Just as soon as Dory dropped the painter of the tender into the water,
the wind drove the boat away from the La Motte in the direction of the
shore. Mackwith and Chuckworth, the two robbers who had appeared on the
shore after their search in the woods for Angy, were too far off to
notice it.

“Now, we must not allow ourselves to be seen or heard,” said Dory, as
soon as he had let go the painter. “They will find the boat, and come on

“But don’t you think they will suspect that something is wrong for their
side of the question?” asked Mr. Jepson.

“Why should they think so?” asked Dory.

“Since they left the schooner, she has been moved to her present
position; and the boat in which Angy left the vessel is found on the

“They may not be able to account for what they see, but it does not
follow that they will suspect any thing; though it will not make much
difference if they do,” replied Dory, shrugging his shoulders.

“Of course, they will understand that the fellows they left on board
have moved the schooner; but I am afraid they will suspect something
when they find the boat on the beach,” continued the machinist.

“Perhaps they will; they have a perfect right to do so: but they have
been up all night, and I don’t believe they will be very sharp. Possibly
they drank beer enough while they were on board of the La Motte to
reduce them to the condition of the fellows in the steerage. But it is
not so much of a question of what they will think, as of what they will

“Well, their actions will be guided by their thoughts.”

“That is so; but they will be guided by their conclusions, and not by
all the suspicions that come into their heads,” argued Dory. “Of course,
it is important for us to be able to foresee what they will do, so that
we may be prepared for them.”

“Then, we must fathom their thoughts if we can.”

“They are standing on the beach just now.”

“And they are a quarter of a mile from us.”

“But they are moving this way, though very slowly.”

“I have no doubt they are about worn out, for they have been beating
about the woods for an hour or more,” said Dory, as he raised himself so
as to see over the bulwarks of the schooner.

“Of course, they must see the vessel.”

“I don’t think they discovered her till this moment, for they have only
just begun to move this way. Now what will they do?”

“They will wonder why the position of the schooner has been changed.”

“Let them wonder: they will not be able to make any thing of it. When
they reach the tender, they will do some more wondering.”

“And they will begin to take account of the facts in their possession,”
added the machinist.

“That will be a sensible thing for them to do. The two principal facts
before them will be the change in the position of the vessel and the
presence of the tender on the shore. But the first thing they do, will
be to hail the La Motte; but they will not get any answer. What will
they conclude from the silence of those on board?”

“I have an idea, Dory; but what do you say?” added the machinist, with a
smile which seemed to mean more than his words.

“They will conclude that the fellows on board are tired out, and have
gone to sleep,” replied Dory confidently. “Then they will take the boat,
and come on board. About that time, our work will begin.”

“I don’t quite agree with you, Dory,” answered Mr. Jepson. “You are the
manager of this enterprise, and I think you have arranged things to lead
them to another conclusion from that you suggest.”

“What do you think they will do?” asked Dory, disappointed that the
machinist did not seem to approve his action.

“When they find the boat on the beach, with the vessel where she is,
they will conclude that the two fellows have gone ashore, and are
looking for Angy, and for their absent companions,” replied the
machinist, with more earnestness in his manner than he had displayed

Dory bit his lips, for it seemed to him that there was a great deal of
force in what his companion said.

“If you had left the schooner where she was, they might have reasoned
that the boat was where Angy had left it,” continued the machinist.

“But they would not have found the boat in that case. They would not
have been likely to see her on the beach, a quarter of a mile away from
them. Besides, I was not sure that the boat would be blown where they
would be in the way of finding it, if I turned it adrift a mile from
this shore,” reasoned Dory rather warmly.

“There are difficulties, whichever way you look at the question,” said
the instructor, laughing at the energy of Dory. “I think we had better
drop the discussion, and act upon the facts as soon as they are

“All right: you think they will do one thing, and I think they will do
another. The only important thing is, whether or not they will come on
board of the vessel. We will wait and see.”

“It is too late to alter things as you have arranged them; and I do not
say that the course you have taken was not the wisest, Dory. We shall
soon know.”

They could do nothing but wait. It would be some time before Mack and
Chuck reached the beach off the schooner; and Dory went below to see the
prisoners, taking care not to show his head above the bulwarks. The two
captives in the steerage were still asleep; it was a beer-slumber,
though they were doubtless very tired; and they were like a pair of
stone posts, so far as their appearance was concerned. Persons who were
not boozy could hardly have slept so soundly in the uncomfortable
positions in which they were confined.

As Dory had nothing else to do, he took a more careful survey of the
cabin of the La Motte. One of the bunks in the steerage appeared to have
been occupied, while the other five beds had not been disturbed. In the
cabin were several valises and travelling-bags. One of the former bore
the initials of the chief of the robbers. As it was not locked, he
opened it.

If there was any plunder on board, it had not been put into this valise,
for it appeared to contain nothing but wearing-apparel. In the pocket he
found a letter, addressed to “M. A. Spickles, Esq., Plattsburg, N.Y.” It
was postmarked at New-York City. Dory felt that it was his duty, in
connection with the enterprise in which he was engaged, to obtain all
the information in his power; and he did not scruple to read the
epistle, as he would not have done under ordinary circumstances.

The letter contained a great deal of slang, a good portion of which the
reader could not understand. The writer, who signed himself “Fred
Ripples,” promised to be at Ticonderoga on Friday night, and the La
Motte must take him and his party on board at that point. If the
schooner was not there at that time, the party would take the first
train for Westport, and would be there early Saturday morning.

With the letter in his hand, Dory went on deck, and joined the machinist
under the bulwarks. Mr. Jepson read the document, and looked at Dory,
though its contents did not appear to affect the present situation.

“These fellows are the other members of that club. They must be at
Westport by this time,” said the instructor.

“Probably they are, for a train comes along very early in the morning,”
replied Dory. “But Mr. Fred Ripples had nothing to do with the robberies
at Plattsburg, or the one at Beech Hill; so that we have no particular
business with him.”

“Then, we had better drop him; for the two fellows who did have a hand
in them are within a short distance of the tender,” added the machinist
in a lower tone.

Dory looked out through an opening in the bulwarks which he had arranged
for the purpose. The two robbers looked as though they were worn out,
for they moved with a very heavy step. But they were talking very
earnestly together, as shown by their gestures; though what they said
could not be heard on board of the La Motte. They were evidently
discussing the change in the position of the vessel, and the discovery
of the boat on the beach. The first thing they did was to haul the
tender out of the surf, which was banging it on the gravel.

“Wick! Wick!” shouted one of them.

Then they waited some time for a reply to their hail, but none came.

“Sang! Sang!” called the other of the two.

“On board the La Motte!” yelled Mack, whose voice Dory recognized.

They seated themselves on the rail of the boat, and continued to yell
for half an hour. Then an argument seemed to be in progress between
them, in which one of them frequently pointed to the woods in the
direction from which they had come. Presently they rose from their
seats, and walked off, following the beach by the way they had come.

“Well, Dory, what does that mean?” asked the machinist, as soon as they
were out of hearing.

“It means that you were right, and that I was wrong,” replied Dory
candidly. “I should have done better if I had left the schooner where
she was.”

“I don’t say that; and if I had thought so at the time, I should have
spoken. We will deal with the present situation,” added the instructor.

“I thought the plan would work all right, and I am disappointed,” said
Dory. “Those fellows believe that Sang and Wick, as they call them, have
gone ashore in the boat, and they have started to look for them. My
strategy has failed, and I am disgusted with it.”

“What shall we do? That is the question now,” suggested the machinist.

“I don’t like to go back to Beech Hill without those fellows, after we
have spent so much time in hunting them down,” added Dory.

“They will come back when they fail to find their companions.”

“But I don’t care about waiting all day for them. If you will go with
me, we will go on shore, and take the bull by the horns. We can handle

“All right, Dory; but how can we get ashore? We have no boat,” replied
the machinist, who was quite as impatient as his younger companion.

“I will bring off the boat for you, and I will go ashore on one of the

Dory handed his revolver to the instructor, and prepared for his trip to
the shore by taking off his coat and shoes. It was a trifling feat for
him, and in a few minutes he was on the beach. It was a harder matter to
get the boat into the water; but he had carried a line to the shore with
him, so that his companion could assist in the work. The machinist
hauled the boat alongside the schooner as soon as it put into the water.

They embarked, and were on the beach in a minute more. They hauled the
tender to a safe place, and then walked along the beach towards the
place where Mack and Chuck had disappeared in the woods. But they had
proceeded only a short distance before Dory discovered a small steamer
buffeting the sea beyond Bluff Point. But she leaped the waves, and
seemed to be making good weather in spite of the roughness of the water.

Both of them were satisfied that the steamer was the Marian.

Continue Reading


The lake still had a decidedly stormy look, and the white-caps were as
plentiful as snowflakes at Christmas. The wind had hauled from the south
to south-west; and off the mouth of Beaver River, it had a sweep of six
miles. Only the mainsail of the Goldwing had been set, but Thad was a
prudent skipper; and before the sloop reached the point, on which the
spray was dashing at a furious rate, he put the helm down, and ordered
Archie to throw over the anchor.

“What’s that for?” demanded Hop impatiently.

“It is blowing very hard, and I am going to reef,” replied Thad.

“What’s the use of reefing? She? will carry the mainsail well enough.”

“Perhaps she will, but she won’t while I am skipper,” replied Thad
decidedly. “Besides, we are in no hurry, for we have the whole forenoon
before us; and I want to finish the explanations I have to make before
you get scared by the slop of the waves, so that you can’t take an
interest in the subject.”

“But we want to see the fun when the robbers are hauled in,” added Hop.
“Dory is after them, and we want to see him do it.”

“Dory won’t do any thing that can be seen. If he takes the schooner, he
will bring her down to the school. The principal told me not to go near
her. The Sylph has not gone out of the river yet; and the fun, if there
is to be any, will not come off till she is ready to take a hand in it,”
said the skipper, as the boat came up to her cable. “If you are to learn
to sail a boat, you must know all about one.”

Thad did not give Dory credit for all the enterprise he was manifesting
in the capture of the robbers, though he certainly would not have helped
matters if he had approached the La Motte. Some of the boys grumbled
about the delay, but Thad did not abandon his plan.

“What is the principal sail in a sloop?” he asked.

“The mainsail,” replied Archie, who was very sure this time.

“This sail, as you may see in the picture or the real thing before you,
is irregular in its shape,” continued the skipper.

“I wish the real thing wouldn’t bang about so,” added Ash.

“Give a pull on the main-sheet,” added Thad; and it was done. “The real
thing won’t trouble you now any more than the pictured one. It is
supported at the top by the gaff, by the mast at the inner side, and
stretched out at the bottom by the boom. On the mast are hoops, which
slide up and down when the sail is hoisted or lowered.”

“I thought they were called hanks,” said Ash.

“Hoops is the correct word; but the rings, whether of wood or any other
material, by which a sail, a jib, or a staysail, slides on the stay, are
called hanks. There are six parts of this sail which you ought to learn
by heart, and know as quick as you know the sleeve of your coat from the
collar of it. If you are told by the skipper to take hold of the leech,
you ought to know what it is.”

“I should say a fellow couldn’t do any thing with it till he knew where
to find it,” added Ash Burton, laughing.

“In the first place, there are the head and the foot,” continued Thad.
“You know what they are, but you must know that they are called by these
names. To what is the head of the sail attached?”

“To the gaff: I mean the main-gaff,” replied Archie.

“Right both times. To what is the foot of the sail fastened?”

“To the boom,” answered Con Bunker.

“And the wood or iron by which it is fastened, or seized, is called the
jackstay. The up-and-down edges of the sail are called leeches.”

“Do they bite? How do you spell that word?” asked Hop.

“They don’t bite unless you miscall them. As to the spelling, you pay
your money, and take your choice, for it is spelled both ways. They are
the inner and the outer leeches. The inner leech, where the hoops are
attached, is the luff. The four corners of the sail are called the
clews, though some call only the outer lower corner by this name. The
upper outer corner is the peak. The lower inner corner is the tack.”

The skipper, after the manner of the principal, then examined the crew
on the subjects just explained till he had made them proficient. He
required them to point out the parts on “the real thing” before them.

“Now we will see what the jib (2) is made of. The names used vary
somewhat. The part of the sail to which the hanks are fastened is the
luff, or inner leech.”

“Inner?” queried Ash, almost sure he was wrong.

“The sail is treated in relation to the stay, and not to the mast or the
hull; and the inner leech of the mainsail is the part where the hoops
are,” replied the skipper, laughing; for he had made the same mistake
himself in his study of the subject.

“I see; and that makes it as clear as Champlain water.”

“The outer, or after, leech, called simply the leech by the high-flying
yachtsmen, is the same as on the mainsail. The jib has a head and a foot
also. The tack is the corner next to the stay; and the clew, as called
by yachtsmen, is the after lower corner, where the sheet is attached.
That’s all there is of the jib. What do you call the sail marked 3 in
the picture?”

“The gaff-topsail, because it is set on the gaff,” replied Ash.

“It has a head and foot, and the tack and clew are in the same positions
as in the jib. That makes all the sails usually set on a sloop. Now we
will see how they are set and managed; and what do you call the rigging
used for this purpose?”

“The running-rigging,” replied all at once.

“What do you call any rope used in hoisting a sail? The principal told
you some of the things I have to repeat.”

“Halyards, whether attached to a spar, or to the sail itself,” answered

“We will begin with the jib. The halyards lead down by the mainmast, and
they are belayed on a cleat at the foot of it. The down-haul is attached
to the head of the sails, as the halyards are, and leads down on the
stay, sometimes passing through more or less of the hanks to keep it in
place, to a block on the bowsprit, under the tack, and then inboard. It
is used for hauling down the jib, as its name indicates. I suppose you
all know what sheets are, and have got rid of the lubberly idea that the
sails are called by this name.”

“I think we all know that the sheets are ropes,” added Ash.

“The jib is made fast at all points except at the clew, or at the
after-clew, as some would say. By the sheets, the jib is trimmed so as
to sail on the wind or otherwise. In small craft, these sheets usually
lead aft, to the standing-room, or cockpit as it is sometimes called, so
as to be within reach of the person sailing the boat. If there is a
flying-jib, it is handled in precisely the same way.”

“What is the use of a flying-jib?” asked Archie.

“It adds so much more sail; and some boats need more head-sail than
others,” replied the skipper. “The gaff-topsail now, if you please.”

“It is a three-cornered sail, like a jib,” said Con Bunker.

“Not always, though it generally is. Sometimes, in the high-flying
yachts, there is a gaff-topsail yard; but this spar is not fixed, as
those on the masts of a square-rigged vessel, but is hoisted up from the
deck. The gaff-topsail (3) in the picture, is a three-cornered sail. A
rope is attached to the head of the sail, which passes through a block
near the topmast-head, and leads down to the deck. By this rope the sail
is hoisted to the mast-head. What is the name of this line?”

“The gaff-topsail halyards,” answered Hop.

“Of course, for the sail is hoisted by it. Another line is made fast to
the lower inside corner, next to the mast, which is called the tack; and
you can see that it corresponds with the tack of the jib or mainsail.
The third rope passes through a block at the peak, on the gaff; and this
is the sheet, as in the other sails mentioned.”

“But there is a pole on Dory’s gaff-topsail,” said Ash.

“The halyard is made fast to this pole, as it is to the yard when the
sail is square, at a point which will carry the upper end of the pole
above the truck, thus allowing the sail to be larger than it could be if
the halyard were attached to the head of the sail.”

“What sort of a cart is the truck?” asked Archie.

“I forgot to mention it, I suppose. It is a round piece of wood, fixed
on the end of the topmast, like a head upon a cane. It has a little
sheave, or a couple of holes in it, through which the signal-halyards
are passed. Now for the mainsail. I have already explained the throat
and peak halyards, so that you know what and where they are.”

“Archie knows,” said Ash.

“The main-sheet is the rope by which the position of the main-boom is
controlled; in other words, by which the sail is trimmed. Dory has
double blocks on his sheet, so that he handles it more easily than if it
were done with a single block on the boom; though he has to handle twice
as much rope in doing it. I do not think of any thing more to be said in
regard to the standing or running rigging of a sloop. If any thing comes
up, you will learn it while we are sailing. Now we will put two reefs in
the mainsail.”

“Don’t you reef the other sails?” asked Ben Sinker.

“The Goldwing works very well under the mainsail only, so that we
shorten sail by taking in the jib. The jib of this craft does not reef,
but it has a bonnet instead. This is really an additional sail, laced on
at the bottom of the jib. It can be taken off or put on at pleasure. In
some craft, the jib is made bigger, and is provided with one or two rows
of reef-points.”

The Goldwing had three rows of reef-points on the mainsail. The skipper
required the sail to be lowered enough to permit one reef to be taken.

“This is a reef-pennant,” said he, producing a cord of several feet in
length. “Sometimes it is called an earing. I pass it through this
cringle, which is only a hole in the sail, and then I carry the line
around the boom,–twice will make it strong enough. This I have done at
the clew, and now I do the same thing at the luff. Now, all hands, take
hold, and put in the reef by tying up the points.”

“This one is not long enough,” said Archie, when he had got hold of both
ends of a point. “It won’t go round the boom.”

“Of course it will not! You might as well try to pass it under the
keel,” replied Thad. “They don’t even go through the iron jackstay. Pass
them under the foot of the sail.”

“Is that right?” asked Con, when he had tied one of the reef-points.

“Certainly not; it is a granny-knot: you must make nothing but square
knots in a reef-point.”

Thad explained how to do it, telling them to make both ends come out on
the same side of the loop, or bight. They had been trained, or some of
the students had, in making the most useful knots; but they had the
talent for forgetting, as most boys have. A second reef was put in the
sail, in the same manner, on the top of the first one. The introductory
lesson was finished, the anchor was weighed, and the Goldwing stood out
into the lake.

“There comes that schooner!” shouted Ash Burton.

It was the La Motte, headed up the lake.

Continue Reading


The picture of a sloop Thad Glovering produced on board of the Goldwing
was a drawing which the skipper had hastily made just before he went on
board of the boat. He passed it to Ash Burton, who knew more about a
boat than any other student of the party. But all of them wanted to look
at it, and they had nearly fallen overboard in their eagerness to get a
sight of it.

“Hold up, fellows!” called Thad, taking the picture from Ash. “Do you
want to make a bear-garden of the standing-room of the Goldwing? Not
much! You will all get a chance to see it without upsetting the boat.”

“There comes the Marian!” exclaimed Hop Cabright, as the new steam-yacht
came shooting across Beechwater as though it had been discharged from a
rifle. “I believe she is faster than the Sylph.”

“Come to, Thad!” shouted Luke Bennington, the captain of the swift
little steamer, from the pilot-house.

“What’s up now?” said the skipper of the Goldwing, as he put his helm

The boat came up into the wind, with her sail banging furiously in the
lively breeze; and the Marian went alongside of her. Luke handed Thad a
little bundle of papers, which the principal had forgotten to give to
the temporary instructor in sailing. The steamer started her screw
again, and dashed into the creek leading to the river. Thad filled away
again, and followed her. As soon as he had the boat under way, he opened
the package.

“Here is just what we want; and it will prevent you fellows from
spilling yourselves into the drink in looking at my drawing,” said Thad,
as he produced the contents of the parcel. “I have heard something about
these before.”

“What are they, Thad?” asked Archie.

“A copy for each one of you of a sloop, with letters to indicate the
parts,” replied Thad, as he distributed them among his crew. “It is a
picture of a sloop from Captain Douglas Frazar’s book, called ‘Practical
Boat-Sailing.’ The principal says it is a most excellent little book,
containing a vast amount of simple and useful information for those
handling sail-boats. Captain Gildrock is well acquainted with the
author, and knows him to be a thorough seaman as well as a skilful
yachtsman. Now, look at the picture, and imagine that it is the

“But the Goldwing has but one jib,” replied Ben Sinker.

“And you have but one hat,” returned Thad.

“I have another in my room.”

“This sloop has another jib in her room, which is the sail-room in the
boat-house. She don’t wear it just now, as you don’t have on your other
hat. Now, Archie, what is the upright stick in the forward part of the
sloop? Be practical about it, and don’t talk any moonshine, if you

“It is the mast,” replied Archie confidently.

“That isn’t the name of it.”

“Not the mast?” asked Archie, perplexed.

“It is the mainmast.”

“The mainmast! Then, where is the foremast?” demanded Archie, with a
good deal of faith in his argumentative question.

“She don’t happen to have any.”

“Then, what’s the sense of calling it the mainmast when she has no other

“Excuse me, Archie, but you remind me of the Dutchman,” laughed Thad.
“‘Do you know der reason wot we call our boy Hans for?’ They could not
guess the reason, and the father explained. ‘Der reason wot we call our
boy Hans for, is dot’s his name.’ With your permission, Archie, we will
call this stick the mainmast, for the same reason. If it is not the
right name, it is neither Captain Frazar’s fault, nor mine.”

“I accept the amendment; and c c is the mainmast,” added Archie.

“Now we are happy! This mast is placed at about one-third of the length
of the boat from the bow; though, of course, this distance sometimes
varies a little,” continued Thad. “What is the spar above it, Syl?”

“The topmast.”

“The main-topmast, if you please, as Hans’ father would call it. But,
when there is only one mast, we often cut it short, and call it simply
the mast, or the topmast. Understood! The mast, including the topmast,
may be one stick, as is the case in the Goldwing, or it may be two. The
topmast is marked _d d_.”

[Illustration: STANDING RIGGING.]

[Illustration: REEFED SAILS.]

“Then, it is a clergyman,” added Hop, trying to be funny.

“The nautical meaning of _D. D._ in the navy is ‘Dead. Discharged.'”

“What is the spar at the head?”

“The bowsprit, marked _h_.”

“Right you are, Ash. What is _i_, which the Goldwing does not wear just

“The flying jib-boom,” shouted Archie, who had been very unfortunate in
his answers so far.

“Out on a fly! Jib-boom is enough for this spar. Only two more: what is
_b b b_, the lower one?”

“The boom,” replied Archie desperately.

“The main-boom!” shouted Hop.

“Correct, Hop. The upper one, _e e_?”

“The main gaff!” roared Archie.

“Go to the head. Good boy!”

“To the head of the boat?”

“The head of the mainsail, when you know what it is. Now we will attend
to the rigging.”

“There is not much of it to attend to,” said Archie.

“A short horse is soon curried, but the short horse needs currying quite
as much as the long one,” replied Thad. “Now, suppose the mainmast were
simply run through the forward deck, and the foot of it inserted in the
socket in the keelson: would it be strong enough to bear the pressure of
the sail in a stiff breeze?”

“It would not: the first flaw would take the mast out of her,” replied
Ash Burton.

“It would take the mainmast out of her,” added Archie sharply.

“I respectfully asked you to be reasonable, in the beginning, Mr.
Pinkler,” interposed the skipper.

“He called the mainmast simply the mast,” pleaded the critic.

“Will you be kind enough to point to the mast?” When he did so, “What
are you pointing with?” asked Thad.

“With my finger.”

“With your forefinger, you mean. But it is not always necessary to
specify exactly what particular thing is meant. I told you that mast was
enough in a sloop, though when we come down to the proper names of
parts, we should apply the right name. The flaw would take the mast out
of her, and it would be likely to do so. What rigging keeps the mast in
its place when the flaw comes, Hop?”

“The shrouds. One of them is on each side of _b_, nearest to the mast,”
answered the student indicated.

“Then, there are two of them?”

“Two in the drawing; but the Goldwing has only one on each side of the
boat,” added Hop. “A ship may have nine or ten of them; and I suppose
they put on as many of them as are needed.”

“Sensible you are, Hop. They are shrouds, and the number of them differs
with the size of the vessel. But they are not often called shrouds in
small boats as in larger craft. Boatmen call them stays, though the word
is rather confusing sometimes. You observe that the shrouds, or stays,
in the drawing are both set up abaft the mast.”

“I saw a fellow in Genverres yesterday who was set up,” said Con Bunker.
“He did it with whiskey.”

“He was tight; and that is just what rigging is when it is set up,
though we don’t do it with liquor. Suppose we should rig a purchase on
the shrouds of the sloop in the cut, and continue to tighten them as
long as we could, what would be the effect on the mast?”

“It would bend the mast towards the stern,” replied Ash promptly.

“Then the shrouds would support it from that direction,” added Thad. “If
no other rigging were used, it would be likely to bend it towards the
stern. Look at _g g_ on the diagram; and what do you call it?”

“The jibstay, on which the jib is set,” answered Ben Sinker.

“Never mind the jib now. The name is right. Suppose we rig a purchase,
and tighten the jibstay: what will be the effect?”

“If we haul it taut enough, it will straighten up the mast,” replied
Ash. “Therefore it will support the mast from the bow of the boat.”

“And all of you will see that it would be impossible to take the mast
out of her in a blow unless something broke,” added the skipper.

“But tightening the jibstay would hoist the bowsprit,” suggested Syl

“That is just where I was leading you, my hearty. Now, look at _f_, if
you please; and what do you call it?”

“The bobstay,” replied Ash, who had sailed a boat a little at Westport
before he entered the school.

“Correct. Haul the bobstay as taut as you can, and it will keep the
bowsprit from hoisting. The stem of the craft is the upright timber,
placed farthest forward, and forming a continuation of the keel. The
iron eye to which the lower end of the bobstay is made fast, is bolted
into the stem in the strongest manner. Now you can see how both the mast
and the bowsprit are held in their place, and how each is made to
support the other. The topmast is, or may be, supported in precisely the
same way. One or more ropes leading down to the side of the boat from
the topmast would be called the backstays, as in a ship. There are none
in the picture. When they are needed, with a balloon-jib, they are
sometimes carried to the quarter; but these are temporary. In a small
boat, backstays are not needed, for the topmast is stiff enough without
them. Look at _k_; and what is it?”

“The main-topmast-stay,” said Ash.

“That is it in full, though I should not have objected if you had called
it simply the topmast-stay in a sloop. Archie would. If there are no
backstays, it will not do to haul this stay too taut, or it will bend
the topmast forward, which is not pleasant to the eye. The jib-boom is
held by the rope under it, which is called a stay. In large vessels, the
bowsprit and jib-boom are also held in place by ropes at the sides,
called guys. As a whole, what do you call the rigging we have talked

“Give it up,” replied Hop, after a silence of a minute.

“The standing-rigging; and the principal told you so when he described
the ship. Now that we have the spars where they will stay, we will pass
on to the sails and running-rigging. Begin at the main boom. What is the
rope marked _a a_?”

“The topping-lift,” said Ash.

“When the sail is not set, this rope holds up the boom. The lower end of
it, you can see for yourselves,–as you have the real thing before you
as well as the picture,–is provided with a purchase, so that the
after-end of the boom can be raised or lowered.”

“What is this thing?” asked Archie, pointing to a pair of wooden joists,
with a bolt through them, like the cross-legs of a table or

“That is the crutch. Top up the boom with the purchase, and then place
the crutch under it after you anchor.”

By this time the Goldwing had reached Lake Champlain.

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Perhaps the principal reason why Dory Dornwood and the instructor in
mechanics had obtained so easy a victory over the two members of the
Nautifelers Club who remained on board of the La Motte, was that both of
them were soaked with beer. They were not intoxicated in the worst sense
of the word: they were “boozy” and stupid.

They had been left on board while the other three had gone on shore to
“do the job” at the school, and, no doubt, the time in the furious storm
hung heavy on their hands. They had imbibed from the keg until they were
deprived of whatever natural energy belonged to them, and they did not
seem to have either the pluck or the ability to do any thing for
themselves. A stronger intoxicant might have made them wild and
desperate: the beer simply stupefied them.

“We have got the vessel,” said the machinist, with a cheerful smile, as
he held on to the robber whom he had just secured.

“No doubt of that,” added Dory, as he rose from the deck where he had
been attending to his prisoner. “These fellows don’t seem to be very
desperate characters.”

“I expected a far worse time than we have had,” added Mr. Jepson. “What
is the next move? Shall we take them to the school in the vessel?”

“Not yet a while,” replied Dory, glancing towards the shore where the
two had landed on the rafts. “We have another job on our hands; but I
think we had better put these fellows where they will not be in our

As he spoke, he assisted the one who was lying on the deck to rise.
Leaving both of them in charge of his companion, he went down into the
cabin. It was a very small apartment, not intended for more than four
persons. On the table in the centre of it was the keg of beer, carefully
secured with blocks, and lashed down.

An open door by the side of the companion-way led into the hold. One end
of it had been roughly prepared with berths, which were provided with
bedding. There were six of these bunks, making sleeping accommodations
for ten persons. An old carpet had been laid on the bottom of the hold,
and Dory was willing to admit that the place was comfortable enough for
a summer-cruise on the lake.

As the club consisted of only five persons, Dory could not imagine why
the vessel had been fitted up, at some extra expense, for double that
number. But he did not wait to indulge in any conjectures on the
subject. The stanchions which had been put up to support the bunks,
afforded what he was looking for; and the two prisoners could be
fastened to them.

The robbers were conducted to this place. They were both under the
influence of the beer, and had some difficulty in maintaining the centre
of gravity over the base. They were sleepy and stupid, and Dory
compelled his man to sit down with his back to the stanchion. In this
position he made him fast, and the machinist did the same with the

Both of them said they were comfortable when the question was put to
them. But they were so tipsy that they had no very definite ideas on any
subject. They submitted with the best grace in the world, and even
seemed to be pleased to find that all their responsibilities had come to
a sudden end; for they were not in condition to attend to any thing.

“What has become of Angy?” asked one of them.

“He could not come on board again,” replied Dory. “Who were the two
fellows that went ashore on the hatches of the schooner?”

“Chuckworth and Mackwith,” replied the one addressed.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Sangfraw.”

“What is your name?” asked Mr. Jepson of the other.

“My name is Wickwood,” he answered, with a dazed look around him.

“Did you two go on shore with Angy?” inquired Dory of Sangfraw; and he
was not confident that this was a real name.

“No, we did not: we staid on board, and we have not been on shore at
all. Chuck and Mack went with Angy,” replied Sangfraw; and he looked up
into Dory’s face, as though he was seeking for some information in
regard to him.

“What was this place, this steerage, fitted up for?” asked Dory.

“For the club.”

“What did you want of ten berths?”

“Because there are ten of the members.”

“Where are the other five?”

“They were to join us up here somewhere.”

“That’s it, is it?” added Dory, glancing at the instructor.

“That’s it, exactly; and I’m a member of the club, and the cook of the
ship,” said Sangfraw, dropping his head as though the effort required to
keep it up was too great for him.

“Where does the La Motte go when she sails?” asked Dory.

“She is going to Ticonderoga after the rest of the club,” answered
Sangfraw, rousing himself. “Now, s’pose you tell me where Angy is.”

“He is safe enough,” said Dory, leading the way out of the steerage, as
he called it, into the cabin. “I fancy that these fellows don’t live
without eating, and I think a few mouthfuls would make me feel better.”

They examined the pantry, and they found an abundance of ham, cold
chicken, and other food, from which both of the captors of the schooner
made a very satisfactory breakfast. Dory found his condition very much
improved, and his energy revived, by the meal.

“This is decidedly a happy family,” said Dory, as they went on deck,
after ascertaining that both of the prisoners had dropped asleep.

“And it seems that there was to be an addition of five persons to the
family. Very likely those on board were to fill up the exchequer of the
club by their operations before the others joined them,” added the
machinist. “I wonder if this is the first robbery they have committed. I
have not had time to read the papers much this week.”

“By the great iron jingo!” exclaimed Dory, as the suggestion of his
companion stimulated his memory. “I read that two robberies had been
committed in the vicinity of Plattsburg; and the last sentence of the
paragraph was, that no clew to the burglars had been obtained. These are
the fellows!”

“Then, we had better search the vessel,” suggested Mr. Jepson.

“Let the officers do that after we have taken her to Beechwater. We
shall have enough to do to take care of these fellows; for I hope we
shall be able to take the other two, Chuck and Mack, with us as

“Then, you intend to follow up this matter, Dory?”

“If we don’t bag them before they ascertain that Angy has come to grief,
they will leave for parts unknown. The two on shore were actually
engaged in the robbery,” continued Dory. “There were two of them in the
office, and the third had charge of the boat. At any rate, they were all
mixed up in the affair.”

“The two on shore must have seen the boat when we came off,” suggested
the machinist.

“I think not. They went away from the shore, deceived by the hail I gave
them from a point above the inlet. In my opinion, they are still looking
for Angy in the woods, and have not seen any thing on the lake.”

“They won’t find Angy on shore.”

“And when they are tired of looking for him, they will come on board
again, if they can get on board. If they see the boat alongside of the
schooner when they come to the shore, they will at once conclude that he
has gone on board. Whether I am right, or not, I shall act on that
theory, if you approve of it,” said Dory.

“I should say that your reasoning was correct as far as it goes. But
when they see the green boat made fast to the schooner, they will want
to know why Sang and Wick have not gone ashore after them.”

“Precisely so, and we will provide for that doubt on their part. Now we
will set that reefed foresail, and run down a little nearer to the
point. The water will float this vessel a hundred feet from the shore,”
continued Dory with energy.

The foresail was hoisted, and the anchor weighed. Dory steered to a
certain part of the point, near the outer extremity of it. Both of them
kept a sharp lookout for the two robbers on the shore, but nothing was
seen or heard of them. The La Motte was run as near the shore as it was
prudent to take her; and when she was thrown up into the wind, the
machinist let go the anchor, while Dory hastened to lower the sail.

The wind was fresh, and the sea was heavy; but the schooner did not bump
on the bottom, though she was inside of a hundred feet from the shore.
Dory found the lead and line, and directed the machinist to sound over
the stern when the vessel had brought up to her cable. As he did so,
Dory let off the cable, allowing the schooner to approach still nearer
to the shore. When he secured the cable, the stern was hardly more than
fifty feet from the land.

There was a rather heavy surf rolling up on the abrupt beach, but it was
nothing compared with that in which the party had been involved at an
earlier hour in the morning. The machinist went below to look at the
prisoners, and found them fast asleep still. Probably they had been up
all night, besides being charged with beer; and they were not likely to
give their captors any trouble.

Dory had carried the painter of the tender to the stern of the schooner;
and, as it was a long rope, the boat was held half way between the
vessel and the shore. There was nothing more for the captors to do at
present; and they seated themselves under the bulwarks, where they could
not be seen from the shore, though they kept a sharp lookout in the
direction of the place where Mack and Chuck had landed.

They had been in this position for half an hour, when they discovered
the two robbers on the beach. They shouted several times to the La
Motte, but no notice was taken of them. Dory cast off the painter of the
tender, and let it drop into the water.

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Captain Michael Angelo Spickles was delivered to an officer, who
committed him to a cell in the lock-up. The future must have looked very
dark to him, for he was morally sure of spending the next few years in
the State prison. The Nautifelers Club had come to naught. Only the day
before, he had been blackguarding his former friend for not drinking
beer, and for being correct in his moral ideas. To-day he was in
condition to see the folly of his conduct, even from a merely worldly
point of view.

At the Beech Hill Industrial School, as soon as the principal dismissed
the students, the wharf and the boat-house were scenes of intense
activity. Although Captain Gildrock had not the slightest intention of
exposing them to a possible shot from the burglars, many of the pupils
believed they were going out in search of the companions of the chief
who had been exhibited to their wondering gaze in the schoolroom.

The principal was not at all inclined to foster their belligerent
propensities, and he mercilessly ridiculed any thing that looked like a
fight to “see who was the better man.” If it was clearly shown that a
boy had fought purely in self-defence, after he had done nothing to
provoke his opponent to wrath, if he did not commend him, he excused

Mr. Brookbine had reported that Mr. Jepson and Dory were watching the
schooner, which was at anchor off Camp-Meeting Point. Four of the five
members of the Nautifelers Club must still be on board of her. This was
understood by all on the place. The principal hoped that Dory would not
do any thing more than watch the La Motte. If he had known just what his
nephew was about, he would have interposed to prevent him from meddling
with such dangerous characters.

Mrs. Dornwood had been in a fever of excitement all the morning; for her
son was absent, and she did not seem to have as much confidence in his
discretion as her brother had. The news that he was safe and unharmed
had been sent to her, as soon as the master-carpenter arrived with the
prisoner; but this comforted, while it did not satisfy, her.

As soon as he left the schoolroom, the principal had driven rapidly to
the town, and procured two deputy-sheriffs, and brought them to the
wharf, where they went on board of the Sylph, the larger of the two
steamers. If any one was to attack the burglars on board of the La
Motte, one or both of these officers were the proper persons to do it,
in the opinion of Captain Gildrock.

The new steamer was about fifty feet long. She had been built by the
students, both hull and machinery, and had been launched as soon as the
ice went out of Beechwater. There had been a great deal of discussion
over the subject of a name for her, as there had been when the name of
Miss Bristol had been given to the “Lily,” for the sole reason that she
was a remarkably pretty girl.

When the students came to vote on a name for the new steamer they had
built, after a long discussion, in which all the names of localities on
the lake were mentioned, the vote was almost unanimous for the name of
“Marian.” She was goodlooking enough, though not decidedly pretty; but
she was not only the sister of Dory, and the niece of the principal, but
Oscar Chester, the captain of the Sylph, was very partial to her

The new steamer was therefore called the “Marian;” but the act of giving
this name to her robbed the eight-oar barge of her name, or made two
craft at the school with the same name, which would cause confusion. The
name of a river on the other side of the lake, which had been suggested
for the steam-yacht, “Bouquet,” had been given to the barge.

The Marian had a regular ship’s company, and Luke Bennington was her
captain. All the students were assigned to one or the other of the
steamers, though at the same time they belonged to the sailing-craft.
They were all to be instructed in the management of both steam and sail

Dory had taken a fancy the year before to change the Goldwing from a
schooner into a sloop; and though he was satisfied that the alteration
had not been for the better, she still remained a one-masted boat,
because he had not had time to change her to her original condition. The
principal had objected to restoring her at present, because he wanted a
sloop as well as a schooner for purposes of instruction. The Goldwing
carried a large mainsail, and spread even more canvas than when she was
a schooner; but she did not sail a particle faster, as Dory had expected
she would.

Thad Glovering was to take the place of Dory in the Goldwing during his
absence. He was a good boatman, though he rather lacked in dignity when
placed in the position of an instructor. The instruction in sailing had
not been regularly begun, though each of the young teachers in this art
had been out in the boats with his class. The pupils assigned the Lily
and the Goldwing were those who had entered the school at the beginning
of the current school-year.

The senior class had, nearly all of them, all who had any taste for it,
picked up a knowledge of the art. Some of the new ones had a little
skill at it; though all of them needed instruction, and especially
practice. The class in the Goldwing consisted of six besides the
instructor. The boats had been brought up to the wharf, and Luke
Bennington was the first to get under way. He gave the order to do so.

“All ready to get under way,” said he.

“I beg your pardon, Captain Glovering”–

“Don’t you do it!” interposed the skipper of the Goldwing, with a very
undignified laugh, while there was something like a blush on his brown
face. “I don’t want to be captained just because I happen to be here for
once to show you fellows how to handle a boat. Call me plain Thad, as
you always do, if you please; and I will guess all the conundrums you
sling at me, if I can.”

“I stand corrected, Thad,” added Ash Burton, who had begun to ask the
question. “You spoke about getting under way. Will you please to tell me
how you spell that word?”

“Spell the word ‘get under way’? I don’t believe I know that word,”
laughed the skipper.

“Excuse me, Mr. Skipper: I meant only the last word in the expression,
though I did not say so.”

“Well, Mr. Ordinary Seaman, or Mr. Green Hand, I always spell it w-a-y;
and I confess I don’t know any other w-a-y to spell it.”

“I do; and I want to know which is the right way, Thad.”

“What’s the other way, Ash?”


“That’s another word.”

“The two words are pronounced just alike; and I wish to know which is
the right word to use when you mean to start, go ahead, progress, get
along, go forward, advance”–

“Hold on! You needn’t go through the dictionary, for I know what you
mean, Ash.”

“It don’t make any difference how you spell the word when you simply
speak, for the pronunciation is the same; but I have read in books and
newspapers about vessels being ‘under weigh.'”

“That question came up once in the schoolroom, and the principal settled
it for us. There is no dictionary-war on this word; for neither
Worcester nor Webster gives any such definition as making progress to
weigh, while both of them give this as the nautical meaning of way.”

“That settles it; but we weigh anchor,” suggested Ash.

“We weigh a pound of cheese; but that has nothing to do with the
progress the skippers make inside of it.”

“As they weigh the anchor when they are going to start, I suppose that
is where the error comes from,” added Ash.

“They couldn’t very well start without weighing it; but that is no
excuse for the misuse of the word. But there are plenty of words in
nautical phraseology which are not used according to the dictionary and
grammar, as in all the walks of life,” continued Thad.

“Tell us some of them,” said Archie Pinkler.

“If we are going out on the lake to catch those burglars, I haven’t time
for much of that sort of thing,” replied Thad. “The ship was laying to,
though no eggs were found in the water. You lay a book on the table; but
when it is there, it lies, and it don’t lay. When you get tired, it is
not the thing to lay down; better lie down, and it will rest you more.
You may lay a ship to; but when you have done it, she is lying to, as
much as though she was also telling a fib. But, be ready to get under
headway, for that is what we mean; and we won’t lie here any longer, for
the Lily is just getting off.”

“But the Lily lay at the wharf just now,” suggested Ben Sinker, rather

“But she don’t now, and never does. Lay is the yesterday of lie; and
that is where you mix things, Ben. Man the mainsail-halyards. Archie and
Con, take the throat-halyards; Syl and Hop, the throat.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replied Archie.

“Don’t be too nautical, my lad; and remember that two-thirds of the
slang used for salt-talk is never heard on board of a vessel. Where are
you going, if you please, Mr. Ay-ay-sir?” asked the skipper, when he saw
Archie go over to the starboard side of the Goldwing.

“I am going to man the throat-halyards, as you told me,” replied Archie.

“Do you expect to find them over there? Dory Dornwood rigged this sloop,
and he put things in their right places,” added Thad.

“I know about the halyards,” said Archie.

“But the question just now with you relates to throat-halyards; and you
have gone over to the starboard side to look for them.”

“That’s so: I forgot about it.”

“Allow me to inform this crew that the throat-halyards are on the
port-side of the mast. Don’t try to remember where the peak-halyards
are, for that will make two things to recollect. Throat-port. Only this,
and nothing more. If you try to hold on to the other at the same time,
you will mix them.”

“But a fellow wants to know where to find the peak halyards as well as
the throat,” suggested Con Bunker.

“Exactly; so he does. After he has found the throat, he must box the
compass, lay the parallel ruler on the deck, count the anchor three
times to make sure of the number, swing six, and cast out nine, and then
go to the other side of the mast to look for the peak-halyards; but I
will bet half a pint of Champlain water against a hogshead of
New-Orleans molasses that he won’t find them.”

But the two hands designated had found the peak-halyards on the
starboard side of the mast. The sail was set, the bow shoved off, and
the boat began to gather headway. The jib was set; and, as the wind was
still very fresh, the Goldwing heeled over, and darted ahead at a flying
rate. Thad took the helm himself; for Dory had put in a horizontal
wheel, and not one of the class was competent to steer her.

“Now, how many of you fellows know all the ropes in a sloop?” asked the
young instructor, as the boat headed towards the outlet of the little
lake. “There are not a great many things to learn about such a craft as
this, but a fellow has got to know them all over.”

“I know them all,” added Archie.

“Just as you knew where to look for the throat-halyards,” laughed the

Thad took a picture of a sloop from his pocket.

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