There remained nothing for Jack and Ray to do but climb aboard. With
the determined old fisherman standing there in the stern of the
_Betsy Anne_, looking coldly along the barrel of the old “barker,”
as he called his pistol, the two lads felt that he had them at a
disadvantage. From the age and condition of the revolver it did not
look as if it could do very much damage. But nevertheless the two boys
were not of a mind to experiment with its shooting qualities by making
themselves the target. Therefore they made haste to obey the old salt’s
command, especially when he emphasized it by waving the “barker” very
close to them. Also they moved forward into the bow of the boat at his
direction. Then, as he tied the painter of Captain Eli’s dory to a
stern cleat and grasped the tiller of his own boat, he muttered:
“Now, blime me, wi’ all things shipshape, an’ two o’ th’ bloominest
lobster pirates as ever was a-stowed awi in t’ bow, were hoff for
Haustin’s Pool, Miss _Betsy Hanne_.” He let out the sheet and shoved
over the tiller, and as if in answer to his suggestion the little boat
filled her main sail and presently was scudding merrily through the
water.
All three occupants of the boat were silent for some time after that,
but the doughty captain kept his eyes fastened on the two boys in the
bow and the “barker” within convenient reach.
After a time, however, the little old one-legged fisherman could
stand the silence no longer, and began to muse once more, apparently
addressing the _Betsy Anne_ as before.
“Me bein’ a jest man as ’ow I are an’ me bein’ a right-minded person as
’ow I ’opes I are, ’ow can I g’ back on me bloomin’ senses? ’Ere I been
a-findin’ o’ my traps robbed, these weeks past, an’ ’ere I comes along
hin me hole _Betsy Hanne_ an’ finds these ’ere two a-robbin’ of ’em and
then I says t’ one o’ ’em, says I, ‘Whose ’nitials is J. S.?’ an’ ’e
says, says ’e, ‘My ’nitials is J. S.,’ an’ I says, then,’ ’Ere’s your
watch as I found hin my lobster traps,’ says I, an’ then ’e ups an’
denies hit and says, says ’e, ‘Hit ain’t my watch, ’ere’s my watch,’
an’ goes fer t’ find ’is watch, an’ then seems surprised like ’cause
it ain’t hin ’e’s pocket which o’ course hit ain’t ’cause hit’s in my
’and all t’ time, an’ then ’e says, says ’e, ‘Oh I left hit ’ome wi’
Cap’n Eli,’ says ’e, an’ I ax ye, me bein’ a jest man as ever was an’ a
right-thinkin’ hole sea-dog as is, I ax ye, what for are I t’ think?”
“I tell you, we are not lobster thieves. We are from the construction
camp over on Hood Island. We’re friends of Captain Eli’s--Captain Eli
Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island light,” asserted Jack, who had
become very indignant listening to the old man’s recital.
“O-ho-ho, ’ear ’im now. Blime me hif ’e don’t talk back as is just what
all crooked lobster piruts does. Look ’ere, sonny, ’ow’s hit you was
a-raisin’ o’ my lobster pots then?” asked the lobsterman.
“Why, I hauled it because Jack here never saw a lobster pot before and
he was just curious. I wanted to show him. We didn’t take a single fish
and we didn’t intend to. I know it was wrong for us to even haul it
but then we aren’t thieves. And we don’t know who’s been taking your
lobsters either,” said Ray, who had also become irritated by the old
salt.
“Keel ’aul me, listen at ’im. ’E says as ’ow ’e’s friend ’ere ain’t
nuvver seen a lobster pot. O-ho-ho, a likely story, young feller,
O-ho-ho.”
“It’s true, though,” insisted Jack. “We are friends of Captain Eli.
Why, that’s his dory we have been using.”
“Listen at ’im now, listen. ’E says as ’ow that’s Cap’n Eli’s dory when
Cap’n Eli’s dory is brown painted,” mused the old tar.
“Pooh, you don’t use your eyes,” exploded Ray in disgust. “Can’t you
see that that dory has just been repainted green.”
“As fer my a-usin’ my heyes, mebby I does an’ then agin’ mebby I don’t.
Me not bein’ a man give for to arger enny, I won’t say ‘Ay’ ner ‘Nay.’
But I say, say I, hif that air his Cap’n Eli’s dory painted green, why
t’ on’y way as two o’ the bloomines’ lobster piruts as ever was come
by hit is they come by hit crooked, same has they comes by ever’thing
else. Cap’n Eli ain’t goin’ for t’ lend his dory as is painted brown
to two o’ t’ crookedest lobster stealers as was ever fit for to walk
t’ plank, blime me. Go for t’ conterdick that will ’e,” answered the
fisherman with finality.
“Oh, pshaw, what’s the use of arguing with him,” said Jack in disgust.
“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Hit ain’t no use for t’ argey wi’ me. Save
hit all for t’ bloomin’ warden. ’Es paid for t’ argey, ’e is, an’ argey
’e will, that’s sartin’.”
“I hope he’s easier to convince than our friend with the peg leg here.
But I guess he will. I’ve been to Austin’s Pool before with Uncle Vance
and they all seem civilized there at least,” said Ray to Jack, under
his breath.
Again the three lapsed into silence while the _Betsy Anne_ slipped away
on a long port reach. Hood Island dropped behind rapidly, and off the
starboard bow Jack and Ray could see a thin gray speck on the horizon
which they concluded must be the mainland.
“How long does it take this craft of yours to make Austin’s Pool or
wherever it is you are taking us?” demanded Jack of the skipper a
little later when the _Betsy Anne_ had come about and started on a
starboard tack.
“Has soon’s any craft o’ ’er size kin make hit,” was the lobsterman’s
ambiguous reply.
“Huh, that’s definite,” muttered the lad from Vermont.
“Well, then I shud say as ’ow she’d make hit soon enough for Warden
Williams to lock two capital lobster piruts hup before supper,” added
the fisherman.
“Jiminy,” said Jack, quite disturbed. “That means we won’t get back to
Hood Island until long after dark, Ray, even if we can convince this
warden fellow, whoever he is, that we are not lobster thieves.”
“’Ood Hisland,” exclaimed the lobsterman. “Ye ain’t expectin’ ever for
t’ git back there again, are ’e? Why, that warden jest goes daft on
lobster piruts like you. ’E’ll keep ’e in ’is lockup for a year or two,
mebby three,” assured the lobsterman.
The thoughts of such a possibility really began to worry Jack. He
knew perfectly well that he and Ray could convince any fair-minded
person that they were not lobster pirates. In truth, if worse came to
worse, they could send for Mr. Warner and some of their friends in the
construction camp and in that way prove their innocence. But at best
that would take a whole day and perhaps longer, and he had visions
of spending time in some vile-smelling country jail until assistance
arrived.
Such disturbing thoughts occupied them both for most of the afternoon.
They conversed in undertones occasionally, but for the most part they
were silent, thinking of their strange predicament and wondering what
their friends back on Hood Island would think when they did not turn up
at the sound of Bongo’s supper call that evening.
As the sun dropped lower in the western sky a stiffer breeze sprung up
and the _Betsy Anne_ redoubled her speed. Already she had approached
so close to the mainland that Jack and Ray could hear the grumble of
the surf that rolled in upon the rock-strewn beach, and it was not long
after that when the little boat was headed into a big crescent-shaped
bay about four miles across where the beach was broad and of the
whitest sand. At one horn of the crescent was a little hamlet and
innumerable docks, while far across on the other side was a long low
sandy point which stretched out into the water and was capped with
what appeared at a distance to be a number of dilapidated sheds.
Jack learned later that this sandy cape was called Frenchman’s Point,
and that the shanties he saw were the dwellings of a horde of French
Canadians, half-breed Indians and other riffraff that lived on what
they could find or steal along the beach.
The _Betsy Anne_ headed in for the docks at the Pool. The long low
piers were fairly crowded with craft of all kinds, ranging from
tiny motor boats and fishing sloops to long low-bank schooners and
trim-looking trawlers. This was Austin’s Pool, one of the best-known
fishing villages in that section of Maine, and the point from which
fish and lobsters were sent to Portland, Boston, and New York.
Fishermen swarmed over the dock. Some were loading their little vessels
with tubs of bait and butts of water, others were unloading their day’s
catch, while still others were just sitting around on the string pieces
or tie posts, smoking and gossiping and waiting for the time to put out
for a night’s work on near-by fishing grounds.
Old Mitchell took particular care to bring the _Betsy Anne_ alongside
of the most popular dock of all and as he came about and dropped the
main sail of his sloop he was greeted by a chorus from the pier.
“How’s luck over Hood Island way, Mitch?”
“How many markers this time, English?”
“What’s the haul?”
To this last the lobsterman answered by waving his “barker” and
pointing to the two lads in the bow.
“What’s t’ ’aul, say you? Why, ’ere’s t’ ’aul. Two o’ t’ bloominest
lobster piruts as ever was. Found ’em a robbin’ o’ my traps right afore
my heyes,” he said with a grin.
Instantly Jack and Ray became the center of attention. Seamen gathered
from all quarters, it seemed, and looked the lads over, as Old Mitchell
forced them to climb the landing ladder.
Of course the two boys felt greatly humiliated at all this, especially
since the lobsterman still insisted on flourishing his revolver.
“Aw, say, there’s no need of your parading that revolver, is there?”
demanded Jack, who had become quite indignant. “We’re your prisoners
and we’ll go with you peaceably so you can stick it back into your
pocket. You make us look like a couple of desperate characters that
way.”
“Desprut? Now blow me hif ye ain’t desprut. I shed say I won’t put
me ‘barker’ awi. I ain’t tikin’ no chances of your a-runnin’ hoff, I
ain’t. Go on, walk hup a’ead o’ me now,” said the old mariner with
emphasis.
“Be keerful, Mitch,” said one of the fishermen. “They looks t’ me like
murderers. See t’ willinus mug on that air one with t’ blue jacket.”
“Been a-stealin’ yer lobsters, eh, Mitch?” said another. “Wall, t’ last
lobster pirut got ten years. Like es not t’ judge’ll give these ’ere
lads just es much.”
“Look a bad lot, they does,” remarked some one else.
All this and a great deal more was said by the fishermen as the lads
walked up the dock in front of Old Mitchell. Of course they felt
humiliated. Who could feel otherwise under the circumstances?
From the pier the lads proceeded up the board walk of a narrow street
lined with low sheds and dingy stores which reeked with the odor of
fish. Their alert guard stumped along behind them still with the
revolver at their backs.
But presently as they went on the thumping of Mitchell’s wooden leg
suddenly ceased and immediately the old man set up a great hue and cry.
“’Ere, ’ere, stop ’em, they’re a-runnin’ awi. Stop ’em, I say.”
Jack and Ray stopped in surprise and turned to look and what they saw
almost convulsed them with laughter.
There was the lobsterman in the middle of the board walk struggling to
release the end of his peg leg from the grip of a knot hole into which
he had stepped, and at the same time trying to keep the lads covered
with his revolver. It was extremely ludicrous and the boys simply could
not help laughing at the old man’s plight.
“Ha, ha, ho, ho, he stepped in a knot hole,” cried Jack in glee.
“Now’s our chance to run, he, he, ho, ho, ho. He couldn’t shoot or run
or do much of anything now, could he? Look at him squirm,” shouted Ray.
“What’s the use of running? That would make us look guilty. Ha, ha,
ha, this is funny. Come on, let’s help the old duffer out of his fix,”
said Jack.
And much to the amazement of the lobsterman, the two “desprut” lobster
pirates returned and pried his wooden appendage out of the hole into
which it had been wedged.
“Well, blow me, this is funny,” said Mitchell, when he was again on a
firm foundation. “I thought as ’ow you’d run hoff when ye seed me in
such a pickle.”
“We told you we’d go along peaceably, didn’t we?” said Jack, still
giggling.
“Keel ’aul me, so ye did, so ye did,” said their captor, and for the
rest of the journey up the narrow street he stumped along beside them
with the revolver concealed in his pocket.
The trio stopped, at Mitchell’s direction, before a dingy building
over the door of which hung a faded notary’s sign, bearing the name
of William Williams. The lobsterman pushed open the door and the two
lads preceded him into the dim interior. A cloud of thick tobacco smoke
filled the place, and the lads were not long in discovering that it
emanated from a tremendous pipe being smoked by an equally tremendous
individual who sat behind a desk in one corner of the room. He was
a giant of a man, but for all that he had a good-natured face, and
Ray and Jack liked him immediately. There was another person in the
room also, a boy of about Ray’s age and not unlike him in build and
features. He sat at a smaller desk against the opposite wall and was
evidently Warden Williams’ assistant.
“Well, ’ere I are, Warden, ’ere I are wi’ two o’ t’ bloominest funniest
lobster piruts as ever I sees. ’Ere I finds ’em a-’aulin’ o’ my lobster
traps in broad daylight an’ one o’ ’em says as ’ow ’is ’nitials is t’
same es on ’is watch what I found in my lobster traps t’ other day, an’
yet ’e’s all fer denyin’ as ’e is a thief, blime ’e. Now hif--”
“What? What’s all this stuff you’re tryin’ t’ say?” demanded the
warden, who was very much puzzled by the jumble of words Old Mitchell
had just delivered.
“Why, it’s this way, sir,” said Jack, speaking up. “Ray and I are from
the Hood Island lighthouse construction camp. This afternoon we went
out in Captain Eli’s dory for a row. We caught some fish too, and
by chance ran across one of Mr. Mitchell’s lobster pots. I come from
Vermont and I never saw a lobster trap in my life or knew how lobsters
were caught and I asked Ray here to tell me something about them.
“Well, Ray volunteered to pull up one of the traps to show me what
they looked like and just when we had hauled it and were looking at
it, along came the owner here and arrested us for lobster stealing. We
never took any of his lobsters and never intended to. Then he asked
if my initials were J. S. and I said that they were. My name is John
Monroe Strawbridge. Then he felt certain that he had caught the men
who had been robbing his lobster pots. You see, a few days ago he had
found a watch and chain caught in one of his lobster pots and the watch
bore the initials J. S. It was not my watch, however, for mine has the
initials J. M. S., and furthermore my watch is now in the possession
of Captain Eli Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island light. I loaned it
to him several weeks ago and never thought to get it back. I told Mr.
Mitchell all this, but he would not believe me and arrested us at the
point of a revolver and brought us here. Do I state the case right, Mr.
Mitchell?”
“Right has ever was,” said the old lobsterman, quite surprised to hear
Jack make such a confession. “Right an’ proper as ever was an’ ’ere’s
t’ watch, sir.”
Mitchell brought forth the big silver timepiece and laid it on the
table before the warden.
“That isn’t my watch,” asserted Jack. “Mine’s gold.” He said the last
with no little pride.
But the warden was not listening to him. He was examining the watch
instead, and there was a certain eagerness about him as he turned the
heavy timepiece over and over in his hand.
“You found this in your lobster pot?” he demanded.
“Keel ’aul me hif I didn’t, sir, an’ I can tell ’e ’ow hit got there,
too.”
“Pooh, don’t take t’ trouble. I know. I lost a watch on a lobster
pot once myself. Chain caught in the net and when I shoved the trap
overboard it jerked the watch out of my pocket and overboard it went.
Lots of watches have been lost that way.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Mitchell.
“Say, do you know who this belongs to?” said the warden. “Do you really
know who’s been tampering with your lobster traps?”
“Why, ’im as says ’is ’nitials is J. S.,” said the lobsterman, pointing
with his thumb to Jack.
“Pshaw, no. That watch belongs to John Salmon--Salmon Jack, you know
him. The cutthroat over at Frenchman’s Point. Why, I’ve been trying to
get some evidence on him for the last six months and this is the best
we’ve found yet. This is his watch all right. I’ve seen it before and
so has many another man.”
“Eh, what, blime me? Then ’e mean t’ say these ’ere lads ain’t lobster
piruts?” demanded Mitchell incredulously.
“Why, I don’t believe they are. They look like honest lads,” said the
warden.
“Well, keel ’aul me, now I come t’ think on’t they do that. My mistake,
lads, axin’ yer parding, my mistake,” said the old man, quite put out
at the turn affairs had taken. “I ’opes ye’ll excuse an hole sea-dog as
is on’y got one leg. I ax yer parding, I does.”
“Tut, tut, don’t mention it,” said Jack and Ray together, as they shook
the old fellow’s hand. “We only hope you’ll take us back to Hood
Island with you.”
“I’d be ’onored, lads, ’onored. I on’y wish I ’adn’t brung ’e awi.”
“I’m mighty glad you did,” said the warden, “for you’ve brought the
best piece of evidence I’ve ever been able to get against the worst
lobster pirate on the Maine coast. The lobster patrol has been looking
to get something on him for a long time and now, by George, if you’ll
help me get out a warrant against him, we’ll arrest him. We’ll raid
Frenchman’s Point this very night and arrest him and two or three
others I have warrants for.”
“An’ hif ye git t’ beggar wi’ now, jest let me ’ave one crack at ’im
wi’ a b’layin’ pin er such like,” said Mitchell truculently.
“We’ll think about that afterward, but, by hookey, we’ll get Salmon
Jack to-night or I’ll resign my job as chief of the lobster patrol.
Dave, you go get Steve Basset, Ben Emery, Joe Milliken an’ whoever else
you can find and swear ’em all in as deputies. Tell ’em we’re going
to raid Frenchman’s Point to-night and to meet me at the long dock at
half-past eight.”
The lad in the corner of the room left the dingy office immediately.
Then the warden turned to Mitchell and said, “You’d better come along
too, if you want to see some fun. You can take care of our boats while
we land on the point. Then you’ll be able to get a good look at the man
who robbed your traps for we’ll bring him back with us or I’ll quit
being an officer.”
“May we go too?” exclaimed Jack and Ray in one breath. “We’re pretty
husky.”
“Sure thing. I’ll swear you in as deputies too. This will be a big
night, you can bet. We’re after the scalps of several men besides
Salmon Jack and they all hang out at the point.”
“Whoop-e-e-e, great!” exclaimed Jack.
“I’m keen for excitement,” said Ray.
“All right, boys, you’ll get enough of it, I guess. In the meantime
you two and Mitchell can come on up to my house and have supper. We’ll
start from the long dock at eight-thirty.”