Adventure stories; Puget Sound Region (Wash.) -- Juvenile fiction; Ranch life -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Juvenile fiction
Frank remembered that this, or something like it, was the ancient
practice, and that it was only by slow degrees that man had discovered
he could still make the wind propel his vessel to its destination when
it blew from ahead. Greek and Roman triremes, Alexandrian wheat ships,
and Viking galleys, had made wonderful voyages, and they all carried
sail, but they set it only when the wind was fair. When it drew ahead
they stowed their canvas and thrashed the lean hull through the seas
with their long oars. Now, after perfecting his vessel's under-water
body, inventing the center board, and learning how to make flat-setting
sails, man was going back to the old-time plan, only that instead of
relying upon the muscle of close-packed rowers he used improved
propellers, tri-compound reciprocators and turbines.
One of the Siwash shook out the two spritsails which sat on a pole
stretching up to the peak from the foot of the mast, and when he had led
the sheets aft his companion knelt astern with a paddle held over the
gunwale. Slanting gently down to the faint breeze, the craft slid away
through the smooth, green water with a long ripple running back behind
her. The log houses dropped astern and were lost among the trees, a
valley filled with somber forest, and a rampart of tall hillside,
slipped by, and as they crept on from point to point the strip of still
water stretched away before them between somber ranks of climbing trees.
Frank had no idea how far they had gone when the light began to fail,
though he fancied that the shallow craft, now slipping forward so
smoothly, was sailing a good deal faster than she seemed to be. At
length one of the Siwash loosened the sheets and stowed the sails, while
his companion turned the bows toward the beach. She slid in and grounded
gently on a bank of shingle in a little cove, where a gigantic forest
crept down to the water. They got out and ran her up, filled their
kettle at a tinkling creek, hewed resinous chips from a fallen fir, and
built a fire. Then they cut armfuls of thin spruce branches with which
to make their beds, and presently sat down to an ample supper.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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