[Illustration: 0098]
EARLY in the morning they were off. Dick, glum and reckless, took the
wheel; McGlory went up forward and looked after hoisting the jibs and
foresail. The new mate had already succeeded, by an ugly way he had, in
antagonizing most of the men; but their spirits ran high, in spite of
him, as the _Merry Anne_ slipped away from the pier and headed out into
the glory of the sunrise.
“Hey, Peenk,” called Larsen, “geeve us 'Beelly Brown.'” And Pink, who
needed no urging, roared out promptly the following ballad, with the
whole crew shouting the spoken words:--
Oh, Billy Brown he loved a girl,
And her name was Mary Rowe, O-ho!
She lived way down
In that wick-ed town,
The town called She-caw-go.
(Spoken) WHERE'S THAT?
The place where the Clark streets grow.
“Oh, Mary, will you bunk with me?”
“Say, ain't you a little slow, O-ho!
'Bout sailin' down
To this wicked town
To tell me you love me so?”
(Spoken) GO 'LONG!
She's givin' 'im the wink, I know.
Oh, the wind blowed high, an' the wind blowed strong,
An' the Gross' Point' reef laid low, O-ho!
An' Billy Brown
Went down, down, down,
To the bottom of the place below.
(Spoken) WHERE'S MARY?
She's married to a man named Joe.
“You're makin' noise enough up there,” growled McGlory. Pink, with a
rebellious glance, bent over the rope he was coiling and held his peace.
As they started, so they sailed during four days--the Captain reckless,
the mate hard and uncommunicative, the men cowed. And at mid-morning on
the fourth day they arrived at Spencer.
The Hydrographic Office had at that time worked wonders in charting
these Great Lakes of ours, but it had given no notice to the little
harbor that was tucked snugly away behind False Middle Island, not a
hundred miles from Mackinaw City on the Lake Huron side; merely a speck
of an island with a nameless dent behind it. But old Spencer, a lank,
hatchet-faced Yankee, had found that a small schooner could be worked in
if she headed due west, “with the double sand dune against the three
pines till you get the forked stump ranged with the ruined shanty; meet
this range and hold it till clear of the bar at the north end of the
island; circle around to port; when clear of the bar, hug the inner
shore of the island until the mill can be seen behind the trees; then
run up into the harbor. Plenty of water here.”
This discovery had resulted in such a curious little mill as can be
found only in the back corners of the country,--a low shed with a flat
roof; one side open to the day; within, an old-fashioned vertical saw;
the whole supplied with power by a rotting, dripping, moss-covered
sluiceway.
All about were blackened pine stumps--nothing else for a hundred miles.
And all through the forest was the sand, drifting like snow over roads
and fences, changing the shape of the land in every high wind, blowing
into hair and clothes, and adding, with the tall, endless, gray-green
mullein stalks, the final touch of desolation to a hopeless land. Here
and there, in the clearings, sand-colored farmers and their sand-colored
wives struggled to wring a livelihood from the thankless earth. Other
farmers had drifted helplessly away, leaving houses and barns to blacken
and rot and sink beneath the sand drifts, and leaving, too, rows of
graves under the stumps.
Twenty miles down the coast, where a railroad touched, was a feeble
little settlement that was known, on the maps, as Ramsey City.
This region had been “cut over” once; it had been burned over more
than once; and yet old Spencer, with his handful of employees and his
deliberate little mill, wore a prosperous look on his inscrutable
Yankee face. There was no inhabited house within ten miles, but he was
apparently contented.
McGlory, it seemed, knew the channel; so Dick surrendered the wheel
when they were nearing the island, and stood at his elbow, watching the
landmarks. The mate volunteered no information, but Dick needed none;
he made out the ranges with the eye of a born sailor. But even he was
surprised when the _Merry Anne_ swung around into the landlocked harbor
and glided up to a rude wharf that was piled with lumber. Behind it was
the mill; behind that, at some distance, a comfortable house, nearly
surrounded by other smaller dwellings.
“So this is Spencer, eh?” observed Dick.
“This is Spencer,” McGlory replied.
The owner himself was coming down to meet them, reading over a letter
from his friend, Stenzenberger, as he walked. His wife came out of her
kitchen and stood on her steps to see the schooner. Two or three men
in woodman's flannels were lounging about the mill, and these sat up,
renewed their quids from a common plug, and stared.
“How are you?” nodded Spencer, pocketing the letter. He caught the line
and threw it over a snubbing post. “This Mr.
“Smiley?”
“That's who,” said Dick.
“How are you, Joe?” to McGlory.
“How are you, Mr. Spencer?”
In a moment they were fast, and Dick had leaped ashore. He caught
Spencer's shrewd eyes taking him in, and laughed, “Well, I guess you 'll
know me next time.”
“Guess I will.” There was a puzzled, even disturbed expression on the
lumberman's face. “I was thinking you didn't look much like your cousin.
The stuffs all ready for you there. You'd better put one of your men on
to check it up. Will you walk up and take a look around the place?”
“Thanks--guess I 'll stay right here and hustle this stuff aboard. I'd
like to put out again after dinner.”
Spencer drew a plug from a trousers pocket, offered it to Dick, who at
the sight of it shook his head, and helped himself to a mouthful. Then
his eyes took in the schooner, her crew, and the sky above them. “Wind's
getting easterly,” he observed. “Looks like freshening up. Mean business
getting out of here against the wind--no room for beating. You'd better
leave your mate to load and have a look at the place.”
“Well, all right; McGlory, see to getting that stuff aboard right off,
will you? We 'll try to get out after dinner sometime.”
When Spencer had shown his guest the mill and the houses of his men,
he led the way to his own home and seated his guest in the living room.
Here from a corner cupboard he produced a bottle and two glasses.
“I've got a little something to offer you here, Mr. Smiley,” said he,
“that I think you 'll find drinkable. I usually keep some on hand in case
anybody comes along. I don't take much myself, but it's sociable to
have around.” Dick tossed off a glass and smacked his lips. “Well, say,
that's the real stuff.”
“Guess there ain't no doubt about that.”
“Where do you get it from?”
“I bought that in Detroit last time I was down. Couldn't say what house
it's from.”
“Oh, you get out of here now and then, do you r
“Not often--have another?”
“Thanks, don't care if I do.”
“You see I've got a little schooner of my own, the _Estelle_,--named her
after my wife's sister,--and now and then I take a run down the shore to
Saginaw or Port Huron, or somewhere.”
“Do you get much lumber out?”
“Enough for a living.”
“I noticed you had a mark on the end of every big stick--looked like a
groove cut in a circle--most a foot across.”
“Yes, that's my mark.”
“The idea being that people will know your stuff, I suppose.”
Spencer nodded shortly. “I'm getting out the best lumber on the Great
Lakes--that's why I mark it--help yourself to that bottle--there, I 'll
just set it where you can reach it.” Dick would have stopped ordinarily
at two glasses. To-day he stopped at nothing. “Much obliged. I haven't
touched anything as strong as this for two years.”
“Swore off?”
“Sort of, but I don't know that I've been any better off for it. There's
nothing so good after sailing the best part of a week.”
“You're right, there ain't. And that's the pure article there--wouldn't
hurt a babe in arms. Take another. You haven't been working for Cap'n
Stenzenberger many years, have you?”
Throughout this conversation Spencer was studying Smiley's face.
“No, nothing like so long as Henry.”
“How do you get along with him?”
“The Cap'n? Oh, all right. He's a little too smart for me, but I guess
he's square enough.”
“Doing a good business, is he?”
“Couldn't say. I don't know much about his business.”
“Oh, you don't?” There was a shade of disappointment in the lumberman's
voice as he said this, but Dick, who was reaching for the bottle, failed
to observe it.
“McGlory been with you long?”
“No, this is his first trip.”
“You don't say so! Wasn't he with your cousin a while back?”
“Yes, for a year.”
“Thought I'd seen him on the _Schmidt_. Is he a good man?”
“Good enough.”
“Let's see, wasn't he in with Stenzenberger once?”
“Couldn't say.”
“Oh, you couldn't?”
“No. Say, I 'll have to step down and see how things are going. Here,
I 'll just have another nip out o' that bottle.”
“Nonsense, Cap'n; sit down, sit down. I guess McGlory's competent to get
the load aboard all right. I ain't hardly begun to get acquainted with
you yet. We 'll have dinner pretty soon now, and when you've put a little
something solid inside you, we 'll go down and have a look at things.
Don't get bashful about the bottle. There's plenty more where that come
from.”
“I don't know but what I've had all that's good for me.”
“Pshaw! A man of your inches? Here now, here's to you!”
They drank together, and a little later they drank again.
When Mrs. Spencer, a tired, faded out little body, came to the door and
said, “Dinner is ready, Ed,” Dick's spirits were soaring amazingly, and
his voice had risen to a pitch slightly above the normal. Spencer nodded
toward his guest and remarked, “This is Cap'n Smiley, Josie.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance,” exclaimed Dick, boisterously, striding
forward to shake her hand.
“Show the Cap'n to the dining room, will you, Josie?” Spencer said.
“I 'll step out and call the boys.”
Mrs. Spencer led the way through the short hall to the dining room,
where a table was spread for Spencer's eight or ten men (Mc-Glory and
the crew were to eat on the _Merry Anne_). Dick, stepping high, followed
her, and found himself being presented to a blond young woman with blue
eyes and an agreeable expression. “My sister Estelle, Cap'n Smiley,”
said Mrs. Spencer.
“Glad to meet you,” said Dick, looking so hard at her as they shook
hands that she blushed and dropped her eyes.
Mrs. Spencer slipped out to the kitchen after the introduction, leaving
them to await the men.
“You've never been here before?” she ventured.
“Never have. Do you live here?”
“Yes, I've been with sister four years now.”
“Well, say, this is a pretty lonely place for a girl like you. I 'll have
to sail around often.”
“I guess you will.”
“Yes, _ma'am_, you're too pretty for this corner of the woods.”
Estelle blushed and shook her head.
“But that's the gospel truth, sure as I'm Dick Smiley. And I can see
you're too sensible to get mad at any one for telling the truth.”
“Oh, Captain, I'm afraid you're a flirt,” simpered Estelle.
“Me, flirt? Never. Not on your diamond ear-rings!”
“Sh! What would Ed think if he was to come in and hear you talking like
that?”
Spencer, in truth, was already on the steps; in another moment he came
into the room at the head of his men. And Dick, suddenly aware that his
tongue was taking liberties with him, shut his lips tight and refused
to speak another word throughout the meal. In vain the lumberman rallied
him; in vain the men made advances; in vain Estelle, who was waiting
on table, threw him glances from behind Spencer's chair or let her hand
brush his in passing him the potatoes; from a flushed, talkative man,
Dick had turned abruptly into a silent, moody one, and he ate steadily,
with eyes for nothing but his food.
The meal was nearly over when Spencer, looking around the table, said,
“Hello, where's Pete?”
“He's busy,” replied one of the men, “said he'd be a little late.”
“Well, if he likes his vittles cold, I guess it's his own funeral.”
“There he is now, outside there.”
At this Spencer pushed back his chair and went to the window. “Hello,
there, Pete,” he called. “Ain't you coming to dinner?”
“Yes, be right along.”
Dick stopped eating at the sound of the last voice, and listened, his
fork in the air, for what was coming next. Hearing nothing further, he
faced around and watched the door. A moment later in came Roche, trying
to greet the men without looking at his former captain, and sliding into
his chair with averted face.
“Mr. Roche, don't you know Cap'n Smiley?” said Spencer.
“Yes, yes, I know him. How are you, Cap'n?”
“How are you, Pete? How'd you get here?”
“Oh, I--” Roche was embarrassed. “I used to work for Mr. Spencer, and
when I left you he took me back.”
Dick merely grunted, and went on eating.
“Here, Estelle!” called Spencer. “Estelle, Cap'n Smiley'd like another
piece o' pie. Ain't Estelle there, Josie?”
Mrs. Spencer appeared in the kitchen doorway. “No, she ain't here.”
“Why, I just saw her a minute or so ago.”
“She said it was hot in the kitchen and stepped outside. What is it you
want?”
“Cap'n Smiley'd like some more pie.”
“All right, I 'll get it for him.”
Dick bolted the second helping in the silence that had enveloped him
since the meal began. Then he got up, said something about the schooner
that nobody quite understood, and left the house.
Matters were going slowly at the wharf.
There was still a small pile of timber, and another of shingles waiting
to be loaded. So far as Dick could see, Harper seemed to be directing
the work.
“What are you doing there, Pink?” he demanded, in a tone that made Pink
look curiously at him before replying.
“Loadin' up.”
“Where's McGlory?”
“I don't know.”
“You _don't know!_ Well, why in------don't you know?”
“I 'll tell you, Cap'n.”
“Oh, you 'll tell me, will you?”
“Yes, I will. Mr. McGlory was awful partic'lar about the first load
o' stuff that went aboard, handled most of it hisself, and made us work
slow, an' then he just naturally quit workin' and walked off without
sayin' a word, an' so I an' the boys have been tryin' to hustle it
aboard, like you said, without him.”
“Quit workin'! What right's he got to quit workin'?”
“I don't know, Cap'n.”
Two of the sailors, standing near by, had been watching their captain
during this talk.
Now one of them turned away to hide a grin.
“What are you grinning about there?” roared Dick.
“I wasn't grinnin', Cap'n.”
“Oh, you wasn't. Get to work, then, and shut your mouths. You're a lot
o' loafers, that's what you are. Hustle, now!” He lent a strong hand
himself, glad to vent in work the explosives that were working in his
head; and as he worked he muttered, “So we quit workin' when we're
tired, do we?”
Meanwhile the mate was strolling in the forest a few hundred yards away
with Estelle. He was looking closely at her, as they walked, from under
heavy eyebrows. She was flushing a very little and studying the sand at
her feet.
“Who's been giving you that kind o' talk about me?” he was asking.
“Why--I don't know as it was anybody especial.”
“You didn't believe it, did you?”
“N-no--but you see, you told me you were coming right back, and then you
didn't--and I didn't know whether I was ever going to see you again or
not. I thought--”
“Well, what was it you thought?”
“I thought you probably could have come if you'd wanted to!”
“You know better than that, Estelle. The only way I could come was on
the schooner, and Cap'n Henry laid me off before the next trip. The
minute I had a chance to come up here with this man, I grabbed it. What
I'd like to know is, who is there up here that wants to tell lies about
me? What else have you heard?”
“You--you won't be mad, Joe, if--if I tell?”
“Course not. Here, let's sit down.”
They found a seat in the hollow of the sand, where the undergrowth
screened them.
“You see, Joe, I heard that you--were married.”
He started up. “That's a lie!”
“You said you--wouldn't get mad.”
He dropped down again, muttering: “I ain't mad at you, Estelle, but
don't you see there's some one that's just setting out to spread these
lies. It's enough to rile a fellow. Who was it told you?”
“I don't know--it was quite a while back--maybe it was--Josie.”
“But she don't know anything about me. Who could 'a' told her?”
“I don't know. You won't say anything to her, will you, Joe?”
“No, course not. It's funny, that's all. But so long's you don't believe
it, I don't suppose I've got any cause for kicking.”
“Of course I don't believe it--not now. Before you'd come back, and
after all you'd said about--”
“About what, Estelle?”
“About coming up here for me--and our going away from here--”
“That's it,” he broke in eagerly--“that's just it. I couldn't do it then
because I didn't have the ready. But now, you see, I've got a little
put by, and there ain't nothing to hinder our clearing out o' here for
good.”
“Isn't there, Joe?”
“Not a thing.”
“Oh, I'm so glad. You don't know--you don't know how sick I get of this
place, and these men around. I most die with it sometimes--feel as if
I could go away alone if I knew of any place to go. Once I thought a
little of--of just doing it anyhow, and maybe finding you in Chicago.
You've told me where your place is, you know, up on the north side.”
“Yes, I know, but we can do it now.”
“Now, Joe?”
“Sure.”
“To-day?”
“Well--you see--I couldn't hardly do it to-day. I've got to finish my
trip.”
“Oh--”
“Now wait, Estelle. If I got impatient, I'd lose the trick, don't you
see. This man, Dick Smiley, is working for the man that's got to help
me. I know a way to make him back me--set me up in my own place in some
new town maybe. I couldn't leave Smiley in the lurch without getting his
boss down on me. I've got a hold on him, but he'd never stand for that.
This Smiley's a no-good lot, but I've got to stick out this trip with
him.”
“But--then you 'll be back in Chicago.”
“I know. I'm coming up here by train. Or say I meet you at Saginaw.”
“You thought you could do that before.”
“I was broke then. Now I've got the stuff. And I know how I can turn
a trick on this trip back that 'll be worth an easy five hundred to me.
That 'll take us clear down to Niagara Falls, maybe.”
“Oh, could we go there, Joe?”
“Sure, anywhere you say.”
“But, how 'll I know when to start?”
“Well, let's see. I can't be sure of getting back to Chicago, and
cleaning things up, and coming up to Saginaw inside of seven days. Call
it eight; that 'll make it--to-day's Tuesday--next week Wednesday. What
day does Spencer drive down to Ramsey?”
“Thursdays.”
“Then that's our day. You could get him to take you along, couldn't
you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you give him the slip and catch the afternoon train to Saginaw.”
“But how could I take my things? He'd be sure to see them.”
“Leave 'em behind. I 'll buy you what you need. Have you got any money?”
“Not very much?”
He sat up and drew out a handful of bills. “Here--say I give you
twenty-five. That 'll see you through, won't it?”
“Oh, yes, Joe.”
She was decidedly pretty now. Her weak face was alive with eagerness,
her eyes were dancing. And McGlory, as he looked at her, seemed to feel
something approaching a thrill.
There they sat, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, until the brush parted
and Dick stood over them.
“Well, Mr. Man,” said he, “I hope you're passing a pleasant afternoon
with your friend.”
Estelle got to her feet first.
“We thought maybe you'd spend a few minutes with us to-day,” continued
Dick. “You see we can't stay very long.”
“Who're you talking to?” growled the mate.
“I'm a-looking right at you.”
It was an awkward moment for McGlory. He felt that it was downright
necessary to show his superiority, for it is only by such a show
that women like Estelle are kept constant. On the other hand, even he
understood the danger of openly defying his captain. But the seconds
were flying.
“You go back to your schooner, Dick Smiley. You ain't boss here.”
“Well, by--” Dick checked himself, with a half bow toward Estelle. “I
beg your pardon, my dear. Your friend kind o' surprised me.”
McGlory flashed a suspicious glance at her.
“None o' your jaw now, Smiley. You can do your talking when it's time to
sail. You 'll have to shut up here.”
“Maybe you 'll be good enough to tell me when you 'll be ready to start,”
suggested Dick, with extravagant politeness.
McGlory rumbled an unintelligible reply; and Dick turned again to
Estelle. “Will you excuse him, my dear. You see he's got a previous
engagement with me. But you couldn't hardly blame him for forgetting,
with such a lady friend to talk to.”
“Look here,” McGlory broke out; “you've said enough. You go back to your
schooner where you belong!”
“Thanks, I'm going. We're all going. You 'll come with us, my dear?”
Estelle, who was plunged in confusion, said nothing, but fell in with
him. And McGlory, fuming, had to follow.
The east wind was freshening; the sky was darker. Spencer, who stood
awaiting them on the wharf, shook his head at Dick. “You aren't going to
start now, are you, Cap'n?”
“Sure we are.”
“It's mean business with an east wind. But still McGlory knows the
channel.”
“McGlory be----!” said Dick, throwing off his ceremonial manner now that
Estelle had escaped to the house. “I'd take her through hell for fifty
cents. Just watch my smoke.” Spencer said nothing further. The mate was
ordered up forward; the lines were cast off; Dick took the wheel. And
out they went, with a reckless daring that made Spencer and Pink Harper
smile from different motives.
“He's going to butt a hole clean through Middle Island,” muttered the
lumberman. But before the words were out, the Merry Anne swung cheerily
about and went skimming along the channel bank. Soon she rounded the
island in safety and disappeared.
Not until they were fairly out on Lake Huron did Dick call his mate.
Then he gave up the wheel without a word and stumbled down into the
cabin. His high spirits had given place to weariness and depression;
and, dropping down for a moment on his bunk, he fell asleep.
On deck McGlory, with an expression of smouldering anger, stood at the
wheel, glancing now at the sails, now at the water, now at the receding
shore. If his eyes could have penetrated the bluffs and the forest, he
would not have been happier. For Estelle, who seemed to be the victim of
her emotions today, was listening to some earnest talk from a boastful
fellow named Roche.