down Cape Cod way in Massachusetts. The next best
thing to that is reading "Joe" Lincoln's books
about the folks who live there. Conspicuous among
them is Captain Bailey Stitt. He had in his long
life many unusual adventures, but if any of you
boys should chance to meet him and ask what was
the most remarkable of all, undoubtedly he would
tell you of his cruise in the red motorcar--the
"buzz wagon," as he called it._--THE EDITOR.
"OF course," said Captain Bailey Stitt musingly, "I didn't know the
critter was weak in his top riggin' or I wouldn't have gone with him in
the fust place. And he wan't real loony, nuther. 'Twas only when he got
aboard that--that ungodly kerosene-smellin', tootin', buzzin', Old
Harry's go-cart of his that the craziness begun to show. There's so many
of them weak-minded city folks from the Ocean House comes perusin'
'round here summers, nowadays, that I cal'lated he was just an average
specimen, and never examined him close."
"Are all the Ocean House boarders weak-minded?" I inquired, seeking
information.
Captain Bailey bounced on his overturned mackerel-keg like a fat,
tan-colored rubber ball.
"My land!" he snapped. "Would they board at the Ocean House if they
wan't weak-minded? This feller wan't an Ocean Houser, though. He was
young Stumpton's automobile skipper-shover, or shofer, or somethin' they
called him. He answered to the hail of Billings, and his home port was
the Stumptons' ranch, way out in Montana. He'd been here in Orham only a
couple of weeks, havin' come plumb across the United States to fetch his
boss the new automobile. You see, 'twas early October. The Stumptons had
left their summer place on the Cliff Road, and was on their way south
for the winter. Young Stumpton was up to Boston, but he was comin' back
in a couple of days, and then him and the shover was goin' automobilin'
to Florida. To Florida, mind you! In that thing! If it was me I'd buy my
ticket to Tophet direct and save time and money.
"Well, anyhow, this critter Billings he ain't never smelt salt water
afore, and he don't like the smell. He makes proclamations that Orham is
nothin' but sand, slush, and soft drinks. He won't sail, he can't swim,
he won't fish: but he's hankerin' to shoot somethin', havin' been
brought up in a place where if you don't shoot some of the neighbors
every day or so folks think you're stuck up and dissociable. Then
somebody tells him it's the duckin' season down to Setuckit P'int, and
he says he'll spend his day off, while the boss is away, massycreein'
the coots there. This same somebody whispers that I know so much about
ducks that I quack when I talk, and he comes cruisin' over in the
buzz-cart to hire me for guide. And--would you b'lieve it?--it turns out
that he's cal'latin' to make his duckin' v'yage in that very cart. I was
for makin' the trip in a boat, like a sensible man, but he wouldn't hear
of it.
"'Land of love!' says I. 'Go to Setuckit in a automobile?'
"'Why not?' he says. 'The biscuit-shooter up at the hotel tells me
there's a smart chance of folks goes there a-horse-back. And where a
hoss can travel I reckon the old gal here'--slappin' the thwart of the
auto alongside of him--'can go too!'
"'But there's the Cut-through,' says I.
"'Tain't nothin' but a creek when the freshet's over, they tell me,'
says he. 'And me and the boss have forded four foot of river in this
very machine.'
"By the 'freshet' bein' over I judged he meant the tide bein' out. And
the Cut-through ain't but a little trickle then, though it's a
quarter-mile wide and deep enough to float a schooner at high-water.
It's the strip of channel that makes Setuckit Beach an island, you know.
The gov'ment has had engineers down dredgin' of it out, and pretty soon
fish-boats'll be able to save the twenty-mile sail around the P'int and
into Orham Harbor at all hours.
"Well, to make a long story short, I agreed to let him cart me to
Setuckit P'int in that everlastin' gas-carryall. We was to start at four
o'clock in the afternoon, 'cause the tide at the Cut-through would be
dead low at half-past four. We'd stay overnight at my shanty at the
P'int, get up airly, shoot all day, and come back the next afternoon.
"At four prompt he was on hand, ready for me. I loaded in the guns and
grub and one thing or 'nother, and then 'twas time for me to get aboard
myself.
"'You'll set in the tonneau,' says he, indicatin' the upholstered
after-cockpit of the concern. I opened up the shiny hatch, under orders
from him, and climbed in amongst the upholstery. 'Twas soft as a
feather-bed.
"'Jerushy!' says I, lollin' back luxurious. 'This is fine, ain't it?'
"'Cost seventy-five hundred to build,' he says, casual. 'Made to order
for the boss. Lightest car of her speed ever turned out.'
"'Go 'way! How you talk! Seventy-five hundred what? Not dollars?'
"'Sure,' he says. Then he turns round--he was in the bow, hangin' on to
the steerin'-wheel--and looks me over, kind of interested, but superior.
'Say,' he says, 'I've been hearin' things about you. You're a hero,
ain't you?'
"Durn them Orham gabblers! Ever sence I hauled that crew of seasick
summer boarders out of the drink a couple of years ago and the gov'ment
gave me a medal, the minister and some more of his gang have painted out
the name I was launched under and had me entered on the shippin'-list as
'The Hero.' I've licked two or three for callin' me that, but I can't
lick a parson, and he was the one that told Billings.
"'Oh, I don't know!' I answers, pretty sharp. 'Get her under way, why
don't you?'
"All he done was look me over some more and grin.
"'A hero! A real, live gov'ment-branded hero!' he says. 'Ain't scared of
nothin', I reckon--hey?'
"I never made no answer. There's some things that's too fresh to eat
without salt, and I didn't have a pickle-tub handy.
"'Hum!' he says again, reverend-like. 'A sure hero; scared of nothin'!
Never rode in an auto afore, did you?'
"'No,' says I, peppery; 'and I don't see no present symptoms of ridin'
in one now. Cast off, won't you?'
"He cast off. That is to say, he hauled a nickel-plated marlinspike
thing towards him, shoved another one away from him, took a twist on the
steerin'-wheel, the go-cart coughed like a horse with the heaves,
started up some sort of buzz-planer underneath, and then we begun to
move.
"From the time we left my shanty at South Orham till we passed the pines
at Herrin' Neck I laid back in that stuffed cockpit, feelin' as grand
and tainted as old John D. himself. The automobile rolled along smooth
but swift, and it seemed to me I had never known what easy trav'lin' was
afore. As we rounded the bend by the pines and opened up the twelve-mile
narrow white stretch of Setuckit Beach ahead of us, with the ocean on
one side and the bay on t'other, I looked at my watch. We'd come that
fur in thirteen minutes.
"'Land sakes!' I says. 'This is what I call movin' right along!'
"He turned round and sized me up again, like he was surprised.
"'Movin'?' says he. 'Movin'? Why, pard, we've been settin' down to rest!
Out our way if a lynchin' party didn't move faster than we've done so
fur, the center of attraction would die on the road of old age. Now, my
heroic college chum,' he goes on, callin' me out of my name as usual,
'will you be so condescendin' as to indicate how we hit the trail?'
"Hit--hit which? Don't hit nothin', for goodness' sake! Goin' the way we
be, it would----'
"'Which way do we go?'
"'Right straight ahead. Keep on the ocean side, 'cause there's more hard
sand there, and--hold on! Don't do that! Stop it, I tell you!'
"Them was the last rememberable words said by me durin' the next quarter
of an hour. That shover man let out a hair-raisin' yell, hauled the
nickel marlinespike over in its rack, and squeezed a rubber bag that
was spliced to the steerin'-wheel. There was a half dozen toots or howls
or honks from under our bows somewheres, and then that automobile hopped
off the ground and commenced to fly. The fust hop landed me on my knees
in the cockpit, and there I stayed. 'Twas the most fittin' position fur
my frame of mind and chimed in fust-rate with the general religious
drift of my thoughts.
"The Cut-through is two mile or more from Herrin' Neck. 'Cording to my
count we hit terra cotta just three times in them two miles. The fust
hit knocked my hat off. The second one chucked me up so high I looked
back for the hat, and though we was a half mile away from it, it hadn't
had time to git to the ground. And all the while the horn was a honkin',
and Billings was a screechin', and the sand was a flyin'. Sand! Why,
say! Do you see that extra bald place on the back of my head? Yes? Well,
there was a two-inch thatch of hair there afore that sand-blast ground
it off.
"When I went up on the third jounce I noticed the Cut-through just
ahead. Billings see it, too, and--would you b'lieve it?--the lunatic
stood up, let go of the wheel with one hand, takes off his hat and waves
it, and we charge down across them wet tide flats like death on the
woolly horse, in Scriptur'.
"'Hi, yah! Yip!' whoops Billings. 'Come on in, fellers! The water's
fine! Yow! Y-e-e-e! Yip!'
[Illustration: "FOR A SECOND IT LEFT OFF RAININ' SAND, AND THERE WAS A
TYPHOON OF MUD AND SPRAY"]
"For a second it left off rainin' sand, and there was a typhoon of mud
and spray. I see a million of the prettiest rainbows--that is, I
cal'lated there was a million; it's awful hard to count when you're
bouncin' and prayin' and drowndin' all to once. Then we sizzed out of
the channel, over the flats on t'other side, and on towards Setuckit.
"Never mind the rest of the ride. 'Twas all a sort of constant changin'
sameness. I remember passin' a blurred life-savin' station, with
three--or maybe thirty--blurred men jumpin' and laughin' and hollerin'.
I found out afterwards that they'd been on the lookout for the bombshell
for half an hour. Billings had told around town what he was goin' to do
to me, and some kind friend had telephoned it to the station. So the
life-savers was full of anticipations. I hope they were satisfied. I
hadn't rehearsed my part of the show none, but I feel what the parson
calls a consciousness of havin' done my best.
"'Woa, gal!' says Billings, calm and easy, puttin' the helm hard down.
The auto was standin' still at last. Part of me was hangin' over the lee
rail. I could see out of the part, so I know 'twas my head. And there
alongside was my fish-shanty at the P'int, goin' round and round in
circles.
"I undid the hatch of the cockpit and fell out on the sand. Then I
scrambled up and caught hold of the shanty as it went past me. That fool
shover watched me, seemin'ly interested.
"'Why, pard,' says he, 'what's the matter? Do you feel pale? Are you
nervous? It ain't possible that you're scared? Honest, now, pard, if it
weren't that I knew you were a genuine gold-mounted hero I'd sure think
you was a scared man.'
"I never said nothin'. The scenery and me was just turnin' the mark buoy
on our fourth lap.
"'Dear me, pard!' continues Billings. 'I sure hope I ain't scared you
none. We come down a little slow this evenin', but to-morrow night, when
I take you back home, I'll let the old girl out a little.'
"I sensed some of that. And as the shanty had about come to anchor, I
answered and spoke my mind.
"'When you take me back home!' I says. 'When you do! Why, you
crack-brained, murderin' lunatic, I wouldn't cruise in that buzz-wagon
of yours again for the skipper's wages on a Cunarder! No, nor the mate's
hove in!'
"And that shover he put his head back and laughed and laughed and
laughed.
II
"I tell you I had to take it that evenin'. All the time I was cookin'
and while he was eatin' supper, Billings was rubbin' it into me about my
bein' scared. Called me all the salt-water-hero names he could think
of--'Hobson' and 'Dewey' and the like of that, usin' 'em sourcastic, of
course. Finally, he said he remembered readin' in school, when he was
little, about a girl hero, name of Grace Darlin'. Said he cal'lated, if
I didn't mind, he'd call me Grace, 'cause it was heroic and yet kind of
fitted in with my partic'lar brand of bravery. I didn't answer much; he
had me down, and I knew it. Likewise I judged he was more or less out of
his head; no sane man would yell the way he done aboard that automobile.
"Then he commenced to spin yarns about himself and his doin's, and
pretty soon it come out that he'd been a cowboy afore young Stumpton
give up ranchin' and took to automobilin'. That cleared the sky-line
some of course; I'd read consider'ble about cowboys in the ten-cent
books my nephew fetched home when he was away to school. I see right off
that Billings was the livin' image of _Deadwood Dick_ and _Wild Bill_
and the rest in them books; they yelled and howled and hadn't no regard
for life and property any more'n he had. No, sir! He wan't no crazier'n
they was; it was in the breed, I judged.
"'I sure wish I had you on the ranch, Grace,' says he. 'Why don't you
come West some day? That's where a hero like you would show up strong.'
"'Godfrey mighty!' I sings out. 'I wouldn't come nigh such a nest of
crazy murderers as that fur no money! I'd sooner ride in that automobile
of yours, and St. Peter himself couldn't coax me into _that_ again, not
if 'twas fur a cruise plumb up the middle of the golden street!'
"I meant it, too, and the next afternoon when it come time to start for
home he found out that I meant it. We'd shot a lot of ducks, and
Billings was havin' such a good time that I had to coax and tease him as
if he was a young one afore he'd think of quittin'. It was quarter of
six when he backed the gas-cart out of the shed. I was uneasy, 'cause
'twas past low-water time, and there was fog comin' on.
"'Brace up, Dewey!' says he. 'Get in.'
"'No, Mr. Billings,' says I. 'I ain't goin' to get in. You take that
craft of yourn home, and I'll sail up alongside in my dory.'
"'In your which?' says he.
"'In my dory,' I says. 'That's her, hauled up on the beach abreast the
shanty.'
"He looked at the dory and then at me.
"'Go on!' says he. 'You ain't goin' to pack yourself twelve mile _on
that shingle_?'
"'Sartin I am!' says I. 'I ain't takin' no more chances.'
"Do you know, he actually seemed to think _I_ was crazy then. Seemed to
figger that the dory wan't big enough; and she's carried five easy afore
now. We had an argument that lasted twenty minutes more, and the fog
driftin' in nigher all the time. At last he got sick of arguin', ripped
out something brisk and personal, and got his tin-shop to movin'.
"'You want to cross over to the ocean side,' I called after him. The
Cut-through's been dredged at the bay end, remember.'
"Be hanged!' he yells, or more emphatic. And off he whizzed. I see him
go and fetched a long breath. Thanks to a merciful Providence, I'd come
so fur without bein' buttered on the undercrust of that automobile or
scalped with its crazy shover's bowie-knife.
"Ten minutes later I was beatin' out into the bay in my dory. All around
was the fog, thin as poorhouse gruel so fur, but thickenin' every
minute. I was worried; not for myself, you understand, but for that
cowboy shover. I was afraid he wouldn't fetch t'other side of the
Cut-through. There wan't much wind, and I had to make long tacks. I took
the inshore channel, and kept listenin' all the time. And at last, when
'twas pretty dark and I was cal'latin' to be about abreast of the bay
end of the Cut-through, I heard from somewheres ashore a dismal honkin'
kind of noise, same as a wild goose might make if 'twas chokin' to death
and not resigned to the worst.
"'My land!' says I. 'It's happened!' And I come about and headed
straight in for the beach. I struck it just alongside the gov'ment
shanty. The engineers had knocked off work for the week, waitin' for
supplies, but they hadn't took away their dunnage.
"'Hi!' I yells, as I hauled up the dory. 'Hi-i-i! Billings, where be
you?'
"The honkin' stopped and back comes the answer; there was joy in it.
"'What? Is that Captain Stitt?'
"'Yes,' I sings out. 'Where be you?'
"'I'm stuck out here in the middle of the crick. And there's a flood on.
Help me, can't you?'
"Next minute I was aboard the dory, rowin' her against the tide up the
channel. Pretty quick I got where I could see him through the fog and
dark. The auto was on the flat in the middle of the Cut-through and the
water was hub high already. Billings was standin' up on the for'ard
thwart, makin' wet footmarks all over them expensive cushions.
"'Lord,' says he, 'I sure am glad to see you, pard! Can we get to land,
do you think?'
"'Land?' says I, makin' the dory fast alongside and hoppin' out into the
drink. 'Course we can land! What's the matter with your old derelict?
Sprung a leak, has it?'
"He went on to explain that the automobile had broke down when he struck
the flat, and he couldn't get no further. He'd been honkin' and howlin'
for ten year at least, so he reckoned.
"'Why in time,' says I, 'didn't you mind me and go up the ocean side?
And why in nation didn't you go ashore and-- But never mind that now.
Let me think. Here! You set where you be.'
"As I shoved off in the dory again he turned loose a distress signal.
"'Where you goin'?' he yells. 'Say, pard, you ain't goin' to leave me
here, are you?'
"'I'll be back in a shake,' says I, layin' to my oars. 'Don't holler so!
You'll have the life-savers down here, and then the joke'll be on us.
Hush, can't you? I'll be right back!'
III
"I rowed up channel a little ways, and then I sighted the place I was
bound for. Them gov'ment folks had another shanty further up the
Cut-through. Moored out in front of it was a couple of big floats, for
their stone-sloops to tie up to at high-water. The floats were made of
empty kerosene-barrels and planks, and they'd have held up a house easy.
I run alongside the fust one, cut the anchor-cable with my jack-knife,
and next minute I was navigatin' that float down channel, steerin' it
with my oar and towin' the dory astern.
"'Twas no slouch of a job, pilotin' that big float, but part by steerin'
and part by polin' I managed to land her broadside on to the auto. I
made her fast with the cable ends and went back after the other float.
This one was a bigger job than the fust, but by and by that gas-wagon,
with planks under her and cable lashin's holdin' her firm, was restin'
easy as a settin' hen between them two floats. I unshipped my mast,
fetched it aboard the nighest float, and spread the sail over the
biggest part of the brasswork and upholstery.
"'There,' says I, 'if it rains durin' the night she'll keep pretty dry.
Now I'll take the dory and row back to the shanty after some spare
anchors there is there.'
"'But what's it fur, pard?' asks Billings for the nine hundred and
ninety-ninth time. 'Why don't we go where it's dry? The flood's risin'
all the time.'
"'Let it rise,' I says. 'I cal'late when it gets high enough them
floats'll rise with it and lift the automobile up too. If she's anchored
bow and stern she'll hold, unless it comes on to blow a gale, and
to-morrow mornin' at low tide maybe you can tinker her up so she'll go.'
"'Go?' says he, like he was astonished. 'Do you mean to say you're
reckonin' to save the _car_?'
"'Good land!' I says, starin' at him. 'What else d'you s'pose? Think I'd
let seventy-five hundred dollars' wuth of gilt-edged extravagance go to
the bottom? What did you cal'late I was tryin' to save--the clam-flat?
Give me that dory-rope; I'm goin' after them anchors. Sufferin' snakes!
Where is the dory? What have you done with it?'
"He'd been holdin' the bight of the dory-rodin'. I handed it to him so's
he'd have somethin' to take up his mind. And, by time, he'd forgot all
about it and let it drop! And the dory had gone adrift and was out of
sight.
"'Gosh!' says he, astonished-like. 'Pard, the son of a gun has slipped
his halter!'
"I was pretty mad--dories don't grow on every beach-plum bush--but there
wan't nothin' to say that fitted the case, so I didn't try.
"'Humph!' says I. 'Well, I'll have to swim ashore that's all, and go up
to the station inlet after another boat. You stand by the ship. If she
gets afloat afore I come back you honk and holler and I'll row after
you. I'll fetch the anchors and we'll moor her wherever she happens to
be. If she shouldn't float on an even keel, or goes to capsize, you jump
overboard and swim ashore. I'll----'
"'Swim?' says he, with a shake in his voice. 'Why, pard, I can't swim!'
"I turned and looked at him. Shover of a two-mile-a-minute gold-plated
butcher-cart like that, a cowboy murderer that et his friends for
breakfast--and couldn't swim! I fetched a kind of combination groan and
sigh, turned back the sail, climbed aboard the automobile, and lit up my
pipe.
"'What are you settin' there for?' says he. 'What are you goin' to do?'
"'Do?' says I. 'Wait, that's all--wait and smoke. We won't have to wait
long.'
"My prophesyin' was good. We didn't have to wait very long. It was pitch
dark, foggy as ever, and the tide a risin' fast. The floats got to be
awash. I shinned out on to 'em picked up the oar that had been left
there, and took my seat again. Billings climbed in too, only--and it
kind of shows the change sence the previous evenin'--he was in the
passenger-cockpit astern and I was for'ard in the pilot house. For a
reckless dare-devil he was actin' mighty fidgety.
"And at last one of the floats swung off the sand. The automobile
tipped scandalous. It looked as if we was goin' on our beam-ends.
Billings let out an awful yell. Then t'other float bobbed up and the
whole shebang, car and all, drifted out and down the channel.
"My lashin's held--I cal'lated they would. Soon's I was sure of that I
grabbed up the oar and shoved it over the stern between the floats. I
hoped I could round her to after we passed the mouth of the Cut-through,
and make port on the inside beach. But not in that tide. Inside of five
minutes I see 'twas no use; we was bound across the bay.
"And now commenced a v'yage that beat any ever took sence Noah's time, I
cal'late; and even Noah never went to sea in an automobile, though the
one animal I had along was as much trouble as his whole menagerie.
Billings was howlin' blue murder.
"'Stop that bellerin'!' I ordered. 'Quit it, d'you hear! You'll have the
station crew out after us, and they'll guy me till I can't rest. Shut
up! If you don't, I'll--I'll swim ashore and leave you.'
"I was takin' big chances, as I look at it now. He might have drawed a
bowie-knife or a lasso on me; 'cordin' to his yarns he'd butchered folks
for a good sight less'n that. But he kept quiet this time, only gurglin'
some when the ark tilted. I had time to think of another idee. You
remember the dory-sail, mast and all, was alongside that cart. I clewed
up the canvas well as I could and managed to lash the mast up straight
over the auto's bows. Then I shook out the sail.
"'Here!' says I, turnin' to Billings. 'You hang on to that sheet. No,
you needn't nuther. Make it fast to that cleat alongside.'
"I couldn't see his face plain, but his voice had a funny tremble to it;
reminded me of my own when I climbed out of that very cart after he'd
jounced me down to Setuckit, the day before.
"'What?' he says. 'Wh-what? What sheet? I don't see any sheet. What do
you want me to do?'
"'Tie this line to that cleat. That cleat there! _Cleat_, you lubber!
_Cleat!_ That knob! _Make it fast!_ Oh, my gosh t'mighty! Get out of my
way!'
"The critter had tied the sheet to the handle of the door instead of the
one I meant, and the pull of the sail hauled the door open and pretty
nigh ripped it off the hinges. I had to climb into the cockpit and
straighten out the mess. I was losin' my temper; I do hate bunglin'
seamanship aboard a craft of mine.
"'But what'll become of us?' begs Billings. 'Will we drown?'
"'What in tunket do we want to drown for? Ain't we got a good sailin'
breeze and the whole bay to stay on top of--fifty foot of water and
more?'
"'Fifty foot!' he yells. 'Is there fifty foot of water underneath us
now? Pard, you don't mean it!'
"'Course I mean it. Good thing, too!'
"'But fifty foot! It's enough to drown in ten times over!'
"'Can't drown but once, can you? And I'd just as soon drown in fifty
foot as four--ruther, 'cause 'twouldn't take so long.'
"He didn't answer out loud; but I heard him talkin' to himself pretty
constant.
IV