In the centre of the room was a large sheet-iron stove, with a funnel running up through the roof. In one corner of the room-there was only one room in the cabin-was a sort of cupboard, on the shelves of which were piled a few tin dishes. A rusty axe was apparently the only tool left on the premises.

There was a sc.r.a.p of kindling and one or two dry sticks of wood beside the stove, and with this they started a fire. Driftwood lined the sh.o.r.e, and a number of dead spruces, which had not yet rotted, furnished them with an ample supply of fuel. They piled the stove full, and soon had a fire roaring that turned the stove red-hot and which sent out a grateful warmth throughout the cabin.

"That will dry us out in good shape," exclaimed Arthur, as the steam came from his wet clothing. "We'll have this old shanty as comfortable as a parlour. This is a better house than Crusoe ever had."

It was, in fact, a comfortable shelter against the storm. The roof and sides were shingled, so that it kept out the rain, and though the wind, which by this time was blowing a gale, shook it till it rattled, it stood firm.

After the boys had brought in a supply of firewood, enough to last them through the evening, and had stowed it near the stove to dry, they set out again for the yacht, and brought back each a blanket, the yacht's two lanterns, and a supply of food.

"It's lucky we put a good supply aboard," said young Joe, as they stowed the stuff away on the cabin shelves. "Looks as though we were in for a couple of days here, at least. It wouldn't have been any fun to have to fish for our suppers in this storm."

"You would never have survived it, Joe," returned Arthur, "though you did eat enough at that picnic to last you several days."

"Well, here's a funny thing," cried Henry Burns, who had been rummaging about in the cupboard. "The parties who were here before us didn't believe in starving. And they didn't believe in living on fishermen's fare, either." And Henry Burns brought forth three empty wine-bottles and a half-emptied jar of imported preserves. "Here are some tins that contained turkey and some kinds of game," he added. "The fishermen don't buy that sort of canned stuff. It must have been a party of yachtsmen that used this place last."

"They might have had the fairness to fasten the door after them, whoever they were," said George Warren.

"Perhaps the wine accounts for that," said Henry Burns.

"I'm glad they left us some preserves," said young Joe.

They slept soundly in the shanty that night, with the wind howling about their ears and the rain dashing against the single window and beating like mad upon the roof. Nor did the storm abate the following day, nor the next night. Not till the third morning did the sunlight welcome them as they awoke, but then it poured through every c.h.i.n.k and crack in the shanty, as though to make amends for the length of its absence.

When the woods had dried sufficiently so they could venture abroad, they set out to hunt for a young spruce that would do for a boom for the _Spray_. After cutting several and finding they had been deceived in their length, they finally secured one which would do. Then they brought up the stub of the boom from the yacht and got the exact measure of the old one from the sail, which they disentangled from the snarl of rigging, and spread out.

"I am afraid Captain Sam would laugh at this spar-making effort of mine,"

said George Warren, as he trimmed away at the slender trunk of spruce, from which he had peeled the bark; "but it will do to take us on our cruise again. And what's the use of going on a cruise if you don't have adventures?"

When he had fashioned the stick as well as his one tool-a hatchet from the locker of the _Spray_-would admit of, he unscrewed the jaws from the old boom, fastened them upon the new, and the boom was done.

Then they set about mending several tears in the mainsail, with a needle and twine, also from the yacht's locker, and by noon everything was in readiness for rigging the sail once more. This proved the most difficult task of all, for they found that it is one thing to know the running rigging of a sailboat, and another thing to reeve it when it has been displaced. It was not until the middle of the afternoon that they had the job completed, and then, as the wind was dying out, they decided it was useless to attempt to set sail till the following morning.

In the meantime, Henry Burns, finding that he was of no service in the work of rigging the yacht, had volunteered to get a mess of fish for supper. Accordingly he set out, equipped with a short alder pole and line and a basket, to try for some cunners and small cod off the ledges on the seaward side of the island. He succeeded in getting a fairly good catch, and then continued along the sh.o.r.e in search of mussels, as the tide was several hours ebbed.

His search brought him at length to the northernmost extremity of the island, where he sat down on the beach to rest. Then, as he started to resume his walk, he noticed that the receding tide had left bare a narrow sand-bar, that connected the island on which the cabins stood and the adjacent island, so that he could now pa.s.s from one to the other almost dry-shod.

Fondness for exploring was ever Henry Burns's ruling pa.s.sion, so he set out across the sand-bar to the neighbouring island, and was pleased to find that the mussel-beds were far more plenty there than he had found them before. This island was not so large as the other Gull Island. It was not more than a half-mile long and about a quarter of a mile across in its widest part. It had, however, the same characteristic of the other, in that its sh.o.r.es were abrupt, and deep water lay all around it.

There was but one small strip of beach, extending out into mud-flats, where Henry Burns could gather mussels; but he soon filled his basket here, and, setting it down in the shade of an overhanging rock, climbed the ledge that now barred his way, and started to make a circuit of the island along the edge of its steep banks.

Henry Burns had a habit of day-dreaming as he walked, unless he happened to be in search of some particular thing, when he was the most alert of youths. So, as he walked, his mind was far away just then, back in the town of Medford, where he pictured to himself familiar objects, and wondered what was happening there.

So it happened that he pa.s.sed a certain tree close by the sh.o.r.e, only half-noticing that the end of a stout hawser was tied to it, and not paying any attention to it. When he had gone on a rod or two, it suddenly struck him that this was an odd thing, as the hawser was new, and so he went back to look at it. There was a short length of the rope dangling from where it had been made fast about the tree-trunk, and he noticed upon examination that the free end had been severed cleanly by the stroke of a knife.

"That's odd," said Henry Burns. "Fishermen don't usually waste a good piece of hawser like that. Some one was extravagant and in a hurry, or impatient-By Jove! You don't suppose-"

Henry Burns had lost his preoccupied air in a moment. Following the line from the rope to the edge of the bank, he scrambled carefully down over the face of the ledge to the water's edge.

Henry Burns was not surprised to discover that the rock was smeared all over with spots of black paint. Moreover, if further evidence were needed that some one had been at work there, there lay in a niche of the ledge an empty keg in which paint had been mixed.

But what elated Henry Burns still more was a discovery he made by a closer examination of the ledge just under water. There at a depth of from one to two feet under water were rough, jagged edges of the rock which had been in contact with some object-an object that had left upon their surface unmistakable smearings or sc.r.a.pings of paint which was white.

"Hooray!" cried Henry Burns, excitedly, for him. "There it is-the old and the new. There's where he rubbed against the ledge as he made fast, and here's the evidence all about on these rocks of his new disguise. And there, right close to the bank, are the trees to which he fastened his tackle. If it isn't just as Miles Burton said, to the letter, then there's no trusting one's eyes."

Henry Burns lay flat on a shelving bit of rock, with his face close to the water, and peered down to the bed below. The water was not very clear, but he could discern distinctly a deep, narrow trench in the hard sand, which might have been made by the keel of a boat, if the boat had touched bottom at low water.

Any one observing Henry Burns at this moment would have been puzzled indeed. He suddenly sprang up, tore off his jacket and trousers, bared himself in the quickest possible time, and, poising for one brief moment on the brink of the water, dived in. He swam to the bottom with two strokes, clutched at something that lay on the bottom, grasped it in his right hand, came to the surface, and, drawing himself out on land once more, stuffed the object into his trousers pocket and scrambled into his clothing again, as though his life depended on his haste. Then he started on a run for the sand-bar, crossed it, paused never a moment for his basket of fish and clams, and dashed back to the shanty as fast as his legs could carry him.

It was not const.i.tutional with Henry Burns, however, to continue long in a state of excitement, and by the time he had regained his companions his composure had returned. Still, they were familiar enough with him to perceive that something unusual had happened.

"What's the matter, Henry?" exclaimed George Warren. "We saw you running along the beach up there as if somebody was after you. We didn't know but what you had found another burglar."

"No," replied Henry Burns, "it was the same one."

It was their turn now to become excited.

"You don't mean really--" began George Warren.

"Yes, I do," interrupted Henry Burns. "Say, do you remember the strange black yacht that came into the harbour at the foot of Grand Island the other night, and that was in such a hurry to get out again when it saw us? Well, that was Chambers, and the yacht was the _Eagle_."

"Well, but she was black," said George Warren, "and she had no topmast.

The _Eagle_ was white."

"Yes, but don't you recall what Burton said about Chambers, what a hand he was for changing a yacht over so she'd look like a different craft?

Well, that's what he has done, and I've found the place where he did it.

There's the white paint back there on the edges of the rocks where the yacht rubbed alongside, and the rock is all covered with spots of black paint."

Henry Burns rapidly recounted what he had discovered, including the end of hawser made fast to the tree.

"But that isn't all," exclaimed Henry Burns, triumphantly, as he fished a hand into his right trousers pocket. "See here, what do you make of this?

I saw it shining down in the water just where the stern of the yacht must have laid."

Henry Burns drew forth a glittering object from his pocket and held it up to their gaze.

It was a gilt letter "E."

"'E' for '_Eagle_,'" cried Henry Burns. "This letter got away from him.

It's clear as daylight now. Say, fellows, let's start for Southport early in the morning. That man Chambers is in the bay. He's up to something, and we want to get them after him quick."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MAN IN THE BOAT

"Fellows," said Jack Harvey, one afternoon, a few days following the return of the _Spray_ from its cruise, "I have decided to enter that free-for-all race over at Bellport. I've just heard that Ed Perkins isn't going to race the _Ella_, after all; and, with her out of the race, we stand a good show. Let's get the stuff aboard and start while there's a wind."