CHAPTER II
The Flying Stingaree
Someone once said that the Chesapeake Bay "looks like the deck plan ofan octopus," but the mental image created by the phrase tells but afraction of the story. Rivers and creeks empty into the bay by thedozens, and every river, and most of the creeks, have tributaries. Evensome of the tributaries have tributaries. The result is thousands ofmiles of navigable waters, forming a maze of waterways that it wouldtake most of a lifetime of weekend cruising to explore.
The cruising houseboat _Spindrift_ moved steadily across the mouth ofone of the principal waterways of the Eastern Shore, the Choptank River.It was a good three miles across the river's mouth, and Rick occupiedthe time by reading aloud to Scotty, who was piloting.
"'The Choptank River is navigable for large ships to the city ofCambridge, a principal Eastern Shore port. Yachts will find the rivernavigable for twenty miles beyond Cambridge, depending on their draft,while boats of shallow draft can cruise all the way into the State ofDelaware.'" Rick paused in his reading and looked up. "Be fun to go upone of these rivers to the source, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe we can," Scotty replied. "Read on."
"'The name Choptank comes from the Choptank Indians who lived in thearea until the middle of the nineteenth century. These Indians werefirst discovered by Captain John Smith when he sailed into ChesapeakeBay in search of a location for what later became the JamestownColony.'"
"We're sailing through history," Scotty commented. "And we'd better stepon it." He pushed the throttles forward. The houseboat accelerated toits top speed of about twelve miles an hour.
"What's up?" Rick demanded.
"Look to the southwest. That must be one of those Chesapeake Bay squallsthe book warns about."
There was a black line of clouds some distance away, but Rick could seethat the squall line was moving fast, crossing the bay in theirdirection. He swung the chart table up and studied the situation. Theywere close to the south shore of the Choptank River now, and the chartshowed no easily accessible place of shelter in the vicinity. They wouldhave to run for the Little Choptank, the next river to the south. Thechart showed several creeks off the Little Choptank. They could duckinto the one nearest the river mouth.
"Can we ride it out if we have to?" Rick asked.
Scotty grinned. "We'll find out, if we have to. But I'd rather not be inopen water when a squall hits this barge. It's not built for storms.Keep your fingers crossed and hope we get to cover before it hits."
"I hear you talking. I'm going to do a little research." Rick duckedinto the cabin and took the tide tables from the bookshelf. Back ondeck, he leafed through the official publication and found that thenearest point for tidal data was the Choptank River Light, only a fewmiles away and clearly visible. High and low tides at the light wereabout three hours and fifteen minutes earlier than Baltimore, the datastation for the area. Rick checked Baltimore data for the date,subtracted quickly, and glanced at his watch.
"High tide in about a half hour. The chart shows three feet near shoreat mean low water. High tide will bring it up to four and a half at thevery least. That's plenty for this barge. Get inshore and cut corners.We won't have to stick to the channel."
Scotty swung the wheel instantly, and the houseboat took a new course,leading them closer to shore. "Better keep an eye out for logs orpilings," Scotty warned. "No rocks in the area, so we don't have toworry about shoals."
The wooded shore slid by, the trees gradually giving way to low scruband marsh grass as they neared the mouth of the Little Choptank. Rickalternately kept an eye out ahead and checked their position on thechart. They were in about five feet of water, more than enough for theshallow-draft houseboat. His principal worry was the outboardpropellers. He didn't want to break one on a log that might be stickingup underwater.
The squall was closer now, and the sky was growing dark. Rick estimatedthat they had no more than ten minutes before the storm would hit. Hehad to look up at a sharp angle to see the storm front. Visibility wasdown to zero directly under it. Whitecaps and a roiling sea told himthere was plenty of wind in the squall. He doubted that the houseboatcould head into it successfully. The wind would catch the high cabinsides and force the houseboat onto the shore.
Scotty swung around the northern tip of land that marked the mouth ofthe Little Choptank. "We won't make it," he said, glancing at the chart.
Rick nodded. "But the wind will be behind us. We can drive right intothe mouth of the nearest creek. According to the chart, there's a covejust inside the mouth where we ought to be out of the wind." He put hisfinger on the place, and suddenly a chill ran through him. The nearestsafe harbor was Swamp Creek, where Link Harris had vanished!
There wasn't time to talk about it. He would have to be prepared to dropthe anchor quickly. "I'm going up on the bow," he said. "Once into thecreek, turn as hard as you can into the wind, then cut the power. I'llheave the anchor over and the wind pressure on the boat can set it. Butkeep the motors turning over in case it doesn't hold."
"Got it," Scotty agreed.
Rick stepped out of the cockpit onto the catwalk. The cabin top was justchest-high, and he could hold on by grabbing the safety rails that ranalong the sides of the large sun deck. He moved swiftly along the walkto the foredeck, a small semicircular deck used primarily for dockingand anchoring. The anchor line was coiled on a hook on the curving frontof the cabin, and the patent anchor was stowed on the deck itself. Ricktook the coil and faked down the line in smooth figure eights so itwould run out without fouling, then made sure the anchor was free andready to go.
When Rick stood up and looked down the length of the cabin top atScotty, he saw that the squall was almost on them. The turbulent cloudfront was directly overhead. He saw the wind line, marked by turbulentwater, move swiftly toward the houseboat. The _Spindrift_ rocked asthough shaken by a giant hand, and its speed picked up appreciably. Thehouseboat began to pitch as the chop built up around it. Visibilitydropped suddenly; it was almost dark. Rick winced as large, hard-drivenraindrops lashed into his face, then he turned his back to the storm andstared ahead.
The creek mouth was in sight. He pointed to it for Scotty's benefit, butwhen he turned to look at his pal, the driving rain slashed into hiseyes and made him look away.
Scotty had seen the creek mouth. Staying as close to shore as he dared,Scotty drove the houseboat to within fifty yards of the narrow mouth,then swung the helm hard. The wind, which had been astern, was now abeamand its force was acting on the high side of the boat. The houseboatslewed sideways, and for a moment Rick thought they would be driven onto the upstream bank of the creek. But Scotty had judged his distanceand wind pressure well. The boat shot into the creek mouth with feet tospare.
The cove opened up ahead. Scotty reversed one motor and the houseboatturned almost in its own length. Rick watched the shore throughsquinting eyes, and the moment he saw the boat's forward motion cease,he dropped the big anchor over. The wind caught the houseboat again anddrove it backward into the cove while the anchor line ran out. When hehad enough line out for safety, Rick snubbed it tight around a cleat,held the taut line between thumb and forefinger until he was sure it hadnone of the vibrations caused by a dragging anchor, and then hurriedback along the catwalk to the cockpit. He and Scotty ran from therainswept deck down the two steps into the cabin.
For a moment the two stood grinning at each other and listening to theheavy drumming of the rain on the cabin top, then Rick spoke. "We'dbetter get out of these wet clothes so we can sit down. This may lastfor an hour or so."
Scotty agreed. "First one into dry shorts makes the coffee."
"That's me," Rick said. He stripped off the soaking clothes, toweledquickly, and put on dry shorts. The rain had chilled the air, so hereached into the drawer under the amidships bunks, took out a sweatshirt, and pulled it over his head. It felt good.
Scotty had taken time to dry off the books and binoculars he had broughtfrom the deck before he changed his own cloth
es. By the time he wasdressed in dry shorts and sweater, Rick had the alcohol stove going andwater heating for coffee.
"Know where we are?" Rick asked casually.
"Sure. We're--" Scotty stopped. "For Pete's sake! I didn't make theconnection at first. We're in Swamp Creek, where that man got snatchedby a flying saucer!"
"Right. Worried?"
Scotty grinned. "Any flying saucer that can navigate in this weather iswelcome to what it gets. How's the anchor?"
"Holding," Rick said. "I hope." He looked out the galley window andwatched the shore. It changed position as the boat moved, but that wasonly because the houseboat was swinging at anchor. "Seems all right," headded.
Ten minutes later coffee was ready. The boys sat at the dinette tableand sipped with relish, listening to the storm outside. It seemed to beincreasing in intensity.
"Picking up," Scotty said. "The guidebook wasn't kidding when it said'sudden and severe summer storms lash the bay.'"
"Wonder how long they last?" Rick asked.
"Hard to say. Perhaps an hour."
The houseboat jerked suddenly. Rick jumped to his feet. "Did you feelthat?"
The boat heeled under the lash of wind. Rick peeled off his sweat shirt."Feels as though the anchor dragged a little. I'm going out and let outmore scope. We can't take a chance of drifting in this wind."
"I'll go," Scotty offered.
"No. I put the anchor down. It's my fault if it slips. Stand by."
Rick pulled the cabin door open and winced at the blast of raindrops,like heavy buckshot on his face and body. For a moment he hesitated,then realized the sooner he got it over with, the better. He hurried tothe catwalk and swung down it, meanwhile estimating his distances. Hecould let out another fifty feet of anchor line without getting the boattoo near shore. The more anchor line out, the better the anchor couldhold.
He made the forward deck and looked around, realizing that the winddirection had changed and that the blast was now coming down the creek,swinging the houseboat around. That probably was why the anchor hadshifted. He knelt and took the line in his fingers. It no longer seemedto be slipping, but it was better not to take a chance. He unloosed thehalf hitches that held it to the cleat, threw off all but onefigure-eight turn, and let the anchor line run out slowly. When heestimated about fifty feet had run through, he put on more figure eightsaround the cleat, then dropped half hitches over to secure the line.Once more he reached out and held the taut line. It didn't seem to beslipping. He pulled on it hard, and felt the boat move. The anchor wasin solidly this time.
Rick turned and started back to the catwalk, rain lashing his back.Sudden instinct made him whirl around in time to see something huge andblack rushing at him out of the storm. Rain blurred his vision. He had aswift impression of a black figure, shaped like a diamond, coming athim. He threw himself flat on the foredeck. There was a rustling soundoverhead, and something clanged off the cabin top's aluminum rail. Rickwas on his feet again. Heart pounding, he looked around. There wasnothing but rain and wind. He stood upright and looked across the cabintop. For an instant he glimpsed a black object above the canopy over therear cockpit, then that, too, was lost in the rain.
Shaken, Rick made his way back to the cabin, entered, closed the door,and leaned against it. Scotty looked up, and was on his feet in aninstant.
[Illustration (2 page 29 and 30)]
"Rick! What happened? You're white as a sheet!" he exclaimed.
"Saw one," Rick managed. He was still shaking. "It went right over theboat. I think it hit the upper rail. We'll check later. But it wasn't aflying saucer. I'm sure of that."
"What was it?" Scotty demanded.
"A flying stingaree!"