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All Aboard
or
Life on the Lake
A Sequel to "The Boat Club"
By
Oliver Optic
CHICAGO:
M.A. DONOHUE & CO.
PREFACE.
"ALL ABOARD" was written to gratify the reasonable curiosity of the readers of "THE BOAT CLUB" to know what occurred at Wood Lake during the second season; and, though it is a sequel, it has no direct connection with its predecessor. The Introduction, in the first chapter, contains a brief synopsis of the principal events of the first season; so that those who have not read "The Boat Club," will labor under no disadvantage on that account.
The story of each book is entirely distinct from that of the other. As the interest of the first centers in Tony Weston, so that of the second does in Charles Hardy. I have tried to make the boys believe that the path of truth and rectitude is not only the safest, but the pleasantest path; and the experience of Charles with the "Rovers" illustrates and supports the position.
Perhaps some of the older readers of these books will think that, in providing the boys at Wood Lake with a whole fleet of boats, with bands of music, with club rooms, libraries, and apparatus, I have furnished them with very magnificent recreations; and that I might as well have told a "fairy tale" while I was about it. The only excuse I can offer for this extravagance is, that it would have been a pity to spoil a splendid ideal, when it could be actualized by a single stroke of the pen; besides, I believe that nothing is too good for good boys, especially when it is paid for out of the pocket of a millionaire.
The author, grateful to his young friends for the kind reception given to "The Boat Club," hopes that "All Aboard" will not only please them, but make them wiser and better.
WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
DORCHESTER, October 25, 1855.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. Introduction
II. The New Member
III. All Aboard!
IV. The Fraternal Hug
V. Up the River
VI. Hurrah for Tony!
VII. Commodore Frank Sedley
VIII. The Race
IX. Little Paul
X. A Unanimous Vote
XI. Better to Give than Receive
XII. First of May
XIII. The Lighthouse
XIV. The Conspiracy
XV. The "Rovers"
XVI. The Camp on the Island
XVII. The Escape
XVIII. Wreck of the Butterfly
XIX. The Cruise of the Fleet
XX. The Hospitalities of Oaklawn
XXI. Conclusion
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION.
It can hardly be supposed that all the boys who take up this book have read the Boat Club; therefore it becomes necessary, before the old friends of the club are permitted to reunite with them, to introduce whatever new friends may be waiting to join them in the sports of the second season at Wood Lake. However wearisome such a presentation may be to those who are already acquainted, my young friends will all allow that it is nothing more than civility and good manners.
Frank Sedley is the only son of Captain Sedley, a retired shipmaster, of lofty and liberal views, and of the most estimable character. He is not what some people would call an "old fogy," and likes to have the boys enjoy themselves in everything that is reasonable and proper; but not to the detriment of their manners or morals, or to the neglect of their usual duties.
Having been a sailor all his life, he has none of that fear of boats and deep water which often haunts the minds of fond parents, and has purchased a beautiful club boat for the use of his son and other boys who live in the vicinity of Wood Lake.
Some fathers and mothers may think this was a very foolish act on the part of Captain Sedley, that the amusement he had chosen for his son was too dangerous in itself, and too likely to create in him a taste for aquatic pursuits that may one day lead him to be a sailor, which some tender mothers regard as "a dreadful thing," as, indeed, it is, under some circumstances.
But it must be remembered that Captain Sedley had been a sailor himself; that he had followed the seas from early youth; and that he had made his fortune and earned his reputation as a wise, good, and respectable man, on the sea. So, of course, he could not sympathize with the general opinion that a ship must necessarily be a "sink of iniquity," a school of vice, and that nothing good can be expected of a boy who is sent to sea. He believes that the man will grow out of the boy; and to his parental duty he applies the apostolic maxim, "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
The club boat and the boat club, as means of instruction and discipline, as well as of amusement, were suggested by an accidental occurrence. The "Bunkers of Rippleton," a set of idle and dissolute boys, had constructed a rude raft, upon which they paddled about on the lake, and appeared to enjoy themselves very much. Captain Sedley, who had forbidden his son to venture upon the lake on the raft, or even in a boat, without permission, overheard Charles Hardy, the intimate friend of Frank, remark that the "Bunkers" had a much better time than they had, and that boys who did not obey their parents often enjoyed themselves more than those who did.
A few days after, the boys discovered the club boat, the light and graceful Zephyr, resting like a fairy shell upon the lake, and in its use the argument of Charles was effectually refuted. A club was formed of the boys in the neighborhood, and under the instruction of Uncle Ben, an old sailor who lived with Captain Sedley, soon became very expert in the management of the boat. A building was erected for the use of the association, in which, besides the boat-house, was a club room containing a library, and furnished with conveniences for holding meetings for mutual instruction and recreation. A constitution for the government of the club was adopted, in which the object of the association was declared to be "the instruction and amusement of the members, and the acquiring of good morals, good manners, and good habits in general." It defined and prohibited a great many vices and bad habits common among boys, so that the tendency of the organization was to make them better, wiser, and happier.
Their experience upon the lake, while the influence of the association stimulated them to the strict performance of their ordinary duties, was both varied and useful. Inasmuch as it reduced their recreation to a system, the laws of the club acting as a salutary check upon the waywardness of youth, it afforded an excellent discipline for the mind and heart, as well as for the muscles.
Among the members of the club was an honest, noble-hearted youth, the son of a poor widow, by the name of Tony Weston. In an affray upon Center Island, Tony had taken the part of Frank Sedley against Tim Bunker, and had thus obtained the ill will of the leader of the "Bunkers," and is accused of stealing a wallet, which is afterwards proved to have been taken by the "Bunker" himself. The theft is proved upon the graceless scamp, and he is sent to the house of correction, while Tony is borne in triumph by the club to his home.
Near the close of the story, Tony's brother, who has long been mourned as dead, returns home from California, with a large fortune in his possession. The brother, George Weston, builds a fine house for his mother, and, impelled by a warm admiration for Tony's noble character, purchases a splendid club boat for him, of the size and model of the Zephyr, which is named the Butterfly.
Tony is a boy whom all my readers will like, and though he is really no better boy than Frank Sedley, the humble circumstances of his mother before George returned required a great deal of sacrifice on his part, and called into action a great many noble traits of character. His life was a struggle, and his character a triumph over the perils to which poverty exposed him.
His experience seemed to exemplify the truths of Christianity. He could forgive his enemy, as when, at the risk of his own life, he plunged into the lake and rescued Tim Bunker from a watery grave, though Tim was even then laboring to ruin him. He loved to sacrifice his own comfort to that of others and found his greatest pleasure in making others happy. He and Frank are the unconscious exemplars of the boat club—the "men of character and influence" in their embryo world.
Charles Hardy is a boy of another stamp—one who does things "to be seen of men." He is sometimes selfish and ambitious; though the beneficent influence of the organization is working miracles in the transformation of his character.
The Butterfly was launched in the month of April. The liberality of
George Weston had provided for her a boat-house, similar to that of the
Zephyr, and, like that, furnished with a club room and library, and all
the means for promoting the objects of the organization.
And now, with my old friends refreshed in memory by this review of the first season, and my new ones put in possession of all that is necessary to a proper understanding of the situation of the boat club, we are ready to proceed with our story.
CHAPTER II.
THE NEW MEMBER.
"Order!" said Frank Sedley, as he seated himself in the arm-chair, at the head of the table in the club room.
At a meeting the preceding week, Frank had again been chosen coxswain of the club for the first official term. This had been done, not only in compliment to the noble boy to whose father the members were indebted for the privileges they enjoyed, but in anticipation of an exciting time on the lake, in a proposed race with the Butterfly. Frank was acknowledged to be the most skilful boatman among them, and under his direction they expected to accomplish all that they and the Zephyr could possibly attain. They had already learned that mere muscle was not all that was required to insure their success. Skill, forethought, and the ability to take advantage of favoring circumstances, were discovered to be even more desirable than great power.
"Order!" repeated Frank, rapping smartly on the table.
The members suspended their conversation, and all eyes were fixed upon the president. The affairs of the club, in connection with the Butterfly, had been freely discussed for several weeks, and everything had been arranged for the opening of the "summer campaign," as Charles Hardy rather facetiously called it.
"There are two questions to be submitted for the action of the club at this meeting," continued Frank, with more than his usual gravity. "They are questions of momentous consequence, and I have felt the need of counsel from our director; but my father declines giving me any advice, and says he prefers that we should discuss the questions independently; though, as you all know, if our final action is wrong, he will—he will—"
"Veto it," added Fred Harper.
"Yes, he will not permit us to do a wrong, though he wants us to think for ourselves, and do the best we can."
"Precisely so; he wants—" Charles Hardy begun.
"Order!" said Frank, with gentle firmness. "The first question is this: Tim Bunker, who has recently been discharged from the house of correction, has applied to be admitted as a member of the club, in place of Tony Weston, resigned. Shall he be admitted?"
"Mr. President, I move that he be not admitted," said Charles.
"Is the motion seconded?"
There was no response. The members all felt that it was a very delicate matter, and that it required careful deliberation.
"The motion is not seconded, and, of course, cannot be entertained," continued the president.
"I move that he be admitted," said Fred Harper.
"Second the motion," added William Bright.
Charles Hardy felt a little nettled, and his first impulse was, to rise and express his astonishment, as Squire Flutter had done in the "March meeting," at the motion of his friend on the other side of the table: but the impulsive youth had learned quite recently that a second thought is oftentimes much better than a first, and he reserved the expression of his surprise till a later stage of the debate.
As no one seemed disposed to open the discussion, Frank requested Fred Harper to take the chair, while he temporarily assumed the position of one of the disputants.
"Mr. Chairman," said he, "I rise to offer a few remarks in favor of the motion which is now before the club. Perhaps I cannot better introduce my own views upon the subject than by relating the substance of the conversation that occurred when Tim applied to me for admission to the club. He said that he had had a hard time of it in the house of correction; but he hoped his long confinement had done him good. He had firmly resolved to be a good boy. 'But,' said he, 'what can I do? If I go with the fellows I used to associate with, how can I keep my resolution? I know I have been a very bad boy, and I want to do what is right.' I told him that our rules were very strict; that no fellow was allowed to swear or to use bad language of any kind and that every member was required to keep straight himself, and help keep the others straight. He would agree to all this, would sign the constitution, and my father and the club would soon see that he meant all he said. I confess that I felt for him. What he said about keeping company with the 'Bunkers'—I suppose we must drop that name now—was true. He could not be a good fellow with such as they are. Now it won't do any harm to try him, and he may be saved from the error of his ways. As it is, he has got a hard name, and people will shun him: and, being discouraged, he may plunge deeper into vice than ever. This is about all I have to say."
Frank resumed the chair, and several of the members, perceiving the force of the president's reasoning, expressed themselves in favor of admitting Tim; when Charles Hardy rose and "plumed himself for a speech."
"Mr. President: I confess my surprise at the direction this debate has taken. There's a destiny that shapes our ends—"
"A what?" asked Fred Harper, with a roguish smile.
"I beg the member on the other side will not interrupt me," replied Charles, with offended dignity. "I quote the line as John Adams used it, in his celebrated speech, 'Sink or swim.'"
"Who?"
"John Adams."
"I beg the member's pardon, but John Adams never made any such speech," answered Fred who, it must be confessed, was rather too fond of tantalizing the ambitious youth.
"Really, Mr. President, I am surprised that the member should deny what we all know. Why, the piece is in our reading book."
"Daniel Webster put the speech into the mouth of Adams," added Frank; "and the patriot is only supposed to have made it."
"It amounts to the same thing," continued Charles, with a slight blush.
"But your quotation was not correct," said Fred.
"Perhaps the member will give me the correct reading of the passage."
"With pleasure; the lines are from Shakspeare:—
'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,
Roughhew them as we will.'
I fancy the lines will not suit the member now," continued Fred, as he cast a mischievous glance at the discomfited speech-maker.
"Go on, if you please," said Frank to Charles.
"As I was saying, Mr. President, 'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends'—"
"You were not saying so," interposed Fred.
"Order!" said the chairman. "Proceed."
But Charles Hardy could not proceed. Undoubtedly, when he rose to speak, he had an idea in his head; but it had fled, and he could not at once recall it. In vain he scratched his head, in vain he thrust his hands into his pockets, as if in search of the lost idea; it would not come.
"You were speaking of Tim Bunker," said Frank, suggestively.
"I was; and I was about to say that—that—"
Some of the boys could no longer suppress their mirth, and, in spite of the vigorous pounding which the chairman bestowed upon the innocent table, in his attempts to preserve order, they had their laugh out. But the pleasantry of the members, and a sense of the awkwardness of his position, roused Charles to a more vigorous effort, and as he was about to speak of another topic, the lost idea came like a flood of sunshine.
"'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends.' Tim Bunker has chosen the path he will tread, and does anybody suppose he will ever abandon it? He will certainly die in the State Prison or on the gallows—my father says so. We all know what his habits are, and it is as easy for an Ethiopian to change his spots—"
"Skin," said Fred.
"To change his skin, as for such a fellow to be like us. He will lie, swear,—"
"The chair thinks the member's remarks are not strictly in order," interposed Frank, who was much pained to hear his friend use such violent language.
He saw that Charles was smarting under the effects of the ridicule which his companions had cast upon him, and that, in his struggle to make a speech, and thus redeem himself from the obloquy of a failure, he had permitted his impulses to override his judgment.
"I forbear, then," continued the speaker. "But I beg the club to consider the probable consequences of admitting such a fellow into the association. We have thus far enjoyed a good reputation, and we ought to be very careful how we tamper with our respectability."
"Ahem!" said Fred.
"Order!"
"A good name is rather to be chosen than—than purple and fine linen."
"Than what!" exclaimed Fred.
"Great riches," added Frank, with a smile, and even he was forced to admit "that the member was singularly unfortunate in his quotations."
"You have my opinion, gentlemen," said Charles, "and I don't know that I have any thing more to say at present;" and, much disconcerted, he sat down.
But though cast down, he was not destroyed; and in justice to his companions, it must be remarked that he had frequently annoyed the club by his attempts to make speeches more learned and ornate than his capacity would allow. Frank had reasoned with him on his propensity to "show off," but without effect, so that he did not feel so much sympathy for him at the present time as he would have felt under other circumstances.
"The question is still open for discussion," said the chairman.
No one, however, seemed disposed to speak.
"Question!" called Fred Harper.
"Question!" repeated several others.
"Are you ready for the question?" continued the chairman.
"Question!"
"All those in favor of admitting Tim Bunker as a member of the club will signify it in the usual way."
Ten hands were raised.
"Contrary minded."
Charles, feeling that he was on the wrong side, did not vote against the measure, and it was declared to be a unanimous vote.
"The other matter, requiring the action of the club, relates to the proposed race between the Butterfly and the Zephyr. Several gentlemen of Rippleton feel a deep interest in the two boat clubs, and have proposed to put up a prize to be awarded to the successful club. I understand that fifty dollars have been subscribed for this purpose. The question is, Shall we pull for this prize?"
"When?" asked Fred.
"The clubs may choose their own time."
"It wouldn't be fair till the Butterfly has had a chance to practise a while."
"Of course not; the Butterfly may accept the proposition or not, and the club can select their own time."
"I move you that the offer be accepted," said William Bright.
"Second the motion," added James Vincent.
"I make the motion, Mr. President, for the purpose of bringing the question properly before the club. I have not thought enough about the matter yet to decide whether I am in favor of it or not," continued William Bright.
"It is generally supposed that the one who makes a motion is in favor of it; but we won't mind that now," said Frank, with a smile.
"Mr. President, I must say, I think the proposition looks a little like gambling," suggested Charles Hardy.
"So I was thinking," added a little fellow, near the foot of the table.
"Suppose we take an informal vote," proposed Charles, who was determined to get on the right side this time, if possible.
So an informal vote was taken, and every member voted against the proposition.
Frank Sedley was surprised at this result. Probably he was the only one who had given any earnest thought to the subject, though the offer was known to all the boys.
Captain Sedley, who watched over the welfare of the club with paternal interest, had endeavored, during the winter that was now past, to render it effectual in developing the moral and mental capacities of the members. He had given such a direction to the exercises in Zephyr Hall as he thought would best attain this end. One of the greatest difficulties with which he had been obliged to contend was the want of individuality in the boys. Each was disposed to "pin his faith" upon others. They would not think for themselves, and exercise an independent judgment. Like thousands in the great world, they "went with the crowd;" thought, acted, voted, with the majority.
Frank saw the operation of this motive in the "informal vote" which had just been taken; and he was tolerably certain that he could bring them all over to the other side, by indicating his own preference.
Calling Fred Harper to the chair again, he opened the discussion by offering a simile, which, being a parallel case, certainly gave the question an entirely new aspect.
"At the Rippleton Academy three gold medals and three silver medals are awarded, every year, for the best scholarship and deportment. Is that gambling?"
"No," replied half a dozen voices.
"Well, we are to row, in like manner for a prize. We don't put up money as a stake; the party that gets beaten does not lose anything."
"That makes a difference," added Charles.
"But the prizes in the Academy are given to make the scholars get their lessons well—to stimulate them in doing their duty," said William Bright.
"Very true;" and Frank saw, in the faces of the members, that the current had again set in another direction. "But we only want to prove that rowing for the prize is not gambling."
"That's all," said Charles.
"The Agricultural Society offers premiums for the best horses, cows, oxen."
"That's to improve stock," answered William. "Boat racing can only be for amusement."
"The Horticultural Society gives premiums for the prettiest flowers," added Frank; "and my father got one of them last summer."
The boys were staggered again.
"Flowers are cultivated for amusement; at any rate, we don't eat them, or drink them, or sleep on them," continued Frank.
"Your bed shall be roses, besprinkled with dew."
added Fred, who never missed his joke. "Besides, we sleep on poppies. They are a sleepy plant, you know."
"But the real question," said Frank, "is, whether racing for a prize will not excite hard and envious feelings in the members of the two clubs. I hope we shall think well of it before we vote; and for that purpose, Mr. Chairman, I move a recess of half an hour."
The motion was carried, and the boys talked the matter over till the meeting was called to order again.
"Question!" called several voices.
The vote was immediately taken, and it stood nine in favor and two opposed to the proposition. And so, on the part of the Zephyr, the offer was accepted.
The club then adjourned for an excursion on the lake.
CHAPTER III.
ALL ABOARD!
The club had taken their seats in the boat, and were waiting the orders of the coxswain to haul her out of her berth, when Captain Sedley made his appearance.
"You are short-handed, Frank," said he, as he observed Tony's vacant seat.
"Yes, sir; but we have elected a member to fill that place," replied Frank, as he jumped out of the boat, and hastened to inform his father of what the club had done.
The members all felt a deep interest in the result of this conference; and though this was the first excursion of the season, they forgot for the time the pleasure before them in their desire to know whether the "director" would approve their action in relation to the new member and the prize.
Frank and his father entered the club-room together.
"Now, my son, what have you done?" asked Captain Sedley.
"We have discussed both questions to the best of our ability," replied
Frank, with some hesitation.
"Well, what was the result?"
"We have elected Tim to fill Tony's place."
"Indeed!"
"We have; and we await your sanction to our doings."
"Did you think I would sanction such a choice as that?"
"I didn't know. We have fairly considered the matter; have faithfully examined both sides of the question. If we have done wrong, you know, father, that you have a veto upon our doings."
Captain Sedley smiled at the matter-of-fact, business-like earnestness of his son. He felt quite as much interest in the action of the boys as they did to learn his opinion of it.
"Tim is a very bad boy," said he.
"He was; but he has solemnly promised to amend, and become a good boy," answered Frank, warmly.
"Not much dependence can be placed upon the promises of such boys as
Tim."
"But if no one encourages him to become better, he will not be likely to improve much, especially when everybody despises and shuns him."
"There is danger that he may corrupt the rest of the club."
"He must obey the requirements of the constitution, or he cannot long continue to be a member."
"You are right, Frank; I approve your action in this matter, but I should like to know the grounds upon which you admitted him."
Frank gave him a brief synopsis of the debate, and the anxious father expressed himself well pleased with the liberal views of the club.
"Men might be oftener reformed in the great world, if people would only give them a chance to be respectable, as you have done with Tim," said Captain Sedley. "But what have you done about the prize?"
"We have voted to accept the offer of the gentlemen," answered Frank, rather doubtfully, as he looked earnestly into the face of his father, to discover the effect of his intelligence.
"I hope you looked on both sides of this question, as well as the other."
"We did, father."
Frank stated the different opinions that had been expressed by the members during the debate, and the fact that they had informally given a unanimous vote against it. Captain Sedley was much amused by the narration, in spite of the disappointment he felt at the ill success of his efforts to make the boys reason for themselves.
"I think your view is correct, Frank; though I am aware that many mature minds would arrive at a different conclusion. As you say, the envy and ill will which the contest may excite are the evils most to be dreaded."
"Then you approve our decision?"
"I do."
Frank felt as happy at that moment as though he had been a general of division, and had won a great victory. The consciousness of having arrived, unaided by mature minds, at a correct conclusion, was a triumph in itself. He had exercised his thought, and it had borne him to a right judgment. He was proud of his achievement, and hastened back to the boat with the intelligence of the approval.
"What does he say?" asked half a dozen of the members.
"Let us get off first, and then we will talk about it," replied Frank. "Bowman, let go the painter; cast off the stern lines, there. Now, back her—steady."
"Tell us about it, Frank," said Charles Hardy, as the Zephyr glided clear of the boat-house, out upon the deep waters of the lake.
"Ready—up!" continued Frank, and the eleven oars were poised perpendicularly in the air.
"Down!"
The members had already begun to feel the inspiration of their favorite amusement, and there appeared to have been nothing lost by the season of inactivity which had passed away. They were as prompt and as perfect in the drill as though they had practised it every day during the winter. Although it was a moment of excitement, there was no undue haste; every member seemed to be perfectly cool.
"Ready—pull!"
And the broad blades dipped in the water, and bent before the vigorous arms of the youthful oarsmen.
"Starboard oars, cease rowing—back!" continued the coxswain, with admirable dignity and self-possession; and the Zephyr, acted upon by this maneuver, came about as though upon a pivot, without going either backward or forward.
"Starboard oars, steady—pull!" and the rowers indicated by this command caught the stroke, and the light bark shot ahead, with her wonted speed, in the direction of Rippleton village.
"Zephyr, ahoy!" shouted some one from the shore.
"Tim Bunker—ain't it?" asked Charles.
"Yes."
"Humph! he needn't hail us like that. I was sure your father would never permit him to join the club," continued Charles, who fancied that he read in Frank's expression the disapproval of his father.
"You are in the wrong, Charley."
"Am I?"
"You are; my father cordially approved our action. Now, Zephyrs, I am going up to Flat Rock to take him aboard; and I hope every fellow will treat him well—just as though he had never done anything out of the way. What do you say?"
"We will," they replied, with one voice.
"And then, if he does not walk straight, it will not be our fault. Treat him as though he was the best fellow among us. Let nothing tempt us to forget it."
Frank headed the boat towards the rock in the grove, and in a moment the bow touched it.
Without waiting for an invitation, Tim jumped into the boat, and took the vacant seat. Frank did not much like this forwardness: it was a little too "brazen" to comport with his ideas of true penitence. But he did not care to humble the "Bunker;" so he said nothing that would wound his feelings.
"We are glad to see you, Tim; the club has this day elected you a member, and our director has approved the vote," said Frank.
"Has he?" replied Tim, with a broad grin.
"And, if you like, we will go up to the boat-house, where you may sign the constitution."
"Yes, I'll sign it," answered Tim, more as though it would be conferring a favor on the club than as a duty he owed to his new friends.
Frank gave the necessary orders to get the boat under way again. Tim handled his oar with considerable skill, and before they reached the boat-house, he had learned to time his stroke with that of his companions.
When they landed, Captain Sedley took Tim apart with him, and very kindly told him what would be expected of him in his new relation, urging him to be true to his good resolution, and assuring him that he should never want for substantial encouragement so long as he persevered in well doing. Tim hung his head down while he listened to this kind advice; his answers were short, but they were all satisfactory, so far as words could be taken as the index of his intentions.
Frank then read the constitution, and the new member listened to it with attention. The stringent provisions of the sixth article, which forbade swearing, indecent language, and other boyish vices, brought a scarcely visible smile to his lips, and excited a doubt as to the success of the experiment in the mind of the director.
"Now, Tim, you can sign it," said Frank.
"It's pretty strict—ain't it?" added Tim, with one of his peculiar grins, as he took the pen that was handed to him. "You know I ain't used to being quite so strained up as you fellers, and I may kinder break through afore I know it."
"If you do, you shall be judged kindly and charitably," said Captain
Sedley.
"Well. I'll sign it."
But it was not quite so easy a thing for Tim to sign; at least, to perform the mechanical part of the act, for he had been to school but little, and good penmanship was not one of his accomplishments. However, he succeeded in getting over the form, though it would have puzzled the secretary to read it, if he had not known what it was.
"Now, Zephyrs, Tim is one of us," said Frank.
"He hasn't got any uniform," suggested Charles.
"He shall have one," replied Captain Sedley, as he wrote an order on Mr.
Burlap, the tailor, to supply him with a uniform.
"All aboard!" shouted Frank. "We will pull up the lake, and see how the Butterfly gets along. They have been practising for a fortnight, and they ought to be able to row pretty well by this time."
"With Uncle Ben to show them how," added Fred Harper.
Again the Zephyrs were in their seats, and the boat was backed out into the lake. The flags were unrolled, and put in their places. The graceful barge was nicely trimmed, so as to rest exactly square in the water, and everything was ready for a sharp pull. The weather was cool, and the boys required some pretty vigorous exercise to keep them warm.
The various commands were given and executed with the usual precision, only that Tim, who was not thoroughly "broken in," made some blunders, though, considering his short service, his proficiency was decidedly creditable.
The Zephyr darted away like an arrow, and the slow, measured, musical stroke of the oars was pleasant and exciting to the rowers.
"You haven't told us about the other matter yet, Frank," said Charles, as the boat skimmed along over the little waves of the lake.
"Let us know about it," added Fred.
"About what?" asked Tim Bunker, whose modesty in his new position did not seem to cause him much trouble.
"We are to have a race with the Butterfly, when Tony gets things to his mind," replied Frank.
"That'll be fun! Are ye going to put up anything?"
"Put up anything?"
"Yes; what's going to be the stakes?"
"I don't know what you mean, Tim."
"When they race horses, each man bets on his own."
"We are not going to bet; that would be contrary to the constitution."
"Would it? I didn't hear nothing about betting."
"Article second says that one of the objects of the association shall be the acquiring of good habits in general; and I am sure betting is a very bad habit."
"Well, I s'pose it is."
"But several gentlemen of Rippleton have subscribed fifty dollars as a prize to the winner of the race," added Frank; "just as they give medals in school, you know."
"Well, of course you will win."
"I don't know."
"You are used to your boat, and them fellers ain't."
"We can't tell yet; perhaps the Butterfly will prove to be a faster boat than the Zephyr, and some of Tony's members are a good deal larger and stouter than ours. I think the chances are about equal."
"I think likely. What are you going to do with the money if you win?"
"I don't know; we haven't thought of that yet," replied Frank, not particularly pleased with the question.
"Divide it among the fellers, I s'pose."
"I think not; we had better apply it to some useful purpose,—that is, if we win it,—such as enlarging our library, buying some philosophical instruments—"
"What's them?"
"An air pump, and other apparatus of the kind."
Tim did not comprehend the nature of the mystical implements any better than before; but as his mind was fixed upon something else, he did not demand further explanation.
"Fifty dollars," said he; "how much will that be apiece. Thirteen into fifty; can any of you fellers cipher that up in your heads?"
"Three and eleven thirteenths dollars each," said William Bright, who pulled the next oar forward of Tim. "Three dollars and eighty-five cents—isn't it?"
"Eighty-four and a fraction," replied Fred, with schoolboy accuracy.
"A feller could have a good time on that, I'll bet," ejaculated Tim.
"And many a poor man would like it to buy bread for his family," added
Frank. "But there is the Butterfly!"
Tim Bunker dropped his oar at this announcement, and was on the point of rising to get a better view of the Zephyr's rival, when the handle of William Bright's oar gave him a smart rap in the back.
"Mind out!" said Tim. "Don't you know any better than to hit a feller in that way?"
"Cease—rowing!" called Frank, as he saw Tim's first involuntarily double up, and his eye flash with anger.
"It was your fault, Tim, and you must not blame him," added the coxswain, mildly, but firmly.
"My fault!" and Tim added an expression which I cannot put upon my page.
"Such language as that is contrary to the constitution," continued
Frank. "You stopped rowing without orders."
"What if I did!"
"You should not have done so. No member can do, or cease to do, without orders; that's our discipline."
Tim cooled off in a moment, made a surly apology for his rudeness, and the Zephyr continued on her course.
CHAPTER IV.
THE FRATERNAL HUG.
The incident which had just occurred gave Frank considerable uneasiness. Tim was naturally quarrelsome, and his former mode of life had done nothing to improve his disposition. He had never been taught that self-restraint is necessary to preserve social harmony. If anything did not suit him, he was not disposed to argue the matter in a conciliatory manner, but to right his wrongs, whether real or imaginary, by physical force. In this manner he had obtained his reputation as a "good fighter."
Frank began to fear that Tim had come into the club without a proper understanding of its duties and requirements. Though he had, with an ill grace, apologized for his conduct, he seemed to feel no compunction on account of it; but, on the contrary, he every moment grew more overbearing and insolent. He could not speak to his companions in a gentlemanly manner, as they had been accustomed to be addressed. He was course, rude, and vulgar; and the members, who had received him among them in the best spirit possible, began to feel some repugnance towards him.
But what could be expected of him in so short a time? They had no reason to believe that a boy who had always been a desperado would suddenly become a gentle and kind-hearted person. His nature wanted refining, and such a work could not be done in a moment. These reflections came to Frank's relief, when he had become well-nigh discouraged at the idea of reforming Tim—discouraged more by thinking of the vast chasm that yawned between what he was and what he ought to be. Like the pendulum in the story, he was crowding the work of months and years into a single instant. A little sober thought in the proper direction set him right.
The Butterfly was darting out of "Weston Bay" as they approached.
"Cease—rowing!" said Frank. "Now, my lads, let us give them three rousing cheers. All up! One!"
"Hurrah!"
"Two."
"Hurrah!"
"Three."
"Hurrah!"
And then the Zephyrs clapped their hands, long and loudly, and this was the greeting which the old club gave to the new one. The compliment was heartily returned by the Butterfly, and then the cheers were repeated again and again. Every member seemed to glow with kindly feeling towards the others. Even Tim Bunker for the time laid aside his morose look, and joined in the expression of good will with as much zeal as his companions.
"Now man your oars, Zephyrs," said Frank.
"What ye going to do now?" asked Tim, as he grasped his oar with the others.
"You shall know in due time," replied the coxswain.
Here was another thing which Tim had yet to learn—not to ask questions of the commander. It was a part of the discipline of the club to obey without stopping to argue the point. Captain Sedley himself had suggested this idea, and it had been thoroughly carried out on board the Zephyr. It was an established principle that "the coxswain knew what he was about," and that he alone was responsible for the guidance and the safety of the boat.
Tim did not seem to fancy this kind of discipline. He evidently felt that he had been born to command, and not to obey. But the consciousness that he was in the minority induced him to yield whatever convictions he might have had of his own superiority to the will of the "powers that be," and he followed the example of the others.
"Ready—pull!" continued Frank.
He and Tony had arranged a little system of "fleet maneuvers," to be carried out when the two boats met.
To the surprise of all on board,—for they were not "posted up" in regard to these tactics,—Frank put the Zephyr about.
"Cease—rowing!" said he, when the boat was headed in the opposite direction.
To the further surprise of the Zephyrs, they discovered that the Butterfly had executed a similar maneuver, and that the two boats lay at the distance of nearly a quarter of a mile apart, the bow of one pointing directly east, and the other directly west.
"Ready to back her!" said Frank, and the boys all pulled their oar handles close to their breasts, ready at the word to take the reverse stroke.
"Back her!"
The Butterfly did the same thing exactly, and the two boats rapidly approached each other, stern first. Tony had certainly made the most of the time which had been allotted to him for drilling his crew, and they worked together almost as well as the Zephyrs, who were a little embarrassed at each new movement by the awkwardness of Tim Bunker.
"Steady—slow," continued Frank, as the two boats came nearer together. "That will do; cease—rowing. Ready—up!" and the twelve oars gleamed in the sunshine.
The sterns of the two boats came together, and Frank threw Tony a line, which the latter made fast.
"Ready—down!" said Tony and Frank, almost in the same breath; and the oars were deposited in their places on the thwarts.
The two clubs were facing each other as they sat in their seats, with the respective coxswains standing in the stern sheets.
"Mr. Coxswain of the Butterfly," said Frank, as he removed his hat, and gracefully bowed to Tony, "in behalf of the members of the Zephyr Boat Club, of which you were so long a cherished member, I welcome you and your club, and the beautiful craft in which you sail, to these waters. May the Zephyr and the Butterfly cruise together in entire harmony; may no hard words or hard thoughts be called forth by either, but may all be peace and good-will."
This little speech was received with a burst of applause by Tony's club, and the boats interchanged volleys of cheers.
"Mr. Coxswain of the Zephyr," Tony began, in reply to his friend's speech, "I am much obliged to you and your companions for the kind words you have spoken for yourself and for them. I am sure there will never be any hard feelings between us, and I assure you if any fellow in our club attempts to make a row, we will turn him out. Won't we, fellows?"
"Ay, ay! That we will," replied the club, with one voice.
"If we get beaten in a race, we will bear our defeat like men. Won't we, boys?"
"That we will."
Tony wound up by saying he was not much at making speeches, but he was ready to do everything he could to make things go off right and pleasantly.
Three cheers more were given on each side, and the crews were ordered into their seats.
"Starboard oars, ready—up!" said Frank.
"Larboard oars, ready—up!" said Tony.
"Ready—down!" was then given by one, and repeated by the other. And then, "Ready—pull!" followed, in like manner.
My reader will readily perceive that the effect of this maneuver was to turn the boats round in opposite directions, so that they came alongside of each other, after a few strokes of the oars.
The painter of the Butterfly was thrown on board the Zephyr, and made fast to the bow ring. The boys were now all brought together, and the discipline of the clubs was relaxed so as to permit the members to enjoy a few moments of social recreation.
The Butterfly, as we have said in the introduction, was of the same size and model as the Zephyr, and, except that the former was painted in gayer colors, to represent the gaudy tints of the butterfly, the two boats were exact counterparts of each other.
Her crew had already procured their uniform, and wore it on the present occasion. It was a pair of white pants, made "sailor fashion," with a short red frock, and a patent-leather belt. These garments, owing to the coldness of the weather, were worn over their usual clothes. The hat was a tarpaulin, with the name of the club in gilt letters on the front, and upon the left breast of the frock was a butterfly, worked in colors.
The Butterfly, like her rival, carried an American flag at the stern, and a blue silk fly, with the letter "B" on it, at the bow.
"This is glorious, isn't it, Frank?" said Tony, as he took his friend's hand and warmly pressed it.
"First rate! There is fun before us this season; and if nothing happens to mar the harmony which now prevails, we shall enjoy ourselves even more than we did last summer."
"Nothing can happen—can there?" replied Tony, glancing involuntarily at Tim Bunker, who seemed to be so amazed at the good will that prevailed around him as to be incapable of saying anything.
"I hope not; but, Tony, what about the race? Has your club voted on the question of the prize?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?"