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Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

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CHAPTER IV. FANNY THE SKIPPER. "What did he want of you, Fan?" asked Kate Magner, with a curiosity not unmixed with anxiety, as her leader in mischief joined her at the foot of the pier. "O, never mind that," exclaimed Fanny, in reply. "We have no time to talk about it now." "But what did he say?" demanded Kate, who thought her present action ought to be governed in some measure by the words of the constable. "He didn't say much; it is all right now. Come, jump into the boat. We haven't a moment to lose." "I want to know what he said before I get any deeper into the mud," persisted Kate; but we are compelled to acknowledge that her scruples were mere worldly prudence, and were not called forth by the upbraidings of an awakened conscience. "You can't back out now, Kate. I made it all right with Mr. Long," replied Fanny, with energy, as she drew the skiff up to the steps, ready for her more timid companion to embark. "Now, get in, and don't waste another instant in talking about nothing." "You are keeping everything to yourself. If you don't tell me what Mr. Long wanted of you, I won't get into the boat. Was it about the money you found?" asked Kate. "No; he didn't say a word about that. He only asked me why I was not at school." "What did you tell him?" "I told him the teacher sent us down to get some green branches to put over the clock, for we were to have visitors at school this afternoon." "Did he believe you?" Kate laughed; she appreciated what she regarded as the joke of a clever deception; the wickedness of the act did not disturb her. "Of course he believed me—why shouldn't he? He has gone up to ask Mrs. Green if I went to school." "But he will find out all about it." "No, he won't; besides, if he does, we shall be a mile off when he gets back here again." "Didn't he say a word about the money you found?" "Not a word, Kate. Now, jump in, or we shall certainly get caught. We shall have time enough to talk about these things when we get away from the pier." Kate was satisfied, and stepped into the skiff. All her fears related to the money in the possession of her friend, which, she was almost certain, had been stolen. She was moralist enough to understand that even if the money had been found on the floor, as Fanny represented, it was just as much stolen as though it had been taken from Mr. Grant's pocket-book. Kate had not engaged in this theft, and she was not willing to bear any of the blame on account of it. If the crime had already been discovered, she did not wish to expose herself to the peril of helping to spend the money. According to Fanny's statement, nothing had been found out, and she got into the skiff. Fanny had been among the boats a great deal during her residence at Woodville, and rowing and sailing were suited to her masculine taste. She was a girl of quick parts; her faculty of imitation was highly developed, and generally what she had seen done she could do herself. She could row cross-handed very well, and she had no difficulty in pulling the skiff out to the Greyhound's moorings. Kate stepped on board of the sail-boat, and Fanny, fastening the painter of the skiff at the stern, began to bustle around with as much confidence as though she had been a skipper ever since she left her cradle. She had often sailed in the Greyhound with Ben and others, and she knew precisely what was to be done in order to get the boat under way. She understood how to move the tiller in order to make the craft go in a given direction, and had an indistinct idea of beating and tacking; but she was very far from being competent to manage a sailboat. The stops were removed from the sails, under the direction of the adventurous Fanny, and the foresail hoisted. It was a more difficult matter to cast off the moorings, but their united strength accomplished the feat, and the Greyhound, released from the bonds which held her, immediately drifted to the shore, for her unskilful skipper had not trimmed the foresail so that it would draw. "I thought you knew how to manage a boat," said Kate, contemptuously. "So I do," replied Fanny, as she gathered up the fore-sheet, and trimmed the sail. "What are you doing in here, then?" "I only came in here to get a fair start," added the skipper, not at all disconcerted by the mishap. "Folks don't generally run the boat ashore before they start," sneered Kate, who certainly had no confidence in the seamanship of the feminine skipper. "That's the way they do it!" exclaimed Fanny, triumphantly, as the sail began to draw, and the boat moved off from the shore. "Now, we are all right. That's just the way I meant to make her go." The wind came from the Woodville side of the river, but it was very light, and the Greyhound moved but slowly. Fanny was entirely satisfied with herself now, and was confident that she could manage any boat that ever floated. It was a very easy thing, she thought, and she did not see why folks made such a "fuss" about sailing a boat; anybody could do it, if they only thought they could. But the Greyhound did not move fast enough for her impatient temperament, and, against the remonstrances of her more prudent companion, she insisted upon setting the mainsail. "Mr. Long may be after us soon, and we must get along as fast as we can," said she, as she took the throat halliard, and gave the peak to Kate. "Now, hoist away. We are as good sailors as any one need be." The mainsail was set, and the Greyhound began to travel through the water pretty rapidly, much to the delight of Fanny. She had been deceived in regard to the force of the wind; under the lee of the shore, where it was obstructed by the bank, by the trees, and by the buildings, the breeze was very light: out in the middle of the river the wind was quite strong; but the boat had not yet begun to feel its full force. "Now she goes beautifully!" exclaimed Fanny, as she observed the effect by the added sail. "She goes very well; but don't you see how rough the water is out in the middle of the river?" replied Kate, rather anxiously, though she was not willing to acknowledge the full extent of her fears. "That's nothing." "But why don't you go down the river more, and keep out of that rough place?" "I like the waves! It's splendid to hear them beating against the boat." "It may be when you have a man in the boat with you," answered Kate, sceptically. "What are you afraid of?" "I'm not afraid; but I think folks ought to be very careful when they don't know anything about boats." "But I know all about boats. Don't you see how beautifully she goes? I wish she would go a little faster." "She goes fast enough," said Kate, as she listened to the ripple of the waves against the bow. "She might go a little faster; besides, we are in a hurry." "We are going fast enough, Fan." "The faster the better! I suppose, when Mr. Long goes over to the school and finds we are not there, he will come down to the pier after us. We want to be out of sight when he gets there." "Why should he come after us? I thought you said it was all right," demanded Kate, nervously. "He will go over to the school to find out whether the teacher sent us after the boughs." "I wish I had not come," continued Kate, gloomily. If she had known the whole truth, and understood the full extent of her bold companion's plans, she would have been still more dissatisfied with the situation. "Here, Kate, you take the tiller a moment," said Fanny, as she rose from her seat in the stern-sheets. "What are you going to do now?" asked Kate, nervously. "I'm going to hoist the other sail." "We don't want it hoisted. We are going fast enough." "We can just as well go faster; and I want to get out of sight before Mr. Long sees us," replied Fanny, persuasively, though her bright eyes snapped with increasing lustre under the excitement of the moment. "I won't touch the tiller; I say we go fast enough. You want to drown me—don't you?" "If I drown you, I must drown myself—mustn't I?" "I won't touch the tiller; I don't want the other sail hoisted," persisted Kate. "What are you afraid of? I didn't think you were a coward. If I had, I shouldn't have asked you to come with me." "I'm not a coward, any more than you are. I don't see what you want to hoist the other sail for; we are going like fury through the water now." "We need more head sail," answered Fanny, using an expression she had borrowed from the nautical speeches of Ben, the boatman. "No, we don't need more head sail," replied Kate, who, however, had not the most remote idea of the meaning of her friend's language. "Take the tiller, Kate, and don't bother me." "I will not." "Then I will hoist the sail, and let the boat take care of herself while I do it. If she is upset, it will be your fault,—not mine." Fanny was resolute; she had a will, as well as a way, of her own. She did not want any advice, and she was not willing to take any. She looked upon her companion as a weak-minded, poor-spirited girl, and she treated her opinions and her wishes with the utmost contempt, now that she had her completely in her power. It was useless for Kate to attempt to oppose her. "I don't know anything about the tiller, as you call it. I don't even know what it is, and I'm sure I couldn't tell what to do with it," continued Kate. "That's a good girl!" replied Fanny, in patronizing tones, when she saw that her companion was disposed to yield. "I don't want to touch it." "But you must." "Must! Who says I must?" "I say so; if you don't, we may be upset." "I have gone far enough, Fan Grant; I don't want to go any farther: I want to go on shore again!" exclaimed Kate, now completely disgusted with the venture, for in addition to the perils of wrong doing, she found she must submit to the impudence and the arrogance of her friend. "Well, why don't you go on shore?" replied Fanny, with the utmost coolness and self-possession. "You know I can't. Turn the boat round, and let me go back to the land." "I think not." "I have had enough of this thing." "Will you take the tiller, or will you let the boat upset?" added Fanny, with firmness and decision. "You can't go on shore again till I get ready to let you. I command this vessel, and if you ever want to put your foot on the dry land again, you must mind what I say." "Please to let me go back," pleaded Kate. "I won't please to do anything of the kind. Take the tiller, I say." "What shall I do with it?" asked the poor girl, cowed down and subdued by the force and decision of her companion. "Sit here," replied Fanny, pointing to the corner of the stern-sheets, where the helmsman usually sits. "This is the tiller," she added, indicating the serpent-shaped stick attached to the rudder, by which the boat is steered. "Keep it just as it is, until I tell you to move it." "I don't know how to move it." "When I say right, move it this way;" and Fanny pointed to the starboard side. "When I say left, move it the other way." Fanny watched her a moment to see that her instructions were obeyed. "We don't want this any longer," said she, unfastening the painter of the skiff and throwing it into the water, thus permitting the boat to go adrift. "What did you do that for?" demanded Kate, as the Greyhound dashed on, leaving the skiff behind to be borne down the river by the tide. "We don't want the skiff, and dragging it behind keeps us back some." "What did you bring it for, then?" "To keep Mr. Long from chasing us in it. All the rest of the boats are hauled up, and he will have to find one before he can come after us." Fanny went forward, and having fearlessly removed the stops from the jib, which required her to crawl out a little way on the bowsprit, she hoisted the sail, and carried the sheet aft to the standing-room, as she had often seen the boatmen do. The effect of this additional canvas was immediately seen, for the Greyhound had now reached the middle of the river, where she felt the full force of the wind, which was fresh from the north-west, and came in puffs and flaws. When the Greyhound went out from the shore, her sails were over on the right hand side; that is, she took the wind abaft the port beam. The boat was now careened over nearly to her rail, and was darting through the water like a rocket. Kate trembled, but Fanny was delighted. "Now we will go down the river," said Fanny, as she took the tiller. Suiting the action to the word, she put the helm up just as a flaw of wind came sweeping over the waves. The boat came round; the three sails, caught by the flaw, suddenly flew over, filled on the other side, and the Greyhound careened till she was half full of water. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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