BATTLE OF NORTHWEST HARBOR
Convoyed by his fishing fleet, Mascola came steadily on. Cruising to the
seaward of the cannery boats he circled, laid to and critically surveyed
the bobbing lights in the narrow channel which was flanked on both sides
by saw-toothed reefs. The fish were coming from the north and west.
Doubtless the American fisherman already had them well "chummed up" with
their live bait. He would force an entrance among the cannery boats if
they did not give way and take their school. He had done it before. It
was simple enough. Directing his boats to follow, he led them on.
Kenneth Gregory stood in the bow of the _Pelican_ with a megaphone and
directed the position of the boats which made up his first line of
defense. His plan of keeping Mascola away from his fishing fleet was
nothing more or less than just straight football formation, with an
augmented line to withstand the opposing pressure. The _Pelican_ formed
the center of the wedge. To her right and left followed the heavy
Diesel-motored vessels with the _Curlew_ and _Snipe_ guarding the
extreme ends. Behind the first line came the reserve which closely
covered the fishing-boats cruising the center area. Every boat was at
its proper station, awaiting the signal from the _Pelican_.
It came with Gregory's word to Howard: "All right, Tom. Let's go."
He stood at Howard's side as the fisherman whistled for sea-way and
moved his vessel forward with the fleet flanking him astern in V
formation. Mascola's boats gave no heed to the signal save to draw
closer together and slacken speed as they entered the narrow channel.
Again the cannery boats shrieked a warning and the wedge narrowed with
the waterway until only the bare width of a boat separated the beams of
the defending vessels. Dead ahead, and only a few boat-lengths away,
twinkled the lights of the alien fleet. Gregory grasped the rail of the
engine-house and braced himself for the shock. The next instant the
foremost of Mascola's boats struck the _Pelican_ a glancing blow on the
bow.
The heavy fishing-boat quivered from stem to stern from the impact. Then
the powerful Diesel engine came into play. The drunken skipper of the
_Lura_ felt his craft being shunted to the side. Before he could gather
his wits together, another American boat brushed his outside rail and
crowded him forcibly against the craft he had endeavored to ram. Caught
between the heavy hulls of the _Pelican_ and _Albatross_, the _Lura_
grated, beam to beam, her timbers creaking and twisting from the strain,
her propeller churning the water in a vain effort to break through the
tong-like grip of the two boats which disputed her passage.
The drunken crew of the _Lura_ surged to the rail with wild cries of
rage. The air was filled with flying missiles. Came the sharp snap of
breaking glass and the dull thud of heavy objects hurled from the alien
craft to the deck of the _Pelican_.
"Stay under cover," Gregory commanded the crew. "Stand by if they try to
board."
A flying bit of scrap-iron gashed his forehead and caused the blood to
trickle over his eyes. He wiped it away with his hand and turned to
observe the progress of the other vessels.
The engagement was now general. Mascola's boats were trying to smash
their way through. But the V was as yet unbroken. That, he could tell by
the solid formation of the boats in reserve. They had not found it
necessary to separate.
The night was enlivened with the shrill cries of the aliens. Gregory
noticed that there was congestion of lights on his left wing. He
reflected suddenly that that was where the _Curlew_ was stationed. And
Dickie Lang was on the _Curlew_. Why had the girl persisted in her
determination to take an active part in the conflict? Perhaps she might
be already wounded. Hit by a piece of flying iron or a wine-bottle.
"How about it?" Howard's voice recalled him to his plan of battle.
Gregory looked hastily along his front line. "All right," he exclaimed.
"Go to it."
The _Pelican's_ whistle shrieked two shrill blasts in reply, the signal
for every man at the wheel to go full ahead and put his respective craft
hard over.
Mascola cursed volubly at the increasing jumble of his boats. They had
already lost their way and were only tending to raise a further barrier
to his entrance to the fleet. If he rammed, he must ram his own boats as
well as those of the enemy. It flashed over his heated brain that the
American had chosen a difficult position for him to break through. The
narrowness of the sea-way prevented him from engaging them in mass
formation. Then he became conscious of another fact as two sharp
whistles sounded above the uproar. His lead boats were being crowded
back against their fellows with a twisting movement which was carrying
them in the direction of the reef. The channel had been too narrow to
break through the solid wall of Diesels. A puff of wind from the
southeast helped Mascola to make up his mind. Directing a summary
withdrawal, he sped away toward the reef to pilot his boats again to
safety from the dangerous shore.
Gregory directed the pivot movement of the cannery wedge until the last
of the alien fleet had fled from the channel. In the first preliminary
engagement, the enemy had been beaten back. At what cost he must find
out at once. As he turned about to signal the _Richard_, a voice which
he recognized as Hawkins', came to him from the darkness astern.
"Bronson's knocked out."
Leaving Howard to supervise the return of the advance line to their
original positions, Gregory instructed the sailors to launch a dory over
the rail of the _Pelican_ and was rowed away in the direction of the
_Richard_.
Hawkins had but little to tell. The _Richard_ had been plying about
according to orders, to report any break in the wedge. As she skirted
the right end close to the _Snipe_, some one had thrown a bottle from
the nearest enemy craft. It had struck Bronson in the head. The
_Richard_ had drifted backward. Hawkins had thrown out an anchor. That
was all. Gregory examined Bronson while Hawkins was speaking. The man
was not badly injured. But his loss would be a serious one. Without the
speed-boat, Gregory would be greatly handicapped. He set his jaw grimly
in the darkness. He could not afford to tie up the _Richard_. He would
run her himself. Directing Hawkins to pull the anchor, he slid into
Bronson's seat and focused the rays of his flash-light on the
speed-boat's starting mechanism.
"Are you going to try to run her?" Hawkins inquired as he tugged at the
hook.
"I am going to run her. Bronson showed me how. It's taking some chance
of course. But not so much as tying her up. We've got to have the
_Richard_, Bill. That's all there is to it."
Gregory started the motor and, proceeding at quarter-speed, set off to
take Bronson to the _Curlew_. By so doing, he realized, he could
accomplish a dual purpose, find out about the safety of Dickie Lang and
leave the boatman in her care. That, he reflected, would give her a
safer though more inactive rôle.
The girl greeted him from the rail of the _Curlew_. Not a man had been
scratched aboard her vessel. Her craft had held the pivot and twisted
two of the alien boats until they bumped the reef. A man had been
reported injured on the _Falcon_.
Placing Bronson in the dory, Gregory directed the skiff to be pulled
aboard the _Curlew_. Then he climbed over the rail with Hawkins.
"Bronson was hurt by a flying bottle," he explained. "Will you look
after him? I've got to round up the boys and see what's doing."
"You're hurt yourself," Dickie observed as the rays of the cabin lamp
fell upon Gregory's face.
"Just a scratch," he said quickly. "If you'll look out for Bronson I'll
be off."
Dickie Lang whirled about. "Look out for this man, Jack. See you later,
Jones. I'm going with Mr. Gregory."
Reluctantly Gregory consented to allow the girl to accompany him in the
_Richard_. An instant later they were on their way to round up the
fleet.
Injuries were few among the crews of the defending vessels. Bruises and
cuts summed up the physical damage done by Mascola's men. One of the
boats was leaking, but Sorenson was holding the water easily with the
pumps. The _Falcon's_ shaft was sprung but the propeller was still
turning. To a man, the various captains reported that their men had
obeyed instructions to the letter. No acts of violence had as yet been
committed by any of the American crews. The ex-sailors, though chafing
at their inaction, had assumed the defensive throughout.
The next thing was to arrange to oppose Mascola's next move.
"Whatever he does, he's got to do mighty quick," observed Dickie as the
_Richard_ nosed her way among the albacore fishermen. "It's roughing up
in the last five minutes and the glass is falling all the time."
"There's only one thing he can do, as near as I can figure," Gregory
answered. "And that's to come down the harbor channel and hit us from
the stern. If he does that," he added quickly, "we'll have to be careful
not to block the sea-way leading into the harbor. My idea is to move
farther up. Then if the blow does come, we can go out with the wind and
sea through the north channel."
"That's our best bet, unless it's a nor'wester," she agreed. "We've got
to keep a way out clear or Mascola will crowd us on the rocks."
The captains of the fishing-boats reported their craft to be better than
half laden when the _Richard_ arrived alongside. The fish were still
running strong. In another hour, without interference, they might be
loaded. At Gregory's direction the albacore fishermen began cruising
toward the north channel.
The next thing to do was to marshal the fleet to withstand Mascola's
attack from the rear. Owing to the extreme wideness of the waterway,
the Italian's boats would now have a better chance. The V must be
broadened by the boats hitherto held in reserve. They must be brought up
at once. The rising wind and the roughening sea, added to Gregory's
inexperience in handling the speed-boat, rendered the mobilization of
the cannery fleet not only slow, but extremely hazardous as well.
Before his left end defense was complete, Mascola was bearing down upon
his center.