the face above the weather-worn rail.
“They say that music soothes the savage breast, but it don't look like
it in this case,” observed Captain Duncan with a chuckle.
“Clear off away from here, you drunken dudes! I'll have the law on ye!
I'll have ye arrested for--for breaking the peace.”
That threat, considering the surroundings, provoked great hilarity.
“Give way all! Here comes a cop!” warned a jeering voice.
“He's walking on the water,” explained another.
“The man must be a fool,” declared Captain Mayo. “If he'd go below and
shut up, they'd get tired and leave in a few minutes.”
However, Captain Candage seemed to believe that retreat would be greatly
to his discredit. He continued to hang over the rail, discharging as
complete a line of deep-water oaths as ever passed the quivering lips of
a mariner. Therefore the playful yachtsmen were highly entertained and
stayed to bait him still further. Every little while they sang the Polly
song with fresh gusto, while the enraged skipper fairly danced to it in
his mad rage and flung his arms about like a crazy orchestra leader.
Mr. Speed came rowing in his dory, putting out all his strength,
splashing his oars. “My Gawd! Cap'n Mayo,” he gasped, “I heard 'em
hollering 'Oh, Polly!' and I was 'feard she was afire. What's the
trouble?”
“You'd better get on board, sir, and induce Captain Candage to go below
and keep still. He is fast making a complete idiot of himself.”
“I hain't got no influence over him. I ask and implore you to step on
board and soothe him down, sir. You can do it. He'll listen to a Mayo.”
“I'd better not try. It's no job for a stranger, Mr. Speed.”
“He'll be heaving that whole deckload of shingles at 'em next!”
“Get his daughter to coax him.”
“He won't listen to her when he's that fussed up!”
“I'm sorry! Give way men!”
His rowers dropped their oars into the water and pulled away with
evident reluctance.
“Better stay and see it out,” advised Captain Duncan.
“I don't care much for your show,” stated Mayo, curtly.
The cabin curtains were drawn on the _Olenia_, and he felt especially
shut away from human companionship. He went forward and paced up and
down the deck, turning over his troubled affairs in his mind, but making
poor shift in his efforts to set anything in its right place.
There were no indications that the serenading yachtsmen were becoming
tired of their method of killing time during a fog-bound evening. They
had secured banjos and mandolins, and were singing the Polly song with
better effect and greater relish. And continually the hoarse voice of
the _Polly's_ master roared forth malediction, twisted into new forms of
profanity.
But Captain Mayo, pacing under the damp gleam of the riding-light, paid
but little heed to the hullabaloo. He was too thoroughly absorbed in
his own troubles to feel special interest in what his neighbors were
doing. He did not even note that a fog-sodden breeze had begun to puff
spasmodically from the east and that the mists were shredding overhead.
However, all of a sudden, a sound forced itself on his attention; he
heard the chuckling of sheaves and knew that a sail was being hoisted.
The low-lying stratum of fog was still thick, and he could not perceive
the identity of the craft which proposed to take advantage of the
sluggish breeze. The “ruckle-ruckle” of the blocks sounded at quick
intervals and indicated haste; there was a suggestion of vicious
determination on the part of the men who were tugging at the halyards.
Then Captain Mayo heard the steady clanking of capstan pawls. He knew
the methods of the Apple-treers, their cautiousness, and their leisurely
habits, and he could scarcely believe that a coasting skipper was
intending to leave the harbor that night. But the capstan pawls began to
click in staccato, showing that the anchor had been broken out.
Protesting shouts from all about in the gloom greeted that signal.
There was no mistaking the hoarse voice of Captain Candage when it was
raised in reply; his tones had become familiar after that evening of
malediction.
“Dingdam ye, I know of a way of getting shet of the bunch of ye!”
“Don't try to shift your anchorage!”
“Anchorage be hossified! I'm going to sea!” bellowed the master of the
_Polly_.
“Down with that hook of yours! You'll rake this whole yacht fleet with
your old dumpcart!”
“You have driv' me to it! Now you can take your chances!”
The next moment Mayo heard the ripping of tackle and a crash.
“There go two tenders and our boat-boom! Confound it, man, drop your
hook!”
But from that moment Captain Candage, as far as his mouth was concerned,
preserved ominous silence. The splintery speech of havoc was more
eloquent.
Mayo could not see, but he understood in detail what damage was wrought
upon the delicate fabric of yachts by that unwieldy old tub of a
schooner. Here, another boat-boom carried away, as she sluggishly thrust
her bulk out through the fleet; there an enameled hull raked by her
rusty chain-plate bolts. Now a tender smashed on the outjutting davits,
next a wreck of spidery head-rigging, a jib-boom splintered and a
foretopmast dragged down. If Captain Mayo had been in any doubt as to
the details of the disasters he would have received full information
from the illuminating profanity of the victims.
He knew well enough that Captain Candage was not performing with wilful
intent to do all that damage. In what little wind there was the schooner
was not under control. She was drifting until she got enough headway to
be steered. In the mean time she was doing what came in her way to do.
The _Polly_ had been anchored near the _Olenia_. As soon as her anchor
left bottom the schooner drifted up the harbor. Mayo knew, in a few
minutes, that Candage was bringing her about. An especial outbreak of
smashing signaled that manouver.
Mayo sniffed at the breeze, judged distance and direction, and then he
rushed forward and pounded his fist on the forecastle hatch.
“Rout out all hands!” he shouted. “Rouse up bumpers and tarpaulin!”
With the wind as it was, he realized that the schooner would point up in
the _Olenia_'s direction when Candage headed out to sea.
At last Mayo caught a glimpse of her through the fog. His calculation
had been correct. Headed his way she was. She was moving so slowly
that she was practically unmanageable; her apple-bows hardly stirred
a ripple, but with breeze helping the tide-set she was coming
irresistibly, paying off gradually and promising to sideswipe the big
yacht.
Mayo had a mariner's pride in his craft, and a master's devotion to
duty. He did not content himself with merely ordering about the men who
came tumbling on deck.
He grabbed a huge bumper away from one of the sailors who seemed
uncertain just what to do; he ran forward and thrust it over the rail,
leaning far out to see that it was placed properly to take the impact.
He was giving more attention to the safety of the _Olenia_ than he was
to what the on-coming _Polly_ might do to him.
Under all bowsprits on schooners, to guy the headstays, thrusts
downward a short spar, at right angles to the bowsprit; it is called the
martingale or dolphin-striker. The amateur riggers who had tinkered with
the Polly's gear in makeshift fashion had not troubled to smooth off
spikes with which they had repaired the martingale's lower end. Captain
Mayo ducked low to dodge a guy, and the spikes hooked themselves neatly
into the back of his reefer coat. Mr. Marston had bought excellent and
strong cloth for his captain's uniform. The fabric held, the spikes were
well set, the _Polly_ did not pause, and, therefore, the master of the
_Olenia_ was yanked off his own deck and went along.
All the evening Mayo's collar had been buttoned closely about his neck
to keep out the fog-damp, and when he was picked up by the spikes the
collar gripped tightly about his throat and against his larynx. His cry
for help was only a strangled squawk. His men were scattered along the
side of the yacht, trying to protect her, the night was over all, and no
one noted the mode of the skipper's departure.
The old schooner scrunched her way past the _Olenia_, roweling the
yacht's glossy paint and smearing her with tar and slime. It was as
if the rancorous spirit of the unclean had found sudden opportunity to
defile the clean.
Then the _Polly_ passed on into the night with clear pathway to the open
sea.
VII ~ INTO THE MESS FROM EASTWARD
Farewell to friends, farewell to foes,
Farewell to dear relations.
We're bound across the ocean blue--
Bound for the foreign nations.
Then obey your bo's'n's call,
Walk away with that cat-fall!
And we'll think on those girls when we can no longer stay.
And we'll think on those girls when we're far, far away.
--Unmooring.
For the first few moments, after being snatched up in that fashion, Mayo
hung from the dolphin-striker without motion, like a man paralyzed.
He was astounded by the suddenness of this abduction. He was afraid to
struggle. Momentarily he expected that the fabric would let go and that
he would be rolled under the forefoot of the schooner. Then he began to
grow faint from lack of breath; he was nearly garroted by his collar.
Carefully he raised his hands and set them about a stay above his head
and lifted himself so that he might ease his throat from the throttling
grip of the collar. He dangled there over the water for some time,
feeling that he had not strength enough, after his choking, to lift
himself into the chains or to swing to the foot-rope.
He glanced up and saw the figurehead; it seemed to be simpering at him
with an irritating smile. There was something of bland triumph in that
grin. In the upset of his feelings there was personal and provoking
aggravation in the expression of the figurehead. He swore at it as if it
were something human. His anger helped him, gave him strength. He began
to swing himself, and at last was able to throw a foot over a stay.
He rested for a time and then gave himself another hoist and was able
to get astride the bowsprit. He judged that they must be outside the
headland of Saturday Cove, because the breeze was stronger and the sea
gurgled and showed white threads of foam against the blunt bows. His
struggles had consumed more time than he had realized in the dazed
condition produced by his choking collar.
He heard the popping of a motor-boat's engine far astern, and was
cheered by the prompt conviction that pursuit was on. Therefore, he made
haste to get in touch with the _Polly's_ master. He scrambled inboard
along the bowsprit and fumbled his way aft over the piles of lumber,
obliged to move slowly for fear of pitfalls, Once or twice he shouted,
but he received no answer, He perceived three dim figures on the
quarter-deck when he arrived there--three men. Captain Candage was
stamping to and fro.
“Who in the devil's name are _you?_” bawled the old skipper. “Get off'm
here! This ain't a passenger-bo't.”
“I'll get off mighty sudden and be glad to,” retorted Mayo.
“Well, I'll be hackmetacked!” exploded Mr. Speed shoving his face over
the wheel. “It's--”
“Shut up!” roared the master. “How comes it you're aboard here as a
stowaway?”
“Don't talk foolishness,” snapped Captain Mayo “Your old martingale
spikes hooked me up. Heave to and let me off!”
“Heave to it is!” echoed Oakum Otie, beginning to whirl the tiller.
Captain Candage turned on his mate with the violence of a thunderclap.
“Gad swigger your pelt, who's giving off orders aboard here? Hold on
your course!”
“But this is--”
“Shut up!” It was a blast of vocal effort. “Hold your course!”
“And _I_ say, heave to and let that motor-boat take me off,” insisted
Mayo.
Captain Candage leaned close enough to note the yacht skipper's uniform
coat. “Who do you think you're ordering around, you gilt-striped,
monkey-doodle dandy?”
“That motor-boat is coming after me.”
“Think you're of all that importance, hey? No, sir! It's a pack of 'em
chasing me to make me go back into port and be sued and libeled and
attached by cheap lawyers.”
“You ought to be seized and libeled! You had no business ratching out of
that harbor in the dark.”
“Ought to have taken a rising vote of dudes, hey, to find out whether I
had the right to h'ist my mudhook or not?”
“I'm not here to argue. You can do that in court. I tell you to come
into the wind and wait for that boat.”
“You'd better, Cap Candage,” bleated Oakum Otie. “This is--”
“Shut up! I'm running my own schooner, Mr. Speed.”
“But he is one of the--”
“I don't care if he is one of the Apostles. I know my own business. Shut
up! Hold her on her course!”
He took two turns along the quarter-deck, squinting up into the night.
“Look here, Candage, you and I are going to have a lot of trouble with
each other if you don't show some common sense. I must get back to my
yacht.”
“Jump overboard and swim back. I ain't preventing. I didn't ask you on
board. You can leave when you get ready. But this schooner is bound for
New York, they're in a hurry for this lumber, and I ain't stopping at
way stations!” He took another look at the weather, licked his thumb,
and held it against the breeze. “Sou'west by sou', and let her run! And
shut up!” he commanded his mate.
Mayo grabbed one of the yawl davits and sprang to the rail.
“We're some bigger than a needle, but so long as the haystack stays
thick enough I guess we needn't worry!” remarked Captain Candage,
cocking his ear to listen to the motor-boat's exhaust.
“Hoi-oi!” shouted Mayo into the night astern. He knew that men hear
indistinctly over the noise of a gasoline-engine, but he had resolved to
keep shouting.
“This way, men! This way with that boat!”
“'Vast heaving on that howl!” commanded Candage.
But Mayo persisted with all his might. His attention was confined wholly
to his efforts, and he was not prepared for the sudden attack from
behind. The master of the _Polly_ seized Mayo's legs and yanked him
backward to the deck. The young man fell heavily, and his head thumped
the planks with violence which flung him into insensibility.
When he opened his eyes he looked up and saw a hanging-lamp that creaked
on its gimbals as it swayed to the roll of the schooner. He was in the
_Polly's_ cabin. Next he was conscious that he was unable to move. He
was seated on the floor, his back against a stanchion, his hands lashed
behind him by bonds which confined him to the upright support. But the
most uncomfortable feature of his predicament was a marlinespike which
was stuck into his mouth like a bit provided for a fractious horse,
and was secured by lashings behind his head. He was effectually gagged.
Furthermore, the back of his head ached in most acute fashion. He rolled
his eyes about and discovered that he had a companion in misery. A very
pretty young woman was seated on a camp-chair across the cabin. Her face
expressed much sympathy.
He gurgled a wordless appeal for help, and then perceived that she was
lashed into her chair.
“I wish I could take that awful thing out of your mouth, sir.”
He gave her a look which assured her that he shared in her desire.
“My father has tied me into this chair. I tried to make him stop his
dreadful talk when the boats came and burned the lights. He put me
down here and made a prisoner of me. It is terrible, all that has been
happening. I can't understand! I hope you will not think too hard of my
father, sir. Honestly, he seems to be out of his right mind.”
He wanted to return some comforting reply to this wistful appeal, but
he could only roll his head against the stanchion and make inarticulate
sounds.
“He seemed to be very bitter when he brought you below. I could not
make him listen to reason. I have been thinking--and perhaps you're the
gentleman who led the singing which made him so angry?”
Mayo shook his head violently in protest at this suspicion.
“I didn't mind,” she assured him. “I knew it was only in fun.” She
pondered for a few minutes. “Perhaps they wouldn't have teased one of
their city girl friends in that way--but I suppose men must have a good
time when they are away from home. Only--it has made it hard for me!”
There were tears in her eyes.
Mayo's face grew purple as he tried to speak past the restraining spike
and make her understand his sentiments on the subject of that serenade.
“Don't try to talk, sir. I'm so sorry. It is shameful!”
There was silence in the cabin after that for a long time. He looked up
at the swinging lamp, his gaze wandered about the homely cabin. But his
eyes kept returning to her face. He could not use his tongue, and he
tried to tell her by his glances, apologetic little starings, that he
was sorry for her in her grief. She met those glances with manifest
embarrassment.
After an absence which was prolonged to suit his own sour will in the
matter, Captain Candage came stamping stormily down the companionway.
He stood between his captives and glowered, first at one and then at the
other.
“Both of ye blaming me, I reckon, for what couldn't be helped.”
“Father, listen to me now, if you have any sense left in you,” cried the
girl, with passion. “Take that horrible thing out of that gentleman's
mouth.”
“It has come to a pretty pass in this world when an honest man can't
carry on his own private business without having to tie up meddlers so
as to have a little peace.” He walked close to Mayo and shook a monitory
finger under the young man's nose. “Now, what did ye come on board here
for, messing into my affairs?”
The indignant captain put forth his best efforts to make suitable
retort, but could only emit a series of “guggles.”
“And now on top of it all I am told by my mate, who never gets around to
do anything that ought to be done till it's two days too late, that
you are one of the Mayos! Why wasn't I informed? I might have made
arrangements to show you some favors. I might have hove to and taken a
chance, considering who you was. And now it's too late. Everybody seems
to be ready to impose on me!”
Again Mayo tried to speak.
“Why don't you shut up that gobbling and talk sense?” shouted the irate
skipper, with maddening disregard of the captive's predicament.
“Father, are you completely crazy? You haven't taken that spike out of
his mouth.”
“Expect a man to remember everything when he is all wrapped in his own
business and everybody trying to meddle with it?” grumbled Candage. He
fumbled in his pocket and produced a knife. He slashed away the rope
yarn which lashed the marlinespike. “If you can talk sense I'll help
you do it! I reckon you can holler all you want to now. Them dudes can't
find their own mouths in a fog, much less this schooner. Now talk up!”
Mayo worked his aching jaws and found his voice. “You know how I
happened to get aboard, Captain Candage. I am skipper of the _Olenia_.
Put back with me if you want to save trouble.”
“Not by a tin hoopus, sir! I ain't going about and tackle them reefs in
this fog. I've got open sea ahead, and I shall keep going!”
Mayo was a sailor who knew that coast, and he admitted to himself that
Candage's stubbornness was justified.
“I ain't responsible for your getting aboard here. I'll land you as soon
as I can--and that covers the law, sir.”
During a prolonged silence the two men stared at each other.
“At any rate, Captain Candage, I trust you will not consider that you
have a right to keep me tied up here any longer.”
“Now that there's a better understanding about who is boss aboard here,
I don't know as I'm afraid to have you at large,” admitted the skipper.
“I only warn you to remember your manners and don't forget that I'm
captain.”
He flourished his clasp-knife and bent and cut the lashings. Then he
strode across the cabin and performed like service for his daughter.
“I reckon I can afford to have _you_ loose, too, now that you can't tell
me my business in front of a lot of skylarkers throwing kisses right and
left!”
“Father! Oh, oh!” She put her hands to her face.
Captain Candage seemed to be having some trouble in keeping up his
rôle of a bucko shipmaster; he shifted his eyes from Mayo's scowl and
surveyed his daughter with uncertainty while he scratched his ear.
“When a man ain't boss on his own schooner he might as well stop going
to sea,” he muttered. “Some folks knows it's the truth, being in a
position to know, and others has to be showed!” He went stamping up the
companionway into the night.
Captain Mayo waited, for some minutes. The girl did not lift her head.
“About that--What he said about--You understand! I know better!” he
faltered.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, gratefully, still hiding her face from him.
“Men sometimes do very foolish things.”
“I didn't know my father could be like this.”
“I was thinking about the men who came and annoyed him. I can understand
how he felt, because I am 'a 'native' myself.”
“I thought you were from outside.”
“My name is Boyd Mayo. I'm from Mayoport.”
She looked up at him with frank interest.
“My folks built this schooner,” he stated, with modest pride.
“I'm Polly Candage--I'm named for it.”
“It's too bad!” he blurted. “I don't mean to say but what the name is
all right,” he explained, awkwardly, “but I don't think that either
of us is particularly proud of this old hooker right at the present
moment.” He went across the cabin and sat down on a transom and, tested
the bump on the back of his head with cautious palm.
She did not reply, and he set his elbows on his knees and proceeded to
nurse his private grouch in silence, quite excluding his companion
from his thoughts. Now that he had been snatched so summarily from his
hateful position on board the _Olenia_, his desire to leave her was not
so keen. After Mayo's declaration to the owner, Marston might readily
conclude that his skipper had deserted. His reputation and his license
as a shipmaster were in jeopardy, and he had already had a bitter taste
of Marston's intolerance of shortcomings. If Marston cared to bother
about breaking such a humble citizen, malice had a handy weapon. But
most of all was Mayo concerned with the view Alma Marston would take of
the situation. She would either believe that he had fallen overboard
in the skirmish with the attacking Polly or had deserted without
warning--and in the case of a lover both suppositions were agonizing.
His distress was so apparent that the girl, from her seat on the
opposite transom, extended sympathy in the glances she dared to give
him.
“How did you tear your coat so badly in the back?” she ventured at last.
“Spikes your excellent father left sticking out of his martingale,” he
said, a sort of boyish resentment in his tones.
“Then it is only right that I should offer to mend it for you.”
She hurried to a locker, as if glad of an excuse to occupy herself. She
produced her little sewing-basket and then came to him and held out her
hand.
“Take it off, please.”
“You needn't trouble,” he expostulated, still gruff.
“I insist. Please let me do a little something to make up for the
_Polly's_ naughtiness.”
“It will be all right until I can get ashore--and perhaps I'll never
have need to wear the coat again, anyway.”
“Won't you allow me to be doing something that will take my mind off my
troubles, sir?” Then she snapped her finger into her palm and there was
a spirit of matronly command in her voice, in spite of her youth. “I
insist, I say! Take off your coat.”
He obeyed, a little grin crinkling at the corners of his mouth--a
flicker of light in his general gloom. After he had placed the coat in
her hands he sat down on the transom and watched her busy fingers.
She worked deftly. She closed in the rents and then darned the raveled
places with bits of the thread pulled from the coat itself.
“You are making it look almost as good as new.”
“A country girl must know how to patch and darn. The folks in the
country haven't as many things to throw away as the city folks have.”
“But that--what you are doing--that's real art.”
“My aunt does dressmaking and I have helped her. And lately I have
been working in a millinery-shop. Any girl ought to know how to use her
needle.”
He remembered what Mr. Speed had said about the reason for her presence
on the _Polly_. He cast a disparaging glance around the bare cabin and
decided in his mind that Mr. Speed had reported truthfully and with full
knowledge of the facts. Surely no girl would choose that sort of thing
for a summer vacation.