Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast
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