The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (11 page)

Mart helped him lift the rudder off the rudder post and lay it on the seat. It was split right through the middle and, quite obviously, was useless.

Trixie looked to see if she could see
Blitzen
, but by now Cap was completely out of sight around the point. “Well, that's that,” she said, half to herself. “What do we do, Peter?”

Peter noticed how Trixie had said “we” instead of “you” and exclaimed, “By Jove, you're really great!” The despairing look on his face changed to a smile. “A lot of kids would panic in a situation like this and yell for the skipper to do something, but here you are, cool as a cucumber, offering to help. That's really great!”

“Oh, we've been in lots worse scrapes than this and managed to survive,” Trixie assured him.

“Neither wind nor storm, nor hail nor a broken rudder can stay us in the completion of our appointed task,” Mart said, trying to look solemn.

“At the moment, our appointed task seems to be to get home,” Peter chuckled. He decided to take the sails down and try to paddle back, using the one oar. He was doing all right until he reached a point where the force of the eddy slackened, and it soon became apparent that they were making no headway against the tide. In fact, the current was slowly but surely carrying them out into the bay and back toward the lighthouse.

“Mart, break out the anchor. If the water isn't too deep here, it may catch on the bottom,” Peter said.

But this plan failed to work; the water was too deep for the length of cable on the anchor. Then Peter tried tying a line to the plastic bucket he carried in the boat, and he let it down over the stern. “This is one way to
improvise a sea anchor,” he said, “and it may keep us from drifting quite so fast.”

As he worked, he kept glancing around him and finally said, “Someone will be coming along soon who will give us a tow, although there aren't many boats out this early in the season.”

Trixie thought she sensed a note of anxiety in Peter's voice although he was obviously doing his best to reassure them and to appear casual about their situation. “I'll hoist this red flag, just in case someone
does
come along. They'll see we are in trouble and not think we're just fishing,” he said as he produced a small red pennant from the drawer in the stern of the boat.

“Is that what the flag is for?” asked Diana.

“No, it's really a protest flag,” Peter answered. “We use it during a race when we see someone making a foul, and want to enter a protest to the race committee. Actually, we don't often use it, but it's required equipment, and I guess it's lucky I followed the rules and had one aboard.”

They were all on the alert for a passing boat, but the minutes ticked away without any sign of help showing up.
Star Fire
was being carried down the bay, and, as they all realized, out to sea. Suddenly, Peter's face brightened. “You know, I think if I use the paddle as a
rudder, I may be able to steer us up to the red nun and we can tie up there. At least, it's worth a try.”

He had no sooner put the oar in the water, than they all heard the noise of a motorboat in the distance. A small yellow speedboat was plowing toward them. They stood up and began to yell and wave their arms as it approached, but to their amazement, it kept coming at full speed, passed within a few feet of them, and careened away.
Star Fire
pitched and tossed in the wake of the boat, and Peter, trying to keep his foothold, yelled, “You bums, that's just like a stinkpot!”

“Do you know those two characters?” asked Trixie when she had gotten her breath.

“Never saw them before in my life,” answered Peter, “and I don't want to again! Did anyone notice the number on their boat? They ought to be reported to the Coast Guard!” he added angrily.

“I'm not sure, but I don't think there
was
a number on it,” replied Trixie. “All I saw was a dragon painted on the front.”

The others agreed that they hadn't seen a number on the speedboat either, only a green dragon with a long forked red tongue.

After the waves caused by the speedboat had subsided, Peter continued to edge
Star Fire
toward the buoy,
and after what seemed hours, he brought her close enough for Mart to throw a line over it and secure the boat. They helped take off the sails and stow them in the sail bags, coil all the lines, and get everything in the cockpit shipshape.

It was growing darker, but everyone was so relieved to be tied fast that they didn't immediately think about the problem of getting home. Peter, whose shorts were still wet from his dive into the bay, was beginning to shiver, so Trixie suggested he wrap his legs up in an old sweat shirt which she had found under one of the seats. They all put on the extra sweaters they had brought and prepared to sit it out until help arrived.

Peter started to sing a sea chantey. “Come, ye bold fishermen, listen to me; I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea.” There were endless verses, and the others soon joined lustily in the chorus, “Blow ye winds westerly, westerly blow. We're bound to the southward, so steady go we.” He had a good voice and a seemingly endless stock of such songs which raised everyone's spirits.

Mart rummaged through the lunch basket, hoping that something might be left from lunch, but there wasn't a crumb, and for once he refrained from mentioning his hunger.

The wind had died away as night really settled
down on them, and a few stars became visible in the sky. Suddenly, Trixie exclaimed, “I thought you said this was a flashing buoy, Peter! When does the light come on?”

“By Jove, Trix, you're right. It
is
supposed to be lighted,” Peter cried. “The light flashes day and night, but, of course, in the daytime you don't notice it. Hand me the flashlight out of the drawer, and I'll see if I can find out what's wrong.” He jumped up on deck, ran to the bow of the boat, and played the beam of light over the buoy. “The bulb has been smashed!” he exclaimed.

“Jeepers, what if a Bunker boat happens to be coming in tonight? There won't be any light to guide it into the channel,” Trixie said. “They'll be in a worse mess than we are. They could go aground!”

“Isn't there any way to fix it?” asked Mart, dead serious for once in his life.

“Not a chance in the world,” Peter answered in a low voice as he climbed back into the cockpit.

All four were silent, their fears rising as time passed with no sound except the slapping of the water against the side of the boat.

Presently, Trixie said, “Say, Di, do you remember that Christmas when we decided to go out to sing carols to the shut-ins, and we each carried a flashlight covered with red crepe paper to shine up into our faces?”

“Sure I do,” answered Diana. “Are you thinking of singing carols now, instead of sea chanteys?”

“It's not a bad idea, folks,” Mart said. “Only one hundred and some odd days till Christmas.”

“No, it wasn't that, silly, but I thought that if we could use the red protest flag to cover the flashlight, it might take the place of the buoy light,” answered Trixie.

“No sooner said than done,” said Peter as he quickly hauled down the red pennant.

They took turns standing up and holding the flashlight as high as they could, turning it off and on at what they estimated to be six-second intervals. Just as they were beginning to worry lest the battery give out, they again heard the sound of a motor in the distance and saw a boat with a searchlight coming toward them. As it came nearer, they could hear the speed of the motor gradually being reduced. Again they stood up on the deck and yelled as loud as they could, and soon they knew they had been sighted. A huge searchlight circled the area, and in a few minutes, the boat came alongside the
Star Fire
.

“It's the Coast Guard,” cried Peter, when the cutter was close enough for him to see it clearly. “What a break!” He got ready to catch the line which one of the sailors was holding ready to throw to him.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” came an angry-sounding voice from the deck of the Coast Guard boat.

“We're not here because we want to be, sir,” answered Peter. “I broke my rudder on the way back to Cobbett's Island Yacht Club, but I managed to grab onto this buoy as we drifted past it. I'm Peter Kimball, and this is my Lightning.”

“So that's it”—now the voice sounded less cross—“and just how did you rig up that signal?”

“It was just a flashlight covered with red cloth,” said Trixie. “Could you see it plainly?”

“Certainly could,” the man answered as he jumped aboard the
Star Fire
. “I'm Captain Price of the Coast Guard,” he continued as he sat down in the stern.

After Peter had introduced his friends, the captain continued. “We've been having no end of trouble with the flashing buoys in this area. Someone apparently thinks it great sport to break the bulbs. This makes the fourth time this one has been knocked out. When I saw you tied up here, I thought I'd caught the culprit, but no such luck.”

Two of the men from the Coast Guard boat had been working to replace the broken bulb, and when it started flashing again, cries of “Hurray!” and “Three
cheers for the Coast Guard!” went up from the
Star Fire
.

“Personally, I'd say ‘Three cheers for the
Star Fire
,' ” said Captain Price, smiling at them, “and especially for Trixie, here, for thinking up that emergency light.”

Trixie was glad it was so dark that no one could see her face, for she knew it was flaming.

“And now, if you will be my guests, I'll give you a tow back to the club,” the captain added as he stood up and prepared to board the cutter.

“I'm sorry I ever said anything mean about a stinkpot,” Peter apologized. “I mean a powerboat,” he added hastily. “I guess they
do
have a purpose all their own, and it's mighty lucky for us you came along when you did, sir.”

“The Coast Guard is always happy to oblige,” replied the captain. “You know, personally, I prefer sailboats, too, but in the service we find these—er, ahem—stinkpots more practical.”

One of the crew had already released the line Peter had thrown around the buoy, and it had been made fast to the cutter. On orders from Captain Price, the big boat began to move slowly ahead with the Lightning riding gently behind.

As they proceeded up the bay, Trixie told the
captain about the yellow boat that had dashed past them earlier. “Do you think those two might have had anything to do with the broken buoy? They certainly looked as though they were up to no good.”

“We've never noticed a boat of that particular description,” Captain Price replied, “but we are sure that this is the work of vandals; how many, we don't know. There's a pretty rough group who hang out around Jimmy's Place, but every time we or the police go in there, it empties out as though we had the plague.”

“Where's Jimmy's Place?” asked Mart.

“It's a dive near Pebble Beach on Cobbett's Island,” the captain replied. “It used to be a good place to go for ice cream or a hamburger, but it was sold last year to some off-island people, and the whole character of the place has changed.”

“You know,” said Trixie thoughtfully, “those two in the yellow boat just might be the ones you're looking for. Would it help if
we
went down to Jimmy's and tried to pick up some information?”

“It's very good of you to suggest such a thing,” said the captain, “but I'm afraid you young people wouldn't have any better luck than we. You just aren't the type to be hanging around a place like that.”

“I'll bet we could get ourselves fixed up so we'd
look
the type, even if we're not,” continued Trixie, not to be discouraged from her plan.

“I know we could,” said Mart enthusiastically. “We know the type. They all wear the same kind of clothes as though they were afraid to be individual. We could dress up like them, and since none of the people on the island know us, we wouldn't arouse any suspicions when we turn up at Jimmy's.”

“Well, you certainly may try it if you want to,” the captain replied a little dubiously, “and if you get any information, you can always relay it through Abe White. You know Abe, don't you?”

“One of my best friends,” said Peter proudly.

The Coast Guard boat had to go slowly to keep the Lightning on an even keel, and as they were making their way past the Greenpoint breakwater, Trixie, who had been standing near the pilot wheel, caught sight of a green and a red light in the distance which the captain told her boats were required to carry at night. When one of the crew put the searchlight on it, Peter saw it was Cap in the club launch.

“They've been out looking for us,” he cried. “Cap would know when I hadn't made port by dark something was wrong. Good old Cap,” he added warmly.