Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy

by William Osborn Stoddard

  CHAPTER X

  A CRUISE IN "THE SWALLOW."

  "Look at Dabney Kinzer," said Jenny Walters to her mother, in church,the next morning. "Did you ever see anybody's hair as smooth as that?"

  Smooth it was, certainly; and he looked, all over, as if he had givenall the care in the world to his personal appearance. How was AnnieFoster to guess that he had gotten himself up so unusually on heraccount? She did not guess it; but when she met him at the church-door,after service, she was careful to address him as "Mr. Kinzer," and thatmade poor Dabney blush to his very eyes.

  "There!" he exclaimed: "I know it."

  "Know what?" asked Annie.

  "Know what you're thinking."

  "Do you, indeed?"

  "Yes: you think I'm like the crabs."

  "What _do_ you mean?"

  "You think I was green enough till you spoke to me, and now I'm boiledred in the face."

  Annie could not help laughing,--a little, quiet, Sunday-morning sort ofa laugh; but she was beginning to think her brother's friend was not abad specimen of a Long Island "country boy."

  She briskly turned away the small remains of that conversation fromcrabs and their color; but she told her mother, on their way home, shewas sure Dabney would be a capital associate for Ford.

  That young gentleman was tremendously of the same opinion. He had comehome, the previous evening, from a long conference with Dab, brimful ofthe proposed yachting cruise; and his father had freely given hisconsent, much against the inclinations of Mrs. Foster.

  "My dear," said the lawyer, "I feel sure a woman of Mrs. Kinzer'sunusual good sense would not permit her son to go out in that way if shedid not feel safe about him. He has been brought up to it, you know; andso has the colored boy who is to go with them."

  "Yes, mother," argued Ford: "there isn't half the danger there is indriving around New York in a carriage."

  "There might be a storm," she timidly suggested.

  "The horses might run away."

  "Or you might get upset."

  "So might a carriage."

  The end of it all was, however, that Ford was to go, and Annie was morethan half sorry she could not go with them. In fact, she said so toDabney himself, as soon as her little laugh was ended, that Sundaymorning.

  "Some time or other I'd be glad to have you," replied Dab very politely,"but not this trip."

  "Why not?"

  "We mean to go right across the bay, and try some fishing."

  "Couldn't I fish?"

  "Well, no, I don't think you could."

  "Why couldn't I?"

  "Because,--well, because, most likely, you'd be too sea-sick by the timewe got there."

  Just then a low, clear voice, behind Dabney, quietly remarked, "Howsmooth his hair is!"

  Dab's face turned red again.

  Annie Foster had heard it as distinctly as he had; and she walked rightaway with her mother, for fear she should laugh again.

  "It's my own hair, Jenny Walters," said Dab almost savagely, as heturned around.

  "I should hope it was."

  "I should like to know what you go to church for, anyhow."

  "To hear people talk about sailing and fishing. How much do you s'pose ayoung lady like Miss Foster cares about small boys?"

  "Or little girls, either? Not much; but Annie and I mean to have a goodsail before long."

  "Annie and I!"

  Jenny's pert little nose seemed to turn up more than ever, as she walkedaway, for she had not beaten her old playfellow quite as badly as usual.There were several sharp things on the very tip or her tongue, but shewas too much put out and vexed to try to say them just then.

  Dab made the rest of his way home without any further haps or mishaps. Asail on the bay was nothing so new or wonderful for him to look forwardto, and so that Sunday went by a good deal like all his other Sundays.

  As for Ford Foster, on the contrary, his mind was in a stew and turmoilall day. In fact, just after tea that evening, his father asked him,--

  "What book is that you are reading, Ford?"

  "Captain Cook's Voyages."

  "And the other, in your lap?"

  "Robinson Crusoe."

  "Well, you might have worse books than they are, that's a fact, even forSunday, though you ought to have better; but which of them do you andDabney Kinzer mean to imitate to-morrow?"

  "Crusoe!" promptly responded Ford.

  "I see. And so you've got Dick Lee to go along as your man Friday."

  "He's Dab's man, not mine."

  "Oh! and you mean to be Crusoe number two? Well, don't get cast away onany desolate island, that's all."

  Ford slipped into the library, and put the books away. It had beenSamantha Kinzer's room, and had plenty of book-shelves, in addition tothe elegant "cases" Mr. Foster had brought from the city with him; forSamantha was inclined to be of a literary turn of mind. All the casesand shelves were full too; but not on any one of them was Ford Fosterable to discover a volume he cared to take out with him in place of"Cook" or "Crusoe."

  The next morning, within half an hour after breakfast, every member ofthe two families was down at the landing, to see their young sailorsmake their start; and they were all compelled to admit that Dab and Dickseemed to know precisely what they were about.

  As for Ford, that young gentleman was wise enough, with all those eyeswatching him, not to try any thing that he was not sure of; though hecarefully explained to Annie, "Dab is captain, you know. I'm under hisorders to-day."

  Dick Lee was hardly the wisest fellow in the world, for he addedencouragingly,--

  "And you's doin' tip-top, for a green hand, you is."

  The wind was blowing right off shore, and did not seem to promise anything more than a smart breeze. It was easy enough to handle the littlecraft in the inlet; and in a marvellously short time she was dancing outupon the blue waves of the spreading "bay." It was a good deal more likea land-locked "sound" than any sort of a bay, with that long, low,narrow sand-island cutting it off from the ocean.

  "I don't wonder Ham Morris called her the 'Swallow,'" said Ford. "Howshe skims! Can you get in under the deck, there, forward? That's thecabin."

  "Yes, that's the cabin," replied Dab. "But Ham had the door put in witha slide, water-tight. It's fitted with rubber. We can put our things inthere, but it's too small for any thing else."

  "What's it made so tight for?"

  "Oh! Ham says he's made his yacht a life-boat. Those places at the sidesand under the seats are all water-tight. She might capsize, but she'dnever sink. Don't you see?"

  "I see. How it blows!"

  "It's a little fresh, now we are getting away from under the land. How'dyou like to be wrecked?"

  "Good fun," said Ford. "I got wrecked on the cars the first time I cameover here."

  "On the cars?"

  "Why, yes. I forgot to tell you about that."

  Then followed a very vivid and graphic account of the sad fate of thepig and the locomotive. The wonder was, how Ford should have failed togive Dab that story before. No such failure would have been possible ifhis head and tongue had not been so wonderfully busy about so many otherthings, ever since his arrival.

  "I'm glad it was I instead of Annie," he said at length.

  "Of course. Didn't you tell me she came through all alone?"

  "Yes; and she didn't like it much, either. Travelled all night. She ranaway from those cousins of mine. Oh, but won't I pay them off when I getto Grantley!"

  "Where's that? What did they do?"

  "The Swallow" was flying along nicely now, with Dab at the tiller, andDick Lee tending sail; and Dab could listen with all his ears to Ford'saccount of his sister's tribulations, and the merciless "practicaljokes" of the Hart boys.

  "Ain't they older and bigger than you?" asked Dabney, as Ford closed hisrecital. "What can you do with two of them?"

  "They can't box worth a cent, and I can. Anyhow, I mean to teach thembetter manners."

  "You can box?"


  "Had a splendid teacher. Put me up to all sorts of things."

  "Will you show me how, when we get back?"

  "We can practise all we choose. I've two pair of gloves."

  "Hurrah for that! Ease her, Dick. It's blowing pretty fresh. We'll havea tough time tacking home against such a breeze as this. Maybe it'llchange before night."

  "Capt'in Dab," calmly remarked Dick, "we's on'y a mile to run."

  "Well, what of it?"

  "Is you goin' fo' de inlet?"

  "Of course. What else can we do? That's what we started for."

  "Looks kind o' dirty, dat's all."

  So far as Ford could see, both the sky and the water looked cleanenough; but Dick was entirely right about the weather. In fact, ifCaptain Dabney Kinzer had been a more experienced and prudent seaman, hewould have kept "The Swallow" inside the bar that day, at any risk ofFord Foster's good opinion. As it was, even Dick Lee's keen eyes hardlycomprehended how threatening was the foggy haze that was lying low onthe water, miles and miles away to seaward.

  It was magnificently exciting fun, at all events; and "The Swallow"fully merited all that had been said in her favor. The "mile to run" wasa very short one, and it seemed to Ford Foster that the end of it wouldbring them up high and dry on the sandy beach of the island.

  The narrow "strait" of the inlet between the bay and the ocean washardly visible at any considerable distance. It opened to view, however,as they drew near; and Dab Kinzer rose higher than ever in his friend'sgood opinion, as the swift little vessel he was steering shot unerringlyinto the contracted channel.

  "Ain't we pretty near where you said we were to try for some fish?" heasked.

  "Just outside there. Get the grapnel ready, Dick. Sharp, now!"

  Sharp it was, and Ford himself lent a hand; and, in another moment, thewhite sails went down, jib and main; "The Swallow" was drifting alongunder bare poles, and Dick Lee and Ford were waiting the captain'sorders to let go the neat little anchor.

  "Heave!"

  Over went the iron, the hawser followed briskly.

  "That'll do, Dick: hold her!"

  Dick gave the rope a skilful turn around its "pin," and Dab shouted,--

  "Now for some weak-fish! It's about three fathoms, and the tide's nearthe turn."

  Alas for the uncertainty of human calculations! The grapnel caught onthe bottom, surely and firmly; but, the moment there came any strain onthe seemingly stout hawser that held it, the latter parted like athread, and "The Swallow" was all adrift!

  "Somebody's done gone cut dat rope!" shouted Dick, as he franticallypulled in the treacherous bit of hemp.

  There was an anxious look on Dab Kinzer's face for a moment. Then heshouted,--

  "Sharp, now, boys, or we'll be rolling in the surf in three minutes!Haul away, Dick! Haul with him, Ford! Up with her! There, that'll giveus headway."

  Ford Foster looked out to seaward, even while he was hauling his bestupon the sail halyards. All along the line of the coast, at distancesvarying from a hundred yards or so to nearly a mile, there was anirregular line of foaming breakers--an awful thing for a boat like "TheSwallow" to run into!

  Perhaps; but ten times worse for a larger craft, for the latter would beshattered on the shoals, where the bit of a yacht would find plenty ofwater under her; that is, if she did not, at the same time, find toomuch water _over_ her.

  "Can't we go back through the inlet in the bar?" asked Ford.

  "Not with this wind in our teeth, and it's getting worse every minute.No more will it do to try to keep inside the surf."

  "What can we do, then?"

  "Take the smoothest places we can find, and run 'em. The sea isn't veryrough outside. It's our only chance."

  Poor Ford Foster's heart sank within him, as he listened, and as hegazed ahead upon the long white line of foaming surf and tossingbreakers. He saw, however, a look of heroic resolution rising in"Captain Kinzer's" face, and it gave him courage to turn his eyes againtowards the surf.

  "The Swallow" was now once more moving in a way to justify her name;and, although Ford was no sailor, he could see that her only chance topenetrate that perilous barrier of broken water was to "take it noseon," as Dick Lee expressed it.

  That was clearly the thing Dab Kinzer intended to do. There were placesof comparative smoothness, here and there, in the tossing and plungingline; but they were bad enough, at the best, and they would have been agood deal worse but for that stiff breeze blowing off shore.

  "Now for it!" shouted Dab, as "The Swallow" bounded on.

  "Dar dey come!" said Dick.

  Ford thought of his mother, and sister, and father; but he had not aword to say, and hardly felt like breathing.

  Bows foremost, full sail, rising like a cork on the long, strongbillows, which would have rolled her over and over if she had not beenhandled so skilfully as she really was; once or twice pitchingdangerously in short, chopping seas, and shipping water enough to wether brave young mariners to the skin, and call for vigorous balingafterwards,--"The Swallow" battled gallantly with her danger for a fewmoments; and then Dab Kinzer swung his hat, and shouted,--

  "Hurrah, boys! We're out at sea!"

  "Dat's so," said Dick.

  "So it is," remarked Ford, a little gloomily; "but how on earth will weever get ashore again? We can't go back through that surf."

  "Well," replied Dab, "if it doesn't come on to blow too hard, we'll runright on down the coast. If the wind lulled, or whopped around a little,we'd find our way in, easy enough, long before night. We might have atough time beating home across the bay, even if we were inside the bar,now. Anyhow, we're safe enough out here."

  Ford could hardly feel that very strongly, but he was determined not tolet Dab see it; and he made an effort at the calmness of a Mohawk, as hesaid, "How about fishing?"

  "Guess we won't bother 'em much, but you might go for a bluefish.Sometimes they have great luck with them, right along here."