Back Aa

Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

Close

CHAPTER V. DOWN THE RIVER. Putting a boat about, as Fanny had turned the Greyhound, is nautically termed gybing her. It is a dangerous manœuvre when the wind is fresh, and should never be attempted by young or inexperienced boatmen. By putting the boat about in the opposite direction, hauling in the sheet as the sail flutters, the danger may be wholly avoided. The boat's head should always be turned in the direction from which the wind comes. But a person who does not understand the management of a boat should no more attempt to handle one than an unskilful person should attempt to run a steam engine. Fanny Grant knew but little about a boat, and it was fortunate for her and her companion in mischief that the wind was not strong enough to carry the Greyhound wholly over. If she had careened only a little more, she would have filled with water and sunk, for she was heavily ballasted. As it was, she was half full of water, and the situation of the young ladies, if not perilous, was very uncomfortable. "O, Fanny!" screamed Kate, in mortal terror, as the Greyhound heeled over, and the water rushed in over the washboard. "Don't be scared," replied Fanny, with wonderful self-possession. "It's all right, and there is no harm done." "We shall be drowned!" gasped Kate. "No, we shall not be drowned. Don't you see the boat stands up like a major? Don't be frightened. I understand it all." "No; you don't know anything about it. The boat is almost full of water, and we shall sink to the bottom." "I tell you she is doing very well. Pooh! that wasn't anything! She often takes in the water like that." "What shall we do?" moaned Kate. This was a question which appealed even to Fanny's prudence. Without answering in words, she let go the halliards, and hauled down the foresail. After the boat came about, she had not righted the helm, and the Greyhound had been thrown up into the wind as she heeled over and took in the flood of water. She now lay with her sails flapping, and Fanny cast off the main-sheet, rather to stop the fluttering than to avoid further peril. Fortunately, this was the proper course to pursue. "What shall we do?" repeated Kate, expecting every moment that the treacherous sails would carry them over again, and that they would soon find their way to the bottom of the river. "Bale out the water," replied Fanny, taking a pail and a dipper from the cuddy forward. "Now go to work, and we shall soon be ready to sail again." "I don't want to sail any more," whined Kate. "Dip away as fast as ever you can. Don't stop to talk about it now." Fanny took the pail herself, and gave the dipper to Kate, and both of them went to work with a zeal which promised soon to free the Greyhound from the burden under which she was laboring. There was a large quantity of water in the boat, and the process of dipping it out was very slow. Fanny was afraid that this accident would throw her into the power of her great enemy, the constable; and this was the only fear which troubled her. The perils of the mighty river had no terrors to her while she had a plank under her feet. Kate was utterly disconsolate and hopeless, and Fanny was obliged to use all her ingenuity to keep her in working condition. To show her confidence, she sang like a nightingale, as she dipped out the water; and Fanny was an excellent singer. She labored hard to prove to her desponding companion that there was no danger, and at last she succeeded in restoring Kate to a tolerable degree of self-possession. When about half the water had been dipped out, Fanny trimmed the sails, and headed the boat down the river, to the utter consternation of her timid associate, who was heartily sick of the adventure, and longed to put her feet on the dry land again. "Now, Kate, you take the pail, and I will use the dipper; I can work and steer the boat at the same time," said Fanny, when the Greyhound was under headway again. "The boat is going down the river, Fanny!" exclaimed Kate, as she took the pail. "Of course she is," replied the bold skipper. "Where did you expect her to go?" "But you are not going any farther—are you?" "To be sure I am. Do you think I am going to back out now?" "We shall certainly be drowned!" "Nonsense!" "I don't want to go any farther," moaned Kate, who felt like one going to execution. "I can't help it if you don't. I'm going down to Pennville," answered Fanny, still dipping up the water from the bottom of the boat. "I won't bale out any more then," ejaculated Kate, as she dropped the pail, and looked as though she actually meant what she said. "Very well; then I won't," added Fanny, throwing down the dipper. "If you will go back, I will bale out the water as hard as ever I can." "But I will not go back," replied Fanny, firmly. "Do you think I am going home to be shut up for a week, or sent back to my uncle, without having any fun at all? If you won't bale, I won't. I guess I can stand it as long as you can." "Do go back, Fanny," begged Kate. "I tell you I will not. You don't know what I am going to do yet." "What?" "I can't stop to talk about it now. If you don't take the pail and bale out the boat, I will hoist the other sail." "Don't, Fanny!" "If you will keep still, and mind what I say, I won't hoist the sail. We go along with only these two sails just as easy as anything can be, and there isn't a bit of danger." Kate, to avoid the greater evil, submitted to the less; and, as the Greyhound, now going very steadily under her jib and mainsail, continued on her course, she was soon freed from the water within her. The boat went along so well that Kate gathered a little courage, and ventured to hope that they might not be drowned, after all. "You mustn't turn her round again, Fan," said she. "What shall we do? We shall run ashore if I don't turn her." "Can't we lower the sails when you turn her?" "There is no need of that," replied Fanny, cheerfully. "I made a little mistake before, but I understand all about it now." "What was the mistake, Fan?" "I didn't turn her the right way," replied the confident skipper, who had been studying up the cause of the mishap and had reasoned out the correct solution. "I shall know just how to do it next time, Kate, and you needn't be the least grain scared. See here," said she, putting the helm down, and bringing the boat round till her head was thrown up into the wind. "Don't, Fanny!" "That's the way it is done," continued Fanny, proudly. "Don't you see how easily she does it? There isn't a bit of danger now;" and she brought the boat round to her course again. Kate was terrified at the very mention of turning the boat; but when she saw that the feat was accomplished without upsetting or even taking in any more water, her confidence was in a great measure restored. Fanny's exhibition of her skill produced the intended effect upon her companion, and the feminine skipper's easy and self-reliant way confirmed the impression. Fanny had learned more about the management of a boat in that brief half hour than she had ever known before, for the consciousness that her own life and that of her passenger depended upon her skill, sharpened her perceptions and quickened her judgment to such an extent that those moments of thrilling experience became equivalent to months of plodding study when the mind is comparatively dull and heavy. Mr. Long, the constable, evidently did not hurry himself in the investigation of Fanny's case; for when he had satisfied himself that the wicked girl had deceived him, and had reached the Woodville pier, having first visited the school, as the shrewd girl had intended he should, the boat was not in sight; or, at least, nothing could be seen of her but the white sails, which he could not identify, and the fugitives were in no present danger on account of his movements. He did not know whether the Greyhound had gone up or down the river; and he had no boat in which to follow her. Fanny felt that she had won a victory, for she did not realize that success in a wicked cause is failure and defeat. She congratulated herself on the feat she had accomplished, and she was vain enough to boast to her associate of what she had done; of her skill in managing the boat, and her shrewdness in planning the enterprise; and it is quite certain that if she had been less resolute and courageous, the expedition would have ended in failure almost at the beginning. "But you haven't told me what you are going to do yet," said Kate, when she had sponged out the bottom of the well, dried the seats in the standing-room, and taken her place by the side of Fanny. "I will tell you now," replied Fanny. "What do you suppose your father will do to you when he finds out that you played truant, and went on the river with me?" she added, apparently, but not really, avoiding the subject. "He'll kill me!" answered Kate, with emphasis. "No, he won't." "I don't know what he will do, then." "He will punish you in some way—won't he?" "Yes. I don't know what he will do." "Well, Kate, we must bring him to terms," added Fanny, with the most impudent assurance. "If you will mind what I say, he will not punish you at all. Will you do it?" "I don't know." "You don't know! Do you want to go back and be whipped like a baby, be shut up for a week, or something of that kind?" "Of course I don't." "And I will tell you how to get rid of all these things, and make your father as glad to see you as though you had been a good little girl all your life, and had been away on a long journey." "How?" "That's telling!" "You said you would tell me." "And so I will, if you are strong enough to bear it." "Well, I am." "Don't go home for a week or ten days. Your folks won't know where you are. When they find out you went with me in a boat, they will think you are drowned; and when you go back, they will be so glad to see you that they won't say a word." It would have been impossible for a girl who had been brought up by a loving mother to conceive of such a cold-blooded and diabolical proposition. Fanny had no mother, no father. Even the remembrance of the former had passed from her mind; and her father, while he was living, had been away from her so much that she hardly knew him as a parent. Her antecedents, therefore, did not qualify her to comprehend the loathsome enormity of the course she proposed to her companion. "I can't stay away from home a week, let alone ten days," replied Kate, who, bad as she was, was shocked at the proposition. "Yes, you can." "Where shall I stay?" "Stay with me." "Where will you stay?" "We will go down to New York city." "To New York city!" "That's where I intend to go," replied Fanny, coolly. "You don't mean so, Fan?" "Yes, I do; and I have meant it all the time." "But you said we were going to Pennville." "We are; and when we get there we will take the cars for New York city. We shall be there before twelve o'clock." "But what shall we do when we get there?" demanded Kate, who was absolutely appalled at the magnitude of Fanny's scheme. "We will have a good time, in the first place. There are plenty of shops where we can get cakes, and candy, and ice-cream; we can go to the museum, the theatre, and the circus; we can go to Central Park, and all the fine places in the city." "But where should we live?" "There are hotels enough." "What should we do at a hotel? Besides, it would take lots of money." "I've got money enough." "Five dollars wouldn't pay for our living a week. They ask three or four dollars a day for living at a hotel." "I've got more than five dollars," answered Fanny, rather cautiously. "Have you? How much have you got?" "I don't know exactly." "You don't know!" repeated Kate, very confident now in regard to the means by which the money had been obtained, which, with this added revelation regarding the amount, she did not believe had been found on the floor. "You don't know!" "I haven't counted it." "Fan, you didn't find that money on the floor!" exclaimed she. "I found it, anyhow," said Fanny, turning her head away from her companion. "Where did you find it?" "In the drawer, if you must know," replied Fanny, desperately. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2