The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (9 page)

“Well, of all things to find on a map,” said Honey as she looked over Peter's shoulder. “It's a bar of music!”

“A bar of music? That's funny.” Brian was puzzled. “Maybe when Ed was drawing the chart he had a sudden inspiration to write a sea chantey or something.”

“Well, he sure didn't get very far,” said Mart. “Erato and Euterpe must have left him in the lurch.”

“Who?” asked Trixie, for once falling into Mart's linguistic trap.

“The two Greek muses who preside over poetry and music,” Mart answered loftily.

“Oh, no! You're not satisfied with English any more, so now we have to endure Greek!” Trixie moaned.

“Here, Honey, see if you can make out the tune.
You're our musical authority,” said Jim, picking up the chart and handing it to her.

After studying it for a minute and humming softly to herself, Honey said, “It's just a simple bar of music, but it doesn't mean a thing to me. There isn't any time indicated, and the notes are all whole notes. Listen.” And she whistled the elusive little tune.

“Well, the main thing is that we've found the chart,” said Trixie excitedly. “We were so busy cleaning up this place we never even thought the gazebo might be the building Ed said was in line with the Chain tree.”

“Look, now you can see our porch from here,” added Honey, pointing toward The Moorings.

“Yes, and an imaginary line running from the tree through the gazebo would end right where Jim climbed on the railing yesterday,” said Trixie, her voice tense with excitement. “Now all we have to do is follow the chart and find the money!”

“Hey, not so fast,” cried Peter who had been studying the chart while the others were talking. “This isn't going to be as simple as it looks.”

“What do you mean?” Trixie asked. “It looks simple to me with all those landmarks, or rather, sea-marks on it.”

“I know it does,” answered Peter, “but the funny thing is, it doesn't say where to start sailing. If you take
off from the dock at The Moorings, which seems the logical place, and follow these directions, you end up somewhere in the vicinity of our own cabbage patch! Something's obviously wrong with that.”

“Oh, bother,” cried Trixie. “Are you sure?”

“Let's all puzzle over it tonight, and maybe by tomorrow it will make some sense,” suggested Diana.

“You were right yesterday when you said we should wait a while, so I'll go along with your suggestion again,” Trixie replied warmly.

“Maybe we'll get some leads on our sail,” Peter said. “It may help us to see what it's all about when we get out in the boat. I think I'll make a copy of the chart, and then you can take this one to The Moorings with you.”

“Okay,” agreed Jim, as the Bob-Whites gathered up the tools and headed back to the shed. Peter drew the chart on the back of an old calendar that had been hanging on the wall, and then walked as far as the gate with his friends.

“What time do you want to get started, and where shall we meet?” Trixie asked.

“I'll pick you up around ten—that is, if the Ice-Box cooperates. Sometimes she acts as though she resented my going sailing and refuses to start,” he answered with a chuckle.

“If you have any trouble, call me up and maybe I can give you a hand,” Brian offered.

“Oh, Brian can make any car run, no matter how old it is,” Honey said, looking admiringly at him.

“The Bob-Whites are full of hidden talents,” Trixie added laughingly, “but when it comes to sailing, we are complete landlubbers.”

“Don't worry. I'll give you the Special Kimball Sailing Course tomorrow,” Peter assured them, “and by the time we get home, you'll be old hands!”

It was a few minutes before ten when they heard Peter's car chugging up the driveway, and they all ran out to greet him. Although the Ice-Box coughed and hiccoughed as it turned under the porte-cochere, it
was
running.

“Should we bring sweat shirts or anything extra?” Trixie called out from the porch.

“It's a good idea to have something along to put on,” Peter answered. “Even if it's boiling hot when you start out, it may turn cold or the sea can get rough and toss a couple of buckets of water into the boat.”

Celia came out carrying two straw baskets packed with food and handed them to Jim who stowed them in the trunk along with the sail bags.

“Yes, Jim,” Trixie teased. “You'd
better
take charge of the food and keep it away from Mart or there won't be anything left by lunchtime!”

They waved good-by to Miss Trask who had come out to see them off and were away in a cloud of smoke from the exhaust.

As soon as they were on Shore Road, Trixie burst out, “You know, I had an idea about the chart last night just before I went to sleep, and the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.”

“I'm glad someone had an idea,” said Mart, shaking his head disconsolately, “because my cranial cavity was as empty as a broken drum.”

“As usual,” Trixie flung at him.

“Mother had so many things for me to do when I got home, I never did get a chance to look at the chart again,” Peter confessed. “What did you figure out, Trix?”

“You know how clear it was last night,” she began. “Well, I was standing by the window looking out over the bay, and I noticed a church steeple over in Greenpoint. It was lighted up with floodlights just like the one back in Sleepyside. Later, I got to thinking it might be the one on the chart. Then I tried to remember where north is from there, and when I traced an imaginary line in the direction Ed had on the chart, it ended up at the yacht club.”

“By Jove, Trixie, I believe you're right!” exclaimed Peter. “You have the makings of a crack navigator. I think I'll sign you up for my next trip to the South Seas. When we get to the club, we'll look at the big map and see if your theory makes sense.”

Cobbett's Island Yacht Club was about a mile from The Moorings by car. It lay almost directly across the harbor from the house. It was an attractive, gray-shingled building, surrounded by a fence made of heavy chain supported by white posts.

After they had parked the car, they went inside and looked for Cap, who Peter said had been delighted at the idea of going for a sail with them. Cap wasn't in the clubhouse, so they had time to look at the large map of Cobbett's Island, the bay, and Greenpoint. Trixie ran her finger slowly along the mainland coast and finally found a circle with a little dot in the middle and the word “spire” in tiny letters beside it. Peter, reaching over her shoulder, traced a line from that point to the yacht club and compared it to the markings on the chart which Trixie had brought with her.

“By Jupiter, Trixie's right! The direction
is
southwest from the church,” cried Peter. “We'll lay that landfall and go in as close to the shore as we can before heading for the next mark.”

“You make about as much sense as Mart,” Diana said. “In plain English, what do we do?”

“I'm sorry,” said Peter penitently. “I forgot you're new to all this nautical lingo. I meant we would head for
the church and then follow the chart to—let's see, what is the next mark?”

“All it says is ‘Rock,' ” answered Trixie.

“It could be that submerged rock out there that they call ‘Black Cat,' ” Peter conjectured. “The big boats have to steer clear of it, but we don't have to worry about it in a Lightning, because it's so far under water, even at low tide.”

As they strolled around the glassed-in porch, they noticed pictures of beautiful yachts which had belonged to some of the club's older members. “This was Mr. Condon's sloop,” said Peter, pointing to a large photograph on the wall. “It was a real winner in its day.”

“Wouldn't Mr. Condon sail from here then, if this is where he moored his boat?” Trixie asked. “I'll bet we're on the right track at last!”

“Come on, Trix, you mean ‘the right course,' don't you?” Peter chided her with a laugh.

“Give me time, Peter. I'll learn,” Trixie answered good-naturedly.

There was still no sign of Cap, so they continued to explore the club, going into a cheerful room with comfortable chairs, a big fireplace, and a cabinet filled with cups and pennants. In the rear was a hall, its ceiling covered with striped canvas giving the appearance of a huge tent.

“This is where we have dances, special events, and movies,” Peter explained.

As they went outside and were walking toward the dock, Trixie said, “How about drawing lots to see who sails with whom? Is that all right, skipper?”

“Sure thing. It's a good idea. I was just trying to figure out how we might divide up,” Peter replied.

Trixie picked up a pebble and a little scallop shell from the beach and held one in each hand behind her back. “The first three to pick the shell go with Peter and the others with Cap.”

It fell to Trixie, Mart, and Di to go in
Star Fire
, and the others with Cap who, at that moment, was running toward them down the dock.

In contrast to Peter, Cap was short and dark. He was solidly built like a football player, and he carried himself well. His hair was dark brown and would have been curly had it not been cut so short.

“Cap, meet my friends from The Moorings,” Peter said, “Honey, Trixie, and Diana. And these new deck hands are Jim, Brian, and Mart,” he added with a smile.

“Sorry I'm late, Pete. Hi, everybody. Glad to have you on the island even for only ten days. Pete told me last night when he phoned that you were here for only a short time.”

They boarded a small powerboat operated by a young man in trim white trousers and a shirt. Peter explained the launch belonged to the club and was used to take members and their guests out to the boats moored in the harbor. “We'd never be caught dead in a motorboat ordinarily, but the launch is a matter of necessity.” Peter chuckled.

“You can say that again,” chimed in Cap. “No stink-pots for us.”

As they came alongside Peter's sleek black boat, Trixie noticed its name,
Star Fire
, painted in gold letters on the stern. “What do you call your boat, Cap?” she asked.

“
Blitzen
—that's German for Lightning,” he replied. “And I can hardly wait to show old
Star Fire
here what a real bolt of lightning she is,” he added with a wink to Peter. “
Star Fire
wouldn't have a chance.”

Peter helped Trixie and Di step from the deck of the launch into his boat. Mart followed, carefully balancing one of the lunch baskets which he had somehow managed to get away from Jim. Peter jumped in last with the sail bags and shoved his boat gently away from the launch.

“Let's go around Jenson's Point and then on out to the lighthouse,” Peter said to Cap. “We can tie up and
have lunch if it doesn't take too long to get there. I see we're going to hit the incoming tide, and that will slow us up, so if we get hungry before we reach the lighthouse, we can eat in the boat.”

“I'm starved right this minute,” moaned Mart, rubbing his stomach and rolling his eyes upward.

“After the number of pancakes you ate for breakfast, you shouldn't be hungry for days,” Diana told him.

They waved to Cap and his party as the launch took them off to his boat, and then Trixie asked Peter what they might do to help him get ready to sail.

“Well, before we start anything, I'll give you the first lesson,” said Peter, looking a little embarrassed. “You see, the first rule on any boat is that no one does anything unless he is told to by the skipper. I know this sounds kind of bossy, but it avoids a lot of confusion.” He laughed as he started to pull the mainsail out of the bag. “If I yell at you like Captain Bligh, don't think a thing about it; just obey!”

When they had put the rudder and tiller in place and hoisted the sails, Peter took his place in the stern and told Mart to unfasten the line which held the boat to its mooring. With a deft flick of the tiller,
Star Fire
bore off, the sails filled, and they were away, making for the distant steeple.

“Don't worry if the boat heels,” said Peter, “and I don't mean the way a dog heels behind its master.” He chuckled. “Heeling is our way of saying the boat is tipping on one side. All I have to do is let out this line, called the mainsheet, and the boat will level off and settle right down on her bottom. Heeling is a perfectly natural way for a boat to sail, so get comfortable, and enjoy it.”

“You mean the mainsheet is a rope and not a sail?” asked Mart.

“They say there's no such thing as a rope on a boat,” Peter informed him, “only lines, guys, sheets, and halyards.”

Cap was also under sail by now, and the two boats went out of the harbor with a good breeze blowing out of the west.

“See that red buoy up ahead?” asked Peter when they had left the clubhouse quite a distance behind. “That's the nun I was telling you about the day we found the chart. It's N 2. When you leave a harbor, you always sail by the red buoy so that it's on your left side, or as we say, to port. When you return, you leave it on your right, or starboard, side.”

“Whew! There's more to sailing than meets the eye,” said Trixie, who had been listening intently to Peter's explanation.

“You can never learn all there is to know about sailing if you live to be a hundred,” continued Peter. “Every time I go out it seems the conditions of wind or tide or weather are different. That's what makes it such a great sport. It's you and your boat against nature.”

“Say, Peter, that red nun we just passed doesn't show up on Ed's chart,” Trixie said as she studied the map spread out on her knees.

“Could be it wasn't there in those days,” Peter speculated. “Channels do shift, especially if there are heavy storms which change the shoreline.” He looked behind him and pointed out a spit of land jutting out from the shore. “That's Jenson's Point over there,” he commented.