With the setting of the sun a light mist formed and hung above the
surface of the big crescent-shaped bay on which Austin’s Pool was
located. The shadowy blanket was just heavy enough to dim the side
lights of the little vessels that were moving in and out of the harbor,
going to or returning from the fishing grounds, and to make the craft
themselves phantom-like and ghostly as they flitted by.
Jack and Ray, with Warden Williams and Old Mitchell, were not the first
to arrive at the end of the long dock which was the appointed place of
meeting for the party that was to raid Frenchman’s Point. Indeed, as
they made their way down the pier they could see a group of shadowy
figures standing about the structure, the glowing openings of their
pipe bowls making dull red sparks in the grayed darkness.
The matter of which kind of a boat would be best to take the party
across the bay was under discussion when the warden and his three
assistants arrived. Some advised the use of sail boats which would
approach the Point in silence, while others suggested motor boats
because of their superior speed. The chief of the expedition soon
settled the question, however, by suggesting that Mitchell’s boat, the
_Betsy Anne_, which was known to be one of the speediest of its size
in that vicinity, be used to convey part of the group. Joe Milliken’s
sloop was chartered to carry the remainder. There were twenty men all
told, which provided ten to each boat, thus allowing all to travel in
comfort.
Before embarking, however, a council of war was held, for every man of
the twenty was decidedly eager to have the expedition a success. Not
one of them had the slightest liking for the riffraff of Frenchman’s
Point and they said so in rather crude but forceful language. Indeed,
almost every fisherman and lobsterman at the Pool had some grudge
against Salmon Jack and other men of the notorious settlement across
the bay, and they were more than eager to pay up old scores. Nets had
been cut or stolen, lobsters and even lobster traps and lobster cars
had disappeared, and the fishermen were quite certain that the honest
old seamen who put in at the Pool were not to blame for these outrages.
In truth, the fact that Old Mitchell had actually secured evidence by
means of which arrests and convictions could be made pleased every one
in the fishing village who had heard of it so far, and probably Warden
Williams could have had a hundred deputies if he had wanted them. His
assistant, June Emery, whom Jack and Ray had seen in the warden’s
office that evening and whom Mr. Williams had sent to organize the
posse, had been discreet, however, and had only told the news of the
proposed raid to the men whom he knew Mr. Williams was anxious to have
as members of his party.
Every man of them had come armed in some way or another. One or two had
guns, but most of them carried clubs or short-handled, ugly looking
mallets, which Ray informed Jack were called “muckles” and were used
by cod-fishermen to kill the big fish as they were hauled aboard the
dories out on the banks.
The conference on the wharf’s end lasted fully fifteen minutes and
finally resulted in Warden Williams outlining a plan of action.
“Look here, boys,” he said. “It’ll be about half-past nine when we
reach t’ P’int. By that time ha’af of the population of the shanties
will be in Fred King’s hang-out, which is the only social center those
heathens have. I suggest we land on the P’int as quickly as we can and
go up and surround the rum shop. Then I’ll go inside and arrest whoever
I want, and if they try to scatter, we’ll buckle into ’em and arrest
every one we can lay hands on, even if we can’t prove anything agin’
’em. How’s that?”
“Right’s a fiddle,” said several.
“Mighty smart figgerin’,” assured others.
“All right,” said Warden Williams. “Now, boys, tumble aboard the boats.
Mitchell, you take your load, and when we land you stand by your boat.
Joe, you get your load and when we reach there let June Emery stand by
your boat.”
“Aw, Mr. Williams, does that keep me out of the fracas?” asked June,
who had come around by the side of Jack and Ray.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Williams, slowly scratching his head.
“Seems sort of mean to keep you out of it. I guess Mitch, here, can
watch the two boats if you’re keen to mix it up with the rest. All
right, you can be one of the fightin’ force.”
At this gratifying news, Jack and Ray could see the lad’s face brighten
and they were glad for his sake that he was going to share whatever
excitement might attend the raid. All three lads kept close together
and found a place in Mitchell’s boat during the scramble of embarking.
With the men aboard, the respective skippers were not long in casting
off and presently the two boats were racing through the mist, the swift
little _Betsy Anne_ taking the lead immediately.
To Jack and Ray there was a peculiar fascination about the night’s
work. A primitive instinct seemed to work to the surface when they
realized that they were slipping along silently through the black
water, bent on surprising the lobster pirates. Indeed, the spirit of
the expedition was so strong that before the boats were half way to
the Point men and boys were talking in whispers and even the swish and
gurgle under the bow seemed to become subdued.
“Say, but this is exciting,” whispered Jack to June Emery, who sat at
his elbow.
“You bet it is. We’re in for a rough time too, I’m a-thinking. These
Frenchmen ain’t any children when it comes to scrapping, and they’re
liable to get their bad blood up before the night’s over and knife a
couple of us. There’s been some wild doin’s over there at the Point
sometimes when the whole crew was filled full of licker. Fred King
sells licker right out in the open, even though it’s agin’ the law in
Maine. They’re a bad lot, I tell you.”
“I know French Canadians and half-breeds,” said Ray. “One got loose
down in Ascog one night after he’d been out getting tight, and before
they got him into the lockup he’d laid three men up for repairs.
They’ve bad blood in them, I guess.”
“Jiminy, I wonder what will break loose to-night, then?” asked Ray
breathlessly.
“We’ll know in mighty short order now, for I can see lights out ahead
there in the mist and I guess they come from the shanties on the Point.
Some of their houses are built pretty well down on the beach,” said
June.
Jack and Ray looked out past the bulging jib and saw tiny specks of
yellow through the gray darkness. Others saw these pin points of light
too, for a murmur went ’round the boat and the lads could hear the men
gathering their clubs and mallets together. As for Jack, he had armed
himself with a weighty cudgel which he had found in Mr. Williams’
woodshed and as the boat approached the beach he took a firm grip upon
this formidable weapon. Ray had equipped himself in a similar manner,
while June carried a stout looking hickory ax-haft.
Fortunately the boats approached Frenchman’s Point on the bay side and
consequently there were no breakers to make landing difficult. Indeed,
Old Mitchell ran the _Betsy Anne_ head on for the beach and grounded
her without making the slightest noise. Milliken’s boat arrived a
moment later and in less than five minutes the entire posse was ashore
and ready for action.
But few moments were wasted in getting the lay of the land, for most of
the men knew Frenchman’s Point well enough to make any building there
in any kind of a mist. That being the case, Warden Williams took the
lead and in a jiffy the men were trudging through the sands as silently
as so many specters. As they moved on up the beach the lights became
more numerous and now and then the little band passed within a stone’s
toss of one of the many dilapidated shanties that made up the colony.
Soon Jack found that they were proceeding down what appeared to be a
street. There were shacks and shanties on either side and in one place
there were strips of bark and pieces of old timber. This was evidently
meant to serve as a sidewalk, but sand had blown up and covered it
completely in many places. No one appeared to be awake about the place,
for the men did not encounter a single person. Indeed, the only signs
of life were the sparks of yellow light that glimmered through the mist
and the muffled voices in the distance.
It was toward the point from which the voices sounded that Warden
Williams led his followers. The lights of Fred King’s hang-out
soon became discernible, and when they did the men proceeded more
cautiously, some of them crouching low and moving along with stealthy
tread, although there was no reason for such caution since the sand
muffled their footsteps.
Once more Jack thrilled with the primitive instinct of the hunter.
It did not take much of an imagination to conjure up feathered
head-dresses instead of the so’westers the fishermen wore, and
tomahawks and spears instead of clubs and mallets. Indeed, for the
moment he felt exactly as if he had been transported back a century or
more and was a member of an Indian raiding party about to swoop down
upon a log cabin filled with settlers.
But he could not afford to give such thought playroom in his mind very
long, for presently Mr. Williams halted the party and pointed out a low
building not fifty feet distant. Light was glowing from its windows and
above the shouts of laughter and the loud talking could be heard the
discordant jangle of a dance hall piano.
“There’s Fred King’s place and from the noise I calc-late there’s a
full house an’ plenty doin’,” said Mr. Williams. “Now, boys, surround
the building and lie down in the sand until you hear things begin to
happen. I’m goin’ to take four or five with me an’ kick my way into the
place. Who wants to come along?”
Jack and Ray crowded forward with several others while the rest of the
party started to surround the building.
“All right, boys, come on, an’ if a free fight starts, the rest of you
pile right in behin’ us and crack as many heads as you see. I’m going
after Salmon Jack, Long Aleck, and whoever else I see in there,” said
the warden as he started forward with his detachment of followers at
his heels.
On his way around to the front of the building the warden drew a huge
revolver from under his coat and cocked the hammer. Then as he reached
the narrow porch that stretched in front of the doorway he muttered
under his breath:
“Be ready, lads; here goes.”
The next instant there was the tramping of many feet on the porch and
a bang as Mr. Williams threw open the door and leapt inside, his
revolver leveled.
“Hands up,” he roared as he advanced, followed closely by the five men
who had come to help him make the arrests.
In the brief pause that followed Jack caught a glimpse of a
smoke-filled room furnished with dirty, grimy-looking round tables and
a big flat piano. The place was crowded with disreputable looking men.
They were all swarthy and ugly of feature and Jack appraised them as
about the worst looking lot of individuals he had ever set eyes upon.
At the roared command of the warden, every man turned and faced
the doorway, and when they saw the leveled revolver, backed up by
determined faces and heavy looking clubs, they at once put their hands
above their heads. Then before they could recover from their surprise
Mr. Williams pointed out four of them with a wave of his revolver,
calling each one of them by name.
“You, Salmon Jack, an’ Long Aleck, come out here, an’ you Jean Bastian,
and Paul Nez there, come on. You’re all under arrest. I’ve warrants for
each one o’--”
CRASH!
Jack heard the rattle of glass and tin and the place was in total
darkness! Some one had thrown a chair and smashed the big swinging oil
lamp in the center of the room, putting it completely out. And the next
instant came the cry:
“Da warden! Gatheem! Queek! Queek!--”
Things began to happen in earnest after that. Indeed, events transpired
so swiftly during the next five minutes that Jack could hardly believe
that so much could happen in so short a time. There was the rush of
feet and the muttering of the Frenchmen as they closed with the men
in the doorway. Then came another rush from the rear as the rest of
the posse came up. Jack was quite undetermined what to do. He could
hear the voices of his friends and he could hear the curses of the
Frenchmen, but for the life of him he could not tell which was which,
and indeed for a moment he was helplessly jostled one way and the other
by the swaying fighters, and afraid to wield his club for fear of
hitting some one of his own party.
But presently a big fist shot out of the darkness and landed a
stinging blow on his cheek. That settled the lad’s indecision. The
club came down with a whack on the spot where the head behind that
hand should have been. And it must have found its mark, for it landed
solidly and was immediately followed by an explosion of French oaths.
Again Jack struck and again the club landed. But this time it was
seized and wrenched from his hand. The lad realized on the instant
that he would feel the club next unless he could lay hand upon the man
who had torn it from his grasp. Like a bull dog he leapt forward and
grappled with his assailant. Then with a thump and a grunt from the man
on the bottom they both landed upon the floor and began rolling over
and over, pummeling each other with their fists.
It was no mean antagonist that Jack had selected, as the lad realized
when he felt the weight of the Frenchman. Nor did he have a soft fist
or playful touch either. Indeed, every time that fist landed, Jack
felt dazed for the moment. But he gave as much as he took. Every time
his arms were free he drove a solid right at his enemy and each one
brought forth a grunt and a string of curses.
Over and over they rolled. Sometimes they struggled to their feet, only
to trip over tables and chairs and go crashing down again, and all the
time they were working away from the center of the turmoil which was
about the door and out upon the narrow porch. Indeed, as they swayed
backward and forward Jack suddenly realized that they had fought their
way clear across the room, for presently they brought up with a bang
and a discordant jangle against the piano, tripped over the stool and
crashed to the floor once more.
But this time the Frenchman was on top of Jack and had one of the lad’s
hands pinned fast to the floor. The Vermonter struck with the other
at the ugly face which he felt, rather than saw, close to his own. It
was a stinging blow, for the Frenchman roared with pain. Then in his
frenzy his big hand reached out and clutched Jack about the throat. For
a moment the lobster thief did not seem to realize his advantage, but
when he did his grip tightened about the boy’s windpipe.
Jack thrashed and punched as hard as he could but the Frenchman had
him pinned fast and did not seem to mind the boy’s blows at all. Jack
was frantic! The grip seemed to tighten! The veins in his neck burned
under the pressure, and his head swam with dizziness! His lungs, too,
seemed on the point of bursting with the air that was pent up in them!
He grew sick and faint! Was this the end? Would the Frenchman hold on
forever! Couldn’t he shake the big man off! Was he--
Jack’s right hand had been groping about on the floor for something to
strike with. Suddenly it closed upon the iron pivot of the piano stool.
Grasping it thus, the seat made an excellent mallet and with all his
might Jack struck once, twice, three times, at the face that bent above
him!
Jack felt the grip on his throat relax and the man who had pinned him
down fell helplessly across his body. The lad tried to throw him off,
but his strength was almost gone. Once more he tried but this effort
was weaker than the last, and with a third attempt he fainted.
* * * * *
The sensation of a dipper of salt water being dashed into his face
aroused Jack to consciousness. Never had cold seawater felt so
pleasant. In spite of the fact that it was all running down his neck
and into his shirt, Jack lay still and let himself be deluged again
before he opened his eyes and sat up. He was lying in the bottom of the
_Betsy Anne_ with Ray and Warden Williams bending over him.
“What do you want to scare a fellow most to death for? Are you all
right now, Jack?” asked Ray with great concern.
“Why, why--well, I guess I am-- Say give me a dipper full of real
water--er--ah, white water--aw, I mean fresh water. I’m as thirsty as a
horse and my throat--ugh.” Jack felt tenderly of his neck as he spoke.
“Sure, here you are, son,” said the warden.
Jack drank gratefully. Then as he passed the dipper back to Mr.
Williams, he asked:
“Well, did you get Salmon Jack?”
“Did we get him?” exclaimed the warden. “Why, lad, you laid him out so
cold he hasn’t come to yet. Though I calculate he will by the time we
reach the Pool. He’s over in Milliken’s boat. They’re workin’ on him
now. What did you hit him with, son, he’s almost--”
“What did I hit him with? Why, was that Salmon Jack I buckled into?”
exclaimed the boy from Drueryville in surprise.
“You bet it was. And it’s a wonder to me he didn’t knife you. We
thought he had when we saw the two of you all in a heap on the floor.
Guess he didn’t have his dirk with him. What did you hit him with?”
“Well, you see he was choking me and--I guess I found the top of the
piano stool,” said Jack.
“I thinks as ’ow ’e’s lucky ye didn’t ’ave a mind t’ ’it ’im wi’ t’
pianner hinstid. T’ seat made an’ hawful dint as ’twas,” said Old
Mitchell dryly, as he shifted the tiller a little to draw the _Betsy
Anne_ into her course.
“Hello, Mr. Mitchell,” said Jack, turning toward the lobsterman whom
he could discern but dimly through the mist which had thickened
considerably. “Say, are you going to take us to Hood Island?”
“’Eavens no, leastwise not t’night,” said the one-legged mariner as he
spat over the side of the boat. “Won’t t’morrer do jest as well?”
“No, no, you can’t go back to-night. T’ trip is too long and dangerous.
Stay at my house and let English here take you back in the morning,”
said Warden Williams.
“Thank ’e, Warden, but I ain’t ’customed t’ leave t’ _Betsy Hanne_ hin
a strange port. I’ll stick by t’ craft, though t’ boys kin go ’ome wi’
ye. There ain’t beddin’ ’nough aboard fer three, anyway,” said Mitchell.
“All right,” consented Jack, “only I’m very much afraid Mr. Warner and
our friends at the camp will be worried about us. I really don’t feel
much like going back before I get some sleep, though. I’m about all in.”
“So am I,” said Ray with a yawn.
“Well, we’ll raise t’ pier head-lights at t’ Pool in a few minutes now
and then as soon as we git our prisoners in t’ lockup we can all tumble
into bed. I calc-late that-- Hi, Mitchell, look out there-- Them lights
there-- Quick! It’s a boat--she’ll run us down! Where’s that fish horn!”
Warden Williams grasped a long tin horn and began to blow furiously.
Jack and Ray both looked and beheld the dimmed lights of a sailing
vessel coming out of the mist and dead toward them. But Old Mitchell
had seen them too, and in a moment he became a man of action. He saw
that he could not cross the on-coming vessel’s bow without being run
down, so he threw over the helm and hauled in upon the sheet and in a
jiffy the _Betsy Anne_ had come up into the wind and almost to a full
stop. At the same time the old man shouted at the top of his voice:
“Ay, there, port yer ’elm, port ’er, ye bloody lubbers. Why n’t ye look
where yer goin’. Blime ’e hif ’e ain’t awkkerd.”
The man at the wheel of the larger vessel had acted as quickly as
Mitchell, however, and the next moment a big yawl slipped through the
fog not ten feet from the _Betsy Anne_. And as the ghostly craft faded
out of sight again, Ray seized Jack by the arm and asked:
“Jack, did you get a good look at her?”
“No,” said the young Vermonter. “Why?”
“Well it was a yawl--and--and--oh, well, it looked sort of familiar,
that was all.”