CHAPTER XIII
THE VOYAGE OF THE SLEET
_The Scene._--The boat-house landing and the river thereabouts.
_The Time._--Four-thirty of the following Saturday afternoon.
_Characters._--Dick, Trevor, Carl, Stewart, an ice-yacht, chorus of boys on skates.
_Chorus_: “Heave-o! Now, all together! Heave!”
_Carl_: “Hang the thing, anyhow! What’s the matter with it?”
_Dick_: “Well, since you know all about the art of ice-sailing, itstrikes me that you ought to be able to raise a little old pillow-shamof a sail like that!”
_Trevor_: “Let’s pull on this rope and see what happens.”
_Chorus_: “How’d you like to be the ice-yachtsmen?”
_Carl_: “That’s the rope! Take hold here, fellows!”
_Chorus_: “Everybody shove!”
_Carl_: “There she goes! Make a hitch there, Dick! Jump on, quick!_Whoa!_”
_Chorus_: “A-ah!”
The boat catches the wind, starts suddenly up-stream, as suddenlychanges its mind, veers about, rams the landing, backs off, charges agroup of boys on skates, and then stands motionless with its head intothe wind and laughs so that its sail flaps.
It is now discovered that there is room on the yacht for but threefellows at the most, and every one save Carl begs to be allowed tosacrifice his pleasure and remain at home. The choice falls to Stewart,and he joins the chorus with a countenance eloquent of relief. Carl,Dick, and Trevor huddle together on the cockpit, and a portion of thechorus shoves the yacht’s head about. The sail fills, and the yachtglides off up-stream in a strong breeze, to the jeers and bitingsarcasms of the chorus, many of whom pretend to weep agonizedly intotheir handkerchiefs.
The Sleet had been delivered and paid for the preceding Wednesday. Shewas an old-style boat with a length of sixteen feet and a sail areaaltogether too small for her size. A new coat of brilliant--and as yetbut partly dried--crimson paint hid a multitude of weak places. Thecockpit, upholstered with a piece of faded red carpet, was barely largeenough to allow the three boys to huddle onto it.
The boat-house and landing, Stewart, and the contemptuous chorus weresoon left behind, and The Sleet gained momentum every second. Carlheld the tiller, and Dick and Trevor held their breaths. The wind wasstraight abaft, but the cold made the boys huddle closely together toprotect their faces. The academy buildings faded from sight in thegray afternoon haze, and the river stretched cold and bleak before them.
“How fast are we going?” asked Dick.
“I don’t know; pretty well, I guess,” answered Carl. “Fine, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Dick, doubtfully. “Only I don’t think we ought to go faraway, you know; eh, Trevor?”
“Oh, let her rip. What’s the difference whether we get killed here orfarther up? Pull open the throttle, Carl!”
“Look out for your heads, then; I’m going to swing her across to theother side.”
Carl moved the tiller to starboard, and the yacht tacked toward thefarther shore at a truly alarming speed.
“She’s going awful fast, Carl,” gasped Dick.
“Pshaw! this is nothing. If there was only a decent wind----”
“Wow, Carl, she’s keeling over!” yelled Trevor.
The starboard runner was a whole foot above the ice. The sensation wasdistinctly unpleasant, and even Carl seemed not to relish it.
“Let’s see,” he muttered. “Oh, yes.” He moved the tiller cautiously,and the flighty runner settled down upon the surface once more.
“That’s better,” gasped Dick. “Let’s turn here and go back, fellows,”he suggested with a fine semblance of carelessness. Carl grinned.
“Dick’s scared silly, Trevor,” he shouted.
“Well, so’m I,” answered Trevor. “And so are you, only you won’t leton. The bally thing goes so fast that it makes you feel funny insideyou. But it _is_ fun, Carl. _Look out for the bank!_”
Over went the tiller again, and the yacht started on the starboardtack. The hills on either side were flying past, and now and then acluster of houses were seen dimly for an instant, and then was lost tosight.
“What’s that ahead there?” asked Dick. Carl raised his eyes andfollowed the other’s gaze.
“Ice-yacht,” he answered. “Perhaps they’ll race us.”
“Perhaps they will,” muttered Trevor, “but if you go any faster whenyou race, I’ll get off the blooming thing and walk.”
“Bully boy!” cried Carl. “Feeling better, aren’t you?”
“Well, I fancy I’ve got some of my breath back, you know. But I don’tmind saying that I’d rather ride on a cyclone than this contrivance.And my feet are like snowballs!”
“So are mine,” echoed Dick. “And all the rest of me. But let’s ask ’emto race, Carl.”
The other yacht, which when first sighted had been a long distance upthe river, was now but a short way ahead, and was almost motionless,nose into the wind, as though awaiting the arrival of The Sleet. Whilethe latter boat was still an eighth of a mile distant a form spranginto view on the yacht ahead and a hand waved in challenge. Carlsteadied himself on his knees and waved back.
“We’ll race you!” he bawled.
An answering gesture showed that he had been heard, and the figuredisappeared. In another moment the two yachts were abreast, andthe stranger swung about and took the wind. She had two personsaboard, a man and a woman, both so wrapped from the weather as to bescarcely distinguishable. She was a much larger boat than The Sleet,sloop-rigged, with immaculate white sails and without side-timbers.She wore no paint, but her woodwork was varnished until it shone.Altogether there was scarcely any comparison between the two yachts, soimmeasurably superior was the sloop in every detail.
The Sleet meanwhile had gained an eighth of a mile, perhaps, ere thestranger had found the wind, but now the latter came booming afterthem at a spanking gait, her big sails as stiff as though frozen. Carlgrinned.
“It’ll be a mighty short race, my boys. She can sail all around thislittle triangle. But we’ll give her a go, just the same.” He broughtThe Sleet closer to the wind, and then began a series of long tacksthat sent the boat fairly flying over the ice. But the stranger wasalready at the same tactics, and ere a mile had passed was abreast ofThe Sleet, though at the other side of the river, and her crew werewaving derisively across.
“Well, if we had as much sail as you have,” growled Carl, “we might bein your class; as it is, we aren’t. But The Sleet is a good goer, allthe same.”
The other boat stood across into the middle of the river, and then, asthough her former efforts had been but the merest dawdling, boundedaway, and was soon but a small white speck far up the ice in the haze.
“Let’s turn back now,” suggested Dick. “It must be getting towardhalf-past five, and you must remember that we won’t be able to make asfast time going down the river as we have coming up.”
“All right, we’ll turn in a minute.”
And then Carl, whose knowledge of ice-yachting was derived from thehurried perusal of a library book on the subject, cudgeled his brainsto recollect how to “go about.” Of course, he might lower the sail andthen bring her around, but that would be a most clumsy, unsportsmanlikemethod, and so not to be seriously considered. Presumably, the thing todo was to luff.
“Stand by to luff!” he bawled. Dick and Trevor stared.
“Stand!” cried Trevor indignantly. “Why, I can’t stand, you idiot. It’sall I can do to hold on as it is!”
“Well, look out for the boom, then. I’m going to bring her about.”
“Who?” asked Trevor innocently. But he got no answer, and the nextinstant he had forgotten his question, for Carl had thrust the helmhard over without first ascertaining that the sheet was clear. Itwasn’t. The result was startling. The wind struck the sail full, andthe yacht swung violently to port, tilted almost onto her beam ends.Carl and Trevor went rapidly through space and brought up
on the iceyards and yards away, happily uninjured save for minor bruises andscratches, and The Sleet, righting herself, bounded forward with Dickclutching desperately, dazedly, at the port runner-beam.
When the shock had come Dick, like the others, had been thrown fromthe cockpit, but, by good luck or bad, had encountered the end of thecross-timber, just over the runner, and had seized it and clung to itwith no very clear idea as to what it was, and not greatly caring. Andnow, when he opened his eyes and gazed confusedly about, he found theyacht ringing merrily over the ice and, judging by the feeling, kickingup her heels in delight, and found himself wrapped convulsively aboutthe beam with the wind whistling madly in his ears and blowing hishair helter-skelter, for in his flight through air his cap and he hadparted company. He cast a look backward and thought that for an instanthe could discern in the gathering darkness two figures. Near at handthe stays ran to the masthead, and he edged himself toward them untilhe could grasp one in his numbed fingers. Then he was able to gain thesupport of the mast, somewhat painfully, for he found that his shoulderached horribly, and that his lip had been cut and was swelling todisconcerting size. By means of the boom, which was swinging agitatedlyas though constantly meditating a veer to the other side, he reachedthe cockpit, and there, stretched once more at length, he studied thesituation.
Apparently, there was no immediate danger; the yacht was heading fairlystraight up the middle of the river, and although now and then thestern slid this way or that, she was behaving well. But the imperativething was to stop. Dick tried to undo a rope that looked promising, buthis fingers were numb and stiff, despite the woolen gloves that coveredthem, and refused to act. He peered ahead into the descending darkness.The shore to the left was getting rather too near for comfort, and heseized the tiller, and, half fearful of the result, swung it to theright, with the startling result that the yacht headed more directlytoward the threatening shore. Desperately he moved the tiller tothe left, and gave a sigh of relief as the boat’s nose swung towardmidstream. Encouraged by his success he presently moved the helm back alittle, and with the yacht’s head pointing a middle course, again triedto think of some means of bringing his unwelcome voyage to an end. Heknew nothing, practically, of yachting on either water or ice, buthe knew that if he could get the sail down the boat would eventuallystop. Painfully he drew off a glove and sought his pocket-knife. Itwas not there. He tried all his pockets with the same disappointingresult. Then he drew his glove back over his deadened hand, andthought desperately of jumping off and letting The Sleet look afterherself. But the prospect of being dashed across the ice at the risk ofa broken limb didn’t appeal to him; and besides, he felt in a measureresponsible for the safe return of the confounded boat.
“Stand by the ship!” he muttered with an attempt at a grin.
“Stand by the ship!” he muttered.]
The wind seemed now to be decreasing in force, but The Sleet stillcharged away into the gathering blackness with breathless speed. At aloss for any better solution, Dick struggled again at the rope, and itseemed that success was about to reward his efforts when there was asudden jar, followed a second later by a strange sinking sensation, thesound of breaking ice, and then Dick felt the cockpit being lifted upand up, and ere he could grasp anything he was rolled over the edge andplunged downward into icy water.