Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 23

Percy made no reply. Walking unsteadily to his bunk, he lay down. There was no violin-playing in the cabin that night.

XI

TURN OF TIDE

At half past eight that night Camp Spurling was dark and quiet.

Everybody was asleep but Percy Whittington. He lay in his bunk, wide awake and thinking hard, and his thoughts were far from pleasant.

His face was still sore as a result of his battle with Jabe. His jaw ached dully from its encounter with Jim Spurling's fist. But worse than any physical pain was the smart of his wounded pride.

Life in that cramped, tarry, fishy cabin was hard enough for a fellow who had lived at the best hotels and had the cream of everything. This painful wrenching of dollars out of the sea told sorely on his tender skin and undeveloped muscles. Yet beneath the surface he had enough of his father's stubbornness to make him stick doggedly to his lot, disagreeable though it was, if only he could have felt that he was receiving the consideration due to the son of John P. Whittington.

Spurling's blow was the straw that had broken the camel's back. Percy had endured it just as long as he could. He had reached his limit.

"I hate the whole bunch," he thought, bitterly. "Everybody's down on me, even to the dog. I won't stand it any longer. I'm going to get out to-night."

His mind once made up, he promptly began planning. He decided to take one of the boats and row up to Isle au Haut. It was a good ten miles to Head Harbor, but he felt confident he could reach it long before daybreak. Leaving the boat there, he would tramp six miles up the island and catch the early steamer for Stonington. Beyond that his plans did not go.

A flicker of light from the dying fire in the stove fell on the face of the alarm-clock ticking tinnily on the shelf. It was quarter to nine.

Percy woke to the need of acting at once. At midnight Filippo would get up to make coffee and warm the baked beans and corn-bread for Spurling and Stevens, who were to start for the hake-grounds not far from one. By that time he must be miles away--too far, at any rate, to be overtaken.

Overtaken? He smiled sardonically. Not one of them, he knew, would lift a finger to prevent him from going. He could just as well set out in the daytime. But his pride shrank from the relieved faces and grudging farewells that would signalize his departure. No; it would be far better to slip away by night, without saying anything to anybody. But his going must be un.o.bserved. It would be humiliating to be detected.

Cautiously he crept out of his bunk and pulled on his clothes, stopping apprehensively to listen for the regular breathing of his sleeping mates. But no one woke. The dying embers snapped in the stove. Nemo, slumbering on his canvas, stirred uneasily. Yet, so stealthy were Percy's movements, not even the dog's keen ears telegraphed them to his alert brain.

A few minutes sufficed for the deserter to dress and crowd his more valuable belongings into a suit-case. Noiselessly he lifted the latch and stepped outside.

It was a lovely summer night. A southwest breeze barely rippled the sheet of sapphire under the radiant stars. Tiny wavelets broke crisply on the pebbled beach. From the boulders that fringed the point came the drowsy murmur of the surf. A sheep bleated plaintively high above in the pasture; while far over the ocean to the south floated the faint, weird cry of a gull.

The tide was more than half down, and dory and pea-pod lay high and dry on the s.h.i.+ngle. The sloop rode at her mooring in the cove. Percy hesitated. Her engine would take him to Head Harbor in less than two hours, and save him a long, hard row. But no. Her absence would interfere seriously with pulling the trawls and lose Spurling & Company a good many dollars. Bitter though his feelings were, he did not wish to cause financial loss. He decided on the pea-pod.

Ten feet of gravel lay between her stern and the water. Grasping her gunwale, Percy dragged her inch by inch gratingly down over the s.h.i.+ngle, every sound magnified to his ears by his dread of discovery. He worked with the caution of an escaping convict. Now and then he glanced nervously toward the cabin, but from its gloomy interior came no sign that he was seen or heard. Apparently Spurling and his mates were sleeping the sleep of the dead. At the end of five minutes the pea-pod was afloat.

Percy tossed in his suit-case and clambered hastily aboard. There was no time to waste. He wished to put as much salt water as possible between himself and Tarpaulin Island before midnight.

s.h.i.+pping his oars, he began to row, using infinite care lest creaking rowlock or splas.h.i.+ng blade betray him. Gradually he drew out of the cove, and there was less need of caution. As he rounded Brimstone Point he cast one last, long look at the cabin, square and black and silent.

The remembrance of his discomforts and indignities of the last three weeks surged over him. He shook his fist at his vanis.h.i.+ng prison.

"Good riddance!" he muttered. "Hope I'll never set eyes again on you or the bunch inside you!"

He bent to his oars with redoubled vigor, and presently a high boulder shut out the camp. In five minutes more he had rounded the point and was pulling north on the heaving Atlantic swell.

The tide was running out strongly. It came swirling round Brimstone in rips and eddies. Percy had never before realized that its force was so great. He made a hasty calculation, and was very unpleasantly surprised to discover that he would have to pull against it for fully ninety minutes ere it turned to run the other way. He began to feel less sure of reaching Head Harbor before daybreak.

"Guess I've bitten off an all-night job," thought he, disconsolately.

But there was no help for it--unless he desired to slink back to the camp he had just abandoned with such thief-like stealth. Percy set his teeth.

"Not while I've got arms to pull with!"

Before buckling to his task he glanced about. On his left rose the familiar sh.o.r.es of Tarpaulin. Miles to his right and almost due west the twin lights on Matinicus Rock twinkled faintly across the sea; while behind him, a little to the west of north, shone the single star of Saddleback, a good four leagues away. The dark-blue summer sky, unmarred by the slightest cloud-fleck, was brilliant with constellations.

It was a night of nights for an astronomer or a poet, but Percy was neither. He had no eyes for the splendor that overhung him. Ten long, watery miles must be traversed before he could beach his pea-pod in the little haven behind Eastern Head. Would his arms stand the strain?

His muscles were harder and stronger than they had been in the middle of June. Likewise, his grit had strengthened with his physique.

"I'll make Head Harbor before light, if it kills me!"

Turning, he scanned the starry sky, and by means of his scanty knowledge of astronomy identified the Great Dipper. Its pointers located the North Star. Under it he knew lay Isle au Haut, now a low, black ridge on the horizon, east of Saddleback Light.

Percy settled himself on the thwart, steeled his muscles, and gripped the oars harder. Short as his inaction had been, he could see that the tide had swept him back a trifle. It was going to be no picnic, that pull in to Eastern Head!

He threw all his strength into his arms, and again the boat made headway against the tide. By degrees Tarpaulin Island fell back. Before long it lay behind him--as he planned, forever. His anger still burned hot against Spurling and his a.s.sociates.

"Treated me like a dog, the beggars! Well, who cares for 'em? Let 'em sweat out their dollars catching fish and lobsters! I'll get my cash some easier way."

The thought of money brought back the memory of his father, and with it a faint uneasiness. Up to this time, engrossed in making his escape, Percy had not troubled to look beyond the immediate future. Isle au Haut had bounded his mental as well as his optical horizon. But after that what?

Stonington ... Rockland ... Boston ... New York ... two months of living on his acquaintances ... and then--John P. Whittington!

Percy could picture the expression on the millionaire's features when he learned that his son had broken his promise and sneaked away from Tarpaulin Island, like a thief in the night. That grim face with its bulldog jaw was one any erring son well might dread, and particularly such a son as he had thus far been. John Whittington had told Percy plainly that the island was his last chance, and, whatever faults the millionaire might have, he was not the man to break his word.

For the young deserter it was liable to be out of the frying-pan and into the fire with a vengeance.

Percy had been in the frying-pan three weeks; life there, though not pleasant, had been endurable.

At any rate, he had seen the worst of it; but for his wounded pride, he could have schooled himself to withstand its hards.h.i.+ps, for they would have been only temporary.

What the fire might have in store for him he did not know; but one thing he did know, and that was John P. Whittington!

Not unimaginably, there might be far worse places than Tarpaulin Island.

The lad's elation at his easily earned freedom vanished. The snap and vim went out of his strokes, and his speed slackened perceptibly. Though he still dragged doggedly at the oars, there was no longer any heart in his pulling.

Westward, almost in line with the beacon on Matinicus Rock, grew a fairy pyramid of twinkling lights--the Portland boat, bound for St. John.

Larger, higher, brighter, nearer, until they burned, a sparkling triangle of white and red and green. Soon the steamer crossed his bow not far to the north. He could hear the rush of foam and the throbbing of her screw. Gradually she pa.s.sed eastward and blended again with the horizon.

Slower and weaker fell Percy's blades, until the pea-pod was barely moving. The ebb, still running against the boat with undiminished strength, almost sufficed to hold her stationary. But, though the lad's muscles were relaxed and listless, a fierce battle was being fought out in his troubled brain.

Should he keep on or should he go back?

Go back? Return to two months more of the uncongenial drudgery from which he had been so glad to escape? Besides, he could hardly hope to drag the pea-pod up on the beach and regain his bunk without attracting the notice of somebody in the cabin. He could imagine the talk of the others when he was out of hearing.

"Started to run away, but got cold feet and sneaked back again. Hadn't the sand to carry it through! We'd better sack him when the four weeks are up."