MR. DARLING ARRIVES IN CHANCE ALONG
Mr. John Darling stood spellbound for a full half-minute, gazing down at
the flaming, flashing gems coiled in their silken bed. He was aroused
from his wonder and wild conjecture by the voice of George Wick.
"What bes the trouble, sir?" called the fisherman, who was busy fending
the bully off the rocks. "Who bes it, anyhow? It bain't no friend o'
yerself, sir, surely?"
Darling shut the casket and slipped it into an inner breast-pocket of
his reefer. He turned slowly toward the sea and the boat, with a studied
expression of puzzled pity on his face.
"Some poor fellow who has stepped off the cliff," he said. "I never saw
him before--but the sight of him shook me a bit. He has been here quite
awhile, I should say--yes, through thaw and frost, frost and thaw. Aye,
and the crabs have been at him, poor devil! I suppose we should bury
him; but there is no place here to dig a grave."
"Come aboard, sir! Come aboard wid ye!" exclaimed Wick, in a trembling
voice. "It bain't no affair of our'n, sir--an' there bes the divil's own
luck in finding a dead man unexpected."
Mr. Darling crossed the land-wash without another word, waded knee-deep
into the tide, and climbed aboard the boat. George Wick poled the bully
clear of the surf with one of the oars, then jumped forward and hoisted
the red sail. Darling drew his chart from his pocket, examined it, then
raised his glasses and studied the coast-line to the southward. The wind
was light, but dead on shore. The bully hauled across it cleverly. A
whitish gray haze stood along the sky-line to the east.
"We'll be havin' thick weather afore sun-down, sir, wid this wind
holdin'," said Wick.
Darling nodded. "We must be getting pretty close to Chance Along," he
said. "Yes, there is smoke. Can you see it?"
George could not make it out with his unassisted eyes, but through the
glasses he saw the blue reek of wood-smoke above a distant point of the
coast easily enough. An hour later the bully threaded the rocks off
Squid Beach. Dick Lynch had spoken of these rocks when the rum was warm
in his head, in the tap-room of the _Ship Ahoy_, and Darling had marked
them on his chart.
"We are within two miles of it," said Darling, his voice husky with
emotion at thought of Flora Lockhart.
George Wick turned his face toward the east and the white wall of fog
that now rolled upon the gray water within a mile of the coast.
"Aye, sir; but we'll not be makin' it afore the fog catches us," he
replied.
"That will not bother my plans," said Darling. "I don't intend to sail
right into Chance Along, anyway. I want to pay a surprise visit. We'll
find a bit of a cove along here somewhere, I think."
He was right. About a mile and a half beyond the Squid Rocks they found
a little sheltered cove that was no more than a pocket in the cliff. The
beach was narrow, and a glance disclosed the fact that at every full
tide it was entirely submerged; but a "drook" or a narrow cleft, thickly
grown with hardy bushes, led up from the land-wash to the barrens above.
They lowered the sail and nosed their way into the cove. The streaming
skirmishers of the fog were over them by this time. They beached the
bully at the foot of the drook and made her fast.
"Keep everything aboard, and make yourself snug," said Mr. Darling.
"Watch the tide. Haul in and back off with it; and, whatever you do, lie
low and keep quiet. I am going to take a look at Chance Along--on the
sly, you understand. You'll know all about it later. Don't worry if I
don't get back within the next two or three hours."
"Ye bes after Black Dennis Nolan, sir," said Wick.
Mr. Darling nodded, placed two loaded pistols in his pocket and vanished
up the tangled slope of the drook. Wick listened to the upward
scrambling until it suddenly died away and fog and silence covered him
deep like a flood. Then he filled and lit his pipe and sat down in the
shelter of a tarpaulin to think it over. He sensed danger in the blind
choking air. He felt anxiety for his companion and fear for himself; but
curiosity and a natural courage fortified him to a certain degree.
Upon reaching the level of the barrens, Mr. Darling stood motionless for
a little while and listened intently to the vague, fog-muffled
breathing of the sea below him. He could hear nothing else. Turning to
the south he moved silently forward along a well-worn path that traced
the edge of the cliff. The fog was dense, and there was just enough wind
to keep it drifting in from the sea. Darling held a boat-hook in his
right hand and kept his eyes and ears alert. He heard a dog bark
somewhere in front of him in the whitish-gray obscurity. Presently he
came to where the path kinked and sloped down among a jumble of rocks,
and at the same moment he caught the pungent, comforting smell of
wood-smoke on the fog. Then he knew that Chance Along--the roof which
sheltered Flora Lockhart--lay hidden and dripping beneath him. He was
about to commence a cautious descent of the path, when a clamor of
voices drifted up to him. He halted; and as the voices approached,
together with the shuffle of climbing feet and the creak and clatter of
shouldered boat-gear, he stepped aside. He saw the yellow blur of a
lantern and immediately took up a position behind a great boulder. Bulky
forms loomed into view at the top of the slope, broke from the
blanketing fog for a moment, one by one, and plunged into it again,
heading southward along the path. The big fellow in the lead carried
the lantern, and the man at his elbow was talking excitedly as they
passed within an oar's length of Darling.
"I's bin watchin' her these five hours back, skipper, a-tryin' to beat
out o' the drift o' wind an' tide widout one entire mast a-standin'," he
said. "She wasn't a half-mile off the rocks when I left the cove, an'
a-firin' of her gun desperate. If she bain't stuck tight now, skipper,
then me name bain't Tim Leary."
Mr. Darling stared and listened, as motionless as the boulder against
which he leaned. They issued from the fog and were engulfed again in its
clinging folds--twenty-five or thirty men and lads in all. Some carried
coils of rope, others oars and boat-hooks. Several of them hauled empty
sledges at their heels. The back of the last man vanished in the fog;
but Mr. Darling remained in the shelter of the rock until the faintest
whisper of their voices had died away before moving hand or foot.
"Organized wreckers," he muttered. "And that big pirate with the lantern
was the skipper--the brute who is keeping Flora in this place! By God--I
wonder just how much of a man, and how much of a beast he is! But now is
my time, while they're all off waiting for another wreck to come ashore
to them--damn them! The harbor must be about empty of able-bodied men
just now."
He descended the twisting path cautiously. The small cabins of the
fishermen presently loomed around him, here a gray gable, there a dull
window, there an unpainted door--and below him a roof or two pushing up
through the fog from a lower terrace of the village. He groped his way
about, pausing frequently to peer and hearken. From one cabin came the
sound of a child crying angrily, from another the harsh coughing of some
very old person, and from still another the whining of a dog. He moved
to the left, feeling his way gingerly between the humble dwellings. A
lighted window caught his attention, and then a man's voice, with a
whimsical drawl and twang to it, raised in song.
"Her eyes were like the sea in June,
Her lips was like a rose,
Her voice was like a fairy bell
A-ringin' crost the snows.
Then Denny, he forgot the wrack,
Forgot the waves a-rollin',
For she had put the witchy spell
On Skipper Dennis Nolan,"
sang the voice behind the blurred yellow square of the window.
Darling approached the window on tip-toe and peered through the dripping
glass. He saw that the vocalist was a long, thin fellow, with long, thin
whiskers and a wooden leg, seated in a chair by a glowing stove. Two
candles in tarnished brass sticks, a fiddle and bow, and a glass half
full of red liquor that steamed, were on the corner of the deal table at
his elbow. Beside him stood a young woman, long limbed, deep breasted,
with a comely face that suggested cheeriness, but was now drawn and
shadowed a little round the mouth and eyes with an expression of care.
But it was a good face, trustworthy, kind and wise; and the man at the
window trusted it the moment he saw it.
"I'll risk it," he muttered. "The old man looks harmless enough--and I
might stumble around here until the fog lifts or the skipper gets back,
without so much as a word with Flora, at this rate."
He withdrew from the window and slid quietly along the wall of the cabin
until he found the door. He pulled the glove from his right hand and
rapped on the wet planks with his bare knuckles. The voice of the man
with the wooden leg stopped dead in the middle of a line and shouted,
"Come in." Darling lifted the latch, pushed the door half open, and
stepped swiftly into the lighted room, closing the door smartly behind
him. The man and the girl stared at him in astonishment. He removed his
dripping cap from his head.
"Can you tell me where I can find Miss Flora Lockhart?" he asked.
The man gasped at that, and the girl's gray eyes brightened. The girl
stepped forward, placed a strong, eager hand on his arm and gazed into
his face without apology or embarrassment. Darling returned the scrutiny
unabashed.
"Ye be from up-along?" she queried. "Ye be a friend o' Flora's?"
"Yes," replied Darling. "I have heard that she is in this harbor--and
that no word of her being here, or even of her being alive, has been
sent out. Her friends believe her to be dead. And I heard that the man
you call skipper is--is keeping her against her will. Of course, against
her will! I have come to take her away--back to the world in which she
belongs."
"Be ye alone, sir?" asked Pat Kavanagh, combing his beard with his long,
lean fingers.
Darling frowned. "That's as may be," he said. "Alone or not, I'm no such
fool as to tell it until I know how I stand with you; but I am armed,
you may be sure!"
"Lad," said Pat, "I sees as how ye bes young, an' a sailor--aye, an'
bewitched, too. Sure, I was a sailor meself, in the old days. I likes
the cut o' yer fore-sils, lad, an' the lines o' yer hull, so I tells ye,
man to man like, watch out for the skipper. Aye, armed or empty-handed,
alone or wid a crew at yer back, watch out for Black Dennis Nolan. He
bes a grand lad in his own way, an' ginerous an' fair wid his
friends--but Saint Peter help the man who hauls acrost his bows! If
ye've come to Chance Along to take the girl away wid ye, then get hold
o' her quick an' clear out wid her quick."
"I'll take ye to her, sir," said Mary, eagerly. "Come, sir! Come along
wid ye. She bes at the skipper's own house."
"At his own house? So I heard," said Darling, thickly.
"Aye," said Pat, "an' safe as if she was in church, wid Mother Nolan to
mind her. Sure, an' Denny Nolan bain't such a pirate as ye t'inks, sir.
Lie an' curse an' fight an' wrack he will, like the divil himself; but
he bes a decent man wid the helpless, accordin' to his lights, for all
that. Aye, cap'n, till she bes Denny Nolan's wife she kin be any man's
wife--if he bes smart enough to get her out o' Chance Along."
"Come along wid me, sir!" urged Mary, pulling at Darling's sleeve. "He
bes out o' the harbor now, wid all the crew. Now bes yer chance, sir!"
She had thrown a shawl over her head and shoulders while her father was
talking; and now she opened the door and led the sailor into the choking
fog outside.
"Give me yer hand, sir, an' mind yer feet," she whispered. And then, as
she pressed quickly forward, leading Darling by the hand, "It must be
the saints themselves sent ye an' the fog to Chance Along together,
sir--ye an' the fog an' the wrack they all bes a-lookin' out for!"
"Then I trust the saints may continue their good offices," said Darling,
seriously.
"Aye, sir, an' why not?" she returned. "But here we be, sir. Mother
Nolan an' yer lass bes alone in the house together this minute; an'
Mother Nolan will not be sayin' nay to yer plans o' runnin' away."
She opened the door and drew Mr. Darling after her into the lighted
kitchen. "Here bes yer help, Flora darlin'," she said. "An' 'twas no
letter fetched him, ye kin lay to that, but the drag in his own heart
for ye."
Old Mother Nolan looked up at them with her snapping black eyes.
"Shut the door!" said she. "D'ye want to fill all me poor old bones wid
misery?"
Mary laughed uncertainly and slammed the door; and it was not until then
that Flora Lockhart moved or uttered a sound. She sprang to her feet,
her clear eyes shining like stars.
"Jack! Mr. Darling!" she cried. "You here? Have you come for me?"
The sailor's heart fairly flooded his arteries with joy and tenderness.
She had remembered him at a glance after the three long years! She had
called him by name! Work, ambition, fame and disaster had not driven out
the memory of him.
"Yes, I have come for you," he said, huskily. "I would have come long
ago if I had known--but I heard of it only by chance--a few days ago.
Are you ready to come away with me now? We must hurry--for I fear that I
am not strong enough to risk facing your jailer--just now."
Mother Nolan threw a fur coat about the girl's shoulders.
"Aye, she bes ready," said the old woman. "Mary, snatch her things
together, an' carry 'em along. Step lively, for the love o' heaven! Have
ye a boat, lad? Then get her to it as quick as ye kin, an' into it, an'
away out o' Chance Along wid the two o' ye jist as quick as the holy
saints will let ye!"
John Darling fastened the great coat around Flora with trembling
fingers.
"To find you here!" he whispered. "And yet you seem nearer to me here
than when I read of you--of your glory--out there in the great world."
Their hands touched. Her eyes kindled to his, flame for flame, throb for
throb.
"I am glad--_you_ have found me," she said. "You--you did not forget
me."
At that moment the door was flung open and Black Dennis Nolan sprang
into the room, followed closely by Bill Brennen and Nick Leary. The
skipper had returned to the harbor because the ship in distress had
drifted clear of the coast after all, and was even now firing her gun
and burning her flares in clear water directly off Chance Along. Before
flinging open the door the wreckers had seen through the window what was
taking place in the kitchen.
Flora Lockhart screamed and flung her arms around John Darling, clinging
to him as to her only hope of deliverance; and before he could pull
himself clear of her and draw a pistol from his pocket the infuriated
skipper was upon him. Nolan gripped with his left hand, and struck with
his right fist and his whole body; but, quick as thought, the sailor
twisted, ducked and gripped the other low about the hips. They hurtled
across the room, collided against a chair and crashed to the floor with
Darling on top. Bill Brennen plunged forward to help his master, but was
met half-way by old Mother Nolan, who twined her claws in his whiskers
and hung to him like a cat to a curtain. Nick Leary was about to settle
things when Mary Kavanagh fell upon him with a leg of the broken chair.
Flora alone did not join the fray. She fell back against the wall and
covered her eyes with her hands.
Things were at a deadlock, with the chances good for Darling to break
away from the dazed skipper and make his escape. Bill Brennen was of no
use, for he could not strike the terrible old woman who hung to his
whiskers until he yelled with the pain of it. Nick lay on the floor with
music and stars in his head and conviction that Mary Kavanagh (who even
now knelt on his chest) was a grand young woman entirely. Then young
Cormick entered, took in the vital points of the situation at a glance,
snatched up a stick of firewood, and jumped for the corner where his
brother and the stranger lay clinched. Flora saw it from between her
trembling fingers. She screamed and sprang forward with out-flung arms;
but she was too late. The boy struck once with the billet--and the fight
was ended.