"THIS IS WHERE I STOP"
Night was closing in when Mike Murphy pointed the _Deerfoot_ northward
and circled around the end of Squirrel Island, and turning eastward
glided midway between it and Ocean Point, the lower extremity of Linekin
Neck. He was now headed toward the ocean, and passed above Ram Island
light. That being accomplished, he caught the swell of the Atlantic,
long and heaving, but not enough so to cause him the least misgiving.
He was doing a very rash thing. He ought to have gone to Southport and
there awaited the return of his friends, but the reckless bent of his
disposition caused him to make this excursion preparatory to returning
home.
"It will be something to brag about to the byes, as dad used to say whin
his friends carried him home after he'd been battered up by them that
engaged in a friendly dispoot with him."
He decided to keep to the eastward until clear of the numerous islands,
and then make a circuit and return to Southport.
Now the National Motor Boat law contains a number of rigid requirements,
of which Mike Murphy knew nothing. Such ignorance was excusable, since
he had never been on the launch at night. His lack of knowledge on these
points was almost certain to bring serious trouble.
In the first place, the _Deerfoot_ belonged to what is known as the
Second Class of motor boats, which includes all that are twenty-six feet
or more and less than forty feet in length. Such craft are required to
display at night a bright white light as near the stem as practicable
and a white light aft to show all around the horizon. With these
safeguards a motor boat can be easily located, except in a fog, when the
foghorn must be kept going. As Mike plunged through the gloom he never
thought of the necessity of displaying lights. It would be a miracle,
therefore, if he was not overtaken by disaster.
And yet it may be doubted whether such a precaution would have helped
him, since he was equally ignorant of the rules of the road. If an
approaching steamer or large craft sounded a single blast from its
whistle, he would not have suspected that it was an order for him to go
to starboard, or the right, or that two whistle blasts directed him to
turn to port, or the opposite direction. Such are the rules by day. For
government at night, the following doggerel is helpful:
"When both side lights you see ahead,
Port your helm and show your red,
Green to green, or red to red,
Perfect safety, go ahead.
When upon your port is seen,
A stranger's starboard light of green,
There's not so much for you to do,
For green to port keeps clear of you."
All this, I repeat, was unknown to Mike, who having gone half a dozen
miles to sea, decided it was time to circle about and return home. He
retained a fair idea of his bearings. The distant glimmer of lights to
the westward indicated, as he believed, Squirrel Island. Ram Island
light was nearer, and the blinking star farthest away was the government
warning on Burnt Island.
All this was true, and the youth sitting with his hands on the wheel and
gliding swiftly forward saw nothing to cause alarm. This
self-complacency, however, was suddenly broken by the abrupt appearance
of a white light dead ahead. A second glance told him it was not far off
and was rapidly bearing down upon him. He swung over the steering wheel,
so as to go to the right, but the next instant he saw that the big ship
was still coming toward him as if determined to run him down.
The startled Mike was so rattled for the moment, that instead of using
his whistle, he sprang to his feet and shouted:
"Kaap off! kaap off, or I'll run over ye!"
It may be doubted whether his voice carried to anyone on the schooner,
for none there could know that a small boat was directly ahead. Mike
heard the rush of the water against her towering bow, saw the gleam of
several lights, and for a moment believed it was all over with him.
There were precious few seconds at his command, but pulling himself
together, he whirled the wheel around and the next minute slid along the
length of the black hull, so near that he could have touched it with his
outstretched hand. One of the wondering crew chanced to catch sight of
the small craft as it shot by and called out:
"What boat is that?"
"The _Olympic_ just come in from Cork!"
"You fool! where are your lights?"
"Don't need 'em. Ye may thank yer stars that I didn't run ye down and
split ye in two, but don't get too gay wid me."
It was a close call. Mike remembered now that he ought to have displayed
lights, but he hesitated to leave the wheel for that purpose, and it
seemed to him that nothing of the kind was likely to be repeated.
"There'll be more lights showing by and by and I can git along without
'em."
He did not dream that he was flagrantly violating the law and was liable
to be punished therefore. His anxiety was now to get back to Southport
without more delay.
"It isn't on account of dad," he said to himself, "for he was so mad two
hours ago that he can't get any madder, but it's mesilf that's beginning
to feel lonely."
He had been so much interested with every phase of his novel experience
that, strange as it may seem, up to this time he had forgotten the lunch
which he bought at the Isle of Springs before the boatman rowed him
across to Westport. Suddenly it struck him that he was never in all his
life so hungry. The sandwiches were somewhat mashed out of shape from
having been carried so long in his pocket, but they could not have
tasted better.
"The one sad fayture about 'em is that there isn't a dozen times as
many, as Barney O'Toole remarked whin he found he had only two
Corkonians to fight.
"I won't say anything about this ghost of a maal whin I arrive at home,
and mither will be so touched wid pity that after reminding dad to give
me a big whaling she will allow me to ate up all that happens to be in
the house."
A few minutes later, Mike became aware of a wonderfully strange thing:
Burnt Island light instead of winking at him from the westward had
danced round to the extremity of Linekin Neck, on the north. Not to be
outdone, Ram Island light had whisked far up in the same direction.
Other illuminations had also taken part in the mix-up till things were
topsy turvy.
You know that when a person is lost, the points of the compass seem to
go astray, which peculiar fact will explain the mystification of Mike
Murphy. He was sensible enough, however, to know that the confusion was
with himself, and he held the boat to a true course. Not long after, he
was startled by striking some obstruction, though so slight that it did
not jar the craft.
"And phwat could that be?" he asked, rising with one hand on the wheel
while he peered into the gloom. "It couldn't have been that ship that
got swung round and got in my way, and I run her down. If it was the
same, she warn't showing any lights--ah! I mind what it is. The
_Deerfut_ has run over somebody's lobster pot, which the same signifies
that it's mesilf that is the biggest lobster of all fur coming thus out
of me road."
It will be recalled that the night was unusually dark, relieved now and
then by bits of moonlight which struggled through the clouds. At no
time, however, was Mike able to see more than a few rods in any
direction. As a rule, he could barely make out the flag fluttering at
the bow.
Just beyond the point where he ran over the lobster pot, a rift in the
clouds revealed the vague outlines of a small rowboat, and the head and
shoulders of two men. If they carried a lighted lantern, it was in the
bottom of their craft, and Mike saw nothing of it. They were so far to
the right that there was no danger of collision, and he hailed them.
"Ship ahoy! Where bound?"
"None of yer bus'ness," was the answer. "Who are you?"
"The same to yersilf; if I had ye on boord I'd hammer some good manners
into ye."
These threatening words evidently scared the couple, who, not knowing
how many were on the larger boat, decided not to run any risk. Mike,
despite his brief sojourn in Maine, had heard of the illegal practice of
many persons on the coast who gathered lobsters of less length than the
law prescribes. He could not avoid giving the men a parting shot:
"I'll mind to report that ye are the spalpeens that are scooping in
short lobsters."
They made no reply, for it is not impossible that the youth spoke the
truth when he made the charge.
"I'm hoping that the world will soon get tired of twisting round the
wrong way, for it's hard to convince mesilf that I'm not right, which
the same don't often happen wid me. As I figure out it's a straight
coorse to Southport. If me dad has forgot to show a signal light at home
or at Mr. Landon's, I may run down the island before I obsarves the
same--phwat does that maan?"
The engine was plainly going badly, and the trouble steadily grew more
marked. He had not the remotest idea of the cause.
"I wonder now if the same is growing tired; I oughter been more marciful
and give the ingine a rist."
He listened closely, and a fear crept into his throat. If a breakdown
should take place, he would be in bad situation, not knowing what to do
and far beyond all help.
Suddenly the engine came to a dead standstill. He swung the fly-wheel
around but there was no response. The _Deerfoot_ was out of commission.
He sighed:
"Here's where I stop, as Terence O'Flaherty said whin he walked aginst
the side of his house."