III

The tail of the night found Leary striding over the hills. "Going to

heave her herrin' overboard, are they? And she'll never clear for home,

hah? She won't, eh?" And over the hills he ran. In and out, up and down,

over the crests, and at last down the tangled slope across moss-grown

rocks where lay the tide-tossed kelp, and onto the beach, where in the

dawn he came suddenly on them.

A great shout went up when they were certain 'twas he; and down upon him

presently they bore.

"Two hundred of 'em, maybe," calculated Leary, and looked wistfully

toward where his vessel should have been laying to anchor. "If I weren't

such a hand for skylarkin' she'd be lay-in' there now with Tim Lacy

standin' by the old six-pounder, and she loaded to the muzzle with nails

and one thing and another, ready to sweep the beach of 'em." And

somewhat sadly he waited for the mob; and, waiting, wondered how Bess

was making out, for the squalls were chasing each other off the hills,

and out beyond the little harbor, all whitecapped, lay the open bay.

As a sea sweeps up and buries the lone rock under its surge, so did it

seem to Leary that the mob must overwhelm him as he stood there alone

on the beach. Annihilation! Their gestures and imprecations, as they

drew near, implied nothing less. "Well, let it come!" and from his mind

flew all but one clear idea. He would deal them all the damage he could

before they overbore him; and if under their heels on the sand they

strove to crush the life out of him, he would reach up and grasp as many

as his arms would circle.

And then he heard the hail from behind him. He flashed a look. Yes,

there was the vessel, and it was Tim Lacy calling. She was coming into

the wind. Her jibs were down by the run. Ay, and there was the rattling

of her chain-anchor.

"Skipper, oh, skipper," came the hail again, and he heard the hoisting

of a dory. To one hand was the mob which meant his destruction; to the

other hand by the open water to the vessel if he could make it. He had

farther to go than they, but they were mostly in oilskins, and he was a

rarely active man. That he knew. Away he went over the little bowlders.

Diagonally he had to go. A straight parallel to the beach it was for

them. Fast as he was, some of them would intercept his way to the

incoming dory. Three, four, perhaps a dozen would be there before him.

A dozen it was, and one huge man and Lackford, with no oilskins to

hamper them, were in the front; and because they were in front they felt

the force of Leary's arm. It would have been joy to stop and battle with

them all, but that wasn't saving the vessel. He caught one with one

hand, and one with the other--and it was so easy and so satisfying!

But that wouldn't be making Bess happy by and by. There were two more

that he could have reached, but those two he dodged. But two now between

him, and he was for stopping to box with them--the battle fever was

getting him--but a voice came to him: "Don't stop for them, skipper.

Come on. We're here."

Leary turned and saw, and raced for the water's edge. A wide leap and he

was in the dory. They tore after him, minding not the fallen bodies in

their eagerness. Up to their waists in the water they rushed with yells

of rage. Stones came flying after him. A few struck him, but they were

too small to do damage.

From the dory Leary faced them again. "That's you--two hundred of

you--you spawn of dogfish."

"Blast 'em, Sammie, don't talk to them. Out oars, Ned, and drive her!

Here's the kind of talk for the likes of them!" and between his

skipper's arm and body Tim Lacy from behind thrust an old-fashioned

heavy dragoon pistol. "Only one shot in her, but make that one good;

here y'are, Sammie."

Leary's fingers curled about the stock of it, and it felt pleasant to

the touch. Yet for all that he thrust it back, but as he did so Tim's

dory-mate tumbled down beside Leary in the dory. On the bottom of the

dory the jagged rock was rolling even as the blood welled from his

temple. And then came a report--another, and a third; and with the third

a bullet whizzed close.

"Blast you all!" shrieked Leary, and with a leg either side of the

fallen man's body he held the pistol waist-high. "Come on now! Come on

now, I say! _You_, and _you_, and _you_, you white-livered----"

"After him--drag him out of the dory!"

"Ay, drag me out! Come you and drag me out!" And threatening variously

with his pistol, Leary pointed directly at what seemed to be a new

leader, a man with a revolver. "And let me tell you"--he pointed to the

armed man--"whoever you are, you round-shouldered, glue-eyed squid you,

whoever goes, you go first. Mind that--whatever happens, _you_ go first.

I've got _you_, you pop-eyed, slit-mouthed dogfish--and now shoot

again."

The man with the revolver shrank back; but Leary's pistol was still

trained on him, and farther and farther he shrank until he melted into

the body of the crowd.

In the rear of the crowd were those who struggled to get nearer. "Why

don't you go after him down there?" they yelled. "Or let us do it? One

man against you all! Why don't you pull him out of the dory?"

"Ay, pull him out! Send him to hell!" roared another.

"Well, send me to hell," retorted Leary--"maybe I've got friends in

hell, too!"

Back onto the beach receded the mob. Leary turned to his mate. "To the

vessel, Tim--and drive her!"

By the time they reached the vessel's deck the injured man came to. A

cup of coffee and five minutes by the fire and he was ready to turn to,

but Leary turned him into a bunk instead. "We've men enough without

you--a full crew. Lie down, boy, and go to sleep." Which he did.

"Now, fellows, make sail. Drive her. The trader an' that whole crowd,

they'll be after us soon in their jacks. Come on--lively--there's thirty

sail of 'em ready to round the point! An', Tim?"

"Ay, Sammie."

"Get out that old salutin' six-pounder and lash it for'ard o' the

windlass. Lash her hard so she won't kick overboard when she's fired."

"Ay, Sammie," and Lacy hurried off.

"And now, up with the jibs. And then mains'l--we've lost a lot of time

already. With her four lowers and those squalls shootin' off the high

hills from the other side of the bay, she'll soon have wind enough. And

we've got to be out of here before the snow sets in. A bad place here in

thick weather. Drive her, fellows--drive her!"

They were swaying up the mainsail when Leary happened to look over his

shoulder. With the wind of the frequently recurring squalls taking hold

of the great sail, they had a hard task to get it up; but at last it was

set; and then they trimmed in the main-sheet, while Leary ran forward to

the howitzer.

"What you got to load it with, Tim?"

"There's black powder enough, Sammie."

"But we want to do something more than salute 'em, Tim."

"M-m--there's the soundin' leads, Sammie."

"Get 'em!" And Tim went and came back with a deep-sea lead which he

rammed in after a hatful or so of powder.

When all was ready four inches of the lead stuck out of the muzzle.

"No matter; you'll do," Leary commented, and cast another look toward

the open water of the bay where were now twenty-five or thirty small

schooners rounding the headland.

Leary now contemplated the anchor chain of his vessel.

"I hate to lose you, 'specially like this, but--" And without further

word he reduced the chain to one turn of the windlass. "And now let all

hands tuck away under the rail, all but one man to go aloft and look out

for a small white sloop." And he took the wheel, where he was needed,

for the squalls, in full force, were now whistling battle-hymns from

deck to truck.

The fleet of jacks were now to be seen coming on rapidly; but presently,

the squall proving too strong for them, they all came fluttering up into

the wind and began to shorten sail.

"No heaving-to for this one, eh, Tim?" yelled Leary; and putting his

wheel up, and feeling the _Ligonier_ beginning to pay off and the anchor

to drag, he gave the word to slip the cable.

Through the hawse-hole the clanking chain tore swiftly, and away came

the _Ligonier_ like a wild thing. Leary patted the wheel and began to

talk to her:

"Crazy to get away, aren't you? Been laying too long to anchor, yes. No

wonder. And I'll not stint you now--take your fill of it, girl." Which

she did, and with Leary giving her plenty of wheel, through the white

swash she scooped a long, wet rail.

Tim Lacy now came aft. "There they are waitin' for us--an' the joke of

it is, Sammie, we c'n go out the North Passage with a fair wind. They

must 'a' forgot that I was born and brought up in this very bay."

"But we're not goin' out the North Passage, Tim."

"No?"

"No."

"But why? An' it's a beat up by them."

"Well, a beat it'll be. Go for'ard now."

"What'll he be at now?" muttered Tim.

But Leary knew. One eye he had for the approaching fleet and one to the

ledge of rocks toward which the _Ligonier_ was winging. "Some of 'em, by

this time, think we're trying to run away. But they'll know better in a

minute. And now do you, Tim, stand by that old cannon."

She was almost into the rocks then, holding in for the last foot of

clear water; but not for too long did he allow her to run on. Just in

time he tacked, and then it was about and away, for the fleet of native

schooners, who, watching her closely and assured now of her course,

spread out to intercept her. Expert seamen themselves, nowhere did they

leave a space wide enough for a rowboat, let alone a ninety-ton

fisherman, to slip through.

And they were armed. A shot rang out. Leary looked to see where the ball

struck, but among the endless merging of whitecaps there was no

discovering that. "Not that I care where it hit, blast ye--ye'll never

stop me now--for--hide under the rail you, Tim, with the rest--I'm after

some of you." And he headed the _Ligonier_ straight for the windward

jack, which now he could see was that of the trader Lackford, whose

round-shouldered figure in the bow betrayed him.

"Out of my way!" roared Leary before he realized that he was too far

away to be heard against the whistling squall. "But you'll hear me well

enough soon," he muttered. "And, Tim, so long as you won't hide away,

stand by that old fog-buster, and be sure to have the lanyard long

enough to let you hide behind the forem'st, for there's no telling--the

old antiquity might explode. I don't s'pose she's been shot off this ten

years. When I give the word, now--but wait, wait yet!" For a flying

moment he brought the _Ligonier's_ head into the wind. "Now!"

Boom! It made more noise than a modern six-inch. They could see the

long lead go skipping under the bow of the trader's jack.

"Heave to!" roared Leary, "or the next one goes aboard." No question but

they could hear him now. "Heave her to, I say! Ay, that's right. Load

the old lady again, Tim. And now"--his voice rose high again--"you'd

better all heave to, and stand aside, for this one's bound out, and 'll

come blessed handy to cuttin' in two whatever gets in her way."

And they luffed, twenty-odd sail of them, with six to eight men aboard

each, and stood to attention while the _Ligonier_, with her crew's

inquisitive, grinning faces poked above her rail, came tearing up and

by.

"And now let be your batteries, Tim, and run the ensign to the peak."

Which was done; and passed on in glory did the _Ligonier_, the old

six-pounder adorning one rail, a swish of white foam burying the other,

the colors aloft, and Sam Leary singing war-songs to the wheel. And

perfectly happy would he have been only the snow was thickening and no

Bess in sight. But maybe she had got safely home. Maybe. And just then

came from aloft:

"There's a little white sloop--an' some one in it--at Shark's Fin Ledge

a'most."

"Break out that gaff tops'l, fellows--and you, Tim, go aloft and point

the way--and hurry, afore the snow comes."

"Point the way to what, Sammie?"

"For a little white sloop with a girl in it."

"Ho-oh--that's it, is it?"