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 Another Random Document on
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with the fellow. I don’t think I am any more afraid of him than he is
of me.”
During the rest of the passage the events we have narrated were
fully discussed, and Dory learned more about the antecedents of
Oscar Chester. Doubtless he was the worst fellow in the party; but, if
the truth had been known, Dory would have understood that some
of the others were not much better. In three hours from Burlington
the Goldwing arrived at the little lake on which Beech Hill was
located.
Mr. Brookbine, a very intelligent carpenter, who had been engaged
as an instructor in this department, was on the wharf; and the new
pupils were handed over to him. He marched them to the dormitory,
where the boys deposited what little baggage they brought. The
Sylph lay at the wharf, and the smoke was pouring out of her
smoke-stack; for Jepson had received a telegraph-message from
Captain Gildrock.
The boys were more interested in the steam-yacht than in any thing
else; and they immediately asked permission of Mr. Brookbine, as
they had before of Dory, to go to Burlington in her. The master-
carpenter was willing; but he decided to go with them, after the
experience which Dory had had with them on the passage up.
Dory was the pilot, and he took his place in the pilot-house. He was
perfectly at home there; and the Sylph was really under his
command, for the carpenter knew nothing about boats or
navigation. In a discussion in regard to Oscar Chester, Mr. Brookbine
thought he had better be taken on board, for it would be late before
they returned from Burlington. A boat was sent for him, and he was
brought on board.
[Top]

CHAPTER XI.

THE MASTER-CARPENTER DISPOSES OF HIS PRISONER.

Oscar Chester had been on Garden Island over two hours, and had
had time enough to cool off. It was plain that he did not like the
looks of Mr. Brookbine, who was a stalwart Vermonter, over six feet
in height. He had gone on shore with one of the men from the
estate, who acted as a deck-hand, to bring off the rebel.
Oscar said nothing when he went on board of the steamer, and the
other boys were not inclined to make any talk with him. He walked
from one end of the Sylph to the other, taking a hasty survey of the
steam-yacht. He did not appear to be looking for any thing in
particular.
When he was on the forward deck he discovered Dory in the pilot-
house. He did not even bestow a second glance upon him, and went
aft in a few minutes. He looked sullen and obstinate, and it was
clear that he was disgusted with his experience on the lake.
“No use, Oscar,” said Williston Orwell, as the rebel approached him
at the stern of the boat. “You haven’t made out any thing, and I
don’t believe you will.”
“The end of the world hasn’t come yet,” replied Oscar with a heavy
sneer. “There is time enough yet, and you know I never back down.”
“But you might as well. You began too soon,” added Will Orwell.
“I didn’t begin at all: I was civil enough to Dory till he began to put
on airs. He talked to me just as though I were a little child, and he
were the Grand Mogul. I told him I wanted to steer the boat, and he
told me to sit down. He insulted me.”
“I don’t think he did, Oscar. None of us were ever in a sailboat
before; and I think he did just right in not letting you steer, for it
wouldn’t have taken much to upset that boat with so many in her.”
“Then you think I am a spring chicken, do you, Will?” demanded
Oscar with a curl of the lip.
“You know I don’t think any such thing; but you don’t know how to
steer a sailboat any more than I do. You were a little too fast to
think of doing it so soon,” reasoned Orwell with proper deference,
though he ventured to speak the truth as he understood it.
“If the fellow hadn’t put on airs, and ordered me about as though I
had been his servant, I wouldn’t say a word,” continued Oscar. “As it
is, he insulted me, and pitched me into the lake.”
“He didn’t pitch you into the lake, Oscar. You are not used to a boat
tossed about by the waves, and you fell overboard.”
“Didn’t he make the boat tip more when I stood up on purpose to
pitch me into the lake?” demanded Oscar angrily.
“I don’t know whether he did or not. I don’t understand a boat.”
“I know he did! And then he tumbled me into the water at the
island.”
“But you pitched into him then; and, as he could stand up better
than you could in the boat, he threw you overboard.”
“I shall get even with him; and if I don’t throw him into the lake, it
will be because I can’t do it,” blustered the rebel. “I see you are on
his side.”
“I am not on his side; but I don’t expect a fellow to stand still, and
let you thrash him. I advise you to let him alone for a while, and
your time will come before many days have gone by. Don’t touch
him while he is handling the boat,” added the politic companion.
“I shall go for him the first moment I can get at him, and I know
where he is now,” said the intemperate rebel.
“Don’t do it: Dory is the pilot of the steamer, and the engineer just
told me that they can do nothing without him. Didn’t you hear
Captain Gildrock read the telegraph-message, that Dory was away,
and for that reason he could not go down to Burlington to convey us
to Beech Hill?” reasoned Will very earnestly.
“I don’t care what he is: I shall not feel easy for a moment until I
get even with him. I will pull him out of that cubby-house where he
is, and pitch him into the lake, before I am half an hour older,”
persisted the rebel.
“Don’t do it! You will only make trouble for yourself. Captain Gildrock
will come on board as soon as we get to Burlington, and if I mistake
not you will find a Tartar in him.”
“I’m not afraid of him. But I don’t think I shall wait for him,” replied
Oscar. “I have not been to Beech Hill yet, but I have had about
enough already to satisfy me what it is going to be. If I am to be
ordered about by a boy younger than I am, and insulted by him,
because I happen to be in a boat with him, I don’t want any more of
it. My uncle gave me money enough to pay my fare to New York,
and you have more than I have, Will. What do you say: will you go
with me?”
“What shall we do when we get there? I don’t believe in jumping out
of the frying-pan into the fire,” replied Will.
“Both of us want to go to sea, and all we have to do is to find places
in a ship going to some foreign country. We can take care of
ourselves,” said Oscar confidently.
“I am not ready to go anywhere yet: I want to see what this
Industrial School is. We are to learn how to handle an engine, and
how to manage ships and boats. I think we had better wait a while
before we go to New York. We haven’t money enough to pay our
way till we find a place in a ship.”
“You can do as you like, Will, but I have had enough of this thing;
and when you miss me you will know where I have gone. If you
blow on me”—
“You know very well I won’t do that,” protested Will.
Oscar did not wait to hear any more. He went forward, and then
ascended to the hurricane deck. He and Will Orwell had been
cronies, so far as the character of Oscar would permit such a
relation.
The rebel reached the hurricane deck, and went forward to the pilot-
house. He surveyed the situation carefully. Dory stood before an
open window, with the spokes of the wheel in his hands. The doors
of the apartment, one on each side, were open. The young
helmsman had no more thought of being assaulted than he had of
jumping overboard.
Dory was delighted with his occupation, for he had not steered the
Sylph enough to make it an old story to him. From Garden Island he
had run out into the lake until the steamer was in range between
Split Rock and Juniper Island lights, when he headed for the latter.
This course would carry him clear of Quaker Smith Reef.
Most of the boys, after looking over the Sylph with wonder and
astonishment at the elegance of her appointments, had gathered on
the main deck forward, where they could see the lake and the
course of the steamer. But a few of them were on the hurricane-
deck, and three of them were in the pilot-house with Dory. The pilot
kept his eye on Juniper Island lighthouse, the top of which could be
seen seventeen miles. The flag-pole in the bow was kept in range
with the object for which he was steering. He had just explained to
the boys in the room how he kept off the rocks and shoals, and
found his way to any part of the lake.
He had hardly finished this explanation before Oscar Chester rushed
into the pilot-house. He rudely knocked aside a couple of the pilot’s
auditors, and laid violent hands upon Dory. The helmsman was
unconscious of the presence of an enemy until the rebel had seized
him by the collar of his coat. He pulled him over on his back upon
the floor.
“Your time has come now, Dory Dornwood!” said Oscar fiercely, as
he began to drag Dory out of the pilot-house.
“So has yours!” added Mr. Brookbine, as he stepped forward from
behind the pilot-house, where he had been reading the morning
paper brought up by the Goldwing.
The master-carpenter took the rebel by the nape of the neck, and
snapped him off his feet before he could wink twice. He pitched him
half-way across the hurricane deck. Oscar was nothing but a “spring
chicken” in the hands of the burly mechanic.
“It’s a pity I took you off that island!” exclaimed Mr. Brookbine, as he
bestowed a glance of contempt upon the rebel. “Did he hurt you,
Dory?”
“Not at all. He came up behind me when I was not thinking of any
thing of that kind, or I should have taken care of myself,” replied the
young pilot, as he rushed back to the wheel.
The pilot got his range again, and the Sylph went ahead as though
nothing had happened. The master-carpenter walked up to the fallen
rebel, who appeared to have been hurt when he struck the deck,
though he was in the act of getting up. Mr. Brookbine did not wait
for him to finish the act, but seized him by the nape of the neck
again, and bore him to the pilot-house.
“It is a pity we took this fellow from the island, Dory, for we can’t
trust him loose about the steamer,” said the stout Vermonter. “Is
there any place on board where I can lock him up?”
“Put him in the ice-house,” replied Dory, who was entirely willing to
have his assailant placed where he could do no more mischief.
“Let me alone!” growled Oscar, attempting to break away from the
grip of the master-carpenter.
“I will let you alone when I have locked you in the ice-house,” added
Mr. Brookbine, giving his patient several sharp twists and shakes,
which certainly did not improve his temper.
“He sneaked up behind me, or I should not have needed any help,”
said Dory, who felt that he had suffered a partial defeat in being
taken by surprise. “I am sorry I did not see him, for I think I should
have made it hot for him.”
“I shall make it hot for you before you have seen the end of this
affair. I will teach you what it is to insult your betters,” replied Oscar.
“If I don’t pitch you into the lake before I have done with you, it will
be because I can’t.”
“Any time when you are ready, let the fun begin,” added Dory, when
he had better have held his tongue.
“You will cool off in the ice-house; and we will see what you can do
in there,” continued Mr. Brookbine, as he dragged the rebel out of
the pilot-house.
“Let me alone! I don’t let anybody put his hands upon me,” yelled
Oscar, struggling to escape from the grasp of the carpenter.
“But you will be a good boy, and let me put my hands upon you,
won’t you?” added the big mechanic.
“No, I won’t! I will be the death of you if you don’t let go!”
“Steady, my boy: you are getting excited. You are wasting a great
deal of bad breath on nothing.”
The carpenter slapped his victim over a few times on the deck
before he reached the stairs to the main deck. Oscar could not stand
this: he said it hurt, and he became comparatively quiet. His tyrant
walked him down the steps. The boys on both decks gathered to
witness the exciting scene; but no one offered to interfere, and no
one spoke a word of comfort for the rebel.
“Will Orwell!” called the victim, when he saw his crony among the
spectators to his humiliation. “Come here, and help me!”
“No, I thank you! I don’t believe in butting your head against a
stonewall, and I told you not to do it beforehand.”
The carpenter opened the door of the ice-house, and thrust his
prisoner into the dark hole, as it was when the door was closed.
[Top]

CHAPTER XII.

CAPTAIN GILDROCK’S FIRST LESSON IN NAVIGATION.

Mr. Brookbine secured the door of the ice-house, and put the key
into his pocket. The interior was ventilated for the benefit of the
provisions that were kept on the ice when the steamer was on a
long cruise, but there was no window or other opening which would
admit a particle of light.
“What’s the trouble, Mr. Brookbine?” asked Jepson the engineer, who
was the master-machinist and an instructor of the school.
“That is the most desperate young cub I ever happened to
encounter,” replied the carpenter, as he proceeded to relate what
had happened in the Goldwing and on board of the steamer.
“Captain Gildrock will bring him to his senses,” added the engineer,
laughing; for he believed the captain could do any thing that was
within the scope of mortal man.
“I am ready to have him begin where I leave off; but there won’t be
much left of the young rascal when I get through with him if I have
to deal with him,” replied the carpenter.
“We are likely to have a sweet time with these young fellows if many
of them are like that one,” added Mr. Jepson. “He wants to get even
with Dory, does he? I reckon Dory will be willing to give him a
chance, though I never knew of the skipper’s getting into a fight on
his own account.”
Dory had already become a great favorite at Beech Hill. He was a
smart boy, but he was not perfect by any means. He had a great
deal to learn, but he was willing to learn it. The instructors in the
scholastic department had not yet arrived, but the mechanical
directors were already his fast friends. Even the servants, of whom
there was a small army on the estate, always smiled when he went
among them; for he was invariably kind and obliging to them, and
willing to assist them by all the means in his power. Besides, he was
regarded as the heir of the magnate of Beech Hill; and it was
prudent to “keep on the right side of him.”
Of course the nine other boys who had arrived that day all talked
about the exciting events which had transpired since they left
Burlington in the forenoon. Still, no one belonging to the steamer
heard them say any thing. They made no comments on the conduct
of Oscar: possibly they were afraid they might be reported to him.
But they had learned to feel a great admiration for Dory; first,
because he was not afraid of the rebel, and, second, because he
could handle a sailboat and manage a steamer.
It was about dark when the Sylph arrived at the landing in
Burlington. Captain Gildrock was on the wharf, waiting her coming.
As soon as he went on board, Mr. Brookbine reported the case of
discipline to him, and informed him that the prisoner was confined in
the ice-house.
“All right: let him stay there,” replied the captain, when he had
listened to the account of the doings of the new scholar. “Then Dory
has had a hard time of it. I was afraid he might have some
difficulty.”
“No fear for Dory,” replied the carpenter, laughing. “He can take care
of himself. He fought his own battle in the Goldwing, and won the
day every time.”
“I knew that Chester was the worst fellow in the party, but I did not
expect him to break out so soon. I am glad to hear that the others
have behaved well,” said Captain Gildrock, as he walked forward
where the boys were assembled. “How are you getting on, boys?”
“First-rate, sir,” replied several of them in the same breath.
“I am glad to hear it; and none of us will have any trouble as long as
we mean well. What you mean is more than half the battle in
morals. I did not expect you so soon, and I am afraid Dory has not
looked out for your stomachs.”
“Yes, he has, sir,” said Ben Ludlow. “He had a basket of provisions on
the boat, and we fed out of that.”
This was the lunch he had taken the night before, and it had served
over a dozen instead of two. But the boys had been so much excited
by the novel event of a sail in a fresh breeze that they were not in
condition to do justice to the rations.
When the captain learned that the scholars had eaten only the
supply of food intended for two, he took the whole party to the hotel
to supper. After Captain Gildrock and Dory returned, the engineer
and carpenter went. The latter suggested that the prisoner in the
ice-house had been forgotten.
“I shall not forget him, but he may go without his supper to-night. A
little fasting will do him good. His father and mother are both dead,
and his uncle is one of the richest men in the State. He told me that
nothing but the sharpest discipline would do him any good. He will
run away as soon as he gets a chance; and this must be prevented,”
replied the captain.
Jepson and Brookbine returned in less than half an hour. The captain
had quite a chat with the boys while they were waiting. He told
them something about his plans, and was so kind and familiar with
them that they began to like him.
“I am told that some of you have been wild boys, and have been
turned out of school,” said he. “Except in one instance, I don’t know
who they are. I prevented your parents and others from telling me
any thing about your misconduct. You are all alike to me so far, and
every boy has his own reputation to make.
“You will not be judged at all by the past, but by what you do in the
future. I want you to remember this, boys. All of you will have to
work in the shops, and wherever there is any thing to do. You will
have to learn your book-lessons as well as how to work in wood and
metal. But there will be lots of fun as well as hard work. In a few
days we shall man this steamer, and every one of you will have a
station on board of her.”
“Hurrah!” shouted one of the new pupils in his enthusiasm; and the
cheer was taken up by the entire party.
“Before winter I hope some of you will be as competent to handle a
sailboat or a steamer as Dory is. But bear in mind that it is not all
play. I am going to make useful men of you, and I hope you will
second all my endeavors.”
The arrival of the carpenter and engineer interrupted the
conversation, and in a few minutes more the Sylph was standing up
the lake. It was dark now; and the boys gathered around Captain
Gildrock again, for he could not talk without interesting them.
“Who is steering this steamer now, Captain Gildrock?” asked Jim
Alburgh.
“Dory is steering her,” replied the captain.
“But it is dark: how can he find his way back to Beech Hill?”
“Did you suppose that ships that cross the ocean, being out of sight
of land for weeks at a time, stopped in the night?” asked the
captain.
“I didn’t think any thing at all about it,” replied Jim. “I don’t know
any thing about it. It is as dark as a pocket, and I should not think
Dory could see the land on either side of the lake.”
“He has no need to see it. Do you see that lighthouse on the
island?” asked the captain, pointing at Juniper Island.
“But that does not give light enough to enable the pilot to see the
shore on either side,” replied Jim.
“That is not what a lighthouse is for. The light it gives don’t amount
to any thing half a mile from it. The light only marks certain
localities. Now look up the lake all of you,” continued Captain
Gildrock, pointing in the direction of Split-Rock light. “Do you see
that light?”
“Yes, sir!” shouted Lick Milton. His name was T. Licking Milton, but
he had a nickname.
The rest of the boys soon made out the light, and some of them
shouted as loudly as the first speaker.
“Juniper Island light is on our right now. Dory will run on till the
steamer is in range with this light and Split Rock, which is twelve
miles and a half from here. Then he will head for the Split-Rock
light, keeping Juniper exactly astern of him,” continued the captain.
“Why don’t he run for Split Rock now?” asked Ben Ludlow.
“He would run upon Quaker-Smith’s Reef, about four miles from
here, if he did. Now, my boy, can you walk straight from where you
stand to the flag-pole at the stem of the steamer?”
“No, sir, I cannot. That thing is in the way,” replied Ben, after he had
looked the matter over.
“Precisely so: the capstan is in your way. Now go over to the side of
the steamer.” Ben obeyed, and the boys watched the demonstration
with interest. “Can you walk straight to the stem of the boat now?”
“Yes, sir, I can. There is nothing in my way.”
“Then, if you keep in range with the port gangway and the stem,
there will be nothing in your way, will there?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“That is exactly the principle on which we pilot a steamer or any
other vessel. But sometimes the matter is much more complicated,
and we have to take a dozen different ranges in going a dozen
miles. Pilots learn all these ranges, and get their bearings from
various objects on the shore. You can see the capstan; but we
cannot see the obstructions in our way in sailing a vessel, for they
are under water. They are all laid down on the chart, and we can
learn our courses from that.”
“But isn’t there any thing on that reef to let you know where it is?”
asked Dave Windsor.
“There is nothing on Quaker-Smith’s Reef, for it is out of the usual
track of vessels. It is about a mile from the eastern shore of the
lake. When the water is as low as it is now, this steamer would get
aground on it. But at the entrance to harbors they put buoys, and
also on rocks and shoal places in or near the usual track of vessels.”
“What sort of things are buoys?” asked Bob Swanton.
“Generally they are logs of wood, anchored to the bottom. These are
called spar-buoys. Others are made of metal, hollow, and shaped
like a couple of frustrums of cones joined at the big end. These are
can-buoys. There are other kinds, but you won’t find them in this
lake.”
“Spar and can buoys. We can remember them,” added John Brattle.
“The spars are all painted red, black, or striped. When going into a
harbor, red buoys must be left on the starboard hand; that is, on
your right. Black buoys must be left on the port, or left, hand. When
you see a buoy painted with black and red stripes, it is a danger
buoy; and you may go on either side of it. When you see one
painted up and down with black and white stripes, you must go
close to it. Sometimes the buoys are numbered: then the even
numbers are on the red buoys, and the odd ones on the black
buoys. But you must learn all these things by seeing them.”
“What are the colored lights on the sides of this steamer for?” asked
Bob Swanton.
“The red light is on the port side, and the green on the starboard.
They are to show any vessel approaching us which way we are
going,” replied the captain. “But I can explain this better when we
see the lights of another vessel.”
All hands were on the lookout for another vessel at once.
[Top]

CHAPTER XIII.

HANDLING A STEAMER IN A FOG.

Half an hour later a steamer came out of Essex, on the west shore
of the lake. Captain Gildrock was promptly notified by the boys that
a red light was to be seen.
“I suppose you have all seen port wine, and know it is red; though it
is not as red in Portugal as it is here,” added the captain. “This will
help you to remember that the red light is on the port, or left-hand,
side. When I see the red, I know at once that the port side of the
vessel is towards me, and therefore, if I am to the northward of her,
that she is going in an easterly direction. If I were south of her, she
would be going the other way.”
“But now we can see the green light too,” said Dave Windsor.
“That shows that she is coming towards us, and we must look out
that she don’t run into us.”
“How can you help it, if she keeps on, and you keep on?” asked Ned
Bellows.
“We will wait and see what Dory will do,” replied Captain Gildrock.
After going a mile farther, the boys heard a single sharp whistle over
their heads. It was immediately followed by the same signal from
the approaching steamer.
“That will make it all right. Dory has blown one whistle, which means
that he will pass the other steamer to starboard. The other steamer,
as she indicates by her one whistle, will pass at the starboard of us,”
continued the captain. “If Dory had blown two whistles, he would
have gone to port of the approaching vessel. You see that we are
going by her all right.”
“Suppose there had been a fog when we came out of Burlington,
Captain Gildrock: what should we have done?” asked Ben Ludlow.
“Could Dory have run the boat down to Beech Hill?”
“He could do it, but I should rather he would not. It is not safe to
run in a fog; and it is best not to do it, unless your business is very
urgent,” replied Captain Gildrock.
“But suppose you could not even see Juniper-Island light: what
would you do if you had to run to Beech Hill?” persisted the inquirer.
“Juniper light is west-south-west from the wharf, as I have ruled it
off from the chart. The distance is three and a quarter miles. The
speed of the Sylph is twelve miles an hour, and it will take her
sixteen minutes and a quarter to reach the light. But we don’t start
at full speed, and we must allow for that.
“At the end of sixteen minutes, by the clock in the pilot-house, we
begin to look out for the light. If we don’t find it, we don’t go ahead,
if we stay there all day and all night. We whistle, and that lets the
people at the light know that a steamer is trying to find her way up
the lake; and they will blow a horn. When we hear it, we know by
the direction where the light is. They will keep blowing the horn for
a while.
“Split-Rock light is south-south-west from Juniper, and we steer this
course by compass for one hour and two minutes. At the end of that
time, if we are all right, we hear the horn at Split Rock. When we
have got the bearing of the light, we head her south by west, and
run two and three-quarters miles to the mouth of Beaver River;
which we do in thirteen and three-quarters minutes.
“Then Dory will strike the bell for the deckhand to heave the lead, or,
in other words, see how deep the water is. If we get ten feet at this
stage of the water, we are in the channel. We steer east-south-east,
and keep sounding all the time. If the leadsman should report a less
depth, we stop the steamer, and find where the channel is. We may
have to get out a boat to ascertain. When we get fairly into the river,
we can see the shores through the fog. If we can’t, we have to feel
our way up.”
The evening was quite chilly on the lake; and Captain Gildrock had
taken the boys into the forward cabin, as they were not provided
with overcoats. He had hardly finished his explanation before a long
whistle above them excited their interest.
“Perhaps you will have a chance to see how we work the steamer in
a fog,” said Captain Gildrock, looking at his watch. “It is about time
we were up with Split Rock, and very likely Dory cannot find the
light.”
The captain left the cabin, followed by all the boys. As soon as they
reached the forecastle, Dory rang the bell to stop her. The fog had
blown up from the southward; and the Sylph was completely
enveloped in it, so that nothing could be seen from her deck.
“Here we are,” said Captain Gildrock, as he led the way to the
hurricane-deck. “You can’t see half a ship’s-length ahead. I was
afraid this southerly wind might blow up a fog.”
The deck-hand was standing on the rail at the forward flag-pole,
trying to penetrate the thick mist that shrouded the shore. Dory
gave another long whistle. By this time the steamer had come to a
standstill, and nothing more was to be done until the pilot found out
where he was. The boys gathered on the hurricane-deck around
Captain Gildrock, who did not say any thing to the young pilot, or
even go near him.
“Can you see any thing, Bates?” called Dory to the deck-hand.
“Not a thing, sir,” replied Bates.
“There! I hear the horn!” exclaimed Dave Windsor.
“Horn on the starboard bow, sir!” shouted Bates.
“I hear it,” added Dory. The gong-bell in the engine-room rang, and
the Sylph began to move again.
“Horn again, sir. We are not ten fathoms from the point, sir,” called
Bates. “I see the light now, sir.”
“All right: so do I. Keep a sharp lookout ahead, Bates,” replied Dory,
as the sound of a jingling bell was heard from the engine-room; and
the steamer increased her speed very rapidly.
“Bates seems to be a very polite man,” said Ned Bellows, laughing.
“He puts in a ‘sir’ every time he says any thing to Dory.”
“It is second nature for a seaman to say ‘sir’ to an officer,” added the
captain.
“But to a boy not more than fourteen or fifteen years old!”
“No matter how young or how old he is, if he is an officer. Discipline
is very strict at sea, as it will be on board of the Sylph after we have
organized the ship’s company. You must all say ‘sir’ to your officers,
even if they are boys.”
“The last bell that rung was different from the other,” suggested Ben
Ludlow.
“The jingling bell is the speed-bell,” replied the captain.
“It means ‘Go faster,’ don’t it?”
“Not at all. If Dory should ring it now, it would mean ‘Go slower.’”
“It can’t mean both slower and faster,” reasoned Ben.
“Why not? If the boat is going full speed it means ‘Slow down:’ if she
is going at half speed it means ‘Full speed.’ The gong-bell, one
stroke, means ‘Start her’ if she is not turning her screw, or ‘Stop her’
if she is going ahead. Two strokes of the gong means ‘Back her.’”
At equal intervals the whistle of the Sylph sounded, and this fact
soon excited the attention of the curious pupils. They wanted to
know what it was for. The captain explained that it was to warn any
vessel of the presence of the steamer, so that neither craft should
run into the other. Steamers used their whistles, and sailing-vessels
a horn. But no horn or whistle was heard during the rest of the trip.
The next sound that attracted the attention of the pupils was the
speed-bell, which was quickly followed by the gong; and the screw
ceased to turn. At a single stroke of the large ship’s bell, Bates,
standing upon the rail, at the forward gangway, heaved the lead.
“No bottom!” shouted the leadsman. Dory rang the gong, and the
steamer went ahead at half speed.
“Does he mean to say there is no bottom to the lake in this place,
Captain Gildrock?” asked Dave Windsor.
“Not at all: we don’t usually sound below fifty feet; and any greater
depth than that is called ‘no bottom,’” replied the captain.
“By the deep, eight!” said Bates.
“By the deep, eight,” repeated Dave Windsor. “That means eight feet
deep, I suppose.”
“No, it don’t: it means about forty-eight feet. The depth is measured
in fathoms of six feet each. The lead-line is marked with two strips
of leather at two fathoms, with three strips at three, with a white rag
at five fathoms, and with a red rag at seven; at ten fathoms is a
leather with a hole in it, and so on. There are no marks at four, six,
eight, and nine fathoms. When the leadsman said ‘By the deep,
eight,’ the line was under water about six feet below the red rag, or
seven fathoms.”
“By the mark, five!” called Bates.
“Just thirty feet,” the captain explained.
“And a half two!”
“Two fathoms and a half. We are shoaling rapidly.”
“Mark under water, two!”
“A little over two fathoms.”
“Ten feet!” shouted Bates with more energy than before.
The gong rang at this report, and two strokes followed instantly. The
screw began to turn backwards; and, when her headway was
checked, a single stroke stopped her.
“Dory is doing it all right,” said Captain Gildrock. “When he backed
her he put the helm to port, so as to get her head pointed east-
south-east. If he had not stopped the boat when he did, she would
have been aground in a couple of minutes; for there is a shoal south
of the mouth of the river on which the water is only from one to six
feet deep.”
“What harm would it have done if we had got aground?” asked Bob
Swanton.
“It would have done no harm, as we were going slowly; though we
might have had to stay here all night. If there had been a rock
there, it would probably have stove a hole in the bottom of the
boat.”
“Ten feet!” reported Bates again.
The gong rang to go ahead, but the steamer hardly moved through
the water. The captain said the pilot had told the engineer, through
the speaking-tube, to go very slowly. Bates continued to sound,
reporting the same water as before.
“I see the point, sir,” said Bates a little later.
“All right! I have it,” replied Dory. The boat began to move a little
faster, but she did not get above half speed.
In the river the fog was not so dense as on the lake, and the pilot
could make out the objects on the banks of the stream. She went
into the creek leading from the river to the lake, and in a few
minutes more she was at the temporary wharf which had been built
for her.
“Well, boys, you have had both the theory and the practice of
handling a steamer in a fog. It is an easy matter on this lake
compared with the bays and harbors on the seacoast, for there the
pilot has to make allowances for the tide.”
The boys landed, and were directed to go to the study-room in a
building adjoining the dormitory. The captain called Mr. Brookbine,
and they went together to the ice-house.
[Top]

CHAPTER XIV.

THE STRONG-ROOM AT THE BEECH-HILL INDUSTRIAL

SCHOOL.

The trip was finished, and Dory was relieved from further duty in the
pilot-house. He came down upon the main deck just as the
carpenter was unlocking the door of Oscar Chester’s prison. Mr.
Brookbine had a lantern in one hand, which threw its light into the
room when the door was opened.
The rebel was lying on the floor, which was quite dry, for the room
had not been used for several weeks. He seemed to be making
himself quite at home in his prison; and possibly he had been
asleep, for he gaped and yawned when he was discovered. But this
was affectation. He wanted to make his persecutors, as he regarded
them, think that he was not at all disturbed by his confinement.
“You may came out now, Chester,” said Captain Gildrock.
“I don’t want to go out: I am very comfortable here, I want you to
understand,” replied Oscar with plentiful display of bravado.
“It is my order that you come out!” added the captain sternly.
“I don’t know that I care for your orders. I have made up my mind
to stay in this place only long enough to get even with that Dory
Dornwood. When I have thrashed him within an inch of his life, I
shall be ready to leave; and I shall leave, I want you to understand,”
answered Oscar. “I don’t intend to be bossed by any little boy you
may see fit to place over me.”
“I shall not argue the question with you: I told you to come out,”
continued Captain Gildrock in very decided, though gentle, tones.
“And I told you I wouldn’t go out!” replied Oscar.
“You may bring him out, Mr. Brookbine, and take him up to the brig,”
said the captain, as he took the lantern from the hand of the
carpenter.
“You have brought that big bully, have you?” demanded the rebel,
rising from his reclining position.
No one replied to this demand, but the carpenter walked into the
prison. Oscar was disposed to show fight. He retreated to a corner,
and put himself in the attitude of defence. Suddenly, as if by
impulse, the prisoner began to feel in his pockets; but the stout
mechanic did not give him time enough to produce any thing. He
took him by the collar of his coat, and lifted him off the floor. With
his other hand, he jerked the hands of the prisoner out of his
pockets. As he did so, a two-bladed knife dropped from one of them.
Possibly the sight of this article kindled the anger of the carpenter,
for he began to bang the captive about in a manner that threatened
serious bodily injury to the victim.
“Hold on to him, but don’t hurt him any more than may be
necessary,” interposed Captain Gildrock. “We can cure him of his
infirmity in a few days.”
“The rascal wants to knife me, and I am inclined to shake the bad
blood out of him,” replied the mechanic.
“He is a lunatic: he is boiling over with bad passions. A few days in
the brig will cool him off. We will treat him as a sick boy; and, when
he gets better, we will talk with him. Possibly there may be some
reason in him when he is himself, if he ever is himself. If we can’t
manage him, we will send him to the lunatic-asylum,” said the
captain, as the carpenter dragged his prisoner out upon the deck.
Dory picked up the knife, and followed his uncle to the school-
buildings in the rear of the mansion. Oscar could not stand the
discipline of the burly Vermonter. He soon found, if he had not
learned it before, that he was powerless in the hands of his
persecutor; and he walked quietly in the direction he was led.
Captain Gildrock had expected to have some just such boys as Oscar
Chester. In fact, he knew of this very one; for his uncle had applied
to him to take him, as soon as he knew that he intended to open a
mechanical institution. Mr. Chester was an old friend of the captain,
to whom the latter had described his educational plan. This was the
reason he happened to know all about Oscar, while he had taken
pains not to be informed in regard to the antecedents of all his other
pupils.
The founder of the new school understood men and boys
thoroughly. Some of his scholars must inevitably be rebellious and
troublesome, and he had fully provided for the treatment of such
cases. He had erected two temporary buildings, one of which was
the dormitory and the other the workshop and schoolroom, the
latter occupying the story over the former. The students were to take
their meals in the large dining-room of the mansion.
The dormitory consisted of twenty-four sleeping-rooms, each of
which had been furnished with an iron bedstead and such simple
furniture as might be required. Nothing was extravagant, or even
elegant; for the school was an experiment which might succeed or
fail.
In a small brick building close to the shop, a steam-engine had
already been set up, from which a belt extending into the shop was
to run the lathes, circular-saws, planers, boring-machines, and other
machinery. One part of the shop was for woodwork, and the other
for iron. But most of the tools and apparatus had not yet been put in
their places.
At one end of the dormitory was the “brig.” Captain Gildrock’s
earliest experience at sea had been in the navy, where he had
obtained his first ideas of discipline. The ship’s prison on board a
man-of-war is called the “brig.” The captain had already given this
name to his place of discipline.
It was one of the rooms of the dormitory, fitted up for the purpose
intended. The walls and ceiling, as well as the floor, had been
constructed of thick spruce plank. All the wood had been covered
with sheet-iron. The two windows were grated with iron bars. It
contained a narrow iron bedstead, an iron stand for a table, and one
chair of the same material. The locks on the door were strong
enough for any prison. But not even the door could be seen from the
hall of the dormitory, for it was concealed by a wooden partition in
front of it.
No boy was to be allowed to visit this strong-room unless he was
condemned to become an occupant of it for his misconduct. He had
not mentioned it to the boys, and the instructors were requested not
to do so. The iron in the room was all painted black, so that it was
an exceedingly gloomy-looking apartment. The captain hoped he
should never have occasion to make any use of the brig; and
certainly he had not expected to have an occupant for it on the day
the first of the boys arrived.
Mr. Brookbine took his prisoner to the brig, attended by the captain.
He was hurried up the stairs, and thrust into the prison, without any
ceremony. The lantern lighted up the gloomy den when the door
was opened; and, if Oscar did not shrink from his fate, he had more
nerve than ninety-nine in a hundred boys.
He did give a start when he looked into the brig, and it required
some effort on the part of the mechanic to force him into it. In the
dungeon he looked about him with something like an expression of
disgust on his face. Then he seemed to feel that he was yielding
somewhat to the circumstances; and he straightened up, and made
an effort to “stiffen his back.” His persecutors were retiring from the
entrance, and the captain was about to close the door.
“I have eaten nothing since I had my breakfast, early this morning,”
said Oscar stiffly, when he saw that he was about to be locked into
the cell for the night.
“It is your own fault. All the rest of the boys had supper at the hotel
in Burlington,” replied the captain.
“Do you mean to starve me?” demanded the prisoner.
“No, I don’t mean to starve you.—Dory,” called the captain at the
open window in the hall: “go into the house and get a loaf of bread,
a case-knife, and a pitcher of water.”
In a few minutes the skipper of the Goldwing returned with the
articles named, and Captain Gildrock placed them on the iron table.
“Am I to be fed on dry bread?” asked Oscar, as he looked with
contempt upon the provision on the table.
“I don’t answer questions at the present time. There is food: you
can eat it or let it alone. You can stay in this place a day, a week, a
month, or a year: the time depends upon yourself,” said the captain,
as he withdrew from the brig.
He closed the door, and secured it with the great lock. He also
fastened the door in the plank partition, so that no student could get
within six feet of the strong-room.
“That fellow will think better of it in a few days, perhaps by to-
morrow,” said Captain Gildrock, as they left the dormitory.
“For a boy, he is the hardest customer I ever had to deal with,”
replied Brookbine. “There is no more reason in him than there is in a
brickbat.”
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