CHAPTER XVIII
THE SQUALL
Although the Adventure Club remained in port for another day, neitherPerry, Wink nor Ossie went ashore again, and all the efforts of the restof the party failed to coax them off the boats. They were, theydeclared, fed up with Bar Harbor. And they hinted that so far as theywere concerned the voyage might continue at any moment without protest.Han brought back a newspaper that afternoon containing a vivid andhighly sensational account of the attempted robbery of the Alfred HenryDrummond "cottage." The three read it with much interest, and especiallythat portion of it which stated that "the local police force isinvestigating and has every expectation of making arrests withintwenty-four hours, since it is not believed the burglars have succeededin leaving the island and all avenues of escape are being closelyguarded."
It might have been observed by the others, but wasn't, that Perry andOssie, on the _Adventurer_, and Wink, on the _Follow Me_, exhibited astrange fondness for the seclusion of the cabins from that time untilthe next day at eight, when the cruisers up-anchored and passed out ofthe harbour. And as the broad Atlantic rolled under the keels threehearty sighs emerged from as many throats.
The two boats passed Petit Manan Island toward ten that forenoon, a tinyrocky islet holding aloft a tall shaft against the blue of the Summersky. "A hundred and fourteen feet," said Joe informatively, "and thehighest lighthouse on the coast except one."
"Gee, think of living there in Winter!" said Perry awedly.
"Guess Petit Manan isn't as bad as some of the islands along here, atthat," said Joe. "Some of them are a lot further from the mainland.Remember Matinicus?"
"Think of folks living on them," murmured Han. "They must be merryplaces in Winter with a blizzard blowing around! Lonely, wow!"
"Remember the white yacht we passed the other day near Burnt Coal?"asked Phil, looking up from the book he was reading. "The _Sunbeam_ wasthe name of her. Well, a chap was telling me yesterday about her. Itseems she's a sort of Mission boat, the Sea Coast Mission, I think it'scalled. The folks that live on these off-shore islands along here werein pretty bad shape a few years ago, bad shape in every way. There wereno schools, or mighty few, and no churches, and the folks were justnaturally pegging out from sheer loneliness and--and lack of ambition,just drifting right back into a kind of semi-civilized state, as folksdo on islands in the Pacific that you read about. Well, someone realisedit and got busy, and this Mission was started. There was a chap namedMacDonald, Alexander MacDonald--"
"Sounds almost Scotch," observed Joe dryly.
"Never mind what he was. He's American now, if he was ever anythingelse," replied Phil warmly. "He was teaching school on one of theislands near Mount Desert in the Summers and going to college the restof the time. There wasn't any church on this island and so he used toconduct services in the place they used for a school. Somehow, that putit into his head--or maybe his heart--to be a preacher. He preachedaround in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, and then this Missionstarted up and the folks behind it just naturally got hold of him andput him in charge. A New York woman had the _Sunbeam_ built for himthree or four years ago and now he lives right on it, he and a coupleof men for crew, and she keeps pegging around the islands, up and downthe coast, Summer and Winter. You fellows know what Doctor Grenfell doesup around Labrador and beyond? Well, this Mr. MacDonald does the samestunt along this coast, and, by jiminy, fellows, it's some stunt! Thinkof plunging around these waters in Winter, eh? Breaking his own waythrough the ice often enough--the boat was built for it they say--andplugging through some of the nor'easters! Say, I take my hat off to thatfellow!"
"Some job," agreed Steve thoughtfully. "Man's work, fellows."
"What does he do for 'em?" asked Ossie.
"Teaches them, son. Teaches them how to live clean, how to look afterthe kids, how to keep healthy. And prays with them, too, I guess. Andbrings them books and founds schools. Don't you guess that when this_Sunbeam_ comes in sight of some of those little, forsaken islands thefolks on shore sort of perk up? Guess the Reverend Mr. MacDonald ispretty always certain of a welcome, fellows!"
"Rather!" said Joe. "That's what I call--um--being useful in the world.Bet you he's a fine sort. Bound to be, eh?"
"I'd like to make a trip with him," said Perry. "Gee, but it would besome sport, wouldn't it? Talk about finding adventures! Bet you he has'em by the hundreds."
"I dare say," said Phil, "that he'd be glad to dispense with a good manyof them. Hope I haven't bored you, fellows," he added, returning to hisbook.
"You haven't, old scout," answered Han. "Any time you learn anything asinteresting as that, you spring it. Blamed if it doesn't sort of make afellow want to be of more use in the world. Guess I'll polish somebrass!"
They passed many of those islands during the next few days, lonely,rock-girt spots scantily clad with wild grass and wind-worried firtrees. Sometimes there was a lighthouse, and nearly always the rockswere piled with lobster-traps, for lobstering is the chief industry ofthe inhabitants. They touched at one small islet one afternoon and wentashore. There were but three houses there, old, weather-faded shacksstrewn around with broken lobster-pots and nets and discarded tin cansand rubbish. The folks they met, and they met them all, from babes inarms to a ninety-eight-year-old great-grandmother, looked sad andlistless and run-to-seed. Even the children seemed too old for theiryears. It was all rather depressing, in spite of the evident kindlinessof the people, and the boys were glad to get away again. They boughtsome lobsters and nearly a gallon of blueberries before they went. Ossiedeclared afterwards that those lobsters looked to him a sight happierthan the folks they had seen ashore!
They went eastward leisurely, making many stops, and had fine weatheruntil they sighted Grand Manan. Then a storm drove them to shelter oneafternoon and they lay in a tiny harbour for two days while the windlashed the ports and the rain drove down furiously. Nothing of greatinterest happened, although the time went fast and pleasantly. To besure, there were minor incidents that Phil entered in the log-book hewas keeping: as when Han fell overboard one morning in a heavy sea whenthe _Adventurer_ was reeling off her twelve miles and was pretty wellfilled with brine and very near exhaustion when he reached the life-buoythey threw him. And once Ossie pretty nearly cut a finger off whileopening a lobster. And then there was the time--it was during those twoweather-bound days and everyone's temper was getting a bit short--whenPerry cast aspersions on Ossie's biscuits at supper. Perry said theywere so hard he guessed they were Ossie-fied, and the others laughedand Ossie got angry and they nearly came to blows: would have, perhaps,had not Steve promised to throw them both overboard if they did!
They spent two days at Grand Manan, and Perry, who had never before beenfurther from Philadelphia than the Adirondacks, was vastly thrilled whenhe discovered that Grand Manan was a part of New Brunswick. "This," hedeclaimed grandly as he stamped down on a clam-shell, "is the first timeI've ever set foot on a foreign shore!"
The end of the first week in August found them harboured at Eastport.They stayed there four days, not so much because the place abounded ininterest as because the _Adventurer_, who had behaved splendidly forseveral hundred miles, suddenly refused to go another fathom. Steve saidhe guessed the engine needed a good overhauling, and Perry chortled andoffered his services to Joe to help take it apart. But Joe, in spite ofhis invaluable and ever-present hand-book, acknowledged his limitations,and the job went to a professional and the _Adventurer_ spent most ofthree days tied up to a smelly little dock while the engine specialisttook the motor down before be discovered that a fragment of waste andother foreign matter had lodged in the gasoline supply pipe.Fortunately, his charge was moderate. Had it been otherwise they mighthave had to stay in Eastport until financial succour reached them, forthe exchequer was almost depleted.
They found a letter from Neil among the mail that was awaiting them atEastport. Neil was evidently down on his luck and begged for news of theclub. He got it in the shape of an eight-page epistle from Phi
l.
Perry made a close study of the sardine industry and laid gorgeous plansfor conducting a similar venture on the banks of the Delaware when hereturned home. "You see," he explained, "a sardine is just whatever youlike to call it in this country. I used to think that a sardine had tocome from Sardinia."
"From where?" asked Ossie, the recipient of Perry's confidences.
"Sardinia."
"Where's that?"
"I dunno. Spain, I think. Or maybe Italy. Somewhere over there." Hewaved a hand carelessly in the general direction of Grand Manan."Anyway, there's nothing to it. A man told me this morning that thesardines they use here are baby herring or menhaden or--or somethingelse. I guess most any fish is a sardine here if it's young enough.Unless it's a whale. Now why couldn't you use minnows? There are heapsof minnows in the Delaware River. Or young shad. A shad's awfully decenteating when he's grown up, and so it stands to reason that he'd make aperfectly elegant sardine."
"Nothing but bones," objected Ossie.
"A young shad, say a week-old one, wouldn't have any bones, you chump.At least, they'd be nice and soft. It's a dandy business, Ossie. All youhave to have is some fish and a lot of oil and some tin cans."
"Sounds easy the way you tell it. I suppose you pour the oil in the tincan and drown the fish in the oil and clamp the lid on, eh?"
"N-no, there's a little more to it than that. There's something aboutboiling them. They have big kettles. Want to go over this afternoon andsee them do it? There's a fine, healthy smell around there!"
"Thanks, but I got a whiff of it a while ago. Unless you want me to souron sardines, Perry, you won't take me to the place they build them."
The engine was reassembled in the course of time and, with freshsupplies, the _Adventurer_ turned homeward, the _Follow Me_ closeastern. They started after an early dinner, having decided to makeNortheast Harbor that evening and proceed to Camden the next day. Theyhad seen enough of the eastern end of the coast, they thought, whilefrom Camden westward there were numerous places that had lookedenticing. So "No Stop" was the order, and the _Adventurer_, turning backinto home waters off Lubec, churned her way through the Bay of Fundy ata good pace. The morning had dawned hazy, but the sun had shone brightlyfor awhile in mid-afternoon. Later the sunlight disappeared again andthe northern sky piled itself with clouds. South West Head was abeamthen and Steve half-heartedly offered to run to shelter. But the otherspooh-poohed the suggestion.
"If we duck every time there's a cloud," said Joe, "we'll never get backto Camden. There isn't any wind and the barometer says fair."
The barometer was rather a joke aboard the _Adventurer_. It hung justinside the forward companion way and was undoubtedly a most excellentinstrument. But not a soul aboard could read it properly. When itdropped, the skies cleared and the wind blew. When it rose, itinvariably rained or got foggy. Steve had long since given it up indespair, but Joe still maintained a belief in his powers ofprognosticating weather by the barometer, a belief that no one else onthe boat shared.
"If the pesky thing says that," remarked Han, "it'll snow before night!Still, I don't see why we need to run into harbour yet. There's no signof fog, and if it's only rain that's coming, why, we've been wet before.I say let her flicker, Steve."
"I guess so. We're not out far and if it does get very wet we can soonget under cover somewhere. Find me the next chart, Joe, will you?"
They could see the Seal Islands, or they thought they could, off to portat a little past three. The _Follow Me_ was hiking along about a quarterof a mile astern, making better going than the _Adventurer_, just as shealways did in a heavy sea. And today the sea was piling up a good deal.Joe looked anxious at times, but he had passed his novitiate and now ittook a good deal of tossing to send him below. What happened at abouthalf-past three occurred so suddenly that no one aboard the _Adventurer_was prepared for it.
It grew dark almost between one plunge of the cruiser's bow and another,and before Steve could punch out his warning on the whistle,preparatory to heading to starboard, a gust of wind tore down on themfrom the north like a blast from the pole and set canvas rattling andflags snapping. Steve headed toward Englishman's Bay, nine miles duewest, and the _Follow Me_ altered her course accordingly. But that stormhad no intention of awaiting anyone's pleasure. The first gust wasquickly followed by a second and the sky darkened rapidly. The spraybegan to come over the rail, and Han and Perry tugged down a flappingcurtain and lashed it to the stanchions. The next time Steve looked forthe _Follow Me_ she was no longer in sight, for the darkness had closedin between the two craft.
"This is a mess," shouted Steve, peering through the spray-wet glassahead. "I wish we were about seven or eight miles further along,fellows."
"Well, we will be presently," replied Phil cheerfully. "I dare say thisblow won't last long. It's only a squall, probably."
"It's a good one, then," muttered Steve. "If you don't believe it takehold of this wheel. Feel her kick? Keep a lookout for that island inthere, Joe."
Things went from bad to worse and ten minutes after the first warningthe _Adventurer_ was tossing about like a cork, her propeller as oftenout of water as in, and making hard work of it.
They had to hold tight to whatever was nearest to keep from beingpitched across the bridge deck. The seas began to pile in over the roofof the after cabin and the deck was soon awash. Steve held to the wheellike grim death, with Joe at his side when needed, and they plunged on.But it didn't take Steve long to realise that to attempt to make thehaven under such conditions would be folly. There were islands and reefsahead and the gloom made it impossible to see for any distance.
"The only thing we can do, fellows," he said presently, shouting to makehimself heard above the wind, "is to run for it straight down the shore.If we can get in past Wass Island we can anchor, I guess, but if we tryto make Englishman's Bay we'll pile up somewhere as sure as shooting! Iwish I was certain the _Follow Me_ was all right."
"If we are, she's sure to be," said Joe. "She's a nifty little chip intough weather. Here comes some rain, Steve!"
Joe's description was weak, however. It was more than "some" rain; itwas a deluge! It swept past the edges of the curtains and splashed onthe deck in dipperfulls. And it hid everything beyond the torn andtattered Union Jack at the bow. Looking through the dripping windows waslike looking through the glass side of an aquarium, for beyond it was asolid sheet of water. Steve gazed anxiously from chart to compass underthe electric lights and eased off to port.
"There's too much land around here," he shouted to Joe, "to leave mehappy. And, what's more, I'm none too certain just where we are at thisblessed minute. So it's the wide ocean for yours truly. We'll just haveto run for it and trust to luck!"
"Right-o," called Joe sturdily. "Let her flicker, old man! There's onething plumb certain, and that is if we come across an islandwe're--um--likely to run clean over it!"
But Joe was wrong.
The words were scarcely off his lips when a cry of mingled astonishmentand alarm sprang from Steve as he threw his weight on the wheel. At thesame moment there was a shock that sent all hands reeling, the_Adventurer_ quivered from stern to stern, and then, after a moment nolonger than a heart-beat, lurched forward again. Directly over the bow,glimpsed vaguely through the rain and gloom, rose a towering cliff.Steve's frantic efforts were in vain, for although he tore at theclutch and the propeller thrashed the water astern, the _Adventurer_ wasalready in the smother of the surf and an instant later she struck.