Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast
his coffee and went forward where the fishermen were coiling the
gang-lines into the tubs.
The fisherman made port at Maquoit late in the afternoon, and was warped
to her berth at the ice-house wharf.
The castaways went ashore.
Maquoit was a straggling hamlet at the head of a cove which nicked the
coast-line.
Captain Candage, an Apple-treer, who knew every hole alongshore where
refuge from stress of weather was afforded, led his party through the
village with confidence.
“There's a widder here who will put us up for what time we want to
stay--and be glad of the money. I knowed her husband in the coasting
trade. I like to get into a place like this that 'ain't been sp'iled
by them cussed rusticators and the prices they are willing to pay,”
he confided to Mayo. He slyly exhibited a wallet that was stuffed with
paper money. “I ain't busted, but there's no sense in paying more 'n
five dollars a week anywhere for vittles and bed. She will make plenty
off'n us at that rate. You just let me do the dickering.”
The widow proved to be a kindly soul who, in the first excitement of
her sympathetic nature, resolutely refused to consider the matter of any
payment whatever.
“You are shipwrecked, and my poor husband's body wouldn't rest quiet
wherever it is in the Atlantic Ocean if I grabbed money from shipwrecked
folks.”
However, in the end, Captain Candage worked her up from three dollars
to five per week, and she took Polly Candage into her heart and into the
best chamber.
Captain Mayo came back to supper after a moody stroll about the village.
Skipper Candage was patrolling the widow's front yard and was exhibiting
more cheerfulness.
“It's God's Proverdunce and your grit that has saved us, sir. I have
come out of my numb condition and sense it all. What's your plans?”
“I don't seem to be able to make any just yet.”
“I'm going to stay right here for a spell, and shall keep Dolph and Otie
with me. We shall be here on the coast where we can hear of something
to grab in on. As soon as Polly gets straightened around I'll let her go
home to her aunt. But, of course, hanging around here doesn't offer you
any attractions, sir. You're looking for bigger game than we are.”
“I have about made up my mind to leave in the morning on the stage. I'll
go somewhere.”
The widow tapped her knuckles on the glass of a near-by window.
“Supper!” she announced. “Hurry in whilst it's hot!”
“I always do my best pondering on a full stomach,” said Captain Candage.
“And I smell cream-o'-tartar biskits and I saw her hulling field
strorb'ries. Better look on the bright side of things along with me,
Captain Mayo.”
Captain Mayo failed to find any bright side as he turned his affairs
over in his mind. He had only a meager stock of money. He had used his
modest earnings in settling the debts of the family estate. The outlook
for employment was vague--he could not estimate to what extent the
hostility of Julius Marston might block his efforts, provided the
magnate troubled himself to descend to meddle with the affairs of such
an inconspicuous person. His poor little romance with Alma Marston had
been left in a shocking condition. He did not talk at the supper-table,
and the widow's wholesome food was like ashes in his mouth. He went out
and sat on the porch of the widow's cottage and looked into the sunset
and saw nothing in its rosy hues to give him encouragement for his own
future.
Polly Candage came timidly and sat down beside him. “Father says you
think of leaving in the morning!”
“There's nothing for me here.”
“Probably not.”
A long silence followed.
“I suppose you don't care to have me talk to you, Captain Mayo?”
“I'll listen to you gratefully, any time.”
“I'm only a country girl. I don't know how to say it--how to tell you
I'm so sorry for you!”
“That one little pat on my hand to-day, it was better than words.”
“It's all I can think about--your unhappiness.”
“That touches me because I know that you have enough sorrow of your
own.”
“Sorrow!” She opened her eyes wide.
“Perhaps I have no business speaking of it,” he returned, with
considerable embarrassment.
“And yet I have been so bold as to speak to you!”
There was a touch of reproach in her voice, and therefore he ventured:
“Your father told me--I tried to stop him, but he went on and
said--Well, I understand! But I have some consolation for you and I'm
going to speak out. He says he is going to allow you to marry your young
man.”
“Did he dare to talk such matters over with you?”
“He insisted on doing it--on asking my advice. So I advised in a way to
help you. I am glad, for your sake, that he is coming to his senses.”
“I thank you for your help,” she said, stiffly.
“Of course it's none of my business. I'm sorry he told me. But I wish
you all happiness.”
She rose as if to go away. Then she stamped her foot and sat down. “My
father ought to be muzzled!”
She realized that he might misinterpret her indignation, for he said:
“I'm ashamed because I meddled in your affairs. But from what you saw
to-day in my case, I felt that I ought to help others who are in the
same trouble.”
“But my father has mistaken my--” She broke off in much confusion, not
understanding the queer look he gave her. “I--I am glad my father is
coming to his senses and will allow me to--to--marry the young man,” she
stammered. “And now I think I may be allowed to say that I hope you may
have the girl you love, some day. Would you like to have me talk to you
about her--how dear and pretty I think she is?”
“No, it hurts! But I do want you to know, Miss Can-dage, that I'm not
out fortune-hunting. I love her for herself--just herself--nothing
more!”
“I know it must be so.”
“And I know that a young man you would choose is worthy of you. I told
your father--”
“No matter. _That_ hurts, too! We both understand. We'll leave it
there!”
After the declaration of that truce they were frankly at ease and began
to chat with friendly freedom. The dusk came shading into the west, the
evening star dripped silver light.
“It's a peaceful spot here,” she suggested. “Everybody seems to be
contented.”
“Contentment--in a rut--that may be the best way of passing this life,
after all.”
“But if you were in the rut, Captain Mayo, you might find that
contentment would not agree to come and live with you.”
“Probably it wouldn't! I'd have to be born to the life here like this
chap who is coming up the hill. You can see that he isn't worrying about
himself or the world outside.”
The man was clumping slowly along in his rubber boots; an old cap was
slewed awry on his head, its peak drawn down over one ear. He cocked up
the other ear at sound of voices on the porch and loafed up and sat down
on the edge of the boarding. Captain Mayo and the girl, accustomed to
bland indifference to formality in rural neighborhoods, accepted this
interruption without surprise or protest.
“'Tain't a bad night as nights go,” stated the caller.
“It's a beautiful night,” said Polly Candage.
“I reckon it seems so to you, after what you went through. I've been
harking to your father telling the yarn down to the store.”
They did not reply, having their own ideas as to Captain Candage's
loquacity.
The caller hauled a plug of tobacco from his pocket, gnawed off a chew,
and began slow wagging of his jaws. “This world is full of trouble,” he
observed,
“It seems to be,” agreed Captain Mayo.
“Them what's down get kicked further down.”
“Also true, in many cases.”
“Take your case! It's bad. But our'n is worse!” The caller pointed to
the dim bulk of a small island which the cove held between the bold jaws
of its headland. “The old sir who named that Hue and Cry Island must
have smelt into the future so as to know what was going to happen there
some day--and this is the day!” He chewed on, and his silence became
irritating.
“Well, what has happened?” demanded the captain.
“It hasn't happened just yet--it's going to.”
Further silence.
“Tell us what's going to happen, can't you?”
“Of course I can, now that you have asked me. I ain't no hand to butt
in. I ain't no hand to do things unless I'm asked. There's seventeen
fam'lies of us on Hue and Cry and they've told us to get off.”
“Who told you?”
“The state! Some big bugs come along and said the Governor sent 'em, and
they showed papers and we've got to go.”
“But I know about Hue and Cry!” protested Mayo. “You people have lived
there for years!”
“Sure have! My grandfather was one of the first settlers. Most all of us
who live there had grandfathers who settled the place. But according to
what is told us, some heirs have found papers what say that they own
the island. The state bought out the heirs. Now the state says get off.
We're only squatters, state says.”
“But, good Caesar, man, you have squatter rights after all these years.
Hire a lawyer. Fight the case!”
“We ain't fighters. 'Ain't got no money--'ain't got no friends. Might
have fit plain heirs, but you can't fight the state--leastways, poor
cusses like us can't.”
“Where are you going?”
“Well, there's the problem! That's what made me say that this world is
full of trouble. You see, we have taken town help in years past--had to
do it or starve winters. And we have had state aid, too. They say that
makes paupers of us. Every town round about has served notice that we
can't settle there and gain pauper residence. Hue and Cry 'ain't ever
been admitted to any town. Towns say, seeing that the state has ordered
us off, now let the state take care of us.”
“And men have been here, representing the state?”
“You bet they have.”
“What do they say?”
“Say get off! But they won't let us settle on the main. Looks like they
wanted us to go up in balloons. But we hain't got no balloons. Got to
move, though.”
“I never heard of such a thing!”
“Nor I, neither,” admitted this man, with a sort of calm numbness of
discouragement. “But that ain't anyways surprising. We don't hear much
about anything on Hue and Cry till they come and tell us. Speaking for
myself, I ain't so awful much fussed up. I've got a house-bo't to
take my wife and young ones on, and we'll keep on digging clams for
trawlers--sixty cents a bucket, shucked, and we can dig and shuck a
bucket a day, all hands turning to. We won't starve. But I pity the poor
critters that 'ain't got a house-bo't. Looks like they'd need wings. I
ain't worrying a mite, I say. I had the best house on the island, and
the state has allowed a hundred and fifty dollars for it. I consider I'm
well fixed.”
The plutocrat of the unhappy tribe of Hue and Cry rose and stretched
with a comfortable grunt.
“If it ain't one thing it's another,” he said, as he started off. “We've
got to have about so much trouble, anyway, and it might just as well be
this as anything else.” %
“Why, that's an awful thing to happen to those people!” declared the
girl. “I must say, he takes it calmly.”
“He is a fair sample of some of the human jellyfish I have found hidden
away in odd corners on this coast,” stated Captain Mayo. “Not enough
mind or spirit left to fight for his own protection. But this thing is
almost unbelievable. It can't be possible that the state is gunning an
affair like this! I'll find somebody who knows more about it than that
clam-digging machine!”
A little later a man strolled past, hands behind his back. He was
placidly smoking a cigar, and, though the dusk had deepened, Mayo could
perceive that he was attired with some pretensions to city smartness.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” called the young man. “But do you know
anything about the inwardness of this business on Hue and Cry Island?”
“I can tell you _all_ about it,” stated the person who had been hailed.