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[Illustration: THE “STRANGER” IN THE CYCLONE.]

                         _FRANK NELSON SERIES._




                                  THE
                              BOY TRADERS;
                                OR, THE
                   SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE BOERS.


                          BY HARRY CASTLEMON,

   AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES,” “ROCKY
                         MOUNTAIN SERIES,” ETC.


                              PHILADELPHIA

                         HENRY T. COATES & CO.

                              CINCINNATI:
                          R. W. CARROLL & CO.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               CONTENTS.


                               CHAPTER I.
                                                 PAGE
                   The Sandwich Islands,            5

                              CHAPTER II.
                   The Gale,                       24

                              CHAPTER III.
                   The Last of Long Tom,           42

                              CHAPTER IV.
                   A Change of Programme,          64

                               CHAPTER V.
                   The Two Champions,              85

                              CHAPTER VI.
                   The Consul’s “Clark,”          105

                              CHAPTER VII.
                   More about the Clerk,          129

                             CHAPTER VIII.
                   On the Quarter-deck again,     149

                              CHAPTER IX.
                   A Yankee Trick,                169

                               CHAPTER X.
                   Archie proves Himself a Hero,  192

                              CHAPTER XI.
                   An Obstinate Captain,          214

                              CHAPTER XII.
                   Buying an Outfit,              234

                             CHAPTER XIII.
                   A Surly Boer,                  253

                              CHAPTER XIV.
                   A Troop of Lions,              274

                              CHAPTER XV.
                   “Where’s my Horse?”            296

                              CHAPTER XVI.
                   Deserted,                      317

                             CHAPTER XVII.
                   Conclusion,                    339




                            THE BOY TRADERS;

                                OR, THE

                   SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE BOERS.




                               CHAPTER I.
                         THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.


“Now, Uncle Dick, what is the matter?”

The captain of the Stranger looked toward the companion-ladder, up which
his nephew had just disappeared, and motioned to Frank to close the
door.

“That is the fourth time I have seen you look at that barometer during
the last half hour,” continued Frank.

“Yes, and I find it lower every time I look at it,” answered the old
sailor. “It is coming; trotting right along, too.”

“What is coming? Another tornado?”

“No, a regular old-fashioned cyclone.”

“I declare, it don’t seem to me that the schooner can stand much more
pounding,” said Frank, drawing a long breath.

“Oh, she is good for a dozen battles like the one she has just passed
through,” continued Uncle Dick, encouragingly. “Give me a tight craft, a
good crew, and plenty of elbow-room, and I would much rather be afloat
during a storm than on shore. There are no trees, chimneys, or roofs to
fall on us here.”

“But we haven’t plenty of elbow-room,” said Frank, somewhat anxiously.
“The islands are scattered around here thicker than huckleberry bushes
in a New England pasture, and they are all surrounded with coral reefs,
too.”

“I know it; but it is our business to keep clear of the coral reefs.
Now, let me see how much you know. Where’s the schooner?”

Frank, who now occupied his old position as sailing-master of the
vessel, took a chart from Uncle Dick’s desk, and pointed out the
position of their little craft, which he had marked with a red
lead-pencil after taking his observation at noon.

“Very good,” said Uncle Dick. “Which side of the equator are we?”

“South,” answered Frank.

“How many motions have cyclones?”

“Two; rotary and progressive.”

“Which way do they revolve in the Southern hemisphere?”

“In the same direction that the sun appears to move.”

“Correct. Now, suppose that while you were in command of the Tycoon, you
had found out that there was a cyclone coming—”

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t have found it out,” interrupted Frank, “for I
don’t know what the signs are.”

“But we will suppose that you knew all about it. After you have seen one
or two, you will know how to tell when they are coming. We will suppose,
now, that a cyclone comes up, and that the wind blows strongly from the
northwest. Which way from you is the centre of the storm?”

“Southwest.”

“And which way is it coming?”

“Toward the southeast.”

“Then if you bore away to the southwest you would escape, of course?”

“No, sir; I should probably insure my destruction, for I should sail
straight into the vortex. A northeasterly course would soon take me out
of danger.”

“Yes, you would get out of danger that way, but how soon I don’t know.
The paths of some of these hurricanes are a thousand miles broad. You’ll
do, however, and you are a very good boy to learn your lesson so well.”

“Shall I go to the head?” asked Frank, with a laugh.

The last time we saw the members of the Sportsman’s Club, they had just
found Frank Nelson after a long separation from him. Their vessel was
lying in the harbor of Honolulu; Captain Barclay, the wounded commander
of the whaler, had been taken to a hospital on shore; his ship, the
Tycoon, had passed through the hands of the American consul, who placed
a new captain aboard of her with orders to take her to the States, where
she belonged; and for the first time in long weeks the Club were free
from excitement, and had leisure to sit down and calmly talk over the
adventures that had befallen them, and the exploits they had performed
since leaving home.

They had many things to converse about, as we know, and some of their
number had reason to feel elated over what they had done. Walter had
been a hero for once in his life, for had he not been captured by
robbers, who believed him to be somebody else, been confined in Potter’s
ranche, and held as a hostage for the chief of the band who was a
prisoner in the fort? That was the worst predicament that Walter had
ever been in, and it was no wonder that there was a warm place in his
heart for Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly, the men who had rescued him from his
perilous situation.

Archie Winters was also a hero, for he had lassoed and ridden the wild
horse which had so long defied all efforts to capture him, and would in
all probability have given him, in a few days more, into the possession
of his lawful owner, Colonel Gaylord, had not he and his two friends,
Fred and Eugene, unfortunately stumbled upon Zack and Silas, the
trappers who robbed the emigrant. One thing made Archie hug himself with
delight every time he thought of the various exciting incidents that
happened while he remained in the trappers’ company, and that was, that
Zack and Silas did not get the million dollars after all. He laughed
outright when he remembered how astounded and enraged they were to find
that the box, which they supposed was filled with nuggets and gold-dust,
contained nothing but a small brass machine something like the works of
a clock. Archie wondered what had become of the hospitable Pike, and
whether or not he had succeeded in putting his machine together again,
and running his quartz mill with it.

But while the members of the Club gave to Walter and Archie all the
credit which their adventures and achievements demanded, they were
unanimous in according the lion’s share of praise to Frank Nelson, who
had brought himself safely out of a predicament, the like of which the
boys had never heard of before. It seemed almost impossible that one who
had been “shanghaied” and thrust into the forecastle of a whale-ship to
do duty as a common sailor, should, in so short a time and by sheer
force of character, have worked his way to the quarter-deck, and into a
position for which only men of years and experience are thought to be
qualified. But they had abundant evidence that such was the fact. There
was a witness in the person of the trapper, who was kidnapped at the
same time, and who had escaped in a manner so remarkable that even Uncle
Dick, who had seen a world of marvellous things, said the same feat
could not be performed again under like circumstances. Besides, the boys
had seen Frank on the Tycoon’s quarter-deck, had heard him give orders
that were promptly obeyed, had messed with him in his cabin, and he had
brought them safely into the harbor of Honolulu, beating the swift
little Stranger out of sight on the way.

As for Frank himself, he was very well satisfied with what he had done,
and often declared that an adventure which, at first, threatened to
terminate in something serious, had had a most agreeable ending. His
forced sojourn on the Tycoon and all the incidents that had happened
during that time—the sight of the first whale he ever struck coming up
on a breach close in front of his boat, and looming up in the air like a
church steeple; the excessive fatigue that followed the long hours spent
in cutting in and trying out; the sleepless nights; the days and weeks
of suspense he had endured; the race and the desperate battle under a
broiling sun he had had in Mr. Gale’s boat on the day Captain Barclay
deserted him; the fight with the natives at the Mangrove Islands, and
the rescue of the prisoners—all these things would have seemed like a
dream to Frank now, had it not been for the large callous spots on the
palms of his hands, which had been brought there by handling heavy oars
and by constant pulling at tarred ropes. The sight of these recalled
very forcibly to his mind the days and nights of toil which sometimes
tested his strength and endurance so severely that he hardly expected to
live through them. Nothing could have tempted him to submit to the same
trials again, but now that they were all over and he was safe among
friends once more, he would not have sold his experience at any price.

The Stranger remained at the Sandwich Islands three weeks, and during
that time the boys saw everything of interest there was to be seen.
Eugene, who was impatient to get ashore to see how the “savages” lived,
was quite astonished when his brother informed him that the natives were
considered to be the most generally educated people in the world; that
there was scarcely a man, woman, or child of suitable age among them who
could not read and write; that they had contributed a goodly sum of
money to the Sanitary Commission during our late war; that they had sent
a good many men to serve in our army and navy; and that among them were
a brigadier-general, a major, and several officers of lower grade.
Eugene could hardly believe it; but when he got ashore and saw the fine
hotel erected by the government at a cost of one hundred and twenty
thousand dollars, the prison, hospital, churches, and school-houses, he
was obliged to confess that he was among civilized people. Frank and
Archie were equally astonished at the familiar appearance of things, and
told their Southern friends that if they could imagine how Honolulu
would look without the bananas, palm, and tamarind trees, they could
tell exactly how the majority of New England villages looked.

The first Sunday the Club spent ashore they went to the seaman’s chapel
to hear Father Damon preach to the sailors; and the next day they hired
horses, a pack-mule, and guides for a ride around the island. This was a
great relief to them, especially to Dick and Bob, for it gave them a
taste of the frontier life to which they had so long been accustomed.
They were all glad to find themselves on horseback once more; so they
journeyed very leisurely, and the ride, which could easily have been
accomplished in four days, consumed the best part of eight.

Having explored Oahu pretty thoroughly, the Club returned on board the
Stranger, which set sail for Hilo in the island of Hawaii, which place
they reached after a rough passage of four days. At Hilo—the town has
been devastated by a tidal wave since the Club visited it—they had their
first view of a sport for which the natives of these islands are so
famous—swimming with the surf-board. It was a fine, not to say a
thrilling sight to see a party of men, some of whom were lying, others
kneeling, and still others standing erect upon boards which seemed
scarcely large enough to support their weight, shooting towards the
beach with almost railroad speed, closely followed by a huge comber that
seemed every instant to be on the point of overwhelming them. The grace
and skill exhibited by the swimmers made the feat appear very easy of
accomplishment, and after watching the bathers for a few minutes, Eugene
declared that he could do it as well as anybody, and dared Archie to get
a board somewhere and go into the water with him.

“Find a board yourself, and see if I am afraid to follow where you dare
lead,” was Archie’s prompt reply; and to show that he meant what he
said, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the sand.

“Now, Archie,” remonstrated Frank, “I wouldn’t undertake anything I was
certain to make a failure of, if I were you. You can’t get beyond the
surf to save your life.”

“I’d like to know if I can’t duck my head and let a billow pass over me
as well as anybody?”

“No, you can’t.”

“There’s where you are mistaken. You’ll see. Our countrymen can dive
deeper and come out drier than any people in the world, not even
excepting these Sandwich Islanders. I’ll go as far as my leader goes,
you may rely upon that. Say, Mr. Kanaker,” added Archie, approaching a
stalwart swimmer who had just been landed high and dry by a huge billow,
“you gives me board, I gives you, quarter, eh?”

The native smiled good-naturedly and astonished Archie by replying in
plain English, and in much better terms than he had used—

“You may have it certainly, but I wouldn’t advise you to try it.”

While Archie stood perplexed and bewildered, wondering how he ought to
apologize to the man for addressing him in such a way, the latter
continued, “I think your friend has given up the idea of going out.”

Archie looked toward Eugene, and saw that he was standing with his boots
in his hand, gazing intently toward the water. He glanced in the same
direction, and was just in time to see a swimmer overtaken by a huge
comber, and carried out of sight in an instant. Archie was greatly
alarmed, and expected to see the man dashed stunned and bruised on the
beach; but presently a head bobbed up and out of the water beyond the
breaker, and the bold swimmer, still safe and sound and undismayed by
his failure, struck out for another trial, diving under the waves as
they came rolling in, and finally made his way to the smooth water, half
a mile from shore, where he waited for another high swell to carry him
in. That was as near as Archie and Eugene ever came to trying their
skill with the surf-board. One picked up his jacket, the other pulled on
his boots, and as both these acts were performed at the same time,
neither could consistently accuse the other of backing out.

The first excursion the Club made from Hilo was to a bay, with an
unpronounceable name, on the opposite side of the island, the scene of
Captain Cook’s death; and the next was to the volcano of Kilauea, the
largest active crater in the world. The trappers, who accompanied the
Club wherever they went, set out on this last expedition with fear and
trembling. The boys had explained to them the theory of volcanoes as
best they could, and to say that the backwoodsmen were astonished would
but feebly express their feelings. They had never heard of a burning
mountain before, and they were overwhelmed with awe. The statement that
there was a hole in the ground three miles long, a mile broad, and a
thousand feet deep, containing two lakes filled with something that
looked like red-hot iron, was almost too much for them to believe; but
the Club promised to show it to them, and so the trappers mounted their
horses and set out with the rest. But they went no farther than the
Volcano House, at which the party stopped for the night. The Club and
Uncle Dick took up their quarters in the house, but the trappers
preferred spreading their blankets on the veranda. Some time during the
night the rainstorm, that had set in just before dark, cleared away, and
old Bob, who happened to be awake, suddenly caught sight of something
that terrified him beyond measure. He aroused his companion, and the two
sat there on the veranda until morning looking at it. The top of the
mountain which had been pointed out to them as the volcano, seemed to be
on fire, and now and then sheets of flame would shoot up above the
summit, lighting up the clouds overhead, until it seemed to the two
anxious watchers that the whole heavens were about to be consumed.

By the time daylight came they had seen enough of volcanoes, and
emphatically refused to go another step toward the crater. There was
something up there, they said, that must be dreadful to look at, and
they didn’t want to get any nearer to it. The boys went, however, and
descended into the crater, and filled their pockets with chunks of lava,
saw the burning lakes, breathed the sulphurous fumes that arose from
them, walked over a fiery, molten mass from which they were separated by
only fourteen inches of something Uncle Dick said was _cold_ lava, but
which was still so hot that it burned the soles of their boots, and
finally came back to the Volcano House again at five o’clock, with minds
so deeply impressed by what they had seen that it could never be
forgotten. They did not have much to say about their journey—they wanted
to keep still and think about it; but when at last their tongues were
loosed, the burning lakes were the only subjects of their conversation
until