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Oliver Optic >> Haste and Waste
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HASTE AND WASTE
OR
THE YOUNG PILOT OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN
A STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY
OLIVER OPTIC
BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
William Taylor Adams, American author, better known and loved by
boys and girls through his pseudonym "Oliver Optic," was born July
30, 1822, in the town of Medway, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, about
twenty-five miles from Boston. For twenty years he was a teacher in
the Public Schools of Boston, where he came in close contact with boy
life. These twenty years taught him how to reach the boy's heart and
interest as the popularity of his books attest.
His story writing began in 1850 when he was twenty-eight years old
and his first book was published in 1853. He also edited "The Oliver
Optic Magazine," "The Student and Schoolmate," "Our Little Ones."
Mr. Adams died at the age of seventy-five years, in Boston, March
27, 1897.
He was a prolific writer and his stories are most attractive and
unobjectionable. Most of his books were published in series. Probably
the most famous of these is "The Boat Club Series" which comprises
the following titles:
"The Boat Club," "All Aboard," "Now or Never," "Try Again," "Poor
and Proud," "Little by Little." All of these titles will be found in
this edition.
Other well-known series are his "Soldier Boy Series," "Sailor Boy
Series," "Woodville Stories." The "Woodville Stories" will also be
found in this edition.
CHAPTER I
THE SQUALL ON THE LAKE
"Stand by, Captain John!" shouted Lawry Wilford, a stout boy of
fourteen, as he stood at the helm of a sloop, which was going before
the wind up Lake Champlain.
"What's the matter, Lawry?" demanded the captain.
"We're going to have a squall," continued the young pilot, as he
glanced at the tall peaks of the Adirondacks.
There was a squall in those clouds, in the judgment of Lawry
Wilford; but having duly notified the captain of the impending danger
to his craft, he did not assume any further responsibility in the
management of the sloop. It was very quiet on the lake; the water was
smooth, and the tiny waves sparkled in the bright sunshine. There was
no roll of distant thunder to admonish the voyagers, and the youth at
the helm was so much accustomed to squalls and tempests, which are of
frequent occurrence on the lake, that they had no terrors to him. It
was dinner-time, and the young pilot, fearful that the unexpected
guest might reduce the rations to a low ebb for the second table, was
more concerned about this matter than about the squall.
Captain John, as he was familiarly called on board the
_Missisque,_ which was the name of the sloop, was not a man to
be cheated out of any portion of his dinner by the approach of a
squall; and though his jaws may have moved more rapidly after the
announcement of the young pilot, he did not neglect even the green-apple
pies, the first of the season, prepared with care and skill by
Mrs. Captain John, who resided on board, and did "doctor's" duty at
the galley. Captain John did not abate a single mouthful of the meal,
though he knew how rapidly the mountain showers and squalls travel
over the lake. The sloop did not usually make more than four or five
miles an hour, being deeply laden with lumber, which was piled up so
high on the deck that the mainsail had to be reefed, to make room for
it.
The passenger, Mr. Randall, was a director of a country bank,
journeying to Shoreham, about twenty miles above the point where he
had embarked in the _Missisque_. He had crossed the lake in the
ferry, intending to take the steamer at Westport for his destination.
Being a man who was always in a hurry, but never in season, he had
reached the steamboat landing just in time to see the boat moving
off. Procuring a wherry, and a boy to row it, he had boarded the
_Missisque_ as she passed up the lake; and, though the sloop was
not a passenger-boat, Captain John had consented to land him at
Shoreham.
Mr. Randall was a landsman, and had a proper respect for squalls and
tempests, even on a fresh-water lake. He heard the announcement of
Lawry Wilford with a feeling of dread and apprehension, and
straightway began to conjure up visions of a terrible shipwreck, and
of sole survivors, clinging with the madness of desperation to broken
spars, in the midst of the storm-tossed waters. But Mr. Randall was a
director of a country bank, and a certain amount of dignity was
expected and required of him. His official position before the people
of Vermont demanded that he should not give way to idle fears. If
Captain Jones, who was not a bank director, could keep cool, it was
Mr. Randall's solemn duty to remain unmoved, or at least to appear to
remain so.
The passenger finished the first course of the dinner, which Mrs.
Captain John had made a little more elaborate than usual, in honor of
the distinguished guest; but he complained of the smallness of his
appetite, and it was evident that he did not enjoy the meal after the
brief colloquy between the skipper and the pilot. He was nervous; his
dignity was a "bore" to him, and was maintained at an immense
sacrifice of personal ease; but he persevered until a piece of the
dainty green-apple pie was placed before him, when he lacerated the
tender feelings of Mrs. Captain John by abruptly leaving the table
and rushing on deck.
This hurried movement was hardly to be regarded as a sacrifice of
his dignity, for it was made with what even the skipper's lady was
compelled to allow was a reasonable excuse.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as the tempting piece of green-apple
pie, reeking with indigenous juices was placed before him.
At the same moment the bank director further indicated his
astonishment and horror by slapping both hands upon his breast in a
style worthy of Brutus when Rome was in peril.
"What's the matter, squire?" demanded Captain John, dropping his
knife and fork, and suspending the operation of his vigorous jaws
till an explanation could be obtained.
"I've left my coat on deck," replied Mr. Randall, rising from his
chair.
"It's just as safe there as 'twould be on your back, squire," added
the skipper.
"There's six thousand dollars in the pocket of that coat," said the
bank director, with a gasp of apprehension. "Where's my coat?"
demanded he.
"There it is," replied Lawry Wilford, pointing to the garment under
the rail. "We had a flaw of wind just now, and it came pretty near
being blowed overboard."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as he clutched the coat. "I'm too
careless to live! There's six thousand dollars in a pocket of that
coat."
"Six thousand dollars!" ejaculated Lawry, whose ideas of such a sum
of money were very indefinite. "I should say you ought not to let it
lie round loose in this way."
"I'm very careless; but the money is safe," continued the director.
"Stand by, Captain John!" suddenly shouted Lawry, with tremendous
energy, as he put the helm down. The squall was coming up the lake in
the track of the _Missisque_; a dull, roaring sound was heard
astern; and all the mountain peaks had disappeared, closed in by the
dense volume of black clouds. The episode of the bank director's coat
had distracted the attention of the young pilot for a moment, and he
had not observed the rapid swoop of the squall, as it bore down upon
the sloop. He leaped over the piles of lumber to the forecastle, and
had cast loose the peak-halyard, when Captain John tumbled up the
companionway in time to see that he had lingered too long over the
green-apple pie, and that one piece would have been better for his
vessel, if not for him.
"Let go the throat-halyard!" roared he. "Down with the mainsail!
down with the mainsail!"
Lawry did not need any prompting to do his duty; but before he could
let go the throat-halyard, the squall was upon the sloop. Mr. Randall
had seized hold of the rail, and was crouching beneath the bulwark,
expecting to go to the bottom of the lake, for he was too much
excited to make a comparison of the specific gravities of pine boards
and fresh water, and therefore did not realize that lumber would
float, and not sink.
The squall did its work in an instant; and before the bank director
had fairly begun to tremble, the rotten mainsail of the
_Missisque_ was blown into ribbons, and the "flapping flitters"
were streaming in the air. Piece after piece was detached from the
bolt-rope, and disappeared in the heavy atmosphere. The sloop, in
obedience to her helm, came about, and was now headed down the lake.
The rain began to fall in torrents, and Mr. Randall was as
uncomfortable as the director of a country bank could be.
"Go below, sir!" shouted Captain John to the unhappy man.
"Is it safe?" asked Mr. Randall.
"Safe enough."
"Won't she sink?"
"Sink? no; she can't sink," replied the skipper. "The wu'st on't's
over now."
The fury of the squall was spent in a moment, and then the fury of
Captain John began to gather, as he saw the remnants of the sail
flapping at the gaff and the boom. The _Missisque_ and her cargo
were safe, and not a single one of the precious lives of her crew had
been sacrificed; but the skipper was as dissatisfied as the skipper
of a lake sloop could be; more so, probably, than if the vessel had
gone to the bottom, and left him clinging for life to a lone spar on
the angry waters, for men are often more reasonable under great than
under small misfortunes.
"Why didn't you let go that throat-halyard?" said he, as he walked
forward to where the young pilot stood.
"I did," replied Lawry quietly.
"You did! What was the use of lettin' it go after the squall had
split the sail? Why didn't you do it sooner?"
"I did it as soon as I saw the squall coming down on us."
"Why didn't you see it before then?" growled Captain John.
"I told you the squall was coming half an hour ago. Why didn't you
come on deck, and attend to your vessel?"
"Don't be sassy," said Captain John.
"I'm not the skipper of this craft. If I had been, that sail would
have been safe. I told you the squall was coming, and after that I
did the best I could."
"You ain't good for nothin' 'board a vessel. I thought you knew
enough to take in sail when you saw a squall comin'."
"I should have taken in sail long ago if I had thought the captain
didn't know enough to come on deck when there was a squall coming
up," replied Lawry.
"I don't want nothin' more of you."
"And I don't want anything more of you," added Lawry smartly. "I've
got almost home."
"What do you s'pose I'm goin' to do here, eighty mile from
Whitehall, with the mainsail blowed clean out?" snarled Captain John,
as he followed Lawry.
"Mind your vessel better than you have, I hope."
"Don't be sassy, boy."
"You needn't growl at me because you neglected your duty. I did
mine. I was casting off the halyards when the squall came."
"Why didn't you do it before? That's what I want to know."
"I had no orders from the captain. Men on board a vessel don't take
in sail till they are told to do so. When I saw the squall coming,
half an hour ago, I let you know it; that was all I had to do with it."
"I don't want you in this vessel; you are too smart for me,"
continued Captain John.
"I'll leave her just as soon as we get to Port Rock," said Lawry,
sitting down on the rail.
The rain ceased in a few moments, and the skipper ordered the jib,
which had before been useless, to be set. At the invitation of Mrs.
Captain John, Lawry went below and ate his dinner, to which he felt
himself entitled, for he was working his passage up from Plattsburg.
By the time he had disposed of the last piece of green-apple pie on
board, the _Missisque_ was before Port Rock, which was the home
of the young pilot, and he saw his father's ferry-boat at the shore
as he came on deck.
"Will you put me ashore here, Captain John?" asked Lawry.
"Yes, I will; and I'm glad to get rid of you," replied the captain
testily.
"I think I will land here, also," added the bank director. "Now you
have lost your sail, I'm afraid you won't get along very fast."
"I don't expect I shall. I sha'n't get to Shoreham till to-morrow
morning with this wind. I'm sorry it happened so; but that boy didn't
mind what he was about."
"The captain didn't mind what he was about," added Lawry. "He
needn't lay it to me, when it was all his own fault."
"I will cross the lake, and get a horse at Pointville, so that I
shall be in Shoreham by five o'clock," continued the bank director.
Captain John ordered one of the men to pull Mr. Randall and Lawry
ashore in the boat, and in a few minutes they were landed at Port Rock.
CHAPTER II
THE PORT ROCK FERRY
Lawrence Wilford was a full-fledged water-fowl. From his earliest
childhood he had paddled in Lake Champlain. His father had a small
place, consisting of ten acres of land with a small cottage; but it
was still encumbered with a mortgage, as it had been for twenty
years, though the note had passed through several hands, and had been
three times renewed. John Wilford was not a very sagacious nor a very
energetic man, and had not distinguished himself in the race for
wealth or for fame. He wanted to be rich, but he was not willing to
pay the price of riches.
His place was a short distance from the village of Port Rock, and
John Wilford, at the time he had purchased the land and built his
house, had established a ferry, which had been, and was still, his
principal means of support; for there was considerable travel between
Port Rock and Pointville, on the Vermont side of the lake.
The ferryman was a poor man, and was likely to remain a poor man to
the end of his life. Hardly a day passed in which he did not sigh to
be rich, and complain of the unequal and unjust distribution of
property. He could point to a score of men who had not worked half so
hard as he had, in his own opinion, that had made fortunes, or at
least won a competence, while he was as poor as ever, and in danger
of having his place taken away from him. People said that John
Wilford was lazy; that he did not make the most of his land, and that
his ferry, with closer attention to the wants of passengers, might be
made to pay double the amount he made from it. He permitted the weeds
to grow in his garden, and compelled people to wait by the hour for a
passage across the lake.
John Wilford wondered that he could not grow rich, that he could not
pay off the mortgage on his place. He seldom sat down to dinner
without grumbling at his hard lot. His wife was a sensible woman. She
did not wonder that he did not grow rich; only that he contrived to
keep out of the poorhouse. She was the mother of eight children, and
if he had been half as smart as she was, prosperity would have smiled
upon the family. As it was, her life was filled up with struggles to
make the ends meet; but, though she had the worst of it, she did not
complain, and did all she could to comfort and encourage her
thriftless husband.
The oldest son was as near like his father as one person could be
like another. He was eighteen years old, and was an idle and
dissolute fellow. Lawrence, the second son, inherited his mother's
tack and energy. He was observing and enterprising, and had already
made a good reputation as a boatman and pilot. He had worked in
various capacities on board of steamers, canal-boats, sloops, and
schooners, and in five years had visited every part of the lake from
Whitehall to St. Johns.
Speaking technically, his bump of locality was large, and he was as
familiar with the navigation of the lake as any pilot on its waters.
Indeed, he had occasionally served as a pilot on board steamers and
other vessels, which had earned for him the name of the Young Pilot,
by which he was often called. But his business was not piloting, for
there was but little of this work to be done. Unlike his father, he
was willing to do anything which would afford him a fair
compensation, and in his five years of active life on the lake he had
been a pilot, a deck-hand, a waiter, and a kitchen assistant on board
steamers, and a sailor, helmsman, and cook on board other craft. He
picked up considerable money, for a boy, by his enterprise, which,
like a good son with a clear apprehension of domestic circumstances,
he gave to his mother. At the time of his introduction to the reader,
Lawry had just piloted a canal-boat, with movable masts, from
Whitehall to Plattsburg, and was working his passage home on the
"_Missisque_.
"Captain John feels bad about the loss of his sail," said Mr.
Randall, as the sloop's boat pulled off from the shore.
"Yes, he does; but it was his own fault," replied Lawry. "He paid
too much attention to his dinner at the time."
"That's true; he was very fond of the green-apple pies."
"Well, they were good," added the young pilot.
"I'm sorry he lost his sail."
"It wasn't worth much, though it was a bad time to lose it."
"He lost his temper, too. I wanted to land on the other side, but
the captain was so cross I didn't like to ask him when we were so
close to this shore. Your father is the ferryman, I believe."
"Yes, sir."
"Will you ask him to take me over?"
"He's going right over in the large boat, for there's a team waiting
for him," replied Lawry, pointing to a horse and wagon, the owner of
which had sounded the horn just as the passengers from the boat landed.
"Ask him to be as quick as possible, for I'm in a hurry," added the
bank director.
"Won't you come into the house, sir?"
"No, I will sit down under this tree."
Lawry went into the house, where the family were at dinner, the meal
having been delayed by the absence of the ferryman on the other side
of the lake. The youth was greeted coldly by his father, and very
warmly by his mother.
"I'm glad you've got home, Lawry, for Mr. Sherwood has been after
you three times," said Mrs. Wilford, when the young pilot had been
duly welcomed by all the family.
"What does he want?" asked Lawry.
"His little steamboat is at Port Henry, and he wants you to go up
and pilot her down."
"The _Woodville?_"
"Yes, that's her name, I believe."
"Well, I'm all ready to go."
"Sit down and eat your dinner.
"I've been to dinner."
"Mr. Sherwood wanted you to go up in the _Sherman_; but it is
too late for her, and he may go in the night boat."
"I'm ready when he is. Father, there is a gentleman outside who
wants to go over the lake; and there is a team waiting in the road,"
continued Lawry.
"They must wait till I've done my dinner," replied the ferryman.
"Who is the gentleman?"
"Mr. Randall; he is a director in a bank, and has six thousand
dollars with him."
"I suppose so; every man but me has six thousand dollars in his
pocket. Where's he going to?"
"To Shoreham, and he wants to get there by five o'clock, if he can."
"What's he traveling with so much money for?"
"I don't know. It is in his coat pocket, and it would have gone
overboard if it hadn't been for me."
The ferryman finished his dinner in moody silence. He seemed to be
thinking of the subject always uppermost in his mind, his thoughts
stimulated, no doubt, by the fact that his expected passenger carried
a large sum of money on his person.
"Mr. Randall is in a hurry, father," interposed Lawry, when the
ferryman had sat a good half-hour after his son's arrival.
"He must wait till I get ready. He's got money, and I haven't; but
I'm just as good as he is. I don't know why I'm poor when so many men
are rich. But I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," said he, with
more earnestness than he usually exhibited. "I'm too honest for my
own good. I'm going to do as other men do; and I shall wake up rich
some morning, as they do. Then I sha'n't have to go when folks blow
the horn. They'll be willing to wait for me then."
"Don't keep the gentleman waiting, father," added Mrs. Wilford.
"I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," continued the ferryman,
still pursuing the exciting line of thought he had before taken up.
"I'm going to be rich, by hook or by crook."
"This making haste to get rich ruins men sometimes, husband; and
haste makes waste then."
"If I can only get rich, I'll risk being ruined," said John Wilford,
as he rose from the table and put on his hat.
He looked more moody and discontented than usual. Instead of
hastening to do the work which was waiting for him, he stood before
the window, looking out into the garden. Mrs. Wilford told him the
gentleman would be impatient, and he finally left the house and
walked down to the ferry-boat.
"I wonder what your father is thinking about," said Mrs. Wilford, as
the door closed behind him.
"I don't know," replied Lawry; "he don't seem to be thinking that
people won't wait forever for him. I guess I'll go up to Mr.
Sherwood's, and see when he wants me."
"You must fix up a little before you go," replied the prudent
mother. "They are very grand people up at Mr. Sherwood's, and you
must look as well as you can."
"I'll put on my best clothes," added Lawry.
In half an hour he had changed his dress, and looked like another
boy. Mrs. Wilford adjusted a few stray locks of his hair, and as he
put on his new straw hat, and left the house, her eye followed him
with a feeling of motherly pride. He was a good boy, and had the
reputation of being a very smart boy, and she may be pardoned for the
parental vanity with which she regarded him. While he visits the
house of Mr. Sherwood, we will follow his father down to the ferry,
where the bank director was impatiently waiting his appearance.
After the shower the sun had come out brightly, and the wind had
abated so that there was hardly breeze enough to ruffle the waters of
the lake. It was intensely warm, and Mr. Randall had taken off his
coat again, but he was careful to keep it on his arm. At the approach
of the ferryman he went into the boat, where he was followed by the
vehicle that had been waiting so long for a passage across the lake.
John Wilford pushed off the boat with a pole, and trimmed the sail,
which was the motive power of the craft when there was any wind. The
ferry-boat was a large bateau, or flatboat, the slope at the ends
being so gradual that a wagon could pass down over it to the bottom
of the boat. This inclined plane was extended by a movable platform
about six feet wide, which swung horizontally up and down, like a
great trap-door. When the ferry-boat touched the shore, this platform
was let down upon the ground, forming a slope on which carriages were
driven into and out of the bateau.
The wind was very light, and the clumsy craft moved very slowly--so
slowly that the passage promised to be a severe trial to the patience
of Mr. Randall, who hoped to reach Shoreham by five o'clock. He was
not in a very amiable frame of mind; he was angry at the delay in
starting, and he was vexed because the wind would not blow. He walked
nervously from the forward platform to the after one, with his coat
still on his arm.
"We shall not get over to-night," said he impatiently, as he stopped
by the side of the ferryman, and threw his coat down upon the
platform, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Yes, I guess we shall," replied John Wilford.
"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three
o'clock."
"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."
"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director
petulantly; "you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."
"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.
Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience
at the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments
gazing at the Vermont shore, and appeared to be engaged in estimating
the distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not
satisfactory, and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With
hasty step he walked aft again.
"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as
he stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.
"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.
When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop,
true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank
director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a
watery grave, as the case might be.
"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled
off the platform into the water.
"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.
"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned
the unhappy bank director.
CHAPTER III
SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS
Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the
summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had become
the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the
vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of
the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.
Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake
Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for
aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a larger scale
than ever had been known at Woodville. He had been remarkably
fortunate in his financial operations, and was already a wealthy man.
Though he did not retire from active business, he had taken a
partner, which enabled him to spend a part of his time during the
summer at his country house on the lake.
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