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The Cruise of the Dazzler
THE CRUISE OF THE DAZZLER
by
JACK LONDON
1902
FOREWORD
Tempting boys to be what they should be--giving them in wholesome form
what they want--that is the purpose and power of Scouting. To help
parents and leaders of youth secure _books boys like best_ that are
also best for boys, the Boy Scouts of America organized EVERY BOY'S
LIBRARY. The books included, formerly sold at prices ranging from
$1.50 to $2.00 but, by special arrangement with the several publishers
interested, are now sold in the EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY Edition at $1.00
per volume.
The books of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY were selected by the Library
Commission of the Boy Scouts of America, consisting of George F.
Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library of the District of Columbia;
Harrison W. Craver, Director, Engineering Societies Library, New York
City; Claude G. Leland, Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of
Education, New York City; Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt
Institute Free Library, Brooklyn, N.Y., and Franklin K. Mathiews,
Chief Scout Librarian. Only such books were chosen by the Commission
as proved to be, by _a nation wide canvas_, most in demand by the boys
themselves. Their popularity is further attested by the fact that in
the EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY Edition, more than a million and a quarter
copies of these books have already been sold.
We know so well, are reminded so often of the worth of the good book
and great, that too often we fail to observe or understand the
influence for good of a boy's recreational reading. Such books may
influence him for good or ill as profoundly as his play activities, of
which they are a vital part. The needful thing is to find stories in
which the heroes have the characteristics boys so much
admire--unquenchable courage, immense resourcefulness, absolute
fidelity, conspicuous greatness. We believe the books of EVERY BOY'S
LIBRARY measurably well meet this challenge.
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA,
James E. West
Chief Scout Executive.
CONTENTS
I BROTHER AND SISTER
II "THE DRACONIAN REFORMS"
III "BRICK," "SORREL-TOP," AND "REDDY"
IV THE BITER BITTEN
V HOME AGAIN
VI EXAMINATION DAY
VII FATHER AND SON
VIII 'FRISCO KID AND THE NEW BOY
IX ABOARD THE DAZZLER
X WITH THE BAY PIRATES
XI CAPTAIN AND CREW
XII JOE TRIES TO TAKE FRENCH LEAVE
XIII BEFRIENDING EACH OTHER
XIV AMONG THE OYSTER-BEDS
XV GOOD SAILORS IN A WILD ANCHORAGE
XVI 'FRISCO KID'S DITTY-BOX
XVII 'FRISCO KID TELLS HIS STORY
XVIII A NEW RESPONSIBILITY FOR JOE
XIX THE BOYS PLAN AN ESCAPE
XX PERILOUS HOURS
XXI JOE AND HIS FATHER
PART I
CHAPTER I
BROTHER AND SISTER
They ran across the shining sand, the Pacific thundering its long
surge at their backs, and when they gained the roadway leaped upon
bicycles and dived at faster pace into the green avenues of the park.
There were three of them, three boys, in as many bright-colored
sweaters, and they "scorched" along the cycle-path as dangerously near
the speed-limit as is the custom of boys in bright-colored sweaters to
go. They may have exceeded the speed-limit. A mounted park policeman
thought so, but was not sure, and contented himself with cautioning
them as they flashed by. They acknowledged the warning promptly, and
on the next turn of the path as promptly forgot it, which is also a
custom of boys in bright-colored sweaters.
Shooting out through the entrance to Golden Gate Park, they turned
into San Francisco, and took the long sweep of the descending hills at
a rate that caused pedestrians to turn and watch them anxiously.
Through the city streets the bright sweaters flew, turning and
twisting to escape climbing the steeper hills, and, when the steep
hills were unavoidable, doing stunts to see which would first gain the
top.
The boy who more often hit up the pace, led the scorching, and
instituted the stunts was called Joe by his companions. It was "follow
the leader," and he led, the merriest and boldest in the bunch. But as
they pedaled into the Western Addition, among the large and
comfortable residences, his laughter became less loud and frequent,
and he unconsciously lagged in the rear. At Laguna and Vallejo streets
his companions turned off to the right.
"So long, Fred," he called as he turned his wheel to the left. "So
long, Charley."
"See you to-night!" they called back.
"No--I can't come," he answered.
"Aw, come on," they begged.
"No, I've got to dig.--So long!"
As he went on alone, his face grew grave and a vague worry came into
his eyes. He began resolutely to whistle, but this dwindled away till
it was a thin and very subdued little sound, which ceased altogether
as he rode up the driveway to a large two-storied house.
"Oh, Joe!"
He hesitated before the door to the library. Bessie was there, he
knew, studiously working up her lessons. She must be nearly through
with them, too, for she was always done before dinner, and dinner
could not be many minutes away. As for his lessons, they were as yet
untouched. The thought made him angry. It was bad enough to have one's
sister--and two years younger at that--in the same grade, but to have
her continually head and shoulders above him in scholarship was a most
intolerable thing. Not that he was dull. No one knew better than
himself that he was not dull. But somehow--he did not quite know
how--his mind was on other things and he was usually unprepared.
"Joe--please come here." There was the slightest possible plaintive
note in her voice this time.
"Well?" he said, thrusting aside the portiere with an impetuous
movement.
He said it gruffly, but he was half sorry for it the next instant when
he saw a slender little girl regarding him with wistful eyes across
the big reading-table heaped with books. She was curled up, with
pencil and pad, in an easy-chair of such generous dimensions that it
made her seem more delicate and fragile than she really was.
"What is it, Sis?" he asked more gently, crossing over to her side.
She took his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek, and as he
stood beside her came closer to him with a nestling movement.
"What is the matter, Joe dear?" she asked softly. "Won't you tell me?"
He remained silent. It struck him as ridiculous to confess his
troubles to a little sister, even if her reports _were_ higher than
his. And the little sister struck him as ridiculous to demand his
troubles of him. "What a soft cheek she has!" he thought as she
pressed her face gently against his hand. If he could but tear himself
away--it was all so foolish! Only he might hurt her feelings, and, in
his experience, girls' feelings were very easily hurt.
She opened his fingers and kissed the palm of his hand. It was like a
rose-leaf falling; it was also her way of asking her question over
again.
"Nothing 's the matter," he said decisively. And then, quite
inconsistently, he blurted out, "Father!"
His worry was now in her eyes. "But father is so good and kind, Joe,"
she began. "Why don't you try to please him? He does n't ask much of
you, and it 's all for your own good. It 's not as though you were a
fool, like some boys. If you would only study a little bit--"
"That 's it! Lecturing!" he exploded, tearing his hand roughly away.
"Even you are beginning to lecture me now. I suppose the cook and the
stable-boy will be at it next."
He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked forward into a
melancholy and desolate future filled with interminable lectures and
lecturers innumerable.
"Was that what you wanted me for?" he demanded, turning to go.
She caught at his hand again. "No, it wasn't; only you looked so
worried that I thought--I--" Her voice broke, and she began again
freshly. "What I wanted to tell you was that we're planning a trip
across the bay to Oakland, next Saturday, for a tramp in the hills."
"Who 's going?"
"Myrtle Hayes--"
"What! That little softy?" he interrupted.
"I don't think she is a softy," Bessie answered with spirit. "She 's
one of the sweetest girls I know."
"Which is n't saying much, considering the girls you know. But go on.
Who are the others?"
"Pearl Sayther, and her sister Alice, and Jessie Hilborn, and Sadie
French, and Edna Crothers. That 's all the girls."
Joe sniffed disdainfully. "Who are the fellows, then?"
"Maurice and Felix Clement, Dick Schofield, Burt Layton, and--"
"That 's enough. Milk-and-water chaps, all of them."
"I--I wanted to ask you and Fred and Charley," she said in a quavering
voice. "That 's what I called you in for--to ask you to come."
"And what are you going to do?" he asked.
"Walk, gather wild flowers,--the poppies are all out now,--eat
luncheon at some nice place, and--and--"
"Come home," he finished for her.
Bessie nodded her head. Joe put his hands in his pockets again, and
walked up and down.
"A sissy outfit, that 's what it is," he said abruptly; "and a sissy
program. None of it in mine, please."
She tightened her trembling lips and struggled on bravely. "What would
you rather do?" she asked.
"I 'd sooner take Fred and Charley and go off somewhere and do
something--well, anything."
He paused and looked at her. She was waiting patiently for him to
proceed. He was aware of his inability to express in words what he
felt and wanted, and all his trouble and general dissatisfaction rose
up and gripped hold of him.
"Oh, you can't understand!" he burst out. "You can't understand. You
're a girl. You like to be prim and neat, and to be good in deportment
and ahead in your studies. You don't care for danger and adventure and
such things, and you don't care for boys who are rough, and have life
and go in them, and all that. You like good little boys in white
collars, with clothes always clean and hair always combed, who like to
stay in at recess and be petted by the teacher and told how they're
always up in their studies; nice little boys who never get into
scrapes--who are too busy walking around and picking flowers and
eating lunches with girls, to get into scrapes. Oh, I know the
kind--afraid of their own shadows, and no more spunk in them than in
so many sheep. That 's what they are--sheep. Well, I 'm not a sheep,
and there 's no more to be said. And I don't want to go on your
picnic, and, what 's more, I 'm not going."
The tears welled up in Bessie's brown eyes, and her lips were
trembling. This angered him unreasonably. What were girls good for,
anyway?--always blubbering, and interfering, and carrying on. There
was no sense in them.
"A fellow can't say anything without making you cry," he began, trying
to appease her. "Why, I did n't mean anything, Sis. I did n't, sure.
I--"
He paused helplessly and looked down at her. She was sobbing, and at
the same time shaking with the effort to control her sobs, while big
tears were rolling down her cheeks.
"Oh, you--you girls!" he cried, and strode wrathfully out of the
room.