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- Herausgeber: GAEditori
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
The love of adventure is inborn in all normal boys. Action is almost a supreme demand in the stories they read with most pleasure. Recognizing this primary demand, in this tale I have endeavored to keep in mind this requisite and at the same time to avoid sensational appeals. The unusual is not always the improbable. The Go Ahead Boys are striving to be active without being unduly precocious or preternaturally endowed.
Ross Kay
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Ross Kay
Indice dei contenuti
CHAPTER I THE VOYAGE IS BEGUN
CHAPTER II A PLUCKY FEAT
CHAPTER III A SUPERSTITIOUS COOK
CHAPTER IV A CODE
CHAPTER V A TROPICAL STORM
CHAPTER VI ADRIFT
CHAPTER VII A DESPERATE STRUGGLE
CHAPTER VIII A SORRY PLIGHT
CHAPTER IX IN SEARCH OF LAND
CHAPTER X ASHORE
CHAPTER XI A SERIOUS MISHAP
CHAPTER XII A NEW HOME
CHAPTER XIII AN IRON CHEST
CHAPTER XIV AN ODD DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XV SAM REMEMBERS SOMETHING
CHAPTER XVI THE RIDDLE
CHAPTER XVII UNDERGROUND WORK
CHAPTER XVIII IN THE WATER
CHAPTER XIX SHARK
CHAPTER XX TALKING IT OVER
CHAPTER XXI A NEW MEMBER
CHAPTER XXII A CLUE
CHAPTER XXIII PROGRESS
CHAPTER XXIV SOLVED
CHAPTER XXV ON THE BEACH
CHAPTER XXVI THE SPOT IS MARKED
CHAPTER XXVII CONCLUSION
THE GO AHEAD BOYS AND THE TREASURE CAVE
GAEditori
www.gaeditori.it
CHAPTER I THE VOYAGE IS BEGUN
“A-a-ll ha-a-ands! Up anchor! A-ho-oy!”
Instantly all was bustle and action on board the brig Josephine. The sailors ran hither and thither, the sails were loosed and the yards braced. The clanking of the windlass soon told that the anchor was being raised.
“Whew! I never saw so much excitement and hurry in all my life,” exclaimed a boy, who with three companions stood on the deck of the brig and looked on at these activities without actually taking part in them themselves. The speaker was Fred Button. He was a tiny little fellow, known affectionately among his friends as Stub, or Peewee or Pygmy. This last name was frequently shortened into Pyg, much to Fred’s disgust, though he had learned better than to lose his temper because of teasing or little things that did not just suit him. He had given up such foolishness long ago.
With his three companions he had embarked on the Josephine for a voyage to Buenos Aires in South America. The lure of the sea had attracted these four boys and the desire to see something of foreign lands had spurred them on. They were on board in the capacity of passengers though it was also their desire to help the crew in whatever way they were able.
Standing beside Fred Button was John Clemens, a boy who was as unusually tall as Fred was short. He was extremely thin, however, and with his six feet three inches of height he looked like a string, according to his friends. In fact that was what they usually called him.
Next to him was Grant Jones. Grant was about eighteen, the same age as the other three boys though he was their leader in a great many ways. No matter what he attempted he always did it well. In school work he usually led his class and on the athletic field he far outshone the others. His talents had won him the nickname of Socrates which, however, was usually shortened to Soc. “Old Soc Jones” was always a favorite.
The fourth member of the group was George Washington Sanders. He was always good natured and his witty remarks had made him intensely popular with all who knew him. In honor of the name he bore he sometimes had been referred to as the father of his country, which appellation, however, had finally been corrupted to Pop.
“It certainly is busy around here, isn’t it?” exclaimed Grant Jones in response to Fred Button’s remarks previously referred to.
“And it’s all mystery to me,” added John Clemens. “These orders being shouted and the strange things the men are doing are getting me bewildered.”
“I’ve been standing here expecting some one of the sailors to mistake you for a mast and hang a sail on you any minute, String,” said Pop Sanders slyly, at the same time nudging Fred Button.
“Is that so?” exclaimed John Clemens quickly. “At any rate, I’d rather be the shape of a mast than a bag of ballast.”
“That’s the way, String,” said Grant Jones encouragingly. “Don’t let him get the better of you.”
“He never has and he never will,” said John complacently.
“Stop arguing,” exclaimed Fred Button, “and tell me what kind of a boat this is that we are on.”
“It’s a sailing boat,” said Pop Sanders. “Did you think it was a steamer?”
“I mean what kind of a sailing boat is it. Is it a schooner or a bark, or what?”
“It’s a brig,” said Socrates Jones. “You can always tell a brig from the way she is rigged. She has two masts and is square rigged.”
“I thought that was a brigantine,” protested Fred.
“No,” said Grant. “A brigantine is very much the same though. She has two masts and is square rigged on the foremast, but schooner rigged on the other.”
“Which is called the mainmast,” said Fred.
“Quite right,” agreed Grant. “I’ll make a sailor of you yet.”
The Josephine was now sliding through the waters of New York Bay. The Statue of Liberty was just ahead on her right (or rather her starboard side) while on the port side was Governor’s Island, with its old fort and parade ground plainly to be seen. Two big ocean liners loomed up a short distance away. One was just completing her voyage from Europe while the other was only starting. Saucy little tugs rushed hither and thither. Ferryboats passed, bearing their precious burdens of human freight. Great barges loaded to the water’s edge were towed slowly along. Ahead could be seen many steamers lying at anchor in the lower bay off the quarantine station, while now and again a sailing vessel similar to the one on which the Go Ahead boys were embarked could also be seen. They were not very numerous, however.
“Well, what do you think of it, boys?” demanded a bluff, hearty voice behind them. It was Captain Roger Dodge, the commander of the Josephine, who spoke to them. His face was bronzed by the sun and wind and his drooping mustache was faded to a straw color. His gray eyes were the features that struck any one who observed him closely, however. A merry twinkle could be seen in them, but at the same time their expression denoted that their owner was a man who would never be afraid of anything on land or sea.
“We think it’s fine,” exclaimed Fred Button speaking for the others.
“It’s a wonderful harbor all right,” said Captain Dodge. “I think it’s just about the finest in the world and I’ve seen most of them too.”
“What one do you like next to this, captain?” inquired Grant. Old Soc Jones was always eager to learn something.
“Well,” said the captain slowly, “I guess the harbor at Sydney, Australia, next to this. Still San Francisco has a wonderful harbor, too. That golden gate out there is a sight worth seeing.”
“I wish I could see it,” said Grant, wistfully. “Some day I hope to do it, too. Still, there are so many wonderful places in the world it’s hard to say which ones you’d rather see first.”
“That’s very true,” agreed the captain. “I’ve seen a good many, but I always want to see more. I’ve knocked around the world so long that I don’t believe I could settle down and be happy now. I guess I’ve got the wanderlust all right.”
“It’s easy to get,” exclaimed Pop Sanders, serious for once. “We’ve all got it ourselves.”
“How long have you been a sailor, captain?” asked John Clemens.
“Thirty years. I started in as a cabin boy when I was fourteen years old and I’ve been at it ever since.”
“You ought to know about all there is to know about it, I should think,” said Fred.
“Without boasting at all, I can safely say that I do know a lot about the business,” said Captain Dodge, smilingly. “I’ve done about all there is to do on a ship, I guess.”
“And you’ve had some wonderful experiences,” suggested Grant.
“Yes, I have,” said the captain smilingly.
“Will you tell us about them sometime?”
“I should be glad to,” said the captain readily. “Not now, though, for, as you can see, I am pretty busy,” and the bluff sailor hurried away, shouting orders to his men, who all seemed to like him and take delight in carrying out his commands as quickly as possible.
“Captain Dodge isn’t much like the sea captains we used to read about in the old story books, is he?” remarked Grant Jones.
“Why not?” demanded Pop Sanders. “He certainly looks like a sailor.”
“I know that,” agreed Grant, “but I meant the kind of a man the crew all hated and feared and who used to give them the rope’s end every time they did anything he didn’t like.”
“That day has passed, I guess,” laughed John Clemens. “Perhaps it’s lucky for us, too, for we might get it ourselves.”
“Any one would have to be a pretty good shot to hit you with anything, String,” said Pop Sanders teasingly.
“Huh,” snorted John, but he made no other reply.
At this moment Captain Dodge approached.
“We’ve got to anchor, boys,” he said. “The wind is dead ahead of us here in the narrows and I think I’ll wait till it shifts.”
“We might all go to Coney Island then,” exclaimed Fred Button eagerly.
“And the wind might change almost any minute and we’d sail off and leave you behind,” laughed Captain Dodge. “Coney Island is just around that point, though, and you could row there in a little while.”
“I guess we’ll stay aboard if you’re thinking of leaving us,” said Fred. “I’d rather go to Buenos Aires than Coney Island.”
“That’s what I say,” exclaimed John Clemens.
“Can’t we do something to help around here?” asked Grant. “We’re only amateur sailors, but we’re anxious to do what we can.”
“I know you are,” said Captain Dodge. “I expect you to take your regular turns on watch with the rest of the crew. Just now I want the sails taken in, though. Do you suppose one of you could go up that foremast?”
“I could,” cried Fred quickly. “Let me go.”
“Think you can take in that topsail?”
“I can help.”
“That’s all I want, of course. There’ll be a sailor up there with you to tell you what to do and perhaps you can be of assistance to him.”
“I’d like to try it, anyway,” said Fred eagerly.
“All right,” said the captain. “Mr. Johnson,” he called to the first mate, who was a big blonde-haired Swede, “this young man wants to go aloft. Will you let him help your man take in that fore-topsail?”
“Yes, sir,” came the quick reply, and Fred ran to the foot of the mast, where Mr. Johnson, the mate, and a sailor named Petersen were standing.
“Follow me,” said Petersen, and he began to climb. Up the rigging he went, with Fred close behind him. It was hard work for the inexperienced boy to keep pace with the hardy sailor, and he was well-nigh exhausted when at last they stood upon the yards.
“That’s hard work,” panted Fred.
“You’ll get used to it,” smiled the sailor. “There’s a knack about it.”
“What do we do now?” demanded Fred.
“Wait till we get our orders. The captain will bring ’er up into the wind in a minute and that’s when we get to work.”
“What shall I do?”
“You grab all the loose sail you can, right in your arms, and try to hold it there. They’ll let go below.”
Fred felt dizzy, standing so high above the decks, and he clung to the ropes which were all about him, for dear life. He heartily wished that he was once more with his comrades, but it was too late now. He must go through with it, and he was determined, if possible, not to betray his nervousness.
“Stand by!” came the faint call from below.
“Hang on now,” cautioned Petersen. “They’re going to bring ’er ’round.”
The steersman put the helm hard over and the Josephine swung rapidly around with her bow into the wind. In spite of the warning Fred did not hold on as tightly as he should. He felt himself slipping. He clutched madly at the maze of ropes which entirely surrounded him. He tried to call out, but no sound came. Desperately he strove to save himself, but his efforts were unavailing.
CHAPTER II A PLUCKY FEAT
Fred’s three companions on the deck below watched their friend with horrified eyes. They had felt envious of his good fortune until now, and every one of them had wished that he was in Fred’s place.
“It must be great up there,” Grant exclaimed as he looked at Fred standing up against the topmast, far above the decks.
“That’s the place to be, all right,” said String enthusiastically.
“If you were up there it would look like two masts instead of one,” said Pop Sanders.
“Say,” said John in disgust. “You got off that same joke just a few minutes ago. It was all right the first time, but it’s a pretty poor one now.”
The three boys had stood below bantering one another and envying Fred until the Josephine came about and they saw that their comrade was dizzy and in danger of falling.
He swayed dangerously for a while that seemed a century long. He waved his arms wildly in the air and then clutched frantically for some rope or brace to save himself. He seemed to grab hold of plenty of ropes but to hang on to none. Moreover, a rope was the cause of his fall, for one swung violently around and catching the unfortunate boy around the ankles tripped him up and pulled him from the precarious spot on which he stood.
He toppled backward and fell. His three companions with one accord uttered a groan of horror and shut their eyes to keep out the awful sight of what was about to happen. To think that their wonderful trip was to be spoiled at the very start in this way! They turned their backs to the scene, afraid to look. Every boy expected to hear a thud on the deck and see the mangled body of their companion at their feet.
To them it seemed as if they waited hours and yet they did not hear the expected sound. Instead of that they heard a shout.
“Hold him!” some one cried, and opening their eyes and daring to look about them, the three boys on the deck saw something that was as unexpected as it was welcome.
Fred hung head downward from the yard, a rope twisted tightly around his feet. The same rope that had thrown him from his position was now holding him suspended in the air. But how securely did it hold him? Could it support him until help could come? That was the question.
“Go to him, somebody!” cried Grant in an agonized voice. Even as he spoke a sailor ran swiftly along the deck to the base of the foremast and began to climb rapidly. To those who watched him, however, it seemed as if he progressed at a snail’s pace.
“He’s going to drop!” groaned String.
“Maybe not,” said Pop Sanders, trying to appear cheerful.
“What can he do if he does reach him?” demanded Grant.
“Wait and see,” cautioned Pop.
Higher and higher climbed the sailor. From above Petersen, the man who had accompanied Fred to the top, leaned down and took hold of the rope which was all that kept the unfortunate boy from falling.
“Don’t pull on that,” begged Grant. “It’ll surely come loose.”
The sailor had now approached within a few feet of Fred. A moment later and he was by his side. He made no move to help the boy who hung so perilously out into space. Instead he shouted something to Petersen which could not be heard on the deck below.
“What’s the matter with him?” demanded Pop angrily. “Why doesn’t he do something?”
“Let him alone,” cautioned Grant. “I guess he knows his business.”
“But Fred’ll fall.”
“I guess not. That sailor can see how firm a hold that rope has on his ankles. He won’t take any chances.”
“He called for a rope,” exclaimed John Clemens. “See, that sailor who went up with Fred is letting one down.”
“And he’s making the other one fast to the yard,” added Grant.
“They’re going to haul him up, I guess,” said Pop.
“That’s right,” exclaimed Grant. “See, he’s tying the other end around Fred’s chest. They’ll have him fixed all right in a minute.”
“If he doesn’t fall before,” String reminded them.
“You’re certainly a pessimist, String,” exclaimed Pop. “Don’t you ever have a cheerful thought?”
“Of course I do, but I’m worried.”
“So am I. I try to be cheerful now and then, though.”
“He’s all right now,” exclaimed Grant as the sailor finished tying the rope around Fred’s body. “He couldn’t fall now to save his life.”
The sailor scrambled quickly up the mast until he stood alongside Petersen. Then the two men bent low, and hauling in hand over hand, soon pulled Fred up to the yard on which they stood. They did not untie the rope from around his waist, however, but rather made the loose end of it fast around the mast so that the accident could not be repeated. A great cheer from those who had assembled below greeted the result of this work.
“I guess Fred’s awfully dizzy just now,” remarked Grant. “I don’t believe it’s much fun hanging by your heels way up there.”
“And now how are they going to get him down?” demanded Pop. “He certainly can’t do it by himself. He’d be sure to fall.”
At this moment Captain Dodge joined the three boys. “A pretty close call for our sailor friend,” he remarked grimly.
“Yes,” agreed Grant, “it certainly was. I don’t suppose he’ll want to do much climbing for quite a while now.”
“I hope not,” said the captain heartily.
“How are you going to get him down?” asked Pop.
“That’s easy,” said the captain, smiling. “We’ll take a very long rope, one that will reach all the way from the deck up to where he is and back again. We’ll tie one end around your friend and we’ll hang on to the other down here on the deck. The rope will go over the yard and he will be on one end and we will be on the other. Then we’ll lower away slowly and the first thing you know he’ll be right down here with us again.”
“And mighty glad to get here, I guess,” exclaimed Grant.
“I’ll send a man up with the rope now,” said the captain, and he started to walk away.
“Wait,” cried Grant suddenly. “What’s Fred trying to do?”
“He’s untying the ropes,” exclaimed String. “Is he crazy?”
“I guess he is,” said Pop. “It looks as if he was getting ready to climb down the way he went up.”
“Yell at him,” exclaimed String excitedly.
“Don’t you do it,” cautioned Captain Dodge quickly. “Don’t distract his attention from what he is doing for a second. It’s too late now, anyway.”
Fred now stood free and clear of the ropes. It was evident that the two men with him were arguing with him not to attempt the descent, but apparently their efforts made no impression on the daring youth, for he could be seen to shake his head. Then he gingerly lowered himself from the yard and began the perilous journey to the deck.
“Pretty nervy,” muttered Captain Dodge under his breath, and murmurs of admiration could be heard from all the members of the crew gathered nearby. No one spoke, however, for all eyes and all interest were focused on the feat Fred was performing.
Slowly and carefully he proceeded at first, but as he gained in confidence he increased the speed of his descent. Before he had covered half of the distance he was swinging along as freely and apparently as carelessly as any sailor. A moment later and he reached the deck.
“Good boy,” cried Captain Dodge, springing forward to shake hands with Fred, and at the same time a hearty cheer was given by the crew.
As soon as Fred touched foot on the deck, however, a change came over him. His face became deathly pale and he swayed dizzily. He put out his hand to save himself, but before Captain Dodge could reach him he collapsed and sank to the deck in a limp heap.
“Fainted,” remarked Grant simply.
“Well, I don’t blame him,” exclaimed Pop Sanders. “It’s the reaction from the strain probably.”
The three boys rushed to the side of their comrade and found that Grant’s surmise had been correct. Fred had fainted.
“Bring some water,” directed Captain Dodge. “He’ll be around presently.”
Fred soon opened his eyes after a few treatments of cold water, splashed directly in his face. He looked about him and smiled weakly.
“How do you feel?” asked Captain Dodge.
“Fine,” said Fred, but he didn’t look so.
“You better get in your bunk for a while,” said the captain. “That’s all you need just now. I’ll tell the cook to bring you a little hot soup.”
Leaning on Grant and George Washington Sanders, Fred made his way below. He was very weak after his ordeal and it was with a great sigh of relief that he sank into his bunk.
“What made you climb down?” demanded Pop.
“Well,” said Fred, “I just had to. I knew that if I didn’t do it then I never would have the nerve to try again. I felt so foolish to have caused all the trouble I did and I knew they’d all think me an awful landlubber. I felt as if I ought to square myself.”
“You did that all right,” said Grant heartily. “The whole crew is crazy about you now, and String and Pop and I are certainly in the shade.”
“I don’t mind that part of it,” said Pop. “All I say is, don’t do it again. I couldn’t stand another ten minutes like those.”
“And I tell you one thing,” said Grant. “It’s lucky for you that the Josephine had been brought up into the wind. If we had been tacking or beating or something like that you’d never had hung so quietly as you did.”
“Are we anchored now?” asked Fred.
“Yes,” said Grant. “We’re going to stay here until the wind changes.”
“When do you suppose that will be?”
“The captain says it’ll probably swing around to the west to-night. As soon as it does we will get under way again.”
“They can’t do it too soon to suit me,” exclaimed String. “I want to be out on the ocean, where you can’t see a bit of land in any direction.”
“That’ll happen soon enough, once we get started,” said Grant. “Then we’ll probably wish we were on shore again.”
At this moment the cook appeared with a bowl of smoking hot soup for Fred. The cook was named Sam and was as black as ebony.
“Wh’ars dat high diver?” he demanded as he entered the cabin.
“You mean me?” smiled Fred.
“I sho’ do,” said Sam. “You suttinly is some acrobat.”
“Not again, I hope,” said Fred fervently. “I hope my troubles are over.”
As a matter of fact his troubles and his companions’ had scarcely begun.
