Frank Webster - Two Boys of the Battleship - or, For the Honor of Uncle Sam

“Say, Frank, it’s certainly getting pretty bad; isn’t it?”

“Well, Ned, it surely isn’t getting any better. I’m positive of that. Look out! Here comes a big comber!”

There was a surge of green, foam-capped water, which looked as if it would engulf and overwhelm the dory motor boat, in which crouched two youths, one about eighteen, and the other slightly older.

“Hold her nose right into it, Frank!” cried the younger lad, who was bending over the laboring motor.

“That’s what I’m doing,” was the answer of his brother, “Whoop! Some water came aboard that time!”

The dory, built for rough work in the open sea, did not actually ship the wave, for her high and peculiarly built bow and stern were intended to meet just such emergencies, but there was a heavy storm brewing, and the wind whipped enough water off the top of the big wave to make three or four inches in the bottom of the craft.

“Think we can make the inlet, Frank?” inquired Ned Arden rather anxiously, as he straightened up, for now that the one big wave had been successfully coped with, there would be a short period of calm in the turmoil of the sea.

“Sure we’ll make it!” asserted Frank, as he shifted the wheel slightly to meet another comber, though not so large as the former one. “Of course we’ll make it. But I don’t mind admitting that I wish we were in the bay right now. The storm broke sooner than I thought it would.”

“But we’ve got a good boat,” Ned remarked, as he made a slight adjustment to the oil cups, to feed a little more of the lubricant to the toiling motor, which was enclosed in a sort of box amidships of the dory. Ned replaced the cover of the motor compartment and braced himself on a locker seat near his brother.

“Yes, a fine boat,” agreed Frank. “She’ll weather a worse storm than this.”

“Not worse than this is going to be,” insisted Ned, as he looked up at the gray and leaden sky above them. The strong wind was sweeping along, snipping off patches of salty spray from the tops of the waves, sending it with stinging force into the faces of the two boys. Overhead masses of black clouds scudded across the general gray surface of the sky. As yet there had been no rain, but Frank and Ned Arden were as wet from the spray as though there were a veritable downpour.

“Well, I’d trust this tub almost anywhere,” Frank said, rising slightly to peer ahead that he might see where to steer, for the atmosphere was thickening as the storm developed more and more. “She’s proved what she can do, Ned, and we don’t need to be afraid as long as she holds together and the motor keeps working.”

“That’s the only trouble,” Ned replied; “the motor. If she goes back on us and we lose headway, we’ll get into the trough of the sea, and then it will be all up with us,” and he laughed grimly.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” advised the elder lad. “The motor isn’t going back on us. She isn’t that kind.”

“One cylinder missed a couple of times, though.”

“Yes, the gasoline isn’t as good as it ought to be. I’m not going to get any more of it from Pierson. Look out, Ned! Here comes another!”

The boys crouched and turned their backs as their boat went slapping her way through another big wave. For a moment they could scarcely see because of the salty spray that filled the air, but they shook their heads to rid their faces of water, and looked eagerly, and somewhat anxiously, first into the interior of their craft to see how much water she had shipped, and then both peered, somewhat apprehensively, toward a long, low-lying body of land toward which they were urging their boat.

“It’s a good bit off yet,” said Ned, as he pointed toward Fire Island.

“Yes, but don’t worry. We’ll make it,” his brother reassured him. “Guess I’ll start the bilge pump. No use having all this water sloshing around our feet.”

“I’ll start the pump. You keep to the wheel,” answered Ned. “I don’t want to try my hand at steering just at the present time. Say, this is some storm!”

The younger lad threw into gear a small auxiliary pump attached to the motor. This pump was designed to free the boat of water, for Frank and Ned Arden often went some distance out to sea in their craft, and more than once they had shipped enough water to make them not only uncomfortable, but to put them in danger. So, to avoid the heavy and tiring work of baling, they had installed a small but powerful pump.

This the motor was soon operating, sending the water over the side by means of a small hose.

“That’s better,” observed Frank, when the interior of the dory was almost free from the fluid. “Shut off the pump now, Ned. I want all the power of the motor I can get.”

“Why, aren’t we holding our own?”

“Yes, but not much more than that. The tide’s running strong, and it will be worse when we get to the inlet.”

Ned peered through the gloom caused by the lowering storm-clouds, and sought to read his brother’s face. Ned was not afraid, nor a coward, but if there was danger ahead he wanted to be prepared for the worst. However, the countenance of Frank showed no unusual anxiety, though his lips were firmly and grimly closed. Frank would drive on through the storm, and if it were humanly possible he would bring the boat safely through the inlet of Fire Island and into the quiet and protected waters of Great South Bay.

Frank and Ned Arden lived with their uncle, Philip Arden, just outside the town of Ipswhich, Long Island. Their home was a large, old-fashioned house, and the grounds extended down to the beach of the Great South Bay, on the waters of which the lads spent much of their time.

They loved the sea, and from the time they were small boys and could barely swim, they fairly reveled in its saltiness, and were out on the bay or ocean in calm and storm.

At first they had been allowed to go only a little way from shore in a safe, but big and clumsy row boat. Then, as they became older and more experienced, they secured a better craft, and even ventured to cross the stretch of water which lay between the mainland of Long Island and Fire Island, that long, narrow strip of land which has been the cause of so many wrecks. On one side of Fire Island pounds the never quiet waves of the ocean, while on the other side, only a few minutes’ walk distant, are the calm and shallow waters of the bay. The bay and ocean are connected by several inlets, and the one for which Frank and Ned were heading was the one near Fire Island Light.

Once through that and in the quiet bay, it would be a small matter to make the run to their dock in their speedy motor dory.

They had had this boat about six months, purchasing it for their pleasure, for they were quite well off. It was not the first motor craft they had owned, but it was the one they liked best, for they could venture out on the open sea with it.

“And in quite a storm, too,” said Frank, speaking of the matter. “But we certainly have given it a good test to-day,” he added to his brother. “She’s shown what she can do.”

“That’s what she has, old man. But we’re almost at the inlet now; aren’t we?”

“Yes, a few minutes now. Wow! Here comes the rain!”

The storm, having lashed itself up to a certain point, now added a deluge of rain to the gale of wind, and the darkness increased.

The dory rose and fell, occasionally her propeller being out of the water so that it raced. Frank and Ned braced themselves against the rolling, pitching and tossing motion, Frank now and then raising himself to peer ahead to mark a course for steering.