Four Afloat: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Water. Barbour Ralph Henry
polish and rags and set to work cleaning up the woodwork and polishing the brass. They hadn’t nearly finished by the time Dan hailed from the landing. Tom brought him aboard. He had found a paper and was full of the race. All hands stopped work while he read the account of it.
The race was a handicap affair for cruising launches, and there were twelve entries. The start was to be made the next afternoon, at six o’clock, from Marblehead, and the boats were to race to College Point, N.Y., a distance of about three hundred miles.
“But if it isn’t until to-morrow at six,” asked Tom, “what’s the use of going over there this afternoon?”
“That’s so,” said Bob. “We might as well wait until to-morrow morning.”
“But what shall we do this afternoon? Run up to Portland and back?” asked Nelson laughingly.
“Let’s cruise around here,” said Bob. “And you can show me how to run the engine. Some one ought to know, Nel, in case anything happened to you.”
“All right. We’ll finish cleaning up, and then take a run around the harbor if there’s time before lunch. If there isn’t, we’ll go afterwards. How’s that?”
All were agreeable and the work went on again. Nelson got into the tender and, armed with a hand mop and a canvas bucket of fresh water, cleaned the white paint-work of the hull. Tom scrubbed the deck, cockpit floor, and cabin roof, Dan cleaned up below, and Bob shined the bright-work. But, try as they might, there was no such thing as finishing before noon. And so they had an early lunch, and very hungry for it they were, too, and then weighed anchor and headed for the inner harbor on a sight-seeing cruise. They chugged in and out of the shipping, read the names on the dozens of fishing schooners which lined the wharves, and finally raced a tugboat out to the breakwater, winning easily.
There the wheel was given to Dan, and Nelson took Bob below and initiated him into the mysteries of the gas engine. Nelson started at the gasoline tank, and traced the flow of the fuel until it had passed through the cylinders and was discharged at the exhaust. Carburetor – or, in the present case, vaporizer – pump, oil cups, spark plug, and clutch were duly explained, and then Nelson took up the ignition, starting at the battery and following the wires to the engine. Finally, the motor was stopped, the gasoline shut off, and Bob was allowed to start things up again. Of course, he didn’t succeed the first time, nor the second, but in the end he did, and was as pleased as could be. For the rest of the afternoon he stayed in the engine room – while Dan and Tom had a beautiful time on deck running the boat to suit themselves – and by the time they reached their anchorage again Bob had qualified, to his own satisfaction at least, as a gas engineer.
“It’s simple enough when you understand it, isn’t it?” he asked earnestly.
“Yes,” laughed Nelson; “there’s nothing to it at all – until the engine stops and you can’t find out why!”
They had dinner at the Harborside again, and in the evening wrote home to their folks on the lovely stationery with the crossed flags. And at half-past nine, everyone having personally assisted at the lighting of the riding light, they turned in and slept like logs until morning.
CHAPTER VI – IN WHICH THEY FOLLOW A RACE
“Well!” exclaimed Bob. “Look at the boats!”
The Vagabond was cutting her way through the sunlit waters at the best pace of which she was capable – “easily twelve miles an hour, I’ll bet you,” according to Nelson. Bob had the wheel, and was turning to port as the point drew abreast. Once around the lighthouse, the harbor lay before them blue and sparkling in the morning sunshine, and as full of boats as a raisin pie of raisins. Even Tom, eminently matter of fact, drew his breath as the Vagabond dashed across the harbor mouth.
Marblehead Harbor is naturally one of the most beautiful on the coast, and this morning, thronged with yachts of all descriptions, swinging at their moorings, cream-white sails aflutter in the light breeze, flags flying everywhere, paint and varnish glistening and brasswork catching the sunlight on every side, it presented as fair a sight as one is apt to find. Between the white and black and mahogany-red hulls of the yachts busy, cheerful, impertinent launches darted in and out, filling the air with the sharp explosions of their engines.
On one side the quaint old town came tumbling down to the wharves and the dripping seawall, a delightful hodgepodge of weather-stained sheds and whitewashed houses. On the other, green lawns set with summer cottages and shaded by vividly green elms stretched from the distant causeway to where the shore broke into a rocky promontory, from which the stone and shingle house of the Corinthian Yacht Club arose as though a part of the natural scenery.
“By Jove!” said Nelson. “It doesn’t look as though there was room for us anywhere.”
And it didn’t, so closely were the boats packed together. Nelson stopped down the engine to half speed, and, with her bunting flapping in the breeze and her bright-work agleam, the Vagabond nosed her way through the throng until she was opposite the Boston Yacht Club House. Here a space large enough to swing around in was discovered, and as Bob skillfully turned her toward it Dan held the anchor ready. Then there was a splash, and an excited protest from the exhaust as the engine was reversed; then silence, and the Vagabond had come to anchor as neatly as you wish. After that the four gave themselves to a thorough enjoyment of the scene.
There was plenty to look at. Near by, at one of the boat yards, the contestants were being measured with steel tape and rule. Others were coming in from their full-speed trials outside the harbor. Gasoline was being taken on, tenders lashed into place, and final arrangements generally were being made. At half-past twelve Tom cooked luncheon, and it was eaten, for the most part, on deck, that nothing of the busy scene around them need be lost sight of. After luncheon the boys got into the tender and rowed to the yacht club landing, leaving the boat there and spending over an hour in exploring the town. After that they returned to the launch and cruised about the harbor, turning and twisting in and out between the anchored craft. There were big steam yachts there, gasoline cruisers galore, dozens of launches, big sloops and little ones, yawls, catboats, and one schooner yacht. And where there was nothing else, tenders and dories flitted about. Once Tom caught Nelson excitedly by the arm and pointed across the harbor.
“Lu-lu-look at that, Nel!” he stuttered. “Su-su-su-see that su-su-su-sloop coming in wi-wi-without any su-su-sails!”
“Yes; what about it?”
“Wh-wh-what about it? How the di-di-di-di-dickens does she du-du-do it?”
“Oh, there’s a fellow at the stern, pushing,” said Bob gravely.
“She’s an auxiliary, Tommy,” explained Nelson.
“Wh-what’s that?” asked Tom suspiciously.
“Why, she’s got a gasoline engine in her, just like we have, only hers is probably smaller.”
“Really?” Tom marveled. “I didn’t know you could du-du-do that.”
“Lots of them have auxiliaries nowadays. When the wind gives out, they just start their engines and – there you are.”
“Say, that’s swell!” murmured Tom.
“There goes the committee boat!” said Dan excitedly. “Let’s follow her.”
The committee boat was a handsome sailing packet, and as she moved out to where the start was to be made she presented a fine picture. The Vagabond, together with fully half the craft in the harbor, followed at her heels. She took up her position close to the black spar buoy at the harbor entrance, and one by one the contestants chugged up to her and clamored for their ratings. As there had been delay in figuring the handicaps and time allowances, it was announced that the start would be postponed until half-past six. But the time didn’t drag. The entries for the race were all together for the first time, and the audience afloat and ashore examined them with interest and compared them, and predicted victory for first one and then another. The twelve boats varied in length from forty feet, the measurement of the Sizz and the Gnome, down to thirty-one, which was the length of the Shoonah.