Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast
how to build a bonfire.”
Mayo did not offer any comment. He seemed to be much occupied by his
thoughts.
Two days later a newspaper came into Mayo's hands at Maquoit, and
he read that the wrecked steamer had been put up at auction by the
underwriters. It was plain that the bidders had shared the insurance
folks' general feeling of pessimism--she had been knocked down for two
thousand five hundred dollars. The newspapers explained that only this
ridiculous sum had been realized because experts had decided that in
the first blow the steamer would slip off the ledges on which she was
impaled and would go down like a plummet in the deep water from which
old Razee cropped. Even the most reckless of gambling junkmen could not
be expected to dare much of an investment in such a peek-a-boo game as
that.
“But I wonder what was the matter with the expert who predicted that,”
mused Mayo. “He doesn't know the old jaw teeth of Razee Reef as well as
I do.”
When the _Ethel and May_ set forth from Maquoit on her next trip to
Cashes Banks, Mayo suggested--and he was a bit shamefaced when he did
so--that they might as well go out of their way a little and see what
the junkers were doing at Razee.
Captain Candage eyed his associate with rather quizzical expression.
“Great minds travel, et cetry!” he chuckled. “I was just going to say
that same thing to you. On your mind a little, is it?”
“Yes, and only a little. Of course, there can't be anything in it for
us. Those junkers will stick to her till she ducks for deep water. But
I've been wondering why they think she's going to duck. I seined around
Razee for a while, and the old chap has teeth like a hyena--regular
fangs.”
“Maybe they took Art Simpson's say-so,” remarked the old man, wrinkling
his nose. “Art would be very encouraging about the prospects of saving
her--that is to say, he would be so in case losing that steamer has
turned his brain.”
“Guess there wasn't very much interest by the underwriters,” suggested
Mayo. “They weren't stuck very hard, so I've found out. She was mostly
owned in sixty-fourths, and with marine risks up to where they are,
small owners don't insure. It's a wicked thing all through, Candage!
That great, new steamer piled up there by somebody's devilishness! I
believe as you do about the affair! I've been to sea so long that a boat
means something to me besides iron and wood. There's something about
'em--something--”
“Almost human,” put in the old man. “I sorrowed over the _Polly_, but
I didn't feel as bad as if she'd been new. It was sort of like when old
folks die of natural causes--you know they have lived about as long
as they can. It's sorrowful to have 'em go, but you have to feel
reconciled. But I know just how it is with you in the case of that
steamer, for I'm a sailor like you. It's just like getting a fine boy
through college, seeing him start out full of life, and courage, and
hopes, and prospects, and then seeing him drop dead at your feet.”
There was a quaver in the old man's tones. But Mayo, who knew the souls
of mariners, understood. Under their hard shells there is imagination
that has been nurtured in long, long thoughts. In the calms under
starlit skies, in the black darkness when tossing surges swing beneath
the keel, in the glimmering vistas of sun-lighted seas, sailors ponder
while their more stolid brothers on land allow their souls to doze.
“You are right, Captain Candage. That's why I almost hate to go out to
the _Conomo_. Those infernal ghouls of junkmen will be tearing her into
bits instead of trying to put the breath of life back into her.”
The helpless steamer seemed more lonely than when they had visited her
before. The mosquito fleet that had surrounded her, hoping for some
stray pickings, had dispersed. A tug and a couple of lighters were stuck
against her icy sides, and, like leeches, were sucking from her what
they could. They were prosecuting their work industriously, for the
sea was calm in one of those lulls between storms, a wintry truce that
Atlantic coastwise toilers understand and depend on.
Mayo, his curiosity prompting him, determined to go on board one of the
lighters and discover to what extremes the junk jackals were proceeding.
Two of his dorymen ferried him after the schooner had been hove to near
the wreck.
“What's your business?” inquired a man who was bundled in a fur coat and
seemed to be bossing operations.
“Nothing much,” confessed the young man from his dory, which was tossing
alongside the lighter. “I'm only a fisherman.”
The swinging cranes of the lighters, winches purring, the little
lifting-engines puffing in breathless staccato, were hoisting and
dropping cargo--potatoes in sacks, and huge rolls of print paper. Mayo
was a bit astonished to note that they were not stripping the steamer;
not even her anchors and chains had been disturbed.
“Fend off!” commanded the boss.
Captain Dodge dropped one of the windows of his pilot-house and leaned
on his elbows, thrusting his head out. The tug _Seba J. Ransom_ was
still on the job. She was tied up alongside the wreck, chafing her
fenders against the ice-sheathed hull.
“Hello, Captain Mayo!” he called, a welcoming grin splitting his
features. “Come aboard and have a cigar, and this time I'll keep the
conversation on fish-scales and gurry-butts.”
The man in the fur coat glanced from one to the other, and was promptly
placated. “Oh, this is a friend of yours, is he, Captain Dodge?”
“You bet he is. He's been my boss before now.”
“If that's the case make yourself at home anywhere. But you know what
some of these fellows alongcoast who call themselves fishermen will do
around a wreck when your back is turned!”
Mayo nodded amicably.
“Step on board,” invited the boss.
“I'm all right here in the dory, and I'm out from underfoot, sir. We're
going along to the fishing-grounds in a jiffy. I'm only satisfying
a sailor's curiosity. Wondered what you intended to do with this
proposition.”
“We're only grabbing what's handy just now. Some of the cargo forward is
above water. I'm in on this thing in a sort of queer way myself.” This
keen-eyed young man who had been so heartily indorsed by the tugboat
skipper afforded the man in the fur coat an opportunity for a little
conversation about himself. “I'm the outside man for Todd & Simonton, of
Boston, and bought on the jump after I'd swapped a wire or so with the
house. Happened into that auction, and bought blind. I believe in a
gamble myself. Then somebody wired to the concern that they had been
stuck good and fine, and they gave me a sizzler of a call-down in a
night message. A man can sit at desk in Boston and think up a whole lot
of things that ain't so. Well, I've flown out here with what equipment
I could scrape up in a hurry, and you can see what I'm doing! There's
enough in sight in the way of loose cargo to square me with the concern.
But, blast the luck! If Jake Simonton had a little grit and would back
me I believe we'd make a killing.”
“Of course, it all depends on how she's resting and what will happen
when the next blow comes,” said Mayo. “Have you been below?”
“I'm a hustler on a dicker, and a hellion on junk,” snapped the boss.
“I'm no sailor, prophet, or marine architect. I simply know that she's
full of water aft and has got something serious the matter with her
innards. I'm pulling enough out to make Simonton sorry he sassed me in a
night message. Only he will never let on that he's sorry. He never lets
loose any boomerangs that will scale around and come back and hit him.
He wants to be in a position to rasp me the next time I make a mistake
in a gamble.”
“All the crew gone ashore--the Bee line men?”
“Sure--bag and baggage. We own her as she stands. That second officer
had 'em shivering every time a wave slapped her. I was glad when he got
away. He pretty nigh stampeded _my_ men. Said she was liable to slide
any minute.”
The drawling voice of Captain Dodge broke in above them. “Here comes
the tug _Resolute_” he stated. “Mebbe it's another one of them night
messages from your concern, Titus. May want you to put what you can
carry of her in a paper bag and bring it to Boston.”
“You never can tell what they're going to do in Boston,” growled the
outside man. “I get discouraged, sometimes, trying to be enterprising.”
He began to pace, looking worried, and did not reply to several
questions that Mayo put to him. So the young man accepted Captain
Dodge's invitation and climbed to the tugboat's pilot-house. He had a
very human hankering to know what the coming of that tug from the main
signified, and decided to hang around a little while longer, even at the
risk of making Captain Candage impatient.
The _Resolute_ brought a telegram, and the man in the fur coat slapped
it open, took in its gist at one glance, and began to swear with great
gusto.
He climbed into the _Ransom's_ pilot-house, with the air of a man
seeking comfort from friends, and fanned the sheet of paper wrathfully.
“Orders to resell. Get out from under. Take what I can get. Don't want
the gamble. And here I have cleaned a good profit already.”
“Why don't you fire back a message advising 'em to hold on?” asked
Captain Dodge.
“And have a gale come up in a few hours and knock her off'n this rock?
That's what would happen. It would be just my luck. I'm only a hired
man, gents. If my firm won't gamble, it ain't up to me. If I disobey
orders and hold on, I'll be scared to death the first time the wind
begins to blow. There's no use in ruining a fine set of nerves for a
firm that won't appreciate the sacrifice, and I need nerve to keep on
working for 'em. I say it ain't up to me. Me for shore as soon as I
load those lighters. Every dollar I get by reselling is velvet, so let
'ergo!”
“What do they tell you to do about price?” ventured Mayo.
“Take the first offer--and hurry about it. They seem to have an idea
that this steamer is standing on her head on the point of a needle, and
that only a blind man will buy her.”
He went back to his crew, much disgusted, ordered the freshly arrived
tug to wait for a tow, and spurred laggard toilers with sharp profanity.
“Somebody has been scaring his concern,” suggested Mayo, left alone with
Captain Dodge.
“Perhaps so--but it may be good business to get scared, provided they
can unload this onto somebody else for a little ready cash. This spell
of weather can't last much longer. Look at that bank to s'uthard. I
don't know just what is under her in the way of ledges--never knew much
about old Razee. But my prediction is, she'll break in two as soon as
the waves give her any motion.”
It was on the tip of Mayo's tongue to argue the matter with the tugboat
man, but he took second thought and shut his mouth.
“You're probably right,” he admitted. “I'd better be moving. I don't
see any fish jumping aboard our schooner. We've got to go and catch 'em.
Good-by, Dodge.”
When his associate came in over the rail of the _Ethel and May_ Captain
Candage, from force of habit, having picked up his men, gave orders to
let her off into the wind.
“Hold her all-aback!” commanded Mayo. “Excuse me, Captain Candage, for
a cross-order, but I've got a bit of news I want you to hear before we
leave. The junk crowd has got cold feet and are going to sell as she
stands, as soon as they get cargoes for those lighters.”
“Well, she does lay in a bad way, and weather is making,” said the
skipper, fiddling his forefinger under his nose dubiously.
“They haven't even skimmed the cream off her--probably will get all her
cargo that's worth saving and some loose stuff in the rigging line. By
gad! what a chance for a gamble!”
“It might be for a feller who had so much money he could kiss a slice