E-text prepared by Al Haines
BOB THE CASTAWAY
Or, The Wreck of the Eagle
By
FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "THE BOY FROM THE RANCH,""THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
1909
Books for Boys by FRANK V. WEBSTER
12mo. Illustrated. Bound in cloth.
ONLY A FARM BOY, Or Dan Hardy's Rise in LifeTOM THE TELEPHONE BOY, Or The Mystery of a MessageTHE BOY FROM THE RANCH, Or Roy Bradner's City ExperiencesTHE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER, Or Fred Stanley's Trip to AlaskaBOB THE CASTAWAY, Or The Wreck of the EagleTHE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE, Or Herbert Dare's PluckTHE NEWSBOY PARTNERS, Or Who Was Dick Box?THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES, Or Nat Morton's PerilsTWO BOY GOLD MINERS, Or Lost in the MountainsJACK THE RUNAWAY, Or On the Road with a Circus
Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I BOB MAKES TROUBLE II ANOTHER PRANK III A STRANGE PROPOSITION IV TALKING IT OVER V A JOKE THAT WENT WRONG VI MRS. HENDERSON'S DECISION VII BOB IS DELIGHTED VIII GETTING READY IX BOB'S LAST LAND JOKE X OFF ON THE TRIP XI THE "EAGLE" SAILS XII SOME JOKES ON BOB XIII BOB TRIES A PRANK XIV MR. TARBILL GETS A SHOCK XV THE STORM XVI WRECK OF THE SHIP XVII ADRIFT IN SMALL BOATS XVIII BOB ON AN ISLAND XIX FINDING MR. TARBILL XX MAKING THE BEST OF IT XXI MORE ARRIVALS XXII AFLOAT ONCE MORE XXIII A SERIOUS LOSS XXIV DAYS OF HOPELESSNESS XXV HOMEWARD BOUND--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
BOB MAKES TROUBLE
"Bob! Bob!" called a woman in loud tones, as she came to thekitchen door, her arms, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows,covered with flour. "Bob, I want you to go to the store for me. Ineed some more lard for this pie-crust."
There was no answer, and the woman looked across the big yard atone side of the cottage.
"Where can that boy be?" Mrs. Henderson murmured. "I saw him herea little while ago. He's never around when I want him. Ishouldn't be surprised but what he was planning some joke. Oh,dear! I wish he was more steady, and wasn't always up to somemischief. Still, he's a good boy at heart, and perhaps he'll growbetter when he gets older."
She rubbed her left cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a bigpatch of flour under one eye. Then she called once more.
"Bob! Bob Henderson! Where are you? I want you to go to thestore."
"Here I am, mother. Were you calling me?" asked a boy, emergingfrom behind a big apple tree.
He was not a bad-looking lad, even if his nose did turn up a bit,though his hair was tinged with red, and his face covered withfreckles. His blue eyes, however, seemed to sparkle with mischief.
"Did I call you?" repeated Mrs. Henderson. "I'm hoarse after theway I had to shout--and you within hearing distance all the while!Why didn't you answer me?"
"I guess I was so busy thinking, mom, that I didn't hear you."
"Thinking? More likely thinking of some trick! What's that you'vegot?"
"Nothing," and Bob tried to stuff pieces of paper into a basketthat was already filled to overflowing.
"Yes, 'tis too something. You're making some more of those papersnappers that the teacher kept you in after school for the othernight. Bob, can't you settle down and not be always up to sometrick?"
"I wasn't making these for myself, mom, honest I wasn't,"expostulated Bob, with an innocent look that did not seem in accordwith the mischief in his blue eyes. "I was making 'em for JimmySmith."
"Yes, and Jimmy Smith would pop 'em off in school, and when he gotcaught he'd say you gave 'em to him, and you'd both be kept in.Oh, Bob, I don't know what will happen to you next!"
"Why, I wasn't doing anything, honest I wasn't, mom. Oh, how funnyyou look with that patch of flour on your cheek! Just like a clownin a circus, only he has white stuff all over his face."
"Well, I must say, Bob Henderson, you're not very complimentary toyour mother, telling her she looks like a circus clown."
"I didn't say you did, mom. You only look like half a clown."
"That's just as bad."
Bob took advantage of this little diversion to hide the papersnappers behind the tree while his mother was wiping the flour offher face. The snappers were oblong pieces of stout wrapping paper,folded in such a way that when swung through the air they went offlike a bag blown up and crushed between the hands. Bob was anexpert in their manufacture.
"Come," went on Mrs. Henderson, when she was satisfied that herface was no longer adorned with flour, "I want you to go to thestore for some lard. Tell Mr. Hodge you want the best. Here's themoney."
"All right, mom, I'll go right away. Do you want anything else?"
Now Bob usually made more of a protest than this when asked to goto the store, which was at the other end of the village ofMoreville, where he lived. He generally wanted to stay at hisplay, or was on the point of going off with some boy of hisacquaintance.
But this time he prepared to go without making any complaint, andhad his mother not been so preoccupied thinking of her housework,she might have suspected that the lad had some mischief afoot--somescheme that he wanted to carry out, and which going to the storewould further.
"No, I guess the lard is all I need now," she said. "Now do hurry,Bob. Don't stop on the way, for I want to get these pies bakedbefore supper."
"I'll hurry, mom."
There was a curious smile on Bob's face, and as he got his hat fromthe ground before setting off on the errand he looked in his pocketto see if he had a certain long, stout piece of cord.
"I guess that will do the trick," murmured the boy to himself."Oh, yes, I'll hurry back all right! Guess I'll have to if I don'twant Bill Hodge to catch me."
There was a cunning look on Bob's face, and the twinkle in his eyesincreased as he set off down the village street.
"I hope he doesn't get into mischief," murmured Mrs. Henderson, asshe went back to her work in the kitchen. "If he wasn't such anhonest boy, I would be more worried than I am about him. But Iguess he will outgrow it," she added hopefully.
Bob Henderson, who is to be the hero of our Story, was the only sonof Mr. and Mrs. Enos Henderson. They lived in Moreville, athriving New England town, and Bob's father was employed in a largewoolen mill in the place.
Bob attended the local school, and he was a sort of leader among acertain class of boys. They were all manly chaps, but perhaps wereinclined more to mischief than they should be. And none of themwas any more inclined that way than Bob. He was rather wild, andsome of the things he did were unkind and harmful to those on whomhe played jokes.
Bob was always the first to acknowledge he had been in the wrong,and when it was pointed out to him that he had not done what wasright he always apologized. Only this was always after themischief had been done, and he was just as ready half an hour laterto indulge in another prank.
Nearly every one in Moreville knew Bob, some to their sorrow. Butin spite of his tricks he was well liked, even though some nervouswomen predicted that he would land in jail before he got to be mucholder.
It was a pleasant afternoon in June, and Bob had not been home fromschool long when his mother sent him after the lard. As ithappened, this just suited the youth's purpose, for he contemplatedputting into operation a trick he had long planned against WilliamHodge, the proprietor of the village grocery store.
So Bob trudged along, whistling a merry tune and jingling in hispocket the money his mother had given him.
"He'll be as mad as hops," he murmured, "but it can't do much harm.He'll turn it off before much runs out."
This may seem rather a puzzle to my young readers, but if you havepatience you will soon understand what Bob meant, though I hopenone of you will follow his example.
As Bob walked along he met another lad about his own age.
"Hello, Bob," greeted Ted Neefus. "Where you goin'?"
"Store."
"What store?"
"Bill Hodge's."
"What fer?"
"Lard."
"Want me t' go 'long?"
"If you want to," and there was a half smile on Bob's face. Tedknew the meaning of that smile. He had more than once beenassociated with Bob in his tricks.
"Kin I watch ye?" he asked eagerly.
"What for?" asked Bob with an air of assumed indignation. "What doyou think I'm going to do?"
"Oh, that's all right," returned Ted. "I won't say anythin'. Letme watch, will yer?"
"I don't s'pose I can stop you," replied Bob, with an appearance oflofty virtue. "The street's public property. I haven't any rightto say you shan't stand in front of Bill's store until I come out.You can if you want to."
"Maybe I won't then!" exclaimed Ted.
"Better not walk along with me," advised Bob. "Folks might thinkwe were up to something."
"That's so. Like when we burned some feathers under the churchwhen they were having prayer meeting."
"Don't speak so loud," cautioned Bob. "You'll give things away."
Thus admonished, Ted took a position well to his chum's rear.Meanwhile Bob continued on and was soon at the grocery store.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Hodge," he said politely.
"Arternoon," replied Mr. Hodge, for he was not fond of boys, leastof all Bob Henderson. "What d' you want?"
He had an air as if he was saying:
"Now none of your tricks, you young rapscallion! If you play anyjokes on me you'll smart for it!"
"Mother wants a pound of lard--the best lard, Mr. Hodge," said Bob.
"I don't keep any but the best."
"Then I want a pound. It's a fine day, isn't it?"
"I don't see nothin' the matter with it. 'Tain't rainin' anyhow.Now don't you upset anything while I go fer the lard. I have t'keep it down cellar, it's so hot up here."
Bob knew this. In fact, he counted on it for what he was about todo. No sooner had the storekeeper started down the cellar stairsthan Bob pulled from his pocket a long, stout piece of cord. Hequickly fastened one end of it to the spigot of a molasses barrel,which stood about half way back in the store. Then he ran the cordforward and across the doorway, about six inches from the floor,and fastened the other end to a barrel of flour as a sort of anchor.
By this time Mr. Hodge was coming upstairs with the lard in a thinwooden dish, a piece of paper being over the top. Bob stood nearthe counter piling the scale weights up in a regular pyramid.
"Here, let them alone," growled the storekeeper. "Fust thing youknow they'll fall an' mebby crack."
"I wouldn't have that happen," said Bob earnestly, but with alurking smile on his lips. "How much is the lard, Mr. Hodge?"
"Fourteen cents. It's gone up."
"Something else will be going down soon," murmured Bob.
He paid over the money, took the lard and started out. As soon ashe reached the front stoop of the store he gave a hasty lookaround. He saw Ted dodging behind a tree across the street.Suddenly Bob opened his mouth and let out a yell like that which anIndian might have given when on the warpath. It was a shriek as ifsome one had been hurt. Then he jumped off the porch and hidunderneath it, one end being open.
An instant later Mr. Hodge, thinking some accident had happened,rushed to the front door of his store. But just as he reached ithe went down in a heap, tripped by the string Bob had stretchedacross the opening.
The storekeeper was more surprised than hurt, for he was quitestout and his fat protected him. As he got up, muttering vengeanceon whatever had upset him, he went to the door to look out. Therewas not a person in sight.
"It must have been that pesky Bob Henderson!" he exclaimed. "He'salways yellin' an' shoutin'."
He turned back into the store, rubbing his shins. As he did so heuttered an exclamation of dismay. And well he might, for thespigot of the molasses barrel was wide open, and the sticky brownfluid was running all over the floor.