The Mystery of Hidden Harbor. John Stephen Doherty
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Atlantic Ocean, and curved around to the west. It ended at Lighthouse Point, which marked the main channel into Hidden Harbor from the sea. This long sand bar was named the Dunes. It had no buildings on it, but was a public recreation area for all the people who lived in the town.
At the south end of the harbor was Fish Town, where the men of the fishing fleet lived and kept their boats. And all along the west shore, the town of Hidden Harbor ran right down to the edge of the water front. The public dock was there, for the use of visiting boats.
Pete’s favorite place was the Dunes. With one side of it facing the ocean and the other facing the harbor, it had given Pete every kind of lesson that a boy could learn living on the edge of the sea. It had taught him about wind, weather, tides and storms. He knew every mood of the sea from violence to calm, and he could handle a small boat in any kind of sea.
When Pete was half way across the harbor, he remembered that the Professor would be on the Dunes. The Professor was John Nevins, a 30-year-old college teacher, and an expert on sea birds. He came to Hidden Harbor every summer to camp out. Pete had taught the Professor how to sail and the Professor had promised that this summer he would teach Pete to use skin diving gear.
Knowing that the Professor liked to make his camp at the east end of the Dunes, Pete pointed his sailboat that way. He could tie up at the end of the old factory dock and walk along the shore to find the Professor.
Ten minutes later, Fannin’s huge red house boat came into view. As he drew closer, Pete decided he did not like it. The house boat did not look like a real boat, and the red color was too loud for his taste. Sailing past it, he was surprised to see no one around. Dropping the sails quickly as he reached the end of the dock beyond the house boat, Pete climbed up and threw a knot around a piling with his docking line. When another look around showed him that no one was there, he turned and walked toward the place where the Professor always made his camp.
He found it five minutes later, a large tent pitched in a spot sheltered from the wind.
“Hello!” he yelled. “Professor Nevins!”
There was no answer. The Professor, he guessed, must be over on the ocean side of the Dunes. Pete started climbing. Ten minutes later, he saw the Professor far down the beach, leaning over a small camp stove not far from where the waves washed up on the sand.
“Hi, Professor,” he called out. “How are you?”
Professor Nevins turned, saw Pete and smiled. “Hello, Pete,” he said. “Good to see you. I’ve been wondering where you were.” They shook hands.
“I was just graduated from high school yesterday.” Pete answered.
“That’s right! Good for you. I guess you won’t have much time for skin diving this summer, though, if you are going to work.”
“I have a whole week,” Pete answered. “But right now I want to put up my tent before it gets dark. How about having supper with me? Bring your stuff over.”
“Sure! Always glad to share a good meal,” the Professor said. He ran his hand across the top of his head, a habit he had when he was pleased. “In about half an hour?”
Waving good-by, Pete walked off.
When he reached the top of the dune behind the Professor’s tent, Pete looked down at the calm waters of the harbor . . . and got the shock of his life.
His boat was gone.
Slipping and sliding, he ran down the steep slope to the edge of the water. Then he saw it. The sailboat was out on the water, almost a mile away, drifting quickly with the tide.
Pete realized instantly that if he did not get the boat soon, the tide would carry it out to sea. But first he wanted to see something. He ran to the end of the dock and picked up his docking line: it was worn through. Pete could not believe it, but he had no time to think any more about it then.
Running back off the dock, he started down the beach. Fifty yards along, he had to splash through the shallow water that linked the ocean and the harbor.
Beyond North Inlet, Pete settled down to steady running. In the time since he had first seen it, the boat had drifted another half mile.
At last, when he was less than a half mile from Lighthouse Point, Pete caught up with his boat. He saw that he was lucky. It was only about a hundred yards off the beach. Quickly, he pulled off his shirt and blue jeans and plunged in.
The cool water gave him a lift and he began swimming strongly toward the boat. When he reached it, he clung to the side, resting. The tide continued to carry the boat toward the sea. With one try, Pete pulled himself into the boat and lay there breathing hard.
In a moment he recovered, raised the sails, swung the boat around and started back toward the spot where he had left his clothes. Pulling the boat up on the beach, he quickly slipped into his jeans and shirt. Setting sail again, he headed for the old factory.
Fannin and a huge man with red hair were standing on the end of the dock when Pete got there. One look at Fannin was all Pete needed. Without thinking twice, Pete shouted, “What’s the idea of cutting my boat loose?”
Fannin smiled. “Aren’t you being a little fast in accusing me?” He lifted the end of Pete’s docking line. “This doesn’t look to me as if it had been cut.”
“I never lost a boat that way in my life!” Pete answered hotly. “That is brand new rope. It could not have worn through.”
“It could not have, but it did,” Fannin said, and threw the end of the docking line into the boat.
The huge man spoke up. “Look, kid, stay off this dock and stay away from this factory. This is private property. If you had kept your boat where it belongs, nothing would have happened to it.” He paused. “Next time, maybe you won’t be so lucky. Maybe you will lose your boat altogether.”
Fannin cut in. “He is just giving you some good advice. We are busy around here and we don’t have time for kids.”
“Since when do you own the harbor?” Pete asked. “As far as I know, these are federal waters, open to everybody.”
Fannin turned and walked off. “Come on, Bucko,” he said. “This boy just won’t learn.”
Bucko pointed a finger at Pete. “You heard what the man said,” he growled. Then he followed Fannin.
Pete could feel the blood rush to his face. He picked up the breeze and headed for the place on the Dunes where he was going to make camp.
When the Professor arrived, he had a roaring fire going but his tent was still lying on the sand. It was almost dark.
“What happened, Pete?” he asked. “I came over twenty minutes ago and you weren’t here.”
As Pete finished telling his story, he said, “It must have been done on purpose!”
The Professor shook his head slowly. “You can’t prove it, Pete. And the rope was worn through.”
Pete nodded, but did not say anything. He had spoken to Fannin too soon, without thinking. Now he was doing the same thing with the Professor. He got busy with the food. In a few minutes he handed his friend a paper plate loaded with hot dogs and beans.
They ate in silence and, when they had finished, the Professor said, “Why don’t you sleep in my tent tonight? It will give me a chance to show you the skin diving gear.”
As they walked across the sand to the Professor’s camp, the sky grew dark and the stars came out. Wading through North Inlet, they heard the sound of hammering echoing across the water from the house boat.
“Now why would they be hammering in the middle of the night?” Pete asked.
“Beats me.”
“Something funny is going on over there,” Pete said.
“Forget it, Pete,” the Professor said. “Come on in