The Rover Boys in Southern Waters: or, The Deserted Steam Yacht. Stratemeyer Edward
Читать онлайн книгу.
I may as well tell you my story, for you are bound to hear it sooner or later," he went on. "About four years ago my father went out hunting in the forest to the north of our plantation. He was out with two friends, but about the middle of the day the party separated and my father found himself alone. Then he saw something that to him looked like a wildcat on a big rock. He fired quickly, and when he drew closer he saw to his horror that he had shot and killed a man – an old hunter named Blazen.
"The shock of the discovery made my father faint, and when the others came up they found him working over the dead body of Blazen in a vain endeavor to bring the hunter back to life. A doctor was called, but nothing could be done for Blazen, for the shot had killed him instantly, taking him squarely in the heart. Of course it was an accident, but my father couldn't get over it. He raved and wept by turns, and at last the doctors had to place him in confinement for fear that he would try to do himself some injury. My mother was prostrated by the news, and you can imagine how I felt myself."
"It was certainly terrible," said Dick, and the others nodded in silence.
"Blazen was an old bachelor, with no relatives, so there were few to mourn over his death. We saw to it that he was given a decent burial and advertised for his heirs, but nobody appeared. In the meantime my father grew melancholy and the doctors thought he might become insane. They advised a trip to new scenes, and my mother and I took him to Europe and then to Kingston, Jamaica, where an old friend of the family had a plantation. One day my father disappeared."
"Disappeared?" echoed Sam and Tom.
"Yes, disappeared utterly and forever. We hunted high and low for him and offered a big reward for any information. It was useless. We have never seen him or heard a word of him since."
"And what do you think became of him?" questioned Songbird Powell.
"I cannot imagine, excepting that he may have thrown himself into the bay and drowned himself. He had a habit of going down to the water and gazing out to sea by the hour."
"Too bad!" murmured Dick. "Mr. Bird, I sympathize deeply with you."
"And so do I," came from the other boys.
"The disappearance of my father made my mother ill and it was all I could do to get her back home. There we procured the best of medical skill, but it did little good. She had always had heart trouble and this grew rapidly worse until she died, leaving me utterly alone in the world."
Harold Bird stopped speaking and wiped the tears from his eyes. All of his listeners were deeply affected. It was several seconds before anybody spoke.
"I don't wonder you don't care to go hunting," said Sam. "I'd feel the same way."
"I have never visited the forest since the time the tragedy took place," answered Harold Bird. "At first I thought to sell off the stretch of land to a lumber company, but now I have changed my mind, and I intend to give it to the heirs of Blazen, if any appear."
"Is it a valuable tract?" asked Fred.
"The lumber company offered me twenty thousand dollars for it."
"If your father was drowned it is queer that you never heard anything of his body," said Fred.
"Bodies of drowned people are not always recovered," answered the young Southerner. "But he must have been drowned, for if he had been alive we surely would have heard something of him. The reward we offered set hundreds of people to hunting for him."
"It is certainly a mystery," said Dick. "I suppose you'd give a good deal to have it cleared up.
"I'd give half of what I am worth," answered Harold Bird, earnestly.
CHAPTER V
STUCK IN THE MUD
Noon found our friends at the town of Benton – a place of some importance in the cotton trade. Without delay Dick sought out the man who had had to do with the telegrams.
"I can't tell you much more than what I put in the message," said the man. "I saw the houseboat out yonder and headed in that direction. I was watching her when a fog came up and hid her from view."
"I think I can follow her," put in Harold Bird. "Anyway, we can try."
"Did those fellows steal the houseboat?" questioned the Benton man.
"They did."
"Then I hope you catch them."
Our friends did not stop to get dinner, but took their lunch on board of the Venus. The river at Benton was broad and deep and consequently Harold Bird turned on full speed, sending the launch forward with such a rush that the water often came in a shower of spray over the bow.
"I may be mistaken, but I have an idea that those rascals headed for Lake Sico," said the young Southerner. "Gasper Pold used to hang around that lake, and most likely there are men there who would aid him in disposing of whatever is on the Dora of value."
"Where is Lake Sico?" asked Sam.
"About fifteen miles from here. It is a very broad and shallow sheet of water, and is reached by a narrow and tortuous bayou all of four miles long. One end of the lake is a perfect wilderness of bushes and brake – an ideal hiding-place for the houseboat."
"Then perhaps we had better explore the lake," said Tom.
"There is only one objection," answered Dick. "If the houseboat is not there, we'll be losing a lot of valuable time."
"Is the entrance to the bayou very narrow?" asked Tom. "For if it is, the houseboat would be apt to strike the mud shore and leave marks."
"Yes, it is narrow, and we'll look for marks by all means," answered the young Southerner.
As they were moving with the stream it did not take the launch long to reach the bayou that connected the lake with the Mississippi. But close to the bayou entrance the swirling waters had cast up a ridge or bar of mud and on this the launch slid and stuck fast.
"Hullo, we're stuck!" cried Tom.
"And we are up out of the water too," came from his younger brother.
"Can't we back?" asked Fred.
"I'll try it," returned Harold Bird.
The screw of the launch was reversible and he made the change in power. The water was churned up into a muddy foam, but that was all. The Venus did not budge an inch.
"One of the joys of a life 'on der rollings deeps'!" grumbled Tom, imitating Hans. "Songbird, can't you compose an ode in honor of the occasion?"
"Certainly I can," said Songbird promptly, and started:
"As firm as a rock, our launch now rests
Upon her bed of mud,
As safe as a ship on a golden sea – "
"Or a clothespin in a tub!" finished Tom. "Songbird, give us something better, or none at all."
"Say, vot has a clothesbin in a dub to do mit being stuck here alretty?" questioned Hans, innocently.
"Why, Hansy, old boy, that's easy," cried Tom. "A clothespin is for sticking something fast, and we are stuck fast. Now, can't you see the joke, as the blind astronomer said to the deaf musician?"
"Yah, dot's so, but ve ain't stuck on no clothes-pins," answered Hans, soberly. "Ve vos stuck on der Mississippies Rifer, ain't it."
"Score one for Hans," came, with a laugh, from Sam. "Hans, what do you think we ought to do?"
"Dake a rope py der shore und bull der poat loose."
"That's the talk," said Songbird. "Hans can carry the rope ashore.
The water is only a foot deep."
"And the mud is about sixteen feet deep," put in Dick, quickly. "Don't try it, unless you want to sink out of sight."
For several minutes all sat still in the launch, viewing the situation with considerable dismay.
"This is something I didn't bargain for," said Fred. "But we may as well make the best of it."
"Let us try