The Yacht Club; or, The Young Boat-Builder, Oliver Optic [good book club books .txt] 📗

"But not quite so much of it," replied Donald,[57] when he saw that his craft was sliding off a very little. "Give her just three inches more fin, Dick."

The centre-board was dropped this distance, and the tendency to make leeway thus corrected.

"She is gaining still!" cried Gus, delighted.

"Not much; it is a pretty even thing," added Donald.

"No matter; we beat her, and I don't care if it's only half an inch in a mile."

"But the Christabel is leading us all. She is sure of all the first prizes."

"Not a bit of it. She has to reef when there's a capful of wind. In a calm she will beat us, but when it blows we shall wax her all to pieces."

"Hallo!" shouted Mr. Laud Cavendish, whose small sail-boat was overhauled about half way over to Turtle Head. "Is that you, Don John?"

"I believe so," replied Donald.

"Where you going?"

"Over to Turtle Head. Want us to give you a tow?"

"No; you needn't brag about your old tub. She don't belong to you; and I'm going to have a boat that will beat that one all to splinters," replied Laud.[58]

"All right; fetch her along."

"I say, Don John, I'm going to stop over Sunday on Turtle Head. Won't you stay with me?"

"No, I thank you. I must go home to-night," answered Donald.

Mr. Laud Cavendish knew very well that Donald would not spend Sunday in boating and fishing; and he did not ask because he wanted him. Besides, for more reasons than one, he did not desire his company. The Sea Foam ran out of talking distance of the sail-boat in a moment. Robert Montague was doing his best to keep up the reputation of the Skylark; but when the fleet came up to Turtle Head, she was more than a length behind. The jib was hauled down, the yachts came up into the wind, and the anchors were let go.

"Beat you," shouted Gus Barker.

"Not much," replied Robert. "We will try that over again some time."

"We are willing," added Donald.

The mainsails were lowered, and the young yachtmen embarked in the tenders for the shore. Turtle Head is a rocky point at the northern[59] extremity of Long Island, in Penobscot Bay. There were a few trees near the shore, and under these the party purposed to hold their meeting. Though the weather was intensely hot on shore, it was comfortably cool at the Head, where the wind came over five or six miles of salt water cool from the ocean. The boys leaped ashore, and hauled up their boats where the rising tide could not float them off. There were over twenty of them, all members of the High School.

"The Sea Foam sails well," said Robert Montague, as he walked over to the little grove with Donald.

"Very well, indeed. This is the first time she has been out, and I find she works first rate," replied Donald.

"I want to try it with her some day, when everything is right."

"Wasn't everything right to-day?" asked Donald, smiling, for he was well aware that every boatman has a good excuse for the shortcomings of his craft.

"No; my tender is twice as heavy as yours," added Robert. "I must get your father to build me one like that of the Sea Foam."[60]

"We will try it without any tenders, which we don't want in a race."

"Of course I don't know but the Sea Foam can beat me; but I haven't seen the boat of her inches before that could show her stern to the Skylark," said Robert; and it was plain that he was a little nettled at the slight advantage which the new yacht had gained.

"I should like to sail her when you try it, for I have great hopes of the Sea Foam. If my father has built a boat that will beat the Skylark in all weathers, he has done a big thing, and it will make business good for him."

"For his sake I might be almost willing to be whipped," replied Robert, good-naturedly, as they halted in the grove.

Charley Armstrong was the oldest member of the party, and he was to call the meeting to order, which he did with a brief speech, explaining the object of the gathering, though everybody present knew it perfectly well. Charles was then chosen chairman, and Dick Adams secretary. It was voted to form a club, and the secretary was called upon to read the constitution of the "Dorchester Yacht Club." The name was changed to[61] Belfast, and the document was adopted as the constitution of the Belfast Yacht Club. The second article declared that the officers should consist of a "Commodore, Vice-Commodore, Captain of the Fleet, Secretary, Treasurer, Measurer, a Board of Trustees, and a Regatta Committee;" and the next business was to elect them, which had to be done by written or printed ballots. As the first three officers were required to be owners in whole, or in part, of yachts enrolled in the club, there was found to be an alarming scarcity of yachts. The Skylark, Sea Foam, Phantom, and Christabel were on hand. Edward Patterdale and Samuel Rodman had signified their intention to join, though they were unable to be present at the first meeting. The Maud, as Samuel Rodman's new yacht was to be called, was to be built at once: she was duly enrolled, thus making a total of five, from whom the first three officers must be chosen.

The secretary had come supplied with stationery, and a slip was handed to each member, after the constitution had been signed. A ballot was taken for commodore; Robert B. Montague had twenty votes, and Charles Armstrong one.[62] Robert accepted the office in a "neat little speech," and took the chair, which was a sharp rock. Edward Patterdale was elected vice-commodore, and Joseph Guilford captain of the fleet. Donald was chosen measurer, and the other offices filled to the satisfaction of those elected, if not of the others. It was then agreed to have a review and excursion on the following Saturday, to which the ladies were to be invited.

The important business of the day was happily finished, and the fleet sailed for Belfast. Having secured the Sea Foam at her mooring, Donald hastened home. As he approached the cottage, he saw a doctor's sulky at the door, and the neighbors going in and out. His heart rose into his throat, for there was not one living beneath that humble roof whom he did not love better than himself.[63]

Donald's heart beat violently as he hastened towards the cottage. Before he could reach it, another doctor drew up at the door, and it was painfully certain that one of the family was very sick—dangerously so, or two physicians would not have been summoned. It might be his father, his mother, or his sister Barbara; and whichever it was, it was terrible to think of. His legs almost gave away under him, when he staggered up to the cottage. As he did so, he recalled the fact that his father had been ailing when he went away in the Sea Foam. It must be his father, therefore, who was now so desperately ill as to require the attendance of two doctors.

The cottage was a small affair, with a pretty flower garden in front of it, and a whitewashed fence around it. But small as it was, it was not[64] owned by the boat-builder, who, though not in debt, had hardly anything of this world's goods—possibly a hundred dollars in the savings' bank, and the furniture in the cottage. Though he was as prudent and thrifty as Scotchmen generally are, and was not beset by their "often infirmity," he had not been very prosperous. The business of ship-building had been almost entirely suspended, and for several years only a few small vessels had been built in the city. Ramsay had always obtained work; but he lived well, and gave his daughter and his son an excellent education.

Alexander Ramsay's specialty was the building of yachts and boats, and he determined to make a better use of his skill than selling it with his labor for day wages. He went into business for himself as a boat-builder. When he established himself, he had several hundred dollars, with which he purchased stock and tools. He had built several sail-boats, but the Sea Foam was the largest job he had obtained. Doubtless with life and health he would have done a good business. Donald had always been interested in boats, and he knew the name and shape of every timber and plank in[65] the hull of a vessel, as well as every spar and rope. Though only sixteen, he was an excellent mechanic himself. His father had taken great pains to instruct him in the use of tools, and in draughting and modelling boats and larger craft. He not only studied the art in theory, but he worked with his own hands. In the parlor of the little cottage was a full-rigged brig, made entirely by him. The hull was not a log, shaped and dug out, but regularly constructed,