The Woman-Haters Part 40

Now he believed chance had offered him an easier and more direct method of travel. He could row up the Harbor and Slough, land close to where the Daisy M. lay, and walk the rest of the way in a very short time. He climbed into the dory, pulled up the anchor, and seated himself at the oars.

The bottom of the boat was two inches deep with rain water, and the thwart was dripping and cold. Seth, being already about as wet as he could be, did not mind this, but pulled with long strokes out into the harbor. The vague black shadows of the land disappeared, and in a minute he was, so far as his eyes could tell him, afloat on a sh.o.r.eless sea.

He had no compa.s.s, but this did not trouble him. The wind, he knew, was blowing directly from the direction he wished to go, and he kept the dory's bow in the teeth of it. He rowed on and on. The waves, out here in the deep water, were of good size, and the spray flew as he splashed into them. He knew that he was likely to get off the course, but the Back Harbor was, except for its upper entrance, landlocked, and he could not go far astray, no matter where he might hit the sh.o.r.e.

The fog clouds, driven by the squalls, drifted by and pa.s.sed. At rare intervals the sky was almost clear. After he had rowed for half an hour and was beginning to think he must be traveling in circles, one of these clear intervals came and, far off to the left and ahead, he saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation of joy. Two fiery eyes shone through the dark. The fog shut them in again almost immediately, but that one glance was sufficient to show that all was well at the post he had deserted. The fiery eyes were the lanterns in the Twin-Lights towers. John Brown had been equal to the emergency, and the lamps were lighted.

Seth's anxiety was relieved, but that one glimpse made him even more eager for home. He rowed on for a short time, and then began edging in toward the invisible left-hand sh.o.r.e. Judging by the length of time he had been rowing, he must be close to the mouth of the Slough, where, winding through the salt marshes, it emerged into the Back Harbor.

He crept in nearer and nearer, but no sh.o.r.e came in sight. The fog was now so thick that he could see not more than ten feet from the boat, but if he was in the mouth of the Slough he should have grounded on the marsh bank long before. The reason that he did not, a reason which did not occur to him at the time, was that the marshes were four feet under water. Owing to the tremendous tide Pounddug Slough was now merely a continuation of the Harbor and almost as wide.

The lightkeeper began to think that he must have miscalculated his distance. He could not have rowed as far as he thought. Therefore, he again turned the dory's nose into the teeth of the wind and pulled steadily on. At intervals he stopped and listened. All he heard was the moan of distant foghorns and the whistling of the gusts in trees somewhere at his left. There were pine groves scattered all along the bluffs on the Eastboro side, so this did not help him much except to prove that the sh.o.r.e was not far away. He pulled harder on the right oar. Then he stopped once more to listen.

Another blast howled through the distant trees and swept down upon him.

Then, borne on the wind, he heard from somewhere ahead, and alarmingly near at hand, other sounds, voices, calls for help.

"Ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy there! Who is it? Where are you?"

"Help!" came the calls again--and nearer. "Help!"

"Look out!" roared Seth, peering excitedly over his shoulder into the dark. "Where are you? Look out or you'll be afoul of . . . Jumpin'

Judas!"

For out of the fog loomed a bulky shape driving down upon him. He pulled frantically at the oars, but it was too late. A mast rocked against the sky, a stubby bowsprit shot over the dory, and the little boat, struck broadside on, heeled to the water's edge. Seth, springing frantically upward, seized the bowsprit and clung to it. The dory, pushed aside and half full of water, disappeared. From the deck behind the bowsprit two voices, a man's voice and a woman's, screamed wildly.

Seth did not scream. Clinging to the reeling bowsprit, he swung up on it, edged his way to the vessel's bows and stepped upon the deck.

"For thunder sakes!" he roared angrily, "what kind of navigation's this?

Where's your lights, you lubbers? What d'you mean by--Where are you anyhow? And--and what schooner's this?"

For the deck, as much as he could see of it in the dark, looked astonis.h.i.+ngly familiar. As he stumbled aft it became more familiar still. The ropes, a combination of new and old, the new boards in the deck planking, the general arrangement of things, as familiar to him as the arrangement of furniture in the kitchen of the Lights! It could not be . . . but it was! The little schooner was his own, his hobby, his afternoon workshop--the Daisy M. herself. The Daisy M., which he had last seen stranded and, as he supposed, hard and fast aground! The Daisy M. afloat, after all these years!

From the stern by the cabin hatch a man came reeling toward him, holding to the rail for support with one hand and brandis.h.i.+ng the other.

"Help!" cried the man wildly. "Who is it? Help us! we're drowning! We're . . . Can't you put us ash.o.r.e. Please put us . . . Good Lord!"

Seth made no answer. How could he? The man was Bennie D.

And then another figure followed the first, and a woman's voice spoke pleadingly.

"Have you got a boat?" it cried. "We're adrift on this dreadful thing and . . . why, SETH!"

The woman was Emeline Bascom.

"Why, SETH!" she said again. Then the sounds of the wind and waves and the creaking and cracking of the old schooner alone broke the silence.

But Bennie D., even under the shock of such a surprise as this, did not remain silent long. His precious self was in danger.

"You put us ash.o.r.e!" he shouted. "You put us ash.o.r.e right off, do you hear? Don't stand there like a fool! Do something. Do you want us to drown? DO something!"

Seth came to life. His first speech was sharp and businesslike.

"Emeline," he said, "there's a lantern hanging up in the cabin. Go light it and fetch it to me. Hurry!"

"It's upset," was the frightened answer. "Bennie found it when we first came aboard. When we--when this awful boat started, it upset and went out."

"Never mind. Probably there's ile enough left for a spell. Go fetch it. There's matches in a box on the wall just underneath where 'twas hangin'. Don't stop to talk! Move!"

Mrs. Bascom moved. Seth turned to the "inventor."

"Come for'ard with me," he ordered. "Here! this way! for'ard! FOR'ARD!"

He seized his companion by the arm and pulled him toward the bow. The frightened genius held back.

"What in time is the matter with you?" snarled the lightkeeper. "Are your feet asleep? Come!"

Bennie D. came, under compulsion. Seth half led, half dragged him to the bow, and, bending down, uncoiled a rope and put it in his hands.

"Them's the jib halliards," he explained. "Haul on 'em quick and hard as you can. If we can h'ist the jib we can get some steerage way on her, maybe. Haul! haul till you can't haul no more. Then hang on till I come back and make fast."

He rushed back to the wheel. The tiller ropes were new, and he could trust them, fortunately. From the cabin hatchway emerged Mrs. Bascom bearing the lighted lantern.

"Good!" snapped Seth. "Now we can see what we're doin' and, if we show a glim, maybe we won't run down no more dories. You go for'ard and--No, you take this wheel and hold it just as 'tis. JUST as 'tis; understand?

I'll be back in a jiffy. What in thunder's the matter with that foolhead at the jib?"

He seized the lantern and rushed to the bow. Bennie D. had dropped the halliard and was leaning over the rail screaming for help.

Seth hoisted the jib himself, made it fast, and then turned his attention to the mutinous hand.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, catching him by the arm. "Who do you cal'late's goin' to hear you? Shut up! You come with me. I want you to pump. The old craft would do well enough if she was tight, but she's more'n likely takin' water like a sieve. You come and pump."

But Bennie had no notion of pumping. With a jerk he tore loose from the lightkeeper's grasp and ran to the stern, where he continued his howls for help.

Seth was at his heels.

"Stop that, I tell you," he commanded angrily. "It don't do no good. If you don't want to go to the bottom you'll work that pump. Don't be such a clown."

The frantic genius paid no attention. His sister-in-law left the wheel and put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Bennie," she pleaded. "Please do as he says. He knows, and--"

Bennie D. pushed her backward with savage force. "Mind your own business," he yelled with an oath. "'Twas your foolishness got me into this." Then, leaning over the rail, he called shrilly, "He--lp! I'm drowning! Help!"

Mrs. Bascom staggered back against the wheel, which Seth had seized the instant she deserted it. "Oh!" she said, "you hurt me."

Her husband freed an arm and put it about her. "Are you much hurt, Emeline?" he asked sharply.

"No--o. No, Seth. I--I guess I ain't really hurt at all."

"Good! Then you take this wheel and hold her just so. That's it. AND DON'T YOU DROP IT AGAIN. I'll attend to this feller."

His wiry fingers locked themselves in Bennie D.'s s.h.i.+rt collar.