Project Gutenberg\'s The Go Ahead Boys and Their Racing Motorboat

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THE GO AHEAD BOYS AND THE RACING MOTOR-BOAT

BY ROSS KAY

Author of ``Dodging the North Sea Mines," "With Joffre on the
Battle Line," "Fighting in France," "The Go Ahead Boys on
Smugglers' Island," "The Go Ahead Boys and the Treasure Cave,"
etc. etc.

Preface

Every normal boy loves a motor-boat, but words fail to express
his enthusiasm when that boat is also a racer. Behind the events
recorded in this story are certain facts, so that the tale is
largely true. The author will be glad if the account of life in
the open, the adventures and fortunes, good or ill, the contests
and exciting experiences interest his readers even partly as much
as they did the boys who shared in the actual occurrences. I have
tried to write a story filled with action, but devoid of
sensationalism and false representations. If my boy friends enjoy
the company of the Go Ahead boys I shall feel repaid for my labor.

Ross Kay

CONTENTS
I THE START
II ON THE WAY
III JOHN DISAPPEARS
IV THE LOST IS FOUND
V THE MISSING BAG
VI IN THE TAVERN
VII AN UNWELCOME PARTY
VIII THE COMING OF THE CALEDONIA
IX A FRIEND IN NEED
X IN TROUBLE
XI RESCUED
XII A BATTLE WITH ARMS AND LEGS
XIII A SURPRISE
XIV A SURPRISING PASSENGER
XV AN UPSET
XVI THE RESCUE
XVII SENDING FOR SAM
XVIII A TEST
XIX THE LOST FISH
XX SAM'S WARNING
XXI THE SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT
XXII A COLLISION
XXIII THE CALL IN THE NIGHT
XXIV THE MAN IN THE BOAT-HOUSE
XXV THE OWNER OF THE BOND
XXVI CONCLUSION

THE GO AHEAD BOYS AND THE RACING MOTOR-BOAT

CHAPTER I

THE START

"Here we go!"

"We're off!"

"Look quick, or we'll be out of your sight."

The long, low motor-boat glided smoothly out from the dock to
which it had been made fast. Behind it the water boiled as if it
had been stirred by some invisible furnace. The graceful lines of
the boat, its manifest power and speed, formed a fitting
complement to the bright sunshine and clear air which rested over
the waters of the Hudson River.

On the dock, which the Black Growler was leaving so rapidly
behind her, were assembled various members of the families
represented by the four boys on board the motor-boat. Younger
brothers and sisters, two uncles, several aunts, not to mention
the various fathers and mothers united in a final word of
farewell. Handkerchiefs were waved and the sounds of the last
faint call came across the intervening waters.

The Black Growler was leaving Yonkers to be gone more than a
month. The trip was one to which the Go Ahead boys had looked
forward with steadily increasing interest.

In the first place the boat belonged to Fred Button, one of the
quartet. Fred now was at the wheel and the expression of pride on
his face as he occasionally glanced behind him at his companions
was one that indicated something of the feeling in his heart. And
indeed there was a substantial basis for Fred's pride. Among the
many boats on the river the Black Growler moved as if she
belonged in a class of her own. People on board the cat boats or
yachts, and even the passengers on a great passing steamer, all
stood looking with manifest interest at the dark-colored little
boat which was speeding over the waters almost like a thing
alive.

Fred Button, the owner and present pilot of the swift motor-boat
was the smallest, or at least the shortest, of the four boys. His
age was the same as that of his companions, all of whom were
about seventeen. His round body and rounder face were evidences
that in time what Fred lacked in length he might provide in
breadth. Among his companions he was a great favorite and
frequently was called by one of the several nicknames which his
comrades had bestowed upon him. Peewee or Pygmy, the latter
sometimes shortened to Pyg, were names to which he answered
almost as readily as to his Christian name.

His most intimate friend of the four was John Clemens, whose
nickname, "String," indicated what his physique was. He was six
feet three inches in height, although his weight was not much
more than that of the more diminutive Fred. "The long and the
short of it" the two boys sometimes were called when they were
seen together.

Grant was the one member of the Go Ahead boys who easily led in
whatever he attempted. His standing in school was high and his
time in the hundred yards dash stood now as a school record. His
fund of general information was so large that some years before,
in a joke he had been dubbed Socrates. That expressive name,
however, had recently been shortened to Soc.

George Washington Sanders, one of the most popular boys in his
school, frequently was referred to as Pop, by which designation
his friends indirectly expressed their admiration for one who,
even if he bore the name of the Father of his Country, was
laughingly referred to as the Papa of the Land. This nickname in
the course of time had been shortened to Pop.

Already the four Go Ahead boys had had several stirring
experiences in their summer vacations. One of these had been
spent at Mackinac Island where their adventures had been chiefly
concerned with Smugglers' Island. Together they had made a voyage
to the West Indies where their experiences on a desert island
have been already recorded.[1] Together they had investigated the
mysteries connected with an old house near George's country home,
a place shunned by the country folk because of its reputation of
being haunted.[2] Another delightful summer had been spent by the
boys in a camp in the Canadian woods.[3] All these experiences
had only prepared the way for the days which now were confronting
them.

[1] See "The Go Ahead Boys and The Treasure Cave."

[2] "The Go Ahead Boys and the Mysterious Old House."

[3] See "The Go Ahead Boys and the Island Camp."

Every one was confident that the Black Growler would give a good
account of herself in the motor-boat races which were to be held
on the St. Lawrence River. The grandfather of Fred Button, who
was the fortunate owner of an island in the majestic river, had
invited the boys to spend a month with him in his cottage.
Incidentally he had explained that their visit would be at the
time when the boat races occurred, which he had no question they
all would greatly enjoy. He was unaware that Mr. Button had
already purchased a motor-boat of marvelous speed, although at
the time he had no thought that it would be entered in any
contest or races.

Yielding to Fred's persuasions at last his father had somewhat
reluctantly given his consent for the boat to be entered, as well
as for Fred to invite the other three Go Ahead boys to spend the
coming weeks together on the island.

All these thoughts were more or less in the minds of the Go Ahead
boys when the Black Growler swiftly started on her long voyage.

"Are you going to keep her going like this all the time?"
demanded John as the swift little boat steadily continued on her
way.

"She doesn't like to slow up," replied Fred glancing behind him
as he spoke.

"She had better slow up than blow up," retorted John.

"No danger of that," laughed Fred. "The first thing you know
we'll be in the canal."

"I hope not," laughed Grant. "It will be a great day when the Go
Ahead boys learn how to use the English language. You don't mean
'in' the canal, you mean 'on' the canal."

"Perhaps he means what my grandfather used to call the 'ragin'
canawl'," suggested Grant.

"Maybe we'll be both IN it and ON it," laughed Fred. "If we
should happen to strike a rock or bump into another boat it
wouldn't be very hard to understand what would follow."

"That makes me think," said Grant solemnly. "Are you sure that
you know how to steer? If we were traveling on the Erie Canal as
they used to go soon after it was opened--"

"When was that?" broke in George.

"1825. The Erie Canal extended from Albany to Lake Erie and was
constructed chiefly because DeWitt Clinton worked for it with
might and main from 1817 to 1825."

"Good for you!" laughed George, "It's pretty hard to trip up old
Soc when it comes to figures. Now, I myself happen to know how
long the canal is and so I shall be able to tell whether you
reeled off your figures, depending upon our ignorance or whether
you gave them because you knew what they are. How long is the
Erie Canal?" he added slowly.

"Three hundred and fifty and one-half miles, though I find some
authorities give it as three hundred and fifty-two miles,"
laughed Grant.

"Splendid! Splendid!" retorted George solemnly. "I suppose you
know all about all the other great canals too."

"I have looked them up," replied Grant simply. "I don't believe
in starting off on a trip like ours without finding out some of
the facts connected with it."

"Don't ask me! Don't ask me!" protested John quickly. "I haven't
been looking them up, so I don't know."

"I didn't say I was going to ask you," retorted Grant. "I told
you I was going to inform you. I looked them up for the benefit
of my benighted companions. Now there's the Cape Cod Canal," he
added. "I don't believe there's one of you that knows anything
about it."

"If we don't stop you, there won't be one of us that doesn't know
ALL about it," said John, pretending to be discouraged by the
attitude of his friend. "I suppose we'll have to have it," he
added solemnly, "so the sooner we get it out of the way the
better. Tell us and have it over with."

"The Cape Cod Canal," said Grant as he looked sternly at John,
"is eight miles long, it is twenty-five feet deep and one hundred
feet wide."

"My, now I am almost ready to go back home!" said George
solemnly. "I cannot imagine finding out anything more important
than that. Have you noticed these Palisades we have been passing?
Did you ever see anything more beautiful than the river? Pretty
soon we'll come to the Highlands and to West Point and I want to
say to you right now, Soc, that I would rather know about these
things than I would to hear about a ditch that is one hundred
feet wide and twenty-five feet deep and eight miles long. What's
the good of knowing that anyway?"

"I shall try to improve your mind before we come back home," said
Grant, shaking his head.

"You don't expect to accomplish much in just a month, do you?"
interposed George.

"Not much more than to get ready to prepare to begin to start to
commence on the contract."

"My, what a fluent talker my friend is!" said George. "He never
is at a loss for a word. It doesn't make any difference to him
whether he knows what it means or not."

"Never mind your old facts and figures," spoke up Fred. "I want
you to notice that big! black yacht yonder. Isn't she a beauty?"

"She is that," replied Grant with enthusiasm. "I can almost make
out her name," he added as he looked through the field-glasses.
"There it is C-a-l-e-Caledonia," he added quickly.

"They have got quite a good many people on board," suggested
George as he noticed a group of boys and girls near the rail, who
apparently were as deeply interested in the motor-boat as the Go
Ahead boys were in the big, black yacht.

"Let's have a race with her," suggested George. "Start her up,
Fred, and see if the yacht will try to keep up with us."

Fred laughingly complied with the request, although neither of
his companions had any suspicion of the many experiences they
were to have with the passengers and crew of the Caledonia before
either vessel returned to New York.

CHAPTER II

ON THE WAY

The proposed race, however, did not take place. The graceful
Caledonia steadily continued on her way without increasing her
speed. There were calls from the deck where the boys noticed
several young people standing near the rail. It was plain that
there was great admiration on each boat for the beauty and speed
of the other. There were calls and cheers, and waving of
handkerchiefs to express their feelings. Perhaps it was in part
due to this fact that the Black Growler soon began to pull away
from the larger boat and not long afterward the Caledonia was
left far behind.

"That's the kind of a boat I'm going to have when I get rich!"
said George enthusiastically. "I should like to spend about four
months a year on board a craft like that."

"That's all right," spoke up Grant, "but I think after about two
months of it you would want something else. You see I know you
better than you know yourself."

"Yes, I see," retorted George sharply. "You make me think of what
Josh Billings said that 'it's a good deal better not to know so
many things than it is to know so many things that ain't so!' "

"Never you mind, fellows," spoke up Fred. "This boat suits me all
right. You wait until you see that cup the Black Growler is going
to win."

"I hope we shan't have to wait too long," said John dryly.

"You'll wait until the race comes off," declared Fred. "I'm not
taking any cups before I win them, but when the time comes you
wait and see me run away from any boat that tries to keep up with
us. I have been on the St. Lawrence before and unless there is
something a good deal better than I have ever seen there, we
shall simply show our heels to any motor-boats on the river. And
they say there are more motor-boats between Clayton and
Ogdensburg than anywhere else in America."

"How many?" inquired John.

"I have been told that there are more than a thousand."

"Well," said George, "I'm deeply impressed by the modesty of
Peewee. He simply thinks this boat will outclass nine hundred and
ninety-nine others that will be madly chasing him all summer
long, trying to keep pace with him."

"But he hasn't won the cup yet," said Grant quietly.

"That's right. That's right," spoke up Fred, pretending to be
annoyed by the bantering of his friends. "There are always some
people that try to take the joy out of life. I heard of an old
man the other day who was so disgruntled that when he met a
friend on the street who saluted him with a hearty 'good morning'
this old man looked all over the sky to make sure he couldn't
find a cloud somewhere and say that it wasn't a 'good' morning."

"What did he do if he didn't find any?" laughed George.

"Why he put his hand on his stomach as if he had a pain and shook
his head and closed his eyes and groaned out, 'Yes, it's a fine
day, but I am sure it is a weather-breeder. We'll have rain
to-morrow.' "

"Do you know there are a lot of people like that?" said George.
"I met an old woman up near our farm one summer who always said
when anybody asked her how she was that she 'enjoyed' poor
health. And I guess she did. I never knew any one who took such
pride in her aches and pains as she did. One day when the doctor
had been to see her she had told him all the pains she suffered
and the poor old doctor had to sit there and listen to her for
almost an hour. Finally, when he left she started out of the
house after him calling to him to come back because she had just
thought of another ache that she hadn't told him about."

The boys laughed and silence for a time rested upon the little
boat. The Black Growler was moving swiftly and still was
attracting attention from every boat she met. Following the
channel they kept well out in the river, but the towering hills
and the attractive shores were all within sight and manifestly
did much to impress the Go Ahead boys.

"Tell me, Fred," spoke up John at last. "Do they have these races
on the St. Lawrence every summer?"

"They have had for the past few years and they have had water
sports too."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, they have swimming, tilting contests, canoe races, diving
and I don't know what all."

"Did you ever go in any of them?" inquired John.

A solemn expression came over Fred's face as he said, "Yes,
once."

"What did you go into?"

"I tried to walk the greased pole. There was a silver cup on the
end of it and the fellow who could walk out and take it could
claim it."

"Did you get the cup?"

"I did not," replied Fred shortly.

"I'm surprised, Peewee. I don't know a fellow in all my
acquaintance that I think could walk better on a greased pole
than you."

"Huh," muttered Fred. "You ought to have seen me. That pole was a
part of a telegraph pole. It stuck out from the dock about
fifteen feet. It was covered with grease and the grease had been
rubbed in."

"How many times were you allowed to try?" asked George.

"Five."

"And you couldn't go in five trials?"

"I didn't go. The first time I stepped on the pole my feet flew
out from under me and I sat down on the river about six or seven
feet below. I sat down hard too."

"Did you enjoy it?" laughed John.

"I did not," replied Fred slowly, "but the people on the docks
and along the banks seemed to have a fine time."

"What did you do next?" laughed George.

"I tied some old sacking on my feet and tried to wipe up the
grease as I went along. "

"And didn't that work?"

"Nay, verily it didn't work. I took my seat that time on the pole
and then when I slipped, I tried to throw my arms around it. But
for some good reason I didn't delay very long, before I dropped
with a splash into the St. Lawrence."

"I hope they will have those things this summer," spoke up John.

"You would be a good one to walk on a greased pole," said George
soberly. "You wouldn't take much space and if you could once get
a footing you could reach forward almost to the end and grab the
cup."

"If I did," retorted John, "you can rest easy that I wouldn't let
go of it."

"How soon do we come to West Point?" inquired Grant.

"In about an hour," answered Fred.

"Do you know, I sometimes think I should like to go there," said
George.

"Couldn't be done, my son," spoke up John.

"Why can't it be done?"

"Because a fellow that enters West Point has to pass an
examination."

"Don't you think I could pass it?" demanded George as his friends
laughed.

"It depends on what it is," answered John.

"If they would examine you about the old Meeker House and running
tin tubes from the kitchen into the front room and a few other
things like that maybe you would pass."[4]

[4] See "The Go Ahead Boys and the Mysterious Old House."

"That's all right," spoke up George promptly. "I know something
about what a fellow has to do before he passes the West Point
examinations anyway and that's more than some fellows I know can
say."

"What do you know that we don't?" inquired John.

"How old does a fellow have to be to enter West Point?" demanded
George.

"I don't know," replied John somewhat foolishly. "I suppose he
has to be about eighteen, at least I suppose a fellow eighteen
could enter."

"Could he enter if he was twenty-one?" inquired George.

"He could," spoke up Grant. "A fellow has to be between seventeen
and twenty-two years of age before he can take the preliminary
examinations. But there's another qualification almost as
necessary," he added. "He has got to be free from infirmities."

"No hope for Pop then," said John solemnly. "He has too many
infirmities."

"What, for example?" demanded George.

"His appetite is abnormal, his confidence in himself colossal,
his willingness to condescend to the level of his superiors is--"

"You're getting all mixed up," interrupted George. "A fellow has
to pass a good physical examination and that is all there is to
it. Of course if he has too long a tongue or too small a head it
might shut him out."

"Of course," assented John. "How does a fellow get a chance to
try the examination anyway?"

"He has to be named by his congressman. Most of them, I guess,
have a preliminary examination for all the boys that want to
enter and then select the one who passes the best examination.
But even if he passes, his troubles have only begun, for they
make every fellow work his way."

"The government appropriates some money for every cadet, doesn't
it?" inquired John.

"Yes," replied George, "$709.50 per year. That is supposed to
cover the necessary expenses. It is not only hard work but the
boys don't get but one leave of absence in all the course, and
even that isn't given until after the first two years."

"But they have vacations, don't they?" inquired John.

"If you want to call them vacations," laughed Grant. "From about
the middle of June to the end of August the cadets go into camp.
They are busy every day."

"What does a fellow have to pass an examination in in order to
enter West Point?"

"English grammar, English composition, algebra through quadratic
equations, plane geometry, descriptive geography, physical
geography, United States history and the outlines of general
history."

"I think I'll go if that's all," laughed John, who was well known
to have troubles with most of his examinations in school.

"Look at that boat over yonder!" suddenly interrupted Fred,
pointing to a motor-boat about one hundred feet away. "It looks
to me as if it was trying to pass us."

"That's just what it is trying to do," said Grant eagerly.

"Don't you let them do it, Peewee."

"That's just what I intend not to do," said Fred resolutely.

In a moment the speed of the Black Growler was increased, but it
was also manifest as the boys glanced behind them that the boat
they had noticed was in swift pursuit.

CHAPTER III

JOHN DISAPPEARS

The rival boat was distant about one hundred feet, moving in a
line nearly parallel with that which the Black Growler was
following.

"I believe I have seen that boat before," muttered Fred. "Can any
of you fellows make out the name?"

George hastily took the field-glasses and gazed earnestly at the
swiftly moving boat. "I can make out some of the letters, Fred,"
he said slowly. "I can see V--a-r, the next letter looks like n."

"What's that?" demanded Fred abruptly.

"I can't make out the whole of it yet," answered George. "I don't
see what Varn spells anyway."

"You better look again," suggested Fred. "I think I know the
boat. I guess it's the Varmint."

"That's it," said George quickly. "Only there's something right
after the word. I can't just see what that is."

"Here, let me take those glasses," said Grant quickly. "I don't
believe you can find anything. Your mother told me that she
doesn't want any better evidence that your clothes are hanging in
the right places in the closet than for you to say that you had
looked for them and they aren't there."

"Listen to the words of our modest friend," said George as he
handed the glasses to his comrade. "Grant is a good boy. The only
difficulty with him is he doesn't realize how good he is."

"If he doesn't," spoke up John, "it isn't because he doesn't
try."

"Keep still, fellows," said Grant, waving his hand at the other
Go Ahead boys. "I'm just about to find out what the name of that
motor-boat that is beating us--"

" 'Beating' us nothing!" interrupted Fred. "Can't you see that
she isn't gaining a foot?"

"I can't even see her name yet," said Grant. "You had better slow
up a bit, Pygmy. That will give you a good excuse."

In response, Fred increased the power of the fast moving
motor-boat.

"I have it. I have it," called Grant exultantly a moment later.
"It is Varmint II."

"It is what?" demanded Fred quickly as he glanced behind him for
a moment.

"Varmint II, that's what it is," said Grant positively. "What do
you know about that?"

Fred was silent a moment before he replied. "Two years ago when I
was visiting at my grandfather's I saw the Varmint run away from
all the boats in the race. This must be a new one and if she's
swifter than the other one then there will be some race, let me
tell you. I'm going to try her out a little now."

In accordance with his words Fred changed the course which the
Black Growler was following until he was nearer the rival boat.
It was plain now that the crew of the Varmint II were deeply
interested in the Black Growler. They were watching her movements
and eagerly talking to the man at the wheel.

For several minutes the race continued and then abruptly the
Varmint II shut off part of her power and speedily dropped
behind.

"I told you what would happen," said Fred exultantly. "I would
like to run away from that boat in a race. There isn't a boat on
the St. Lawrence I would like better to beat."

"But you don't even know she is going to be on the St. Lawrence
or in that race," suggested John.

"That's right. That's right," said Fred dolefully. "There's
always somebody taking the joy out of life. You mark my words,
that boat is going to the St. Lawrence and we'll find her in the
race when we leave the stake."

"I hope so," said Grant. "It will be a great race if she's in it!
But honestly, Fred, if you knew a little more about steering a
boat I think you could win from her. How would it do for you to
get somebody to steer, the day of the race?"

"That's right," spoke up George quickly. "All the Black Growler
needs is a pilot."

"That--is--most--certainly true," said John slowly, winking at
Grant as he spoke.

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