Blow The Man Down: A Romance Of The Coast, Page 2

  II ~ THEN CAPTAIN MAYO SEES SHOALS

  There's naught upon the stern, there's naught upon the lee, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we. But there's a lofty ship to windward, And she's sailing fast and free, Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbaree. --Ancient Shanty.

  The skipper of the _Olenia_ found himself dabbling in guesses andwonderment more than is good for a man who is expected to obey withoutasking the reason why.

  That cruise seemed to be a series of spasmodic alternations betweenleisurely loafing and hustling haste.

  There were days when he was ordered to amble along at half speedoffshore. Then for hours together Julius Marston and his two especialand close companions, men of affairs, plainly, men of his kind, bunchedthemselves close together in their hammock chairs under the poop awningand talked interminably. Alma Marston and her young friends, chaperonedby an amiable aunt--so Captain Mayo understood her status in theparty--remained considerately away from the earnest group of three.Arthur Beveridge attached himself to the young folks.

  From the bridge the captain caught glimpses of all this shipboardroutine. The yacht's saunterings offshore seemed a part of the summervacation.

  But the occasional hurryings into harbors, the conferences below withmen who came and went with more or less attempt at secrecy, did not fitwith the vacation side of the cruise.

  These conferences were often followed by orders to the captain to threadinner reaches of the coast and to visit unfrequented harbors.

  Captain Mayo had been prepared for these trips, although he had not beeninformed of the reason. It was his first season on the yacht _Olenia_.The shipping broker who had hired him had been searching in hisinquiries as to Mayo's knowledge of the byways of the coast. The youngman who had captained fishermen and coasters ever since he was seventeenyears old had found it easy to convince the shipping broker, and theshipping broker had sent him on board the yacht without the formality ofan interview with the owner.

  Mayo was informed curtly that there was no need of an interview. He wastold that Julius Marston never bothered with details.

  When Julius Marston had come on board with his party he merely noddedgrim acknowledgment of the salute of his yacht's master, who stood atthe gangway, cap in hand.

  The owner had never shown any interest in the management of the yacht;he had remained abaft the main gangway; he had never called the captaininto conference regarding any movements of the _Olenia_.

  Captain Mayo, pacing the bridge in the forenoon watch, trying to graspthe full measure of his fortune after troubled dreams of his master'sdaughter, recollected that he had never heard the sound of JuliusMarston's voice. So far as personal contact was concerned, the yacht'sskipper was evidently as much a matter of indifference to the owner asthe yacht's funnel.

  Orders were always brought forward by a pale young man who was taciturneven to rudeness, and by that trait seemed to commend himself to Marstonas a safe secretary.

  At first, Alma Marston had brought her friends to the bridge. But afterthe novelty was gone they seemed to prefer the comfort of chairs asternor the saloon couches.

  For a time the attentive Beveridge had followed her when she cameforward; and then Beveridge discovered that she quite disregarded him inher quest for information from the tall young man in uniform. She camealone.

  And after that what had happened happened.

  She came alone that forenoon. He saw her coming. He had stolen a glanceaft every time he turned in his walk at the end of the bridge. He leanedlow and reached down his hand to assist her up the ladder.

  "I have been nigh crazy all morning. But I had to wait a decent time andlisten to their gossip after breakfast," she told him, her face closeto his as she came up the ladder. "And, besides, my father is snappyto-day. He scolded me last night for neglecting my guests. Just as ifI were called on to sit all day and listen to Nan Burgess appraise herlovers or to sing a song every time Wally Dalton has his relapse oflovesickness. He has come away to forget her, you know." She chuckled,uttering her funny little gurgle of a laugh which stirred in him,always, a desire to smother it with kisses.

  They went to the end of the bridge, apart from the man at the wheel.

  "I hurried to go to sleep last night so that I could dream of you, myown big boy."

  "I walked the bridge until after daylight. I wanted to stay awake. Icould not bear to let sleep take away my thoughts."

  "What is there like love to make this world full of happiness? Howbright the sun is! How the waves sparkle! Those folks sitting back thereare looking at the same things we are--or they can look, though theydon't seem to have sense enough. And about all they notice is that it'sdaylight instead of night. My father and those men are talking aboutmoney--just money--that's all. And Wally has a headache from drinkingtoo much Scotch. And Nan Burgess doesn't love anybody who loves her, Butfor us--oh, this glorious world!"

  She put out her arms toward the sun and stared boldly at that blazingorb, as though she were not satisfied with what her eyes could behold,but desired to grasp and feel some of the glory of outdoors. If CaptainMayo had been as well versed in psychology as he was in navigationhe might have drawn a few disquieting deductions from this frank andunconscious expression of the mood of the materialist. She emphasizedthat mood by word.

  "I'll show you my little clasp-book some day, big boy. It's where Iwrite my verses. I don't show them to anybody. You see, I'm telling youmy secrets! We must tell each other our secrets, you and I! I have putmy philosophy of living into four lines. Listen!

  "The future? Why perplex the soul? The past? Forget its woe and strife!Let's thread each day, a perfect whole, Upon our rosary of Life."

  "It's beautiful," he told her.

  "Isn't it good philosophy?"

  "Yes," he admitted, not daring to doubt the high priestess of the newcult to which he had been commandeered.

  "It saves all this foolish worry. Most of the folks I know are alwaystalking about the bad things which have happened to them or are peeringforward and hoping that good things will happen, and they never oncelook down and admire a golden moment which Fate has dropped into theirhands. You see, I'm poetical this morning. Why shouldn't I be? We loveeach other."

  "I don't know how to talk," he stammered. "I'm only a sailor. I neversaid a word about love to any girl in my life."

  "Are you sure you have never loved anybody? Remember, we must tell eachother our secrets."

  "Never," he declared with convincing firmness.

  She surveyed him, showing the satisfaction a gold-seeker would exhibitin appraising a nugget of virgin ore. "But you are so big and fine! Andyou must have met so many pretty girls!"

  He was not restive under this quizzing. "I have told you the truth, MissMarston."

  "For shame, big boy! 'Miss Marston,' indeed! I am Alma--Alma to you. Sayit! Say it nicely!"

  He flushed. He stole a shamefaced glance at the-wheelsman and made aquick and apprehensive survey of the sacred regions aft.

  "Are you afraid, after all I have said to you?"

  "No, but it seems--I can hardly believe--"

  "Say it."

  "Alma," he gulped. "Alma, I love you."

  "You need some lessons, big boy. You are so awkward I think you aretelling me the truth about the other girls."

  He did not dare to ask her whether she had loved any one else. With allthe passionate jealousy of his soul he wanted to ask her. She, who wasso sure that she could instruct him, must have loved somebody. He triedto comfort himself by the thought that her knowledge arose from theefforts either men had made to win her.

  "We have our To-day," she murmured. "Golden hours till the moon comesup--and then perhaps a few silver ones! I don't care what Arthurguesses. My father is too busy talking money with those men to guess.I'm going to be with you all I can. I can arrange it. I'm studyingnavigation."

  She snuggled against the rail, luxuriating in the sunshine.

  "Who are you?
" she asked, bluntly.

  That question, coming after the pledging of their affection, astonishedhim like the loom of a ledge in mid-channel.

  "It's enough for me that you are just as you are, boy! But you're not aprince in disguise, are you?"

  "I'm only a Yankee sailor," he told her. "But if you won't think thatI'm trying to trade on what my folks have been before me, I'll say thatmy grandfather was Gamaliel Mayo of Mayoport."

  "That sounds good, but I never heard of him. With all my philosophy, I'ma poor student of history, sweetheart." Her tone and the name she gavehim took the sting out of her confession.

  "I don't believe he played a great part in history. But he built sixteenships in his day, and our house flag circled the world many times.Sixteen big ships, and the last one was the _Harvest Home_, the Chinaclipper that paid for herself three times before an Indian Ocean monsoonswallowed her."

  "Well, if he made all that money, are you going to sea for the fun ofit?"

  "There are no more Yankee wooden ships on the sea. My poor fatherthought he was wise when the wooden ships were crowded off. He put hismoney into railroads--and you know what has happened to most of thefolks who have put their money into new railroads."

  "I'm afraid I don't know much about business."

  "The hawks caught the doves. It was a game that was played all over NewEngland. The folks whose money built the roads were squeezed out. Longbefore my mother died our money was gone, but my father and I did notallow her to know it. We mortgaged and gave her what she had always beenused to. And when my father died there was nothing!"

  Her eyes glistened. "That's chivalry," she cried. "That's the spirit ofthe knights of old when women were concerned. I adore you for what youdid!"

  "It was the way my father and I looked at it," he said, mildly. "Myfather was not a very practical man, but I always agreed with him. AndI am happy now, earning my own living. Why should I think my grandfatherought to have worked all his life so that I would not need to work?"

  "I suppose it's different with a big, strong man and a woman. She needsso much that a man must give her."

  Captain Mayo became promptly silent, crestfallen, and embarrassed. Hestared aft, he looked at the splendid yacht whose finances he managedand whose extravagance he knew. He saw the girl at his side, and blinkedat the gems which flashed in the sunlight as her fingers tucked up thelocks of hair where the breeze had wantoned.

  "I think my father works because he loves it," she said. "I wish hewould rest and enjoy other things more. If mother had lived to influencehim perhaps he would see something else in life instead of merely pilingup money. But he doesn't listen to me. He gives me money and tells me togo and play. I miss my mother, boy! I haven't anybody to talk with--whounderstands!"

  There were tears in her eyes, and he was grateful for them. He feltthat she had depths in her nature. But keen realization of his position,compared with hers, distressed him. She stood there, luxury incarnate,mistress of all that money could give her.

  "Anybody can make money," she declared. "My father and those men aresitting there and building plans to bring them thousands and thousandsof dollars. All they need to do is put their heads together and plan.Every now and then I hear a few words. They're going to own all thesteamboats--or something of that kind. Anybody can make money, I say,but there are so few who know how to enjoy it."

  "I have been doing a lot of thinking since last night--Alma." Hehesitated when he came to her name, and then blurted it out.

  "Do you think it is real lover-like to treat my name as if it were ahurdle that you must leap over?" she asked, with her aggravating littlechuckle. "Oh, you have so much to learn!"

  "I'm afraid so. I have a great many things ahead of me to learn and do.I have been thinking. I have been afraid of the men who sit and schemeand put all their minds on making money. They did bitter things to us,and we didn't understand until it was all over. But I must go among themand watch them and learn how to make money."

  "Don't be like the others, now, and talk money--money," she said,pettishly. "Money and their love-affairs--that's the talk I have heardfrom men ever since I was allowed to come into the drawing-room out ofthe nursery!"

  "But I must talk money a little, dear. I have my way to make in theworld."

  "Thrifty, practical, and Yankee!" she jested. "I suppose you can't helpit!"

  "It isn't for myself--it's for you!" he returned, wistfully, and witha voice and demeanor he offered himself as Love's sacrifice beforeher--the old story of utter devotion--the ancient sacrifice.

  "I have all I want," she insisted.

  "But _I_ must be able to give you what you want!"

  "I warn you that I hate money-grubbers! They haven't a spark of romancein them. Boyd, you'd be like all the rest in a little while. You mustn'tdo it."

  "But I must have position--means before I dare to go to your father--ifI ever shall be able to go to him!"

  "Go to him for what?"

  "To ask him--to say--to--well, when we feel that I'm in a position wherewe can be married--"

  "Of course we shall be married some day, boy, but all that will takecare of itself when the time comes. But now you are-- How old are you,Boyd?"

  "Twenty-six."

  "And I am nineteen. And what has marriage to do with the love we areenjoying right now?"

  "When folks are in love they want to get married."

  "Granted! But when lovers are wise they will treat romance at first asthe epicure treats his glass of good wine. They will pour it slowly andhold the glass up against the light and admire its color!" In her gaymood she pinched together thumb and forefinger and lifted an imaginaryglass to the sun. "Then they will sniff the bouquet. Ah-h-h, howfragrant! And after a time they will take a little sip--just a weenylittle sip and hold it on the tongue for ever so long. For, when it isswallowed, what good? Oh, boy, here are you--talking first of all aboutmarriage! Talking of the good wine of life and love as if it were afluid simply to satisfy thirst. We are going to love, first of all!Come, I will teach you."

  He did not know what to say to her. There was a species of abandon inher gaiety. Her exotic language embarrassed one who had been used tomariners' laconic directness of speech. She looked at him, teasing himwith her eyes. He was a bit relieved when the pale-faced secretary camedragging himself up the ladder and broke in on the tete-a-tete.

  "Mr. Marston's orders are, Captain Mayo, that you turn here and go west.Do you know the usual course of the Bee line steamers?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "He requests you to turn in toward shore and follow that course."

  "Very well, sir." Captain Mayo walked to the wheel. "Nor' nor'west,Billy, until I can give you the exact course."

  "Nor' nor'west!" repeated the wheelsman, throwing her hard over, andthe _Olenia_ came about with a rail-dipping swerve and retraced her wayalong her own wake of white suds.

  Miss Marston preceded the captain down the ladder and went into thechart-room. "A kiss--quick!" she whispered.

  He held her close to him for a long moment.

  "You are a most obedient captain," she said.

  When he released her and went at his task, she leaned upon his shoulderand watched him as he straddled his parallels across the chart.

  "We'll run to Razee Reef," he told her, eager to make her a partner inall his little concerns. "The Bee boats fetch the whistler there so asto lay off their next leg. I didn't know that Mr. Marston was interestedin the Bee line."

  "I heard him talking about that line," she said, indifferently."Sometimes I listen when I have nothing else to do. He used a naughtyword about somebody connected with that company--and it's so seldom thathe allows himself to swear I listened to see what it was all about. Idon't know even now. I don't understand such things. But he said if hecouldn't buy 'em he'd bu'st 'em. Those were his words. Not very elegantlanguage. But it's all I remember."

  Before he left the chart-room Mayo took a squint at the barometer. "I'msorry he has ordered me in toward t
he coast," he said. "The glass is toofar below thirty to suit me. I think it means fog."

  "But it's so clear and beautiful," she protested.

  "It's always especially beautiful at sea before something bad happens,"he explained, smiling. "And there has been a big fog-bank off tos'uth'ard for two days. It's a good deal like life, dear. All lovely,and then the fog shuts in!"

  "But I would be happy with you in the fog," she assured him.

  He glowed at her words and answered with his eyes.

  She would have followed him back upon the bridge, but the stewardintercepted her. He had waited outside the chart-room.

  "Mr. Marston's compliments, Miss Marston! He requests you to join him atcards."

  She pouted as she gave back Mayo's look of annoyance, and then obeyedthe mandate.

  Mr. Marston was stroking his narrow strip of chin beard with thumb andforefinger when she arrived on the quarter-deck. The men of businesswere below, and he motioned to a hammock chair beside him.

  "Alma, for the rest of this cruise I want you to stay back here withour guests where you belong," he commanded with the directness of attackemployed by Julius Marston in his dealings with those of his menage.

  "What do you mean, father?"

  "That--exactly. I was explicit, was I not?"

  "But you do not intimate that--that I have--"

  "Well?" Mr. Marston believed in allowing others to expose theirsentiments before he uncovered his own.

  "You don't suggest that there is anything wrong in my being on thebridge where I enjoy myself so much. I am trying to learn somethingabout navigation."

  "I am paying that fellow up there to attend to all that."

  "And it gets tiresome back here."

  "You selected your own company for the cruise--and there is Mr.Beveridge ready to amuse you at any time."

  "Mr. Beveridge amuses me--distinctly amuses me," she retorted. "Butthere is such a thing as becoming wearied even of such a joke as Mr.Beveridge."

  "You will please employ a more respectful tone when you refer to thatgentleman," said her father, with severity. But he promptly fell backinto his usual mood when she came into his affairs. He was patronizinglytolerant. "Your friend, Miss Burgess, has been joking about your suddendevotion to navigation, Alma."

  "Nan Burgess cannot keep her tongue still, even about herself."

  "I know, but I do not intend to have you give occasion even forjokes. Of course, I understand. I know your whims. You are interested,personally, in that gold-braided chap about as much as you would beinterested in that brass thing where the compass is--whatever they callit."

  "But he's a gentleman!" she cried, her interest making her unwary. "Hisgrandfather was--"

  "Alma!" snapped Julius Marston. His eyes opened wide. He looked her upand down. "I have heard before that an ocean trip makes women silly,I am inclined to believe it. I don't care a curse who that fellow'sgrandfather was. _You_ are my daughter--and you keep off that bridge!"

  The men of business were coming up the companion-way, and she rose andhurried to her stateroom.

  "I don't dare to meet Nan Burgess just now," she told herself."Friendships can be broken by saying certain things--and I feelperfectly capable of saying just those things to her at this moment."

  In the late afternoon the _Olenia_, the shore-line looming to starboard,shaped her course to meet and pass a big steamer which came rolling downthe sea with a banner of black smoke flaunting behind her.

  The fog which Captain Mayo had predicted was coming. Wisps of it trailedover the waves--skirmishers sent ahead of the main body which marched inmass more slowly behind.

  A whistling buoy, with its grim grunt, told all mariners to 'ware RazeeReef, which was lifting its jagged, black bulk against the sky-line.With that fog coming, Captain Mayo needed to take exact bearings fromRazee, for he had decided to run for harbor that night. That coastline,to whose inside course Marston's orders had sent the yacht, was toodangerous to be negotiated in a night which was fog-wrapped. Therefore,the captain took the whistler nearly dead on, leaving to the largersteamer plenty of room in the open sea.

  With considerable amazement Mayo noticed that the other fellow wasedging toward the whistler at a sharper angle than any one needed. Thatcourse, if persisted in, would pinch the yacht in dangerous waters. Mayogave the on-coming steamer one whistle, indicating his intention to passto starboard. After a delay he was answered by two hoarse hoots--a mostflagrant breach of the rules of the road.

  "That must be a mistake," Captain Mayo informed Mate McGaw.

  "That's a polite name for it, sir," averred Mr. McGaw, after he hadshifted the lump in his cheek.

  "Of course he doesn't mean it, Mr. McGaw."

  "Then why isn't he giving us elbow-room on the outside of that buoy,sir?"

  "I can't swing and cross his bows now. If he should hit us we'd be theones held for the accident."

  Again Mayo gave the obstinate steamer a single whistle-blast.

  "If he cross-signals me again I'll report him," he informed the mate."Pay close attention, Mr. McGaw, and you, too, Billy. We may have to gobefore the inspectors."

  But the big chap ahead of them did not deign to reply. He kept onstraight at the whistler.

  "Compliments of Mr. Marston!" called the secretary from the bridgeladder. "What steamer is that?"

  "_Conorno_ of the Bee line, sir," stated Captain Mayo over his shoulder.Then he ripped out a good, hearty, deep-water oath. According toappearances, incredible as the situation seemed, the _Conorno_ proposedto drive the yacht inside the whistler.

  Mayo ran to the wheel and yanked the bell-pull furiously. There werefour quick clangs in the engine-room, and in a moment the _Olenia_ beganto quiver in all her fabric. Going full speed ahead, Mayo had calledfor full speed astern. Then he sounded three whistles, signaling as therules of the road provide. The yacht's twin screws churned a yeasty riotunder her counter, and while she was laboring thus in her own wallow,trembling like some living thing in the extremity of terror, the bigsteamer swept past. Froth from the creamy surges at her bows flickedspray contemptuously upon Julius Marston and his guests on the_Olenia_'s quarter-deck. Men grinned down upon them from the highwindows of the steamer's pilot-house.

  A jeering voice boomed through a megaphone: "Keep out of the way of theBee line! Take the hint!"

  An officer pointed his finger at Marston's house flag, snapping fromthe yacht's main truck. The blue fish-tail with its letter "M" hadrevealed the yacht's identity to searching glasses.

  "Better make it black! Skull and cross-bones!" volunteered the megaphoneoperator.

  On she went down the sea and the _Olenia_ tossed in the turbulent wakeof the kicking screws.

  Then, for the first time, Captain Mayo heard the sound of JuliusMarston's voice. The magnate stood up, shook his fist at his staringcaptain, and yelled, "What in damnation do you think you are doing?"

  It was amazing, insulting, and, under the circumstances as Mayo knewthem, an unjust query. The master of the _Olenia_ did not reply. He wasnot prepared to deliver any long-distance explanation. Furthermore, theyacht demanded all his attention just then. He gave his orders and sheforged ahead to round the whistler.

  "Nor'west by west, half west, Billy. And cut it fine!"

  The fog had fairly leaped upon them from the sea. The land-breezehad been holding back the wall of vapor, damming it in a dun bank tosouthward. The breeze had let go. The fog had seized its opportunity.

  "Saturday Cove for us to-night, Mr. McGaw," said the master. "Keep youreye over Billy's shoulder."

  Then the secretary appeared again on the ladder. This time he did notbring any "compliments."

  "Mr. Marston wants you to report aft at once," he announced, brusquely.

  Mayo hesitated a moment. They were driving into blankness which had shutdown with that smothering density which mariners call "a dungeon fog."Saturday Cove's entrance was a distant and a small target. In spite ofsteersman and mate, his was the sole responsibility.
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  "Will you please explain to Mr. Marston that I cannot leave the bridge?"

  "You have straight orders from him, captain! You'd better stop the boatand report."

  The skipper of the _Olenia_ was having his first taste of theunreasoning whim of the autocrat who was entitled to break intoshipboard discipline, even in a critical moment. Mayo felt exasperationsurging in him, but he was willing to explain.

  The whistler and Razee Reef had been blotted out by the fog.

  "If this vessel is stopped five minutes in this tide-drift we shall loseour bearings, sir. I cannot leave this bridge for the present."

  "I'm thinking you'll leave it for good!" blurted the secretary. "You'rethe first hired man who ever told Julius Marston to go bite his ownthumb."

  "I may be a hired man," retorted Mayo. "But I am also a licensedshipmaster. I must ask you to step down off the bridge."

  "Does that go for all the rest of the--passengers?" asked the secretary,angry in his turn. He dwelt on his last word. "It does--in a time likethis!"

  "Very well, I'll give them that word aft."

  Captain Mayo caught a side glance from Mate McGaw after a time.

  "I have often wondered," remarked the mate to nobody in particular, "howit is that so many damn fools get rich on shore."

  Captain Mayo did not express any opinion on the subject. He clutched thebridge rail and stared into the fog, and seemed to be having a lot oftrouble in choking back some kind of emotion.