unless you’d like to use it awhile,” he added, slyly.

“Not much,” replied Harvey, with a laugh. “I’ve had enough canoeing to last me for a few days. But I’m glad I took that paddle, though, for all the narrow escape I had. It was the best accident I ever had in all my life.”

“Canoeing isn’t always as easy as it looks,” said Bob, as they walked along. “By the way, we haven’t even asked you how you came to upset. It’s because we have had so much else to talk about and think about.”

“Why,” said Harvey, “there isn’t much to tell. I don’t hardly know how it happened, myself. I went to change my position in the canoe, as I was cramped with kneeling in one position so long. I suppose I lost my balance a little, but I was overboard so quick I don’t know, myself, just how it did happen. I must have wrenched myself as I went over, for the minute I tried to swim I felt a pain in my side.”

“That’s the way with a canoe,” said Tom. “It doesn’t always tip over. Moreover it just slides out from under one, without even capsizing at all. That’s usually when one is kneeling or sitting up on a thwart, and the centre of gravity is high in it. When one is low down in a canoe it is rare an accident ever happens. We never have had a bad spill in several years of canoeing, except when we got caught in the storm this summer, and that was because a paddle broke.”

They had now reached the camp, and Tom and Bob launched their canoe and paddled away. They did not return to their own camp, however, but headed down the island. When they had reached the Narrows they carried across into the other bay, and then started down along the shore at a good clip. They were in search of Harvey’s canoe.

Several miles down they found it, lodged gently on a projecting ledge. It was uninjured, beyond a little scraping of paint from the canvas, and they took it in tow and returned to the Narrows. They carried both canoes across, and then, when they had paddled up toward Harvey’s camp a way, they took his canoe up on shore and left it.

That night, when Harvey’s camp was asleep, they paddled down quietly, got the canoe, and towed it out to the yacht _Surprise_. They lifted it aboard and left it there, for Harvey to find in the morning.

“There’s just as much fun in that kind of a joke, after all, if one only looks at it that way,” said Tom, as they paddled home to bed.

“My! but it seems good to be back in the old tent once more, eh, Tom?” exclaimed Bob, as they turned in.

“Good? Good’s no name for it,” returned his chum. “The Warren cottage is fine, but I like to hear those waves creeping up on the beach as though they were coming clear into the tent. It just puts me to sleep.”

The next moment bore truth to this assertion.

The next afternoon, as the sun was just sinking down through the trees beyond Harvey’s camp, a band of six boys marched along the shore and through the woods, singing as they went. If they had not known every inch of the way as they did know it, a beacon-light on the shore would have guided them.

All afternoon Harvey and his crew had worked, making preparations to receive them. They had gathered wood, lugged water, brought stuff down from the village, brought in the lantern from the yacht to aid in the illumination, and had, indeed, laid themselves out to do honour to their guests.

Harvey extended a hand to welcome them, one by one, as they came up.

“That was a fine joke you played on us last night,” he said, warmly, as Tom and Bob appeared. “If you fellows keep piling it on, you’ll have me buried under a debt of gratitude that I never can attempt to pay.”

“Looks as though you had made a good start at it,” said Bob, pointing to one of the benches, where a huge supply of food lay heaped.

“Well,” replied Harvey, “just watch Joe now. He’s going to give us a treat. If any one knows how to broil a chicken over the coals, it’s Joe.”

Joe, thus distinguished, had raked over a bed of glowing coals, the product of a heap of ship’s timbers, nearly consumed, and was preparing to lay out the aforesaid chickens, split for broiling, upon a big wire broiler.

“There’s half a dozen of them,” said Harvey, “and they’re the best that the island affords. You needn’t be afraid—we didn’t confiscate them, either. We’re all done with that sort of thing.”

“Don’t they smell good!” said young Joe, gleefully.

Soon they had a great dish of the chickens on the table, flanked by a heaping plate of potatoes, baked in ashes, a pot or two of jelly, several loaves of bread, and coffee that filled the woods with fragrance.

Then they fell to and ate like wolves. If young Joe had any the best of it, it was hard to see,—and nobody cared, anyway, for every one did his level best.

And then, when they had eaten, they sat and sang, roaring away at the top of their lungs, for it was a fair place for noise and no one to be disturbed; only the fish-hawks high in their nests and the seals away out on the ledges to wonder at the unusual disturbance. Then, as the fire blazed, they told stories of fishing, of hunting, of the search for the strange yacht, and a hundred other things, more than ever fascinating, heard under the stars, in the shadow of the woods, in the sight and sound of the sea, by the firelight.

It was a night long to be remembered, although as yet they did not dream of those events soon to happen, which would be far more memorable, and of which this evening by the camp-fire was but the beginning.