ERI GOES BACK ON A FRIEND
Captain Eri knew that the hardest and most dangerous portion of his
perilous trip was just at its beginning. If the dory got through
the surf without capsizing, it was an even bet that she would stay
right-side-up for a while longer, at any rate. So he pulled out of the
little cove, and pointed the boat's bow toward the thundering smother
of white, his shoulders squared, his hands tightened on the oar handles,
and his under-jaw pushed out beyond the upper. Old foremast hands, those
who had sailed with the Captain on his coasting voyages, would, had they
seen these signs, have prophesied trouble for someone. They were Captain
Eri's battle-flags, and just now his opponent was the gray Atlantic. If
the latter won, it would only be after a fight.
The first wave tripped over the bar and whirled beneath him, sending
the dory high into the air and splashing its occupant with spray. The
Captain held the boat stationary, waiting for the second to break, and
then, half rising, put all his weight and strength on the oars. The
struggle had begun.
They used to say on board the Hannah M. that the skipper never got
rattled. The same cool head and steady nerve that Josiah had admired
when the catboat threaded the breakers at the entrance of the bay, now
served the same purpose in this more tangled and infinitely more wicked
maze. The dory climbed and ducked, rolled and slid, but gained, inch by
inch, foot by foot. The advancing waves struck savage blows at the
bow, the wind did its best to swing her broadside on, but there was one
hundred and eighty pounds of clear grit and muscle tugging at the oars,
and, though the muscles were not as young as they had been, there were
years of experience to make every pound count. At last the preliminary
round was over. The boat sprang clear of the breakers and crept out
farther and farther, with six inches of water slopping in her bottom,
but afloat and seaworthy.
It was not until she was far into deep water that the Captain turned
her bow down the shore. When this was done, it was on the instant, and,
although a little more water came inboard, there was not enough to be
dangerous. Then, with the gale astern and the tide to help, Captain
Eri made the dory go as she, or any other on that coast, had never gone
before.
The Captain knew that the wind and the tide that were now aiding him
were also sweeping the overturned lifeboat along at a rapid rate. He
must come up with it before it reached the next shoal. He must reach
it before the waves, and, worse than all, the cold had caused the poor
fellows clinging to it for life to loose their grip.
The dory jumped from crest to crest like a hurdler. The sleet now beat
directly into the Captain's face and froze on his eyebrows and lashes,
but he dared not draw in an oar to free a hand. The wind caught up the
spindrift and poured it over him in icy baths, but he was too warm from
the furious exercise to mind.
In the lulls he turned his head and gazed over the sea, looking for the
boat. Once he saw it, before the storm shut down again, and he groaned
aloud to count but two black dots on its white surface. He pulled harder
than ever, and grunted with every stroke, while the perspiration poured
down his forehead and froze when it reached the ice dams over his eyes.
At last it was in plain sight, and the two dots, now clearly human
beings, were still there. He pointed the bow straight at it and rowed
on. When he looked again there was but one, a figure sprawled along the
keel, clinging to the centerboard.
The flying dory bore down upon the lifeboat, and the Captain risked what
little breath he had in a hail. The clinging figure raised its head, and
Captain Eri felt an almost selfish sense of relief to see that it was
Luther Davis. If it had to be but one, he would rather it was that one.
The bottom of the lifeboat rose like a dome from the sea that beat and
roared over and around it. The centerboard had floated up and projected
at the top, and it was about this that Captain Davis' arms were clasped.
Captain Eri shot the dory alongside, pulled in one oar, and the two
boats fitted closely together. Then Eri reached out, and, seizing his
friend by the belt round his waist, pulled him from his hold. Davis fell
into the bottom of the dory, only half conscious and entirely helpless.
Captain Eri lifted him so that his head and shoulders rested on a
thwart, and then, setting his oar against the lifeboat's side, pushed
the dory clear. Then he began rowing again.
So far he had been more successful than he had reason to expect, but the
task that he must now accomplish was not less difficult. He must reach
the shore safely, and with another life beside his own to guard.
It was out of the question to attempt to get back to the cove; the
landing must be made on the open beach, and, although Captain Eri had
more than once brought a dory safely through a high surf, he had never
attempted it when his boat had nearly a foot of water in her and carried
a helpless passenger.
Little by little, still running before the wind, the Captain edged in
toward the shore. Luther Davis moved once or twice, but said nothing.
His oilskins were frozen stiff and his beard was a lump of ice. Captain
Eri began to fear that he might die from cold and exhaustion before the
attempt at landing was made. The Captain resolved to wait no longer, but
to take the risk of running directly for the beach.
He was near enough now to see the leaping spray of the breakers, and
their bellow sounded louder than the howl of the wind or the noises
of the sea about him. He bent forward and shouted in the ear of the
prostrate life-saver.
“Luther!” he yelled, “Lute!”
Captain Davis' head rolled back, his eyes opened, and, in a dazed way,
he looked at the figure swinging back and forth with the oars.
“Lute!” shouted Captain Eri, “listen to me! I'm goin' to try to land.
D'you hear me?”
Davis' thoughts seemed to be gathering slowly. He was, ordinarily, a man
of strong physique, courageous, and a fighter every inch of him, but his
strength had been beaten out by the waves and chilled by the cold,
and the sight of the men with whom he had lived and worked for years
drowning one by one, had broken his nerve. He looked at his friend, and
then at the waves.
“What's the use?” he said feebly. “They're all gone. I might as well go,
too.”
Captain Eri's eyes snapped. “Lute Davis,” he exclaimed, “I never thought
I'd see you playin' crybaby. Brace up! What are you, anyway?”
The half-frozen man made a plucky effort.
“All right, Eri,” he said. “I'm with you, but I ain't much good.”
“Can you stand up?”
“I don't know. I'll try.”
Little by little he raised himself to his knees.
“'Bout as fur's I can go, Eri,” he said, between his teeth. “You look
out for yourself. I'll do my durndest.”
The dory was caught by the first of the great waves, and, on its crest,
went flying toward the beach. Captain Eri steered it with the oars as
well as he could. The wave broke, and the half-filled boat paused,
was caught up by the succeeding breaker, and thrown forward again. The
Captain, still trying to steer with one oar, let go of the other, and
seizing his companion by the belt, pulled him to his feet.
“Now then,” he shouted, “stand by!”
The boat poised on the curling wave, went down like a hammer, struck the
sand, and was buried in water. Just as it struck, Captain Eri jumped as
far shoreward as he could. Davis sprang with him, but it was really the
Captain's strength that carried them clear of the rail.
They kept their feet for an instant, but, in that instant, Captain Eri
dragged his friend a yard or so up the shelving beach. Then they were
knocked flat by the next wave. The Captain dug his toes into the sand
and braced himself as the undertow sucked back. Once more he rose and
they staggered on again, only to go down when the next rush of water
came. Three times this performance was repeated, and, as they rose for
the fourth time, the Captain roared, “Now!”
Another plunge, a splashing run, and they were on the hard sand of
the beach. Then they both tumbled on their faces and breathed in great
gasps.
But the Captain realized that this would not do, for, in their soaked
condition, freezing to death was a matter of but a short time. He seized
Davis by the shoulder and shook him again and again.
“Come on, Lute! Come on!” he insisted. “Git up! You've GOT to git up!”
And, after a while, the life-saver did get up, although he could
scarcely stand. Then, with the Captain's arm around his waist, they
started slowly up the beach toward the station.
They had gone but a little way when they were met by Ralph Hazeltine and
Captain Perez.
Mrs. Snow had been, for her, rather nervous all that forenoon. She
performed her household duties as thoroughly as usual, but Elsie, to
whom the storm had brought a holiday, noticed that she looked out of the
window and at the clock frequently. Once she even went so far as to tell
the young lady that she felt “kind of queer; jest as if somethin' was
goin' to happen.” As the housekeeper was not the kind to be troubled
with presentiments, Elsie was surprised.
Dinner was on the table at twelve o'clock, but Captain Eri was not there
to help eat it, and they sat down without him. And here again Mrs. Snow
departed from her regular habit, for she ate little and was very quiet.
She was the first to hear an unusual sound outside, and, jumping up, ran
to the window.
“Somebody's drivin' into the yard,” she said. “Who on airth would be
comin' here such a day as this?”
Captain Jerry joined her at the window.
“It's Abner Mayo's horse,” he said. “Maybe it's Perez comin' home.”
It was not Captain Perez, but Mr. Mayo himself, as they saw when the
rubber blanket fastened across the front of the buggy was dropped and
the driver sprang out. Mrs. Snow opened the door for him.
“Hello, Abner!” exclaimed Captain Jerry, as the newcomer stopped to
knock the snow from his boots before coming in, “what have you done to
Perez? Goin' to keep him for a steady boarder?”
But Mr. Mayo had important news to communicate, and he did not intend
to lose the effect of his sensation by springing it without due
preparation. He took off his hat and mittens and solemnly declined a
proffered chair.
“Cap'n Burgess,” he said, “I've got somethin' to tell you--somethin'
awful. The whole life-savin' crew but one is drownded, and Cap'n Eri
Hedge--”
An exclamation from Mrs. Snow interrupted him. The housekeeper clasped
her hands together tightly and sank into a chair. She was very white.
Elsie ran to her.
“What is it, Mrs. Snow?” she asked.
“Nothin', nothin'! Go on, Mr. Mayo. Go on!”
The bearer of ill-tidings, gratified at the result of his first attempt,
proceeded deliberately:
“And Cap'n Hedge and Luther Davis are over at the station pretty nigh
dead. If it wa'n't for the Cap'n, Luther'd have gone, too. Eri took a
dory and went off and picked him up. Perez come over to my house and
told us about it, and Pashy's gone back with him to see to her brother.
I didn't go down to the store this mornin', 'twas stormin' so, but as
soon as I heard I harnessed up to come and tell you.”
Then, in answer to the hurried questions of Captain Jerry and Elsie, Mr.
Mayo told the whole story as far as he knew it. Mrs. Snow said nothing,
but sat with her hands still clasped in her lap.
“Luther is ha'f drownded and froze,” concluded Abner, “and the Cap'n
got a bang with an oar when they jumped out of the dory that, Perez
is afraid, broke his arm. I'm goin' right back to git Dr. Palmer. They
tried to telephone him, but the wire's down.”
“Dear! dear! dear!” exclaimed Captain Jerry, completely demoralized by
the news. “That's dreadful! I must go right down there, mustn't I? The
poor fellers!”
Mrs. Snow rose to her feet quietly, but with a determined air.
“Are you goin' right back soon's you've got the Doctor, Mr. Mayo?” she
asked.
“Why, no, I wa'n't. I ain't been to my store this mornin', and I'm
'fraid I ought to be there.”
To be frank, Abner was too great a sensation lover to forfeit the
opportunity of springing his startling news on the community.
“Then, Josiah, you'll have to harness Dan'l and take me down. I mustn't
wait another minute.”
“Why, Mrs. Snow!” expostulated Captain Jerry, “you mustn't go down
there. The Doctor's goin', and I'll go, and Pashy's there already.”
But the housekeeper merely waved him aside.
“I want you to stay here with Elsie,” she said. “There's no tellin' how
long I may be gone. Josiah 'll drive me down, won't you, Josiah?”
There was no lack of enthusiasm in the “able seaman's” answer. The boy
was only too glad of the chance.
“But it ain't fit weather for you to be out in. You'll git soakin' wet.”
“I guess if Pashy Davis can stand it, I can. Elsie, will you come and
help me git ready, while Josiah's harnessin'?”
As they entered the chamber above, Elsie was thunderstruck to see her
companion seat herself in the rocker and cover her face with her hands.
If it had been anyone else it would not have been so astonishing, but
the cool, self-possessed housekeeper--she could scarcely believe it.
“Why, Mrs. Snow!” she exclaimed, “what IS it?”
The lady from Nantucket hastily rose and wiped her eyes with her apron.
“Oh, nothin',” she answered, with an attempt at a smile. “I'm kind of
fidgety this mornin', and the way that man started off to tell his yarn
upset me; that's all. I mustn't be such a fool.”
She set about getting ready with a vim and attention to detail that
proved that her “fidgets” had not affected her common-sense. She was
pale and her hands trembled a little, but she took a covered basket and
packed in it cloth for bandages, a hot-water bottle, mustard, a bottle
of liniment, and numerous other things likely to be of use. Last of all,
she added a bottle of whisky that had been prescribed as a stimulant for
John Baxter.
“I s'pose some folks would think 'twas terrible carryin' this with me,”
she observed. “A woman pitched into me once for givin' it to her husband
when he was sick. I told her I didn't favor RHUBARB as a steady drink,
but I hoped I knew enough to give it when 'twas necessary.”
Ralph and Captain Perez were surprised men when the housekeeper,
dripping, but cheerful, appeared on the scene. She and Josiah had had a
stormy passage on the way down, for the easy-going Daniel had objected
to being asked to trot through drifts, and Mrs. Snow had insisted that
he should be made to do it. The ford was out of the question, so they
stalled the old horse in the Mayo barn and borrowed Abner's dory to make
the crossing.
Mrs. Snow took charge at once of the tired men, and the overtaxed Miss
Patience was glad enough to have her do it. Luther Davis was in bed,
and Captain Eri, after an hour's sojourn in the same snug harbor,
had utterly refused to stay there longer, and now, dressed in a suit
belonging to the commandant, was stretched upon a sofa in the front
room.
The Captain was the most surprised of all when Mrs. Snow appeared. He
fairly gasped when she first entered the room, and seemed to be struck
speechless, for he said scarcely a word while she dosed him with hot
drinks, rubbed his shoulder--the bone was not broken, but there was
a bruise there as big as a saucer--with the liniment, and made him
generally comfortable. He watched her every movement with a sort of
worshipful wonder, and seemed to be thinking hard.
Captain Davis, although feeling a little better, was still very weak,
and his sister and Captain Perez were with him. Josiah soon returned
to the Mayo homestead to act as ferryman for Dr. Palmer when the latter
should arrive, and Ralph, finding that there was nothing more that he
could do, went back to the cable station. The storm had abated somewhat
and the wind had gone down. Captain Eri and Mrs. Snow were alone in the
front room, and, for the first time since she entered the house, the
lady from Nantucket sat down to rest. Then the Captain spoke.
“Mrs. Snow,” he said gravely, “I don't believe you've changed your
clothes sence you got here. You must have been soaked through, too. I
wish you wouldn't take such risks. You hadn't ought to have come over
here a day like this, anyway. Not but what the Lord knows it's good to
have you here,” he added hastily.
The housekeeper seemed surprised.
“Cap'n Eri,” she said, “I b'lieve if you was dyin' you'd worry for fear
somebody else wouldn't be comf'table while you was doing it. 'Twould
be pretty hard for me to change my clothes,” she added, with a laugh,
“seein' that there probably ain't anything but men's clothes in the
place.” Then, with a sigh, “Poor fellers, they won't need 'em any more.”
“That's so. And they were all alive and hearty this mornin'. It's an
awful thing for Luther. Has he told anything yit 'bout how it come to
happen?”
“Yes, a little. The schooner was from Maine, bound to New York. Besides
her own crew she had some Italians aboard, coal-handlers, they was,
goin' over on a job for the owner. Cap'n Davis says he saw right away
that the lifeboat would be overloaded, but he had to take 'em all,
there wa'n't time for a second trip. He made the schooner's crew and the
others lay down in the boat where they wouldn't hinder the men at the
oars, but when they got jest at the tail of the shoal, where the sea was
heaviest, them Italians lost their heads and commenced to stand up and
yell, and fust thing you know, she swung broadside on and capsized.
Pashy says Luther don't say much more, but she jedges, from what he does
say, that some of the men hung on with him for a while, but was washed
off and drownded.”
“That's right; there was four or five there when we saw her fust.
'Twas Lute's grip on the centerboard that saved him. It's an awful
thing--awful!”
“Yes, and he would have gone, too, if it hadn't been for you. And you
talk about MY takin' risks!”
“Well, Jerry hadn't ought to have let you come.”
“LET me come! I should like to have seen him try to stop me. The idea!
Where would I be if 'twa'n't helpin' you, after all you've done for me?”
“I'VE done? I haven't done anything!”
“You've made me happier 'n I've been for years. You've been so kind
that--that--”
She stopped and looked out of the window.
“It's you that's been kind,” said the Captain. “You've made a home for
me; somethin' I ain't had afore sence I was a boy.”
Mrs. Snow went on as if he had not spoken.
“And to think that you might have been drownded the same as the rest,”
she said. “I knew somethin' was happenin'. I jest felt it, somehow. I
told Elsie I was sure of it. I couldn't think of anything but you all
the forenoon.”
The Captain sat up on the couch.
“Marthy,” he said in an awed tone, “do you know what I was thinkin' of
when I was pullin' through the wust of it this mornin'? I was thinkin'
of you. I thought of Luther and the rest of them poor souls, of course,
but I thought of you most of the time. It kept comin' back to me that if
I went under I shouldn't see you ag'in. And you was thinkin' of me!”
“Yes, when that Mayo man said he had awful news, I felt sure 'twas you
he was goin' to tell about. I never fainted away in my life that I know
of, but I think I 'most fainted then.”
“And you cared as much as that?”
“Yes.”
Somehow both were speaking quietly, but as if it was useless longer to
keep back anything. To speak the exact truth without reserve seemed the
most natural thing in the world.
“Well, well, well!” said the Captain reverently, and still in the same
low tone. “I said once afore that I b'lieved you was sent here, and now
I'm sure of it. It seems almost as if you was sent to ME, don't it?”
The housekeeper still looked out of the window, but she answered simply,
“I don't know.”
“It does, it does so. Marthy, we've been happy together while you've
been here. Do you b'lieve you could be happy with me always--if you
married me, I mean?”
Mrs. Snow turned and looked at him. There were tears in her eyes, but
she did not wipe them away.
“Yes,” she said.
“Think now, Marthy. I ain't very young, and I ain't very rich.”
“What am I?” with a little smile.
“And you really think you could be happy if you was the wife of an old
codger like me?”
“Yes.” The answer was short, but it was convincing.
Captain Eri rose to his feet.
“Gosh!” he said in a sort of unbelieving whisper. “Marthy, are you
willin' to try?”
And again Mrs. Snow said “Yes.”
When Dr. Palmer came he found Luther Davis still in bed, but Captain Eri
was up and dressed, and there was such a quiet air of happiness about
him that the man of medicine was amazed.
“Good Lord, man!” he exclaimed, “I expected to find you flat on your
back, and you look better than I've seen you for years. Taking a
salt-water bath in mid-winter must agree with you.”
“It ain't so much that,” replied the Captain serenely. “It's the pay I
got for takin' it.”
When the Doctor saw Perez alone, he asked the latter to keep a close
watch on Captain Eri's behavior. He said he was afraid that the exertion
and exposure might have affected the Captain's brain.
Perez, alarmed by this caution, did watch his friend very closely, but
he saw nothing to frighten him until, as they were about to start for
home, Captain Eri suddenly struck his thigh a resounding slap
“Jerry!” he groaned distressfully. “I clean forgot. I've gone back on
Jerry!”