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Another random document with
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 “Umph! Very careless of you. Well, you want to sail with me, eh?
What about the compass? Can you box it?”
“I’m a pretty fair boxer, sir.”
“Not that sort of boxing, chump! All right, you’re engaged. Now,
Mr. Mate, laugh at me if you dare!”
Whereupon the mate promptly laughed, and Jack as promptly
hurled him overboard into the raging billows of sand. Jack then
strolled aft and stood for a few moments, measuring the distance
between the embedded sloop and the river.
The mate, clambering aboard again, shouted something which fell
on deaf ears. Again George spoke, and again Jack made no answer.
At last, however, he emerged from his abstraction, and, “Come
here,” he called.
George obeyed, and Jack passed his arm through that of his
friend.
“Now, use your brain,” he said. “How far is it from here to the
stream?”
“Thirty feet,” the other guessed. “Why?”
“Wrong. It’s nearer twenty. And don’t ever ask the captain ‘why’
anything. He’s in supreme command; see? Tell me what is to prevent
us digging the Sea-Lark out of this and getting her afloat.”
“Afloat!” gasped the mate. “Why, you can’t do it! She’s stuck here.”
“Why can’t I do it?”
“Well,” began the mate, dubiously.
“You’ll be disrated if you don’t use more intelligence,” snapped the
skipper. “What are shovels for but to dig with?”
“Yes, but—” began George.
“But what?”
 “Well, if you got her afloat she’d only sink. Her timbers will all be
rotten.”
“Show me a rotten timber!” said Jack. “I don’t mean these planks
that have got broken on deck. I mean in the hull. She’s as sound as
a bell. A boat like this would take years and years to rot. She’d need
some calking, I guess, but that’s what I engaged you for, isn’t it?—
while I sit in my deck chair and give orders. George, honestly, I
believe it could be done.”
“But she isn’t yours to float,” parried the mate, “nor to use after
you get her afloat.”
“That’s true,” agreed the skipper, frowning. “But you have got a
way of raising difficulties since I signed you on. Who does she
belong to?”
“She used to belong to Mr. Farnham,” replied George. “He’s a New
York man with pots of money, who lives over on the Point in the
summer. The sloop was in my father’s boat-yard for repairs the
summer before she broke away and got stranded here.”
“Well, do you suppose he wants her? I don’t believe so.”
“Don’t know,” observed George, doubtfully.
“Well, if he does want her, why doesn’t he come and get her? And
what could he use her for? A coal cellar, or what? She’s abandoned,
I tell you.”
“If you took her away from here, which you couldn’t do, anyway,”
observed the younger boy, “you’d be committing ship theft.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a dreadful offense, worse than piracy. I believe they hang you
for it, or something.”
“I certainly don’t want you to get hanged,” said the captain. “Good
mates are scarce; and they always hang the mate, because he’s
engaged to make himself useful in little ways like that. But it
wouldn’t be ship theft if I wrote a letter to this Mr. Farnham and got
his permission, would it?”
“I suppose not.”
“Of course not. Where does he live?”
“My dad will have his address.”
“Well, don’t forget to ask him for it, and I’ll write. He can only
refuse.”
George, beginning to awake to the possibilities of the plan, cast a
more critical eye over the stranded sloop.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right,” he said at length. “We
might get her into the water.”
“It wouldn’t be exactly easy, because she’s pretty big,” Jack
admitted, “but it would be worth trying, anyway. What a prize if we
got her, though! She’s thirty foot over all, if she’s an inch. And ten—
no, twelve-foot beam. The only thing is, if she did float, we couldn’t
row her very well.”
“There’s bales of junk gear up at our yard,” put in George. “I
suppose her mast got broken off in the gale when she stranded. I
think I could get that fixed all right, though. There’s an old spar that
came out of her when she was refitted. I don’t know why it was
taken out, but it looks all right. We can find an old mainsail and jib
somewhere. Even if they need a bit of patching, they’ll do.”
“The boat is the chief thing,” Jack mused. “The rest will be easy,
once we get her. I’m going to send that letter off to-day. Let’s go
home now and do it.”
Letter-writing was not an occupation which, ordinarily, filled Jack
with joy. But this was not an ordinary occasion. After a first attempt
which he regarded as a failure, the boy produced a missive that was
both frank and polite, and then, feeling that he did not stand a ghost
of a chance of having his request granted, posted it. Later, he and
George walked to the boat-yard, there to consult George’s father,
Tony Santo, on the question of moving the Sea-Lark from her sandy
bed. Tony promised to go down the river and look the sloop over,
the following day, and was as good as his word. Jack and George
accompanied him in his sailing-dory, and to the delight of the boys
the boat-builder declared that there ought not to be a great deal of
difficulty in getting the sloop off, though he cautiously declined
either to have anything to do with such operations or allow his son
to, unless definite permission was received from Mr. Farnham. He
pointed out, however, that the accumulation of sand in the sloop’s
cabin would have to be removed before any attempt could be made
at shifting her. Her companionway door had evidently been open
when she grounded, with the result that in the three years which
had since elapsed the space below deck, a roomy cabin twelve feet
by nine, had been half filled with the fine white sand.
During the next three days the boys, taking a shovel with them,
employed themselves busily at this task until the last of the
undesired ballast was removed. Jack now began to keep an anxious
lookout for the postman. Four days elapsed, and still no reply
arrived. Thursday came, and on returning from school he found an
envelope bearing his name, on the mantel-shelf. His fingers
unsteady with excitement, he tore it open and read:

Dear Sir:
I thought my old sloop must have been broken up
by now. Yes, she is still my property, and if you want
her you are welcome to her, on one condition. If you
get her afloat, you must take me for a sail in her some
day.
Yours sincerely,
CHARLES FARNHAM.
 CHAPTER III
BACK TO THE WATER

S tuffing the letter into a pocket, Jack reached for his cap, and
hurried out to summon his crew, consisting of George Santo.
“All hands on deck!” he said. “Mr. Mate, we’re going to start work
right away. There are only three weeks of May left, and before long
we’ll have Holden’s Ferry going.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the mate, “if ever we do get her floated.”
“If!” cried Jack. “You talk like a codfish. Of course we’re going to
get her floated! Before we do another thing, though, I’m going to
hold a war council with your dad. He knows best how we can tackle
the job.”
They hurried to the boat-builder’s yard, where Tony was found at
work.
“Mr. Farnham has given me that sloop,” Jack cried as he
approached. “See, here’s his letter.”
Tony’s features developed a broad smile, and he glanced through
the note.
“So you’ll soon be setting off on a journey around the world, or
thereabouts, eh?” he remarked at last, banteringly.
“Well, maybe about half-way, or perhaps as far as Greenport
breakwater,” Jack returned; “but you know, Mr. Santo, we can’t do
much till we get your help.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” asked Tony good-humoredly,
putting down his hammer.
 “I don’t want to bother you too much,” said Jack, “but you said
that if we got stuck you would give us a bit of help.”
“Why, yes, I’ll run over there in the dory some Saturday and help
you to launch her, when you’re ready.”
“Thank you. That will be a tremendous help. Shall we dig a
channel down to the water and float her out that way, or dig the
sand away from her bow—she is lying bow-on toward the river, you
know—and get her out with a winch?”
“I’ll take a winch. That will be easier. I’ll find a place on the
opposite bank of the river where I can moor the winch, and then run
a cable across the water to the sloop. We’ll drag her out when
you’ve done enough spade-work. But mind, you want to get all that
sand clear away from her sides, and make a nice slope up from her
bow so that she won’t stick when the winch begins to haul on her.
How long will that take you? Till next fall?”
“I hope not. We couldn’t very well manage it by next Saturday.
That would only give us two days. But we’ll be ready for the winch
the Saturday after.”
“All right,” replied Tony. “We’ll make that a date.”
To any one less enthusiastic than her proud new owner, the sloop
would not, perhaps, have looked such a priceless possession. There
is something peculiarly desolate about the appearance of a wreck at
any time, and, at least up to the time when the Sangus had again
changed its course, the Sea-Lark had looked even more desolate
than she would otherwise have done, because she was so far from
the river. The water had left her canting over heavily to port, her
stump of mast, a yard long, sticking up. On the port side her deck
was now about level with the sand; her starboard side, raised four or
five feet higher, had formed a barrier against which a solid bank of
the restless sand had settled. Had she been an old boat and needing
paint at the time she came to grief, decay might have left its stamp
upon her in the three years she had lain there; but it so happened
that her oaken beams and hard-pine planking were as sound at the
time of the accident as on the day when they were first put into her,
while the fact that she had received a double coat of paint only two
months before, helped her further to resist the weather. She was
not, therefore, really a wreck, as nothing of any consequence,
except the mast, was broken.
Taking turn and turn about, the two boys worked strenuously, first
removing the sand that had silted up against her starboard side. It
was no light task, for the drift ran the whole length of the sloop, and
the lads’ backs were aching and their limbs weary before they
seemed to have made any impression on it. When the skipper called
a final halt, however, they were well pleased with the result of their
arduous labors. Nevertheless, Jack realized now for the first time
how great was the task he had set himself, and how hopeless would
be his efforts without the kindly assistance of Tony with the winch.
In three days the boys had entirely removed the drift, and then
began to dig down around the sides of the vessel, to release her
from the grip of the sand there. George proved not only a willing but
an extremely useful helper. Though not so tall as his chum, he was
strong, and gave promise of developing into an unusually powerful
man. But it was the spirit with which he threw himself into the task
that Jack appreciated as much as anything. Just before the date of
the appointment with Tony, once when they were resting, perched
on the side of the Sea-Lark, George surveyed the piles of sand which
they had removed in the past week.
“We only want one thing now,” he said thoughtfully, “to make us
both thoroughly happy.”
“What’s that?”
“A peach of a wind-storm, to fill up all the holes we’ve been
digging! If that happened, I don’t believe we’d have the pluck to
start all over again.”
“Don’t suggest such an awful thing,” cried Jack, “or I’ll smite you
with a belaying-pin! By the way, George, I can’t do that.”
“Oh, I am so sorry!” said the other. “Why not?”
 “Because there doesn’t seem to be a belaying-pin on board. We’ll
need one or two, won’t we? The skipper always thumps people on
the head with a belaying-pin, particularly the mate. There’s
something about a marlinespike, too, isn’t there? I’m not quite sure
what a marlinespike is, but I think I club you with it when there isn’t
a belaying-pin handy.”
With a deft movement of his body, the mate got behind the
skipper and neatly tipped him overboard into the hole they had so
painstakingly dug; nor was the captain allowed to climb on board
again until the mate had extracted a promise that he would at all
times be treated in a humane manner when they were far out on the
bounding ocean.
During the last of the preparations for Tony’s operations their
spirits rose greatly, for it began to look as though the sloop merely
needed a gentle tug to slide her away from the bed in which she had
so long lain. At school on Friday Jack struggled hard to keep his
attention riveted on his lessons, but it was an effort in which he
failed utterly; for the launching on the morrow of the good ship Sea-
Lark seemed a matter of infinitely greater importance than the
problems that were put before him.
It was late that afternoon when the boy finally declared that all
was ready for the great ceremony. He and his chum had carried out
Tony’s instructions to the letter, even searching about on the bank of
the river for driftwood, which they dragged to the sloop and placed
in position just under her nose. That night Tony was informed of
their readiness for his part in the program, and the boat-builder
bade them be prepared for an early start next day, as it might take
until late in the afternoon to get through.
Not very long after sunrise next day Jack leaped from bed and
looked anxiously out at the window. It seemed as though the Fates
were going to be kind to him, because the weather was perfect for
the day’s operations. The boy was too impatient to eat much
breakfast, and after a hurried meal went round to the Santo boat-
yard, where he found Tony and George already moving the
necessary gear into the sailing-dory—much strong manila rope with
blocks and tackle, a powerful hand-winch, several heavy planks, a
number of rollers, and a bucket of grease. When these were aboard,
the sail was hoisted, and the dory dropped down the creek to the
river. There, as the stream was not over wide, the oars had to be
used, and the dory was rowed some four miles, Tony pulling steadily
all the time, and the boys taking turn and turn about at the other
oar.
“It’s hard work against the wind,” said Tony, “but we shall feel the
benefit of it coming back.”
It was only a little after nine o’clock when they reached the spot
where the Sea-Lark lay, and some hours were left before high water
was due. First Tony went ashore and inspected the work the boys
had already done.
“That’s good,” he declared unhesitatingly. “She ought to come off
like a wet fish slides off a plate. Lend a hand with those rollers and
boards in the dory, and we’ll fix her.”
Already Tony seemed to take as keen an interest in the salvage
operations as the boys had done. He soon had everything ready on
that bank of the Sangus, and then crossed the river to moor the
winch in the sand there, so that it would haul without moving. This
was not easily accomplished, for the loose sand gave poor
anchorage. When, however, it was done to his satisfaction, the cable
was run across the water and made fast to the sloop. Tony sent the
boys back to start hauling, while he stood by the Sea-Lark to
“navigate” her. Jack and his chum each seized a crank and began to
tighten the cable. It came easily enough until the drag of the sloop
began. Then they managed a bare-half-turn only. Putting forth every
ounce of their strength, they struggled to start the sloop on her
journey toward the water, but it was beyond them. The Sea-Lark
refused to glide with fairy footsteps down to the river after her long
rest ashore. Tony meanwhile was heaving at the side of the boat to
loosen her keel in the sand, but when he saw the joint efforts of the
boys were unequal to the task, he beckoned them to fetch the dory
across.
“She seems to be glued there,” he declared, “but that glue will
have to come unstuck, if it takes us the whole day to do the trick.
Let’s see if all three of us working at the winch can get her to start.”
Tony rolled up his sleeves, put the boys together at one crank,
and applied his own strength to the other.
“Now, lads,” he said, “give her all you’ve got. Heave!”
There was a back-breaking moment of straining, cracking muscles.
And then something happened. The Sea-Lark reluctantly began to
move.
Click-click-clickety-click, went the winch.
“Easy, now,” ordered Tony. “Rest a few minutes. She’ll come all
right, and we have plenty of time.”
From that moment the launching of the sloop, though slow, was a
certainty. A dozen times Tony had to make the trip across the river
to adjust the planks and rollers beneath the boat’s keel, but she
came up the slope without mishap.
“My word, she looks big!” Jack exclaimed when he had climbed to
the top and was lumbering along on her side, down to the water’s
edge.
“What did you take her for?—a canoe?” Tony laughed. “She won’t
look as big, though, when she gets into the water. Still, a thirty-foot
sloop is all you two will want to handle in a breeze.”
When their prize was within a foot of the water, Tony went over
her with a calking-iron and mallet, plugging up the worst of the
leaky places with oakum so that she could safely be taken up the
river as far as the boat-yard without danger of sinking on the way.
Jack watched this performance with a critical eye.
“Is she very bad?” he asked with some anxiety.
 “Why, no,” replied Tony. “She’s not what you might call seaworthy,
with these seams wide open, but you’re bound to get that. I didn’t
expect to have much trouble with her hull, and I must say that,
considering all things, she’s in pretty fair condition. Just the same, I
guess there’s enough work on her to keep you busy for a week or
so.”
“I don’t care if it takes us all summer! Yes, I do, too,” said Jack. “I
want to get her shipshape in a month or so if possible.”
“Well, I’m not saying you can’t do that,” replied Tony, surveying
the hull with a professional gaze. “But let me tell you this: you’ve got
your work cut out; that is, if you mean to put her into first-class
shape. Still, even as she is she’d fetch a nice little sum, once we get
her down to the yard where people come looking for boats.”
“It’s very nice to hear you say that, Mr. Santo,” replied Jack, “but I
feel as proud of her already as though she were a steam-yacht, and
it would have to be a very tempting offer to make me part with her.”
“There!” said Tony at last. “I think she’ll do now. Some water is
bound to slop into her on the way home, but she won’t go back on
us and sink, anyway. Let’s get her launched.”
A few more turns on the winch fetched the Sea-Lark down into the
river, and Jack could not suppress a shout when he saw her actually
afloat. She did not look quite so large as when lying high and dry on
the top of the bank, but she was a fair-sized craft.
A tow-rope was fastened from her to the dory, and then the
smaller boat’s sail was hoisted, Tony going alone in his dory, the
boys traveling on the sloop to steer. This was a somewhat delicate
operation, for the channel was narrow in places, and there were
several bends. During this part of the run the mate stood in the bow,
armed with a long pole, to ease her prow away from the occasional
shallows into which they ran, and Jack remained at the wheel,
glowing with pride in his new possession. For, helpless though she
was without spars, rigging, or gear, she was his, and it was not
difficult for him to adorn her with imaginary sails bellying to the wind
as she careened over, leaving a foamy trail astern. It seemed almost
unbelievable to him that such a thing as this could have happened.
Never, during the time when he and his friend had played at being
pirates on the sloping deck of the stranded derelict, had he dreamed
that the day would come when the water would be flowing beneath
her keel once more and that the hand which steadied her wheel
would be his.
“Ahoy, there!” he called gaily to the mate.
“Aye, aye, sir!” responded George, glancing astern, over his
shoulder.
“Shin up aloft and put a two-reef in the maintops’l,” the skipper
barked, endeavoring to imitate the deep tones of Cap’n Crumbie.
Deserting his post for a moment, George ran to the mast stump,
and clung to it like a bear hugging a pole.
“Belay, there!” shouted Jack, laughingly. “Get back on to your job,
or—”
The skipper never completed his sentence. Slipping quickly back
to the nose of the boat, George arrived there at the precise moment
when the Sea-Lark ran upon one of the numerous shallows which
threatened to impede her progress all along the route. The sloop
came to a standstill with a jerk, and George, his hands outstretched
to grasp his pole once more, took a graceful dive straight over the
side. He could swim like a young otter, but there was no need for
that, as the water came up only to his chest, and he soon climbed
back on board, there to withstand the playful taunts of his father
and of the captain, who condemned him to twenty years’
imprisonment in the chain-locker and ordered him to be deprived of
his wages for life, for absenting himself from the ship without leave.
Together the lads managed to push the sloop off again, and the
journey was resumed, but soon they reached the bend bringing
them into Cow Creek, and there the dory’s sail again became
useless, so it was lowered and Tony and George rowed the rest of
the distance, the exercise preventing the boy from suffering any ill
effects from his ducking. George was nevertheless thankful by the
time they approached his father’s boat-yard, for the sloop hung
behind like a load of lead, the wind, which was now against her,
adding to the work. She was gently eased up on to the bank of the
stream, there to lie until her various minor ailments had been
attended to and until she was declared fit for a new career of
adventure.
 CHAPTER IV
THE TRIAL TRIP

I mmediately after school on the following Monday afternoon Jack

and his chum hastened to what they were pleased to call their
“dry-dock.” Although Tony Santo had calked the worst of the cracks
between the planks under the sloop’s water-line before he actually
launched her, she had taken in a good deal of water during her
journey along the Sangus River and up Cow Creek. It was obvious,
therefore, that several afternoons would be taken up with the task of
filling the numerous small crevices along her hull, although the boat-
builder assured them that the swelling of the wood after she had
been afloat a few days would to some extent remedy this trouble.
The boys went about their task in a thoroughly businesslike
manner. With coats off and shirt-sleeves rolled up, and wearing the
oldest trousers they could find, they applied themselves diligently
and intelligently to their work. Tony, who took a genuine interest in
the affair, devoted an hour or two to them on the first day, teaching
the boys how to use the calking-iron and mallet, how to lay the thin
strip of oakum along the defective seam, and how to ram it into the
cavity without injuring the boat itself. Also, they learned to
distinguish between a seam which needed calking and one which did
not.
After putting them through their short apprenticeship, the boat-
builder sat on an upturned box, lighted his pipe with deliberation,
and for a while watched his pupils at work.
“Steady, there!” he said. “Don’t try to go too fast. You’re not out to
make a record. Not too hard with the mallet, or you may do more
harm than good. That’s the style!”
 As the tide had receded it had left the vessel canting over on her
starboard side, and Tony had told the repair gang to take one seam
at a time, working from stem to stern as far as possible, for the Sea-
Lark was high and dry only at low water.
“Now I guess you’re all right, and I’ll leave you to it,” said Tony at
length. “How long are you going to keep it up?”
“Till supper-time,” replied Jack, tapping away industriously with
the mallet in his right hand, while with his left he held up the small
iron which rammed the oakum home.
“You’ll be wanting some paint for this boat soon,” said Tony, with a
mysterious smile. “Now, if you keep on with what you’re doing till it’s
time to knock off for supper, I’ll—I’ll make you a present of all the
paint you need.”
Jack, wondering what the joke was, turned to the boat-builder.
“Do you mean that?” he asked. “What’s the catch?”
“You’ll find out,” replied Tony. “What does that mallet weigh?”
“About four pounds,” guessed Jack.
“Three and a half,” said Tony. “And what does that other little
thing—the iron—weigh?”
“Oh, a quarter of a pound.”
“Just right,” said Tony. “Now, which arm will get tired first, the one
you are holding the mallet with, or the one you’re using for the
iron?”
“Which do you think, George?” asked the skipper, with caution.
“Why, the mallet arm,” suggested George promptly. “That thing
weighs about ten times as much as the iron.”
“That’s my guess too,” said Jack.
“Well, well, we’ll see,” said Tony, the smile having developed into a
broad grin as he sauntered off to his own work in the near-by boat-
yard.
 For a while the boys were too intent on their occupation to carry
on much conversation. They worked side by side, each taking a
separate seam, and each glancing occasionally at the work of the
other.
“Have you ever done any calking before?” Jack asked when they
had been plugging at it for some time.
“Not a calk!” replied the youthful mate.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Lots!” replied George. “Which arm are you having most of the fun
in—the right or the left?”
Jack stole a glance at his companion, who was now standing with
both his arms hanging down.
“Your dad said this little iron only weighed four ounces,” observed
Jack, lowering the implement, and rubbing his shoulder. “What’s
happened to the thing? It seems to weigh more than the mallet
now.”
Just then Tony strolled back and caught them both resting.
“Are you going to buy that paint, or am I?” he asked quizzically.
“I’m afraid it’ll have to be me,” replied Jack. “I could keep on with
the hammering, but it’s holding up this little iron all the time that
bothers me.”
“It tries anybody, men included, at first,” said Tony. “Don’t do too
much to-day and then you won’t be too stiff to work to-morrow.
You’ll soon get used to it, though. There’s a lot of scrubbing to be
done on the deck, so I’d switch off and get busy with the soap and
water for a change.”
The inside of the cabin was just as the boys had finished scraping
it out with a shovel, so here considerable time had to be spent
before a coat of paint could be put on the woodwork. Where the
paint was coming from Jack, so far, had not the least notion. He had
already discovered, to his dismay, that paint was an extremely
expensive article for one whose total capital did not touch the five-
dollar mark, especially when pounds and pounds of the stuff were
needed to put even a single coat on sparingly. There were precisely
two reasons why he would not attempt to get the necessary money
by borrowing from George. One was that he had a constitutional
dislike to borrowing. The other was that George would be unable to
lend it; for George had not yet learned the wisdom of reserving a
little of his spending-money for a rainy day. There was a way out of
the difficulty, of course, for the skipper of the Sea-Lark. He could
find a job somewhere. But that would take precious time. He was
prepared to do it if necessary, but hated the idea of postponing the
preparation of the sloop for her maiden voyage until he could earn
enough money to give her a new “dress.” However, there was plenty
to occupy his attention for the present, and he was an incurable
optimist, so he felt convinced the paint would roll up in some
unexpected fashion, after all.
Next day both Jack and the mate were stiff in the shoulder, but
they set to work as early as possible in the afternoon, doing an
hour’s calking first and then turning to with the scrubbing-brushes.
There were two sleeping-bunks besides lockers in the cabin, all of
which had to be swabbed down and then scrubbed. In the middle of
this performance, while Jack was on his knees, working away in a
corner, he noticed that the sound of the other scrubbing-brush had
ceased, and turned to ascertain the cause. He discovered his
henchman lying, apparently fast asleep, in one of the bunks.
“What’s the matter? Are you all right, George?” he asked
anxiously, springing to his feet.
“Eh? What’s that?” queried George, as though just awakened from
deepest slumber.
“Tired?” asked the skipper.
“Why, no; not specially,” replied his chum.
“What’s the idea, then? Come on.”
 “Well, I’ve just remembered something,” replied George. “I signed
on this ship as chief mate, didn’t I? Well, the chief mate is the
navigating officer, isn’t he? I’ve got to know all about the currents
and the rocks and charts and stars, and nothing was said, when I
was engaged, about me having to scrub the—”
“George Santo,” the skipper began in his best deep voice, “if
you’re not out of that in ten seconds you’ll know more about stars
than you’ve ever seen in your life. I’m going to empty this bucket of
water over that bunk when I say three. One—two—”
With a second to spare, the mate displayed remarkable agility in
descending, and became desperately busy once more, to avoid the
captain’s wrath.
It was a full week before the last of the calking was done, and
Tony, after a careful inspection, declared it to be perfectly
satisfactory. He added a touch here and there where a little more
oakum was needed, and then provided a bucket of tar and a brush,
telling Jack to daub her hull over completely, beneath the water-line.
Although still far from being finished, the Sea-Lark began to
assume the part of a real boat in Jack’s estimation. She was no
longer the leaky old sieve which he and George had played on
through two summers. He was realizing, for the first time in his life,
the real satisfaction which comes from conscientious labor. The
calking of those leaks in the seams had been done with infinite care
and at the cost of many an ache and pain. His hands were blistered
and calloused from work to which he was not accustomed, but it
was with a growing sense of pride in his handiwork that he viewed
the sloop. At times he was a little impatient, for the days were
rushing past and June was fast approaching, but nevertheless he did
not shirk any of the harder toil which he might have left half done. It
was his firm determination that the boat should be as satisfactory as
he could make her. Nor, despite his joking, was George Santo
inclined to skip the less pleasant portions of their task.
 After the bottom of the sloop had been tarred, and the whole of
the deck and cabin scrubbed, Jack, on the advice of Cap’n Crumbie,
invested in a bundle of sandpaper, and another three days were
spent scraping and smoothing down the woodwork, which had
become roughened in places by long exposure. Cap’n Crumbie
walked from the wharf to see how they were getting on with the
Sea-Lark, and Jack took him into consultation on the pressing
subject of paint.
The watchman meditatively ran a stubby forefinger through his
whiskers.
“Aye, she’s bleached for fair,” he said. “She won’t sail no better
with paint on her woodwork, but she’ll look a world different. As you
say, though, paint’s expensive, and it’ll take a tidy bit to give her
even one thin coat.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be the best kind of paint, Cap’n,” Jack
said. “If only I could get hold of some old stuff, it would do. I’m not
so very particular about the color.”
“I’ve got it!” cried the watchman, suddenly, beaming. “You go up
and see Dan Staples, the house-painter. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll
fix you up all right. I remember now they’ve got a tub up there
where they throw all the old dried-up skins and bits of waste paint,
same as they do in all paint shops. It won’t cost you much. I guess
he’ll be able to let you have all you want for about a dollar. It’ll be a
bit o’ trouble, but as you ain’t too particular about the color, you
couldn’t get anything better to suit you. Put it in an old pan and melt
it over a fire. Then strain it, and you’ll have as good paint as you’d
want. Maybe it’ll be reddish, or maybe it’ll be grayish; and maybe
you won’t be able to find a name for it; but that won’t break your
heart, huh?”
“That’s fine!” said Jack. “I’ll go up and see him now.”
The captain of the Sea-Lark found Mr. Staples in his workshop,
and when Jack explained his mission the painter filled a generously
sized can with scraps and skins out of the tub, for which Jack paid
him fifty cents.
The rest of the afternoon was devoted to the task of melting this
down over a small stove in the boat-yard, and after straining it the
boys found they had many pounds of a brownish-colored paint, a
little nondescript as to hue, perhaps, but nevertheless, as Cap’n
Crumbie had prophesied, perfectly good paint. The tarring along the
sides of the sloop below the water-line had been finished off evenly,
and the boys now proceeded to slap a coat of the Staples mixture
from the top of the black line to the top of the low rail which ran the
full length of the Sea-Lark’s deck; and by the time this had been
accomplished the sloop was indeed transformed into something of
her old glory. Jack would have turned next to the painting of the
cabin and the deck itself, but here Tony wisely interfered.
“You don’t want to do that till the rough work’s all finished,” he
said, “or everything will get scratched up. I’ve got the mast to put in,
and there’s a week’s carpentering ahead of you yet. You’ll want two
or three new cleats. And what about belaying-pins? They’re all
gone.”
“Oh, yes, we must have at least one belaying-pin!” exclaimed
Jack, with a humorous glance at the mate. “Tell me, Mr. Santo,
aren’t they the little round sticks that go into the mast rail there, to
belay the halyards on?”
“That’s the idea; but they’ve all got lost. You can easily make
them.”
“And I want the marlinespike,” chirped George. “I think every
mate should have at least one of those if the captain is going to
have half a dozen belaying-pins.”
“Do you know what a marlinespike is?” queried Tony, puzzled.
“It’s something a sailmaker uses, isn’t it?” asked George.
“Yes, a metal spike about six or seven inches long.”
“Just what I need!” said George.
 “I guess there’s enough carpentering work to keep you busy for a
while,” said Tony, “unless you’re more handy with tools than George
is.”
“George Santo,” said Jack, severely, when they were alone a
moment later, “you’re a fraud, and I could have you arrested.”
“What for?” asked George, with a grin.
“You shipped on this vessel as a fully qualified mate and highly
skilled carpenter. You heard what your own father said about you.”
“Well, sir, I needed the money,” pleaded George.
“This company is run on business lines, Mr. Mate,” declared the
captain. “You’ll either learn to do your share of carpentering right
now or I’ll sue you for false pretenses.”
“Please, sir, when I go across in the ferry as mate do I have to pay
ten cents fare, too?” asked George.
“Silence!—or I’ll clap you in irons!” roared the skipper. “Come on,
and use your head. I’ve never made a cleat in my life, and I suspect
you know more about that sort of thing than I do. Let’s make a
start.”
Two or three short pieces of oak were found in the boat-shed, and
after the third or fourth attempt the boys managed to fashion
sufficient serviceable cleats to replace those which had been broken.
The rail also was repaired, although Tony’s professional opinion of
the way that job had been done was not startlingly complimentary.
“It looks like a piece of George’s work,” he said. “Now, ’fess up,
who did it?”
“We’re both guilty,” explained Jack.
“Well, it’s a pretty difficult thing to do unless you’re a regular ship’s
carpenter,” admitted Tony. “It’ll pass, for the present, but some day
soon, when I have time, I’ll fix it properly for you.”
 The boys cut the belaying-pins out of oak, and then little remained
for them to do until the expert services of Tony had been called in.
The most important part of his share was to place in her again the
sloop’s old discarded mast, a good, serviceable spar which towered
to a height of thirty-five feet.
“It’s as high as anything you could want,” said Tony. “That mast
did service in her for two years, till Mr. Farnham got the notion into
his head that he wanted a bigger spread of canvas on her. Lucky for
you lads this mast wasn’t five or ten feet longer, or I should have
used it in another boat long ago.”
“What about a mains’l and a jib, Dad?” suggested George. “You’ve
got plenty of junk lying around in the shed. May we use what we
need?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, son,” replied Tony. “I could have
fixed you up, perhaps, with some rags of sails that aren’t any
particular good, but I don’t know that I’m specially anxious to have
you two blowing about outside the breakwater, depending on rags.
You might be all right with them, but it isn’t wise to take any
chances in a sailing-vessel. Now, I have a couple of sails that would
just about fit this sloop after a mite of alteration. They’re not new,
and they’re not junk. I could get about fifteen dollars for them this
summer, but if you’d like to take them and pay me after you’ve
earned the money with your ferry, you can have them for ten. What
do you say?”
“Why, that’s great!” said Jack. “Thank you ever so much.”
“All right. Call it a deal. Now, there’s a block or two you’ll have to
scare up, and halyards and mast-hoops. You can’t go half an inch
away from shore on a sailing-trip without all these things. Mast-
hoops you needn’t worry about. There are plenty of old ones kicking
about here. On a pinch I might even rake out a couple of blocks.
They mayn’t be just the size you ought to have for elegance, but
you’ll get by with them. I don’t see how you can manage without
buying halyards, though. You’ll want—oh, about four hundred feet or
so of fifteen-thread manila. I can’t afford to give you good manila
rope. It costs money.”
“I have three dollars left,” put in Jack.
“Well, well, you won’t get enough new manila to fit your little ship
out with that, but I dare say I can find enough second-hand halyards
for three dollars to give you a start. If you’ll give me a hand I’ll have
a peek at those sails now.”
The jib which Tony produced fitted the Sea-Lark perfectly, but the
mainsail had three sets of reef-points, and it needed to be cut away
at the single reef. This operation took the whole of a Saturday to
accomplish, for there was a considerable amount of sewing to do,
and neither Jack nor his companion proved to be quick with the
cumbersome sailmaker’s needle. Meanwhile, however, the mast had
been stepped, and at last the sloop was really beginning to look like
her old self. Halyards were rove, blocks put into position, a new wire
jib-stay rigged from the top of the mast to the end of the bowsprit,
and a bobstay had to be furnished. Then a coat of paint was spread
over the deck and the rest of the woodwork. When the last detail in
the refitting of the Sea-Lark had been attended to and the paint was
dry, Tony Santo, after a final survey which could hardly have been
more thorough had the sloop been a government war-ship about to
depart on her speed trials, declared that she was as sound as a bell
and fit to weather a young hurricane.
It was, without question, the proudest moment in Jack’s life when
the boat was gently pushed off the sandy bank of Cow Creek. Jack’s
father was there to see it, having left his bookkeeping for the
occasion.
“I’d like to go with you on your first trip, lad,” he said, “but I’m
afraid I can’t spare the time.”
Sailing was an old accomplishment for both the captain and his
young mate, but most of their experience in that direction had been
gained in dories, which compared with taking the Sea-Lark out on a
trip was child’s play. The Sea-Lark was not, however, too large for
two to handle. Other sloops even larger were wont to flit about the
waters of Greenport harbor in the summer with only two persons
aboard, and there was one, fifty feet over all, which one man usually
handled alone. She, however, was a “freak” ship, and her owner had
to dance around like a pea in a hot frying-pan when an emergency
arose.
Tony Santo accompanied the boys on their experimental trip,
partly because there was a long, winding journey for the sloop to
make down Cow Creek, through the upper reach of the Sangus
River, and finally through the canal. Partly, also, Tony went to make
sure that they were all right. And partly he went for the fun of the
thing, because Tony was only twenty years older than his son, and
there was enough of the boy left in him to appreciate some of the
thrill which was stirred in the lads by this their greatest adventure.
A westerly breeze was blowing, which necessitated the sloop
being towed until she came to within about four miles of the sea,
and then a clear run lay before them. Their dory trailed behind and
Tony took the spokes of the sloop’s wheel in his hands.
“Now, lads,” he said. “Let’s shake out a bit of canvas. Mains’l first.
Don’t get excited. Take it easy. There’s plenty of time. Both together.
Heave! That’s the style. It wasn’t so hard, after all, was it? Either
one of you will be able to do that by himself if necessary. And it may
be necessary too, some day. Belay there. Make those halyards good
and secure. Now, up with the jib. Be smart, or we’ll run her aground
yet. Trim aft the jib-sheet. That’s fine. Belay!”
The breeze filled the sails, and the sloop leaned over slightly as
she gathered way. Jack’s eyes were dancing with pleasure. The Sea-
Lark was not only an accomplished fact and afloat, but actually
sailing. And he was her master!
“Isn’t she a beauty!” he asked Tony.
“Pretty fair, pretty fair, I’ll admit that,” replied the boat-builder.
“You’re a lucky lad to have her, but you’ve earned her. I dare say Mr.
Farnham would have given the sloop to any one else if they had
thought of writing to him; only it was you who happened to think of
it, and it’s the people who think of things who get on in this world.
Now, this good-for-nothing son of mine,” and he took George
affectionately by the ear, “never thinks of anything except to get up
in the morning and go back to bed at night; do you, son? Come
along, Jack. I know you’re aching to get to this wheel. I guess it’s
quite safe for you to take her now.”
The owner of the Sea-Lark exchanged places with Tony, and the
sloop ran slowly toward the ocean under his guiding hand. The
breeze was light and steady, and she barely made three knots an
hour, but at that moment Jack would not have exchanged places
with the captain of the finest liner afloat. The gentle swish of water
at the stern was as sweetest music to his ears. The occasional lazy
flap of the sails, the barely perceptible swaying of the deck, the
quick turn of the prow in response to the slightest movement of the
spokes in his hands, all were delights which he was now tasting for
the first time in his own boat.
“Well,” said Tony, who had been watching the expression on the
captain’s face, “what do you think of her? Was she worth the
trouble?”
“A thousand times!” Jack replied, devoutly.
After negotiating the short canal the sloop passed into the sea,
and then, running south past Gull Island, headed for the end of the
breakwater and the open ocean beyond.
A mile off shore the breeze freshened sufficiently to send the Sea-
Lark bowling along at a fair caper. The swish of water at the stern
became more pronounced. The halyards creaked a little, and the
bow responded even more readily to a movement of the wheel. The
Sea-Lark had come into her own again. She seemed like a living
thing. There was joyousness in the way she danced, as, going
further from shore, she ran into gentle undulating swells, which
kissed her as if welcoming her back to her natural element.
 “Let’s see you put her through a few manœuvers,” Tony
suggested. “Haul her by the wind. I’m going to keep still and watch.”
“Close haul your mains’l, Mr. Mate,” ordered Jack.
George sprang to obey, and in came the boom, whereupon Jack
headed away to the southwest.
“That’s right,” declared Tony. “You can come closer to the wind
yet. Come round till the luff of the mains’l begins to lift. That’s the
style. Now put your helm down and go onto the other tack.”
“Mind your head, George!” sang out the captain.
“Aye, aye,” responded the mate; and the Sea-Lark’s nose went
straight up into the wind. The boom swung across the deck, mains’l
and jib flapping in the breeze.
“Stick to it. You’re all right,” cried Tony, pleased with the skill his
apprentices were displaying. “She’ll make it if you give her time.”
Farther the sloop came as the wind got to the other side of her
sails. Quickly she swung about, and then headed straight as an
arrow, on the port tack.
“Now, listen here, boys,” said Tony. “The time may come when
you’ll be compelled to jibe her in an emergency, to avoid a collision.
But I want you to promise that you’ll never do so unless you’re
compelled to, because though it’s all right to do it now, with no wind
to speak of, and me aboard to see that nothing happens, jibing is no
sort of game for two boys to play at in a sloop of this size. While I’m
here, though, I’d like to see you make a shot at it. When you’re
ready, Cap’n.”
Jack, who was on the port tack, having got there from the
starboard tack by the simple and usual course of heading into the
wind and allowing the boat to swing over, now wanted to run before
the wind and while doing so alter his course so that the boom swung
over from the starboard to the port side.
 He glanced along the surface of the water to the westward, to see
there was no strong puff of wind coming.
Taking advantage of a temporary lull in the breeze, the sloop
swung round harmlessly.
“Ease off your main sheet!” the skipper ordered. Away ran the
boom as a fresh puff filled the sail; and the Sea-Lark was already
winging its way before the wind.
“That’s all right,” Tony approved. “You’ve got the hang of it. But
remember what I say; that’s a dangerous manœuver if there’s much
of a breeze.”
For another hour or two the boat-builder continued to coach the
boys in the art of sailing; and then, as they ran toward the town, he
declared that they were not likely to come to much harm if they
promised never to go outside the breakwater until he was able to
“certify” them as sufficiently skilled, never to make the sheet fast
with anything but a hitch which could quickly be cast off in case of a
sudden squall sweeping down, and never to sail without a reef taken
in when the whitecaps were making.
The sloop was moored at Garnett and Sayer’s wharf, under the
guarding gaze of Cap’n Crumbie, who had promised Jack he would
keep an eye on her.
“I was watching you,” said that worthy a little later to Jack. “You
seem to handle her all right. But mind you, it’s one thing to sail a
sloop on a day like this, and a song with a different tune when
there’s rough weather.”
Another five days remained before the summer vacation began,
and Jack spent the afternoons making himself more proficient in the
art of handling his new craft. After coming ashore on the last
evening, he and his mate spent an hour or two engaged in some
mysterious occupation at the Santo boat-house. They requisitioned a
saw, a hammer, tacks, part of an old sheet, a five-cent paint-brush,
and some paint. Then they were quiet for a while, working away by
the aid of a lantern.
 After a while Tony saw them and approached.
“Don’t come here yet, Dad,” urged George.
“What are you two young conspirators up to now?” asked the
boat-builder.
“We’re artists, Dad,” replied George, chuckling. And then they
were quiet again.
“There,” said Jack at length. “How’s that?”
“It’ll fetch them, all right,” commented the mate of the Sea-Lark,
with complete satisfaction.
It was a perfect summer morning when Holden’s Ferry came into
being. The lightest of breezes came in from the south, leaving a bare
ripple on the placid water of Greenport harbor. The townsfolk were
only just beginning to be astir when two figures emerged from the
Santo boat-yard bearing something which might have been a
picture, judging by its shape and size. One or two persons stared
curiously as they passed, while Cap’n Crumbie—who, though now
officially off duty with the coming of day, was on the wharf as usual
—greeted the boys with a puzzled look.
“What have you got there?” he asked suspiciously.
Jack turned his “picture” so that it faced the watchman, who
raised his eyebrows and took his pipe out of his mouth while he
allowed his gaze to rest on the object. Then he threw back his head
and gave vent to a hearty laugh.
“You’ll do, the pair o’ you!” he said. “Enterprise, that’s what I call
it. Where are you going to put it?”
“On the top of the deck-house,” replied Jack, suiting the action to
the word, and then climbing back upon the wharf to admire the
effect.
 CHAPTER V
A RESCUE

T he notice was printed with a brush on a piece of sheeting, in a

frame a yard long and a half a yard high:
HOLDEN’S FERRY
TO THE HOTEL LANDING
EVERY HOUR
10 cents
“People can see it, anyway,” commented George.
“And I saw it first, so I’ll be the first passenger,” said Cap’n
Crumbie. “When does the ferry leave?”
“Right away,” replied Jack. “The moment you step aboard I’ll see if
I can knock a bit of life into my crew. Look at him! Look at him,
sitting there on the top of the deck-house laughing, and the ship
crammed with a whole passenger waiting to get across to the Point
on most important business! Watch your step, Cap’n. Dining-saloon
forward, but the cook’s not on duty to-day, so we can’t serve meals.
Mr. Mate, let go that rope for’ard and don’t fall overboard in front of
all the passenger. Run that mains’l up and be lively about it or, shiver
my timbers, I’ll know the reason why! Now, Cap’n Crumbie, if you’re
at all likely to be seasick, you’d better slip down into the cabin and
take a nap. If there’s any danger, I’ll call you.”
“Starboard your helm a bit,” said Cap’n Crumbie. “The only danger
I see is that you’re like to bump into that coal-barge if you don’t
keep her away.” He put out a brawny hand and with a slight pull on
the wheel brought the sloop further away from the collision that had
threatened as the sloop started away from the wharf, not yet fully
under control.
 “Paint is scarce,” said Jack. “I don’t want to lose any.”
“Not with bumping into one o’ Simon Barker’s boats, you don’t,”
agreed Cap’n Crumbie. “Not that he’d ever think o’ putting paint on
the side o’ one of his ships if tar would do, but I want to warn you
right now that he’s none too friendly. He hasn’t got over that little
affair with your father yet, though I don’t see what he’s got to kick
about. He was down on our wharf yesterday, trying his best to be
ugly about this little sloop. Said she got in the way o’ his craft, he
did. He’s a misery. Don’t you ever leave the Sea-Lark lying in the
way o’ his rotten old boats, or she’ll get crushed for a certainty, if he
has anything to do with it. And he’ll sure make out that it was all
your fault.”
“Thank you for being a passenger,” said Jack, as the vessel edged
up to the hotel landing on the Point. “If you’re not going to stay
ashore long I will wait for you.”
“Ashore! I ain’t going ashore,” replied the watchman. “I just came
across to be able to tell my great-grandchildren, when you’re an old
man, that I was the first to cross the harbor in Holden’s Ferry. Here’s
my twenty cents. Now take me back.”
“I can’t take the money. We sailors always give free passage to old
shipmates,” said Jack. “Why, we should never have had her painted
if it hadn’t been for you, Cap’n! Besides, you’re one of the crew, in a
way. Didn’t you say you were going to keep an eye on her? Yes,
you’re our watchman. Couldn’t dream of taking the money.”
“Son, I hired this ship for the trip,” replied Cap’n Crumbie, “and
when you two have gone and drowned yourselves some fine day I
don’t want it on my conscience that there’s twenty cents I owe you.
When you’ve been at sea as long as I have you won’t so much mind
letting people pay their fare.”
“All right, Cap’n,” Jack responded. “George, half of this goes to
you, for luck. Push her off there. Wait a second. Here comes a
passenger, I believe.”
Walking down to the landing was a tall boy, about Jack’s age.