Part 10 (1/2)

I was standing on the bank of the river, looking at his boat, which had been thoroughly repaired, painted, and rigged, and lay off the lumber-yard. She was a beautiful craft, and after we had shut up the counting-room, I paused to look at her.

”I don't know anything about a sail-boat,” I replied; ”but I used to handle a row-boat on the upper Missouri.”

”You are used to boats, then?”

”Yes, to row-boats.”

”If you are not in a hurry, you may go down the river with me; and I intend to take a little turn out in the lake,” he continued, as he hauled the sail-boat up to the sh.o.r.e.

”Thank you, sir; I should like to go very much,” I replied.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SAILING EXCURSION. Page 90.]

The craft was called the Florina, though why she had what seemed to me such an odd name, I did not know at that time. I afterwards ascertained that he was engaged to a young lady who bore that interesting name, though, for reasons which will appear in the sequel, he never married her. I was delighted with the boat when I went on board of her, and glanced into her comfortable cabin, which was furnished like a parlor.

He had evidently spent a good deal of money upon her, and I soon found that Miss Florina was an occasional guest on board.

She was sloop-rigged, and carried a large jib and mainsail. Everything about her was fitted up in good style; indeed, the carpenters, riggers, and painters had been at work upon her for a month. I was rather sorry, as I looked at her, that I was not a rich man, able to own just such a craft, for I could conceive of nothing more pleasant than coasting up and down the lake, exploring the rivers, bays, and islands. I thought I could live six months in the year on board of the Florina very comfortably. But, then, I was not a rich man; and I had a great work before me, with no time to waste in mere amus.e.m.e.nts.

”Now take off those stops, Phil.”

”Stops?”

”Those canvas straps with which the mainsail is tied up,” he explained.

I concluded that the mainsail was the big sail nearest to me, and I untied the ”stops,” making a note of the name for future use.

”That's it; now stand by the jib halyards,” added Mr. Whippleton.

”I'll stand by 'em till doomsday, if you will only tell me what they are.”

”I call things by their names in order that you may learn them,”

laughed the junior partner, as he went forward and cast off the ropes indicated, which were fastened to a couple of cleats on the mast. ”One is the throat, and the other is the peak-halyard.”

We hoisted the sail, and I observed the use of the halyards, and how to manage and make them fast. I was confident that I should not have to be shown a second time how to do anything. Fortunately there are so few ropes on an ordinary sloop that my weak head could carry the names and uses of all without confusion. There was not much wind up there in the lagoon, or the river, as it is more politely called; but what there was came from the westward, and the skipper said it was fair to take us down to the lake.

”Cast off the painter,” continued Mr. Whippleton.

”Who?”

”The painter.”

”He's not here; and if he was, I shouldn't like to cast him off here, where the water is so dirty; I would rather wait till we come to a cleaner place,” I replied.

”That rope by which the boat is fastened to the wharf is called a painter,” added the skipper.

”O, is it?” I replied, unfastening the rope at the sh.o.r.e end, and pulling it on board.

”That's it. You will be as salt as a boiled lobster one of these days, Phil.”