The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (10 page)

“Aren't we going there before we go to the lighthouse?” Trixie asked, looking in the direction he was pointing.

“Sure thing,” Peter answered with a smile. “But when you're in a sailboat, the quickest way to get from one place to another isn't always by going in a straight line.”

“What do you mean?” asked Diana, wide-eyed. “Can't you just steer the boat like an automobile and let the wind push you along?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Peter replied, “especially when I'm trying to beat Cap across the finish line.” He explained that the boat isn't pushed along by the wind blowing against the sails, but that the wind flowing
over
the sails on the leeward side gives a lift or suction action that makes the boat go ahead.

“Sounds like the same principle as an airplane,” Mart said.

“You're right,” Peter answered. “As a matter of fact, it was through aviation experiments they first discovered how the wind works. Men have been sailing boats for ages without really knowing how they operated.”

“Leonardo da Vinci came pretty close to finding out way back around fifteen hundred,” added Mart. “What a brain!”

“Now I see why you have to figure out where the wind's coming from and zigzag back and forth to get where you're going,” said Trixie.

“So we're actually going to Jenson's Point even though it looks as though we were headed straight for England,” Diana added with a giggle.

“Right you are,” Peter answered. “We'll come about in a few minutes and tack in another direction, or zigzag, as Trixie would say.”

They were by now close in to the Greenpoint shore where the spire was plainly visible. “Now we head for Black Cat, don't we?” Peter asked Trixie.

“We head for where Black Cat is
supposed
to be,” she said. “Everything seems pretty elusive out here.”

“Are those the Bunker boats?” asked Mart, pointing to several large vessels tied up to docks on the Greenpoint shore.

“Yes, they're in port either to unload or for repairs,” Peter explained. “They go out to sea for the menhaden unless the fishing happens to be good right here in the bay. Then you can hear the men singing their work chants as they haul the nets. When they have a good load, they come back, unload, and pay off the men according to the weight of the haul.”

“That's probably what Ed meant in the letter about its not mattering how long he was gone. I guess,” mused Trixie, “he didn't want to come home until they had a full load.”

She was suddenly interrupted by Peter. “Get ready to change course! When I holler ‘Ready about—hard alee,' everybody duck, or you'll get clobbered by the boom. Ready about. Hard alee!” he yelled, putting the tiller sharply over, and all three crouched down as the boom came across bringing the sail to the other side of the boat. Then they all took turns handling the main and the jib sheets, Peter showing them how to keep the
sails filled by pulling in or letting out the lines.

Trixie, when she had a free moment, spread out the copy of Ed's chart again and studied it intently. Presently she said, “According to this, we've passed over Black Cat Rock and should be heading south toward a black buoy, but I don't see one anywhere.” She shaded her eyes and looked around in all directions.

“There's a black can a little farther on around the point,” Peter said. “That may be the one he means.”

After several tacks, they came up close to Jenson's Point. Mart caught sight of a blue heron just offshore in the reeds waiting patiently for a fish to show up. Even though the boat came up close to land, it was so quiet that the bird was not disturbed. The Bob-Whites were curious about some tall poles along the shore. They had little platforms on top, and on most of the platforms there was a rough pile of branches.

“Those are osprey nests,” Peter explained as a wide-winged grayish bird rose from one of the poles and screamed down at the boat as it sailed past. “Some people call them fish hawks. They come up from Florida or the West Indies the middle of March and stay until September. The electric light company puts up those platforms for them so they won't build their nests on the light poles and interfere with the wires.”

“Or maybe listen in on our fascinating conversations,” said Mart, laughing.

“One eavesdropping session on one of your conversations would cure them for sure,” Trixie teased. “No bird, unless it's a wise old owl, could understand your language.”

“Speaking of big words and ospreys,” Peter said, “these birds are monogamous.”

“Are
what?
” cried Diana. “Mart, do you know what he's talking about?”

Mart had to admit that he hadn't the faintest idea what
monogamous
could be.

“It means that ospreys keep the same mate for life,” Peter told them, “and I've read that swans and geese have the same habit. Another interesting thing about ospreys,” he went on, “is that they reinforce their nests before they go south so they'll be in good condition in the spring, and even hurricane winds don't seem to knock them off.”

Cap was now within hailing distance of the
Star Fire
, and at Mart's suggestion, they decided to eat their lunch in the cove. They dropped anchor in the shallow water to keep from drifting, and hungrily opened the lunch baskets. The cook had prepared succulent chicken, fried to a golden brown, hard-boiled eggs,
cucumber sandwiches, and brownies for dessert. A big Thermos bottle of orange juice was very welcome, for they were all thirsty after being in the sun so long.

“It's a good thing these eggs are already peeled,” said Peter. “If there's one thing I hate to clean out of the bilge of a boat, it's egg shells, and potato chips are just about as bad.”

After lunch Cap suggested they get under way, and the two boats headed out into the bay toward the lighthouse.

Peter gave Trixie the mainsheet and asked Di to take the jib. He shifted Mart, who was the heaviest of the three, around to various places on the boat to maintain a good balance. The wind freshened a bit as they got out into the middle of the bay and headed east. Trixie, glancing over her shoulder, noticed that Cap was tacking, and she started to ask Peter why he didn't do the same thing, but she remembered just in time what he had said about the crew interfering and stopped in the middle of a sentence, her face red with embarrassment.

“Don't be silly, Trix. Ask all the questions you want. That's the way to learn,” Peter reassured her. “Yes, I see Cap's trying to put
Blitzen
around from the port tack, but his sails don't seem to be filling very well on starboard. Watch him! Whoops! There he goes, flopping back to port.” His voice was filled with excitement.

The Lightnings streaked through the water, spray blowing up over their bows, and everyone was tense with excitement.

“Wow!” Mart cried a few minutes later. “Cap's sure
making up for lost time now. Just look at that boat go!”

“Come on,
Star Fire!
” yelled Trixie as
Blitzen
came almost abreast of them. There was much jovial shouting back and forth as the two boats raced for the lighthouse. When they came fairly close to it, Peter told Cap he was going in on the south side of the rocky pile on which the lighthouse stood, leaving Cap free to approach the old dock on the opposite side.

After dropping sails, Peter paddled around to the dock, using the one oar he always carried in the boat, and as he did so, Trixie pulled out the chart again, mumbling to herself as she pored over it.

“Either Ed was crazy, or we are,” she finally said. “That last buoy just happens to be on the wrong side of the lighthouse. Otherwise, everything is dandy,” she added sarcastically.

“Oh, Trixie, I'm beginning to think we're all wrong,” cried Honey who had, by now, joined her friend. “The rock didn't even show. The black buoy wasn't where it should have been, and now the nun has apparently walked around to the other side of the lighthouse.”

“I know, but let's explore it anyway. That letter was written ages ago, and, as Peter says, things change. It certainly looks as though the lighthouse is here where the chart is marked ‘Finish,' doesn't it?” Trixie speculated.

They secured
Star Fire
to the stern of Cap's boat and Peter called out, “By Jove, Cap, that boat of yours can really move!”

“She did get up and go, didn't she?” Cap answered with a smile.

“She sure did, and she'll be real hard to beat,” Peter replied. “The tune-up races are Friday, you know. So may the best man win!”

“Or the best boat,” Cap laughed. Then, turning to the Bob-Whites, he added, “That's the funny thing about boats, no two are ever quite alike even if they're the same class. Each has a nature all her own.”

Peter and Cap had frequently visited the lighthouse, and they were anxious to show their friends through it. “It was built about 1890,” Cap told them as they clambered up the rocks to the front entrance. “In those days, they got the light from oil lanterns with huge reflectors back of them. The keeper had to stay year round to keep them going.”

“I suppose electricity is more practical, but it sure takes the romance away from places like this,” said Diana dreamily. “I'd love to live way out here with a dog and cat for company. Think of all the books I could read.”

“Oh, you know you'd get bored stiff after the first
week without your friends,” said Trixie. “You'd be inviting us all out to keep you company. But getting back to the light, Peter, why don't they use the lighthouse now?”

“The sandbar gradually shifted, so the Coast Guard put up the flashing light buoy to mark the channel,” he explained.

Trixie had found time, while Cap was tying up his boat, to tell the others that although the chart looked awfully dubious, they were all to keep their eyes open for any clues. They went through all the rooms of the two-storied house and up into the tower. All that remained of the building were the four stone walls and the partitions. Vandals had broken the windows and pulled much of the stairway down, but it was easy to imagine the ghosts of past keepers still haunting the place, as the wind whistled through the vacant rooms. But if the house held any secrets, it steadfastly refused to give them up to the Bob-Whites.

After they had explored every nook and cranny, they lay outside on the flat rocks in the sun until Peter suggested they had better be starting back. “The tide certainly hasn't been much help today,” he said ruefully. “We came out when it was going in, and here we are going home with it dead against us. If we take the eddy, we'll be back in plenty of time for supper, though.”

“Hey, Pete,” said Cap, “what say we each take a different course home? You hug the island shore and I'll go over near Greenpoint, and we'll see if there's any difference in the strength of the back eddy on the two shores.”

“I'm game,” Peter answered with enthusiasm. “I've always had trouble deciding which was the fastest.”

“What's all this talk about eddies?” inquired Mart.

“Well, let's see, how can I explain it?” Peter mused. “It's like shoving your hand in a jar full of water,” he went on. “The water has to go somewhere, so it pours out from all sides. It's the same when the tide comes racing into the bay. You get a current along the shores in the opposite direction from the tide. Eddies help you to make better time when the tide is against you.”

It was a perfect afternoon. The wind held, and as it grew later, the air cooled, bringing pleasant relief from the heat of the sun. They had been sailing for about an hour, keeping quite close in to shore, when the boat jammed into something, and there was the sound of breaking wood underneath.

Peter gritted his teeth as he pulled the tiller in an effort to maneuver the boat into deeper water, but
Star Fire
did not respond. “Here, take the tiller!” he cried to Trixie who was sitting next to him. “Let all the lines go slack and pull up the center board,” he yelled as he
stripped off his T-shirt and dove over the side of the boat.

“What happened, Peter?” cried Trixie, voicing the distress they all felt.

“Do you want me to come in, too?” Mart shouted at the same time, but Peter was already in the water and could not hear them.

In a few minutes, which seemed like hours to the three in the boat, Peter grabbed hold of the side and, pulling himself halfway up on the deck, he said, “We've hit a big hunk of waterlogged driftwood, and the rudder's broken. It's lucky we didn't tear a hole in the boat!”

“Oh, no!” cried Diana. “I simply can't bear to think of anything happening to
Star Fire
.”

Peter shook the water out of his hair and climbed aboard. “Well, I can always get a new rudder,” he said disconsolately. “It would have been awful to get a hole stove in her side.”