Theodore Goodridge Roberts - The Harbor Master
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Theodore Goodridge Roberts >> The Harbor Master
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Brennen and Leary turned and left the store without a word. They felt
vaguely uneasy, as if the great world of up-along had at last found them
out, and reached a menacing hand into their snug harbor. Would the
skipper be able to deal with so vast an enemy? If he killed this
stranger it would mean hanging by the neck, sooner or later--perhaps for
every man in the harbor? If he let him live, and held him a prisoner, it
would bring the law prying into their affairs, some time or other. Doubt
chilled them. They stumbled heavily away in the darkness.
The skipper held the lantern to his captive's face and regarded him with
wolfish, sneering attention. Soon the sneer faded a little.
"I's seed ye afore," he said. "Aye, sure as hell, I's seed ye afore!"
"And this is not the first time I've seen _your_ ugly mug, either,"
returned Darling. "I saw you the night the _Durham Castle_ came ashore
on this coast--the night you robbed the captain and the passengers.
Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Ye'll larn that soon enough," returned the other. "Did ye get a letter
from--from her?"
"No," replied Darling, unable to see any danger in telling the truth of
that matter. "No, I didn't get any letter. I met a friend of yours in
St. John's, and he told me a great deal about you, and the game you are
playing in this harbor--and also about her. Your friend's name is Dick
Lynch."
"Dick Lynch," repeated the skipper, quietly. "I'll be cuttin' the heart
out o' that dog yet!"
"And a good job, no doubt," said Darling. "But I warn you, my man, that
if you injure Miss Lockhart in any way you'll curse the day you first
saw daylight. You'll be burned out of here like the dirty, murdering
pirate that you are--you and your whole crew. The law will have you, my
man--it will have you by the neck. Do you think I risked coming to this
place without leaving word behind me of where I was bound for and what I
was after?"
"Now ye be lyin'," said the skipper, coolly. "Ye telled the truth about
Dick Lynch; but now ye lie. Don't ye try to fool wid me, damn ye! Ye
come to Chance Along widout leavin' a word behind ye. I sees the lie in
yer face."
"I left Dick Lynch behind me," said the sailor.
That shook the skipper's assurance; but he was in no mood to feel fear
for more than a moment. He laughed sneeringly and began to unload his
captive's pockets. He took out the pistols, admired them and laid them
aside. Next, he unearthed a few cakes of hard bread, a small flask of
brandy, and a pipe and half a plug of tobacco.
"How'd ye come to Chance Along, anyhow? Where bes yer boat?" he asked,
suddenly, pausing in his work.
"I walked across from Witless Bay," said Darling.
"Where bes yer boat?" asked the other.
"In Witless Bay, you fool! Do you think I carried it across my back?"
The skipper swung the lantern back and glanced at the soles of the
other's boots.
"Ye bes a liar--and a desperate poor one at that," he said. "Where bes
yer boat?"
John Darling lost his temper. He disliked being forced into telling a
lie--and, being human, he disliked still more to have the lie discovered
and the effort wasted.
"Go to hell and find it, you black-faced pirate!" he roared.
The skipper stopped, glared down at him, and swung his right hand back
for a blow.
"Hit away, I'm tied," said the other, without flinching.
The skipper let his hand sink to his side.
"I don't hit a tied man. That bain't my way," he said, flushing darkly.
"Untie me, then, and you can hit all you want to. Cut these ropes and
let me at you. Come now, for I see that you have some sense of manliness
in you, after all."
"Not jist now. To-morrow, maybe--or maybe next day--I'll fight ye. And,
by hell, when I do I'll kill ye wid me two hands!"
"I'll take the chance. Unless you starve me or cripple me in the
meantime, I'll knock the everlasting life out of you."
The skipper growled and took up his interrupted work of investigating
the other's pockets. He unbuttoned the heavy reefer and thrust a hand
into an inner pocket. In a second he withdrew it, holding the little
casket bound in red leather. A cry of astonishment escaped him. He
pressed the catch with his thumb and the diamonds and rubies flashed and
glowed beneath his dazzled eyes.
"Me own diamonds!" he cried. "Holy saints alive, me own diamonds!
Where'd ye find 'em? Tell me that, now--where'd ye find 'em?"
Darling did not reply for a moment. Then, speaking quietly and somewhat
bitterly, he said, "If you really want to know, I found them on a dead
man, under the cliff a few miles to the north of here."
"That would be Foxey Jack Quinn," said the skipper. He closed the box
and put it in his pocket, then took up the lantern and went out, locking
the door behind him.
In the meantime, Mary Kavanagh had not been idle. She felt sure that the
stranger was safe from bodily harm for the night at least, now that
Dennis had shaken off the first blind deviltry of his rage. She knew
Dennis almost as well as old Mother Nolan did; and to-night she felt
sorry for him as well as angry with him. Leaving Flora in Mother Nolan's
care, she left the house, and followed Cormick and the others down to
the land-wash. The fog was thinning swiftly; but night had fallen, and
the sky, sea and land were all black as tar. She soon learned that no
sign of the stranger's boat could be found in the harbor. Returning from
the land-wash, she met Nick Leary.
"How bes ye a-feelin' now?" she asked, not unkindly. "But it served ye
right, Nick. A great man like ye has no call to be fightin' wid women."
"Me poor head buzzes like a nest o' wasps whin ye pokes it wid a club,"
said Nick. "Sure, Mary, 'twas a sweet tap ye give me! Marry me, girl,
an' ye'll be free to bat me every day o' yer born life."
"Sure, an' 'twould do ye no harm," said Mary. And then, "So ye've shut
the poor lad in the store, have ye?"
"Aye, but how'd ye know it, Mary?"
"I didn't know it, Nick, till ye telled me. Now go on wid yer business
o' huntin' for the boat an' I'll be goin' on wid mine. An' thanks for
yer offer, lad; but sure I'll never marry a man I kin knock down wid the
leg o' a chair."
Nick seemed to be in no mood to accept this statement as final; but the
girl soon cleared her tracks of him in the inky darkness, among the
little houses. She climbed the path to the edge of the barren and turned
northward. From what she had seen of John Darling she felt sure that he
was no fool; and therefore she had not expected to find his boat in the
harbor. He had told Mother Nolan that he had a boat, but had not
mentioned its whereabouts. Mary decided that it was hidden somewhere
handy to the harbor; and she was inclined to think that it was manned.
He had come from the north, of course; therefore the chances were good
that he had left his boat somewhere to the north of the harbor. She knew
every hollow, break and out-thrust of that coast for miles as well as
she knew the walls and floors of her father's cabin. A thought of the
little drook came to her mind and she quickened her steps along the
path. The light wind was shifting and the fog was trailing coastwise to
the south before it. Mary noted this, sniffed at the air, which was
slowly but surely changing in quality, and looked up at the black sky.
"There'll be snow afore mornin'," she said.
When she reached the head of the drook she halted and gave ear. The
sloshing and lapping of the tide came up to her; and that was all for a
minute or two. She parted the alders and young birches with her hands,
very cautiously, and moved downward into the thicket for a distance of
three or four yards, then halted again and again listened. At last,
above the noises of the tide and almost smothered by them, she heard a
sound unmistakably human--a violent sneeze. For a little while she
remained quiet, daunted by the darkness and trying to consider the
risks she was about to take. But the risks could not be considered, for
they were absolutely unknown. She was playing for peace and justice,
however--yes, and for Denny Nolan's happiness. Mastering her fear, she
whistled softly. After a minute's silence a guarded voice replied to the
whistle.
"Be that yerself, sir?" inquired the voice from the blackness below.
She descended lower, parting the tangled growth before her with her
hands.
"I bes a friend--an' a woman," she said. "I comes wid a word for ye,
from him."
"Stand where ye bes!" commanded George Wicks, his voice anxious and
suspicious. "What the divil bes the trouble now? Stand where ye bes an'
tell me the word."
"I bes all alone, so help me Peter!" replied the girl, "an' it bain't
safe the way we bes talkin' now, up an' down the drook. The lads o' the
harbor may be comin' this way an' a-hearin' us--an' then ye'll bes in as
bad a way as the captain himself. Let me come down to ye. Bes ye afeared
o' one lone woman?"
"Come down wid ye, then," said George, his voice none too steady, "but I
warns ye as how I hes a lantern here an' a pistol, an' if ye bain't all
alone by yerself I'll shoot ye like a swile an' ax ye yer business
afterwards. I's heard queer t'ings o' Chance Along!"
"I bes alone," returned Mary, "an' if ye fires yer pistol at me then ye
bes a dirty coward."
As she spoke she continued her difficult way down the channel of the
drook. She saw the yellow gleam of the lantern between the snarled stems
of the bushes. Strong, clear-headed and brave as she was, she began now
to sob quietly with fright; yet she continued to push her way down the
drook.
"They--they has caught the captain," she said, brokenly, "an' now they
bes huntin' all 'round the harbor for his boat. I has--come to tell
ye--an' to help ye."
George Wick parted the bushes, raised his lantern and peered up at her.
"There bain't no call for ye to be cryin'," he said, in a changed voice.
"If ye means no treachery, lass, then I'll not be hurtin' ye."
She stood beside him; and as he stared at her by the yellow light of the
lantern all thought of treachery from that quarter faded away. His
heart warmed and got a trifle out of hand. He could scarcely believe his
senses, and for a moment forgot John Darling and the queer stories he
had heard of Chance Along. All he realized was that his eyes and the
lantern told him that the finest looking girl he had ever seen had come
down the drook, all of her own free will, to pay him a visit.
"The skipper caught him an' tied him up in the store," whispered Mary,
"an' now all the men in the harbor bes searchin' for the boat." Then she
told the story of Flora Lockhart, and disclosed a plan for outwitting
the skipper that had just come to her mind.
"Sure, ye bes a wonder," said George, who was as clay in her hands.
"Aye, we'll be putting the comather on to Black Denny Nolan, ye kin lay
to that! Sure, it be a grand idee altogether!"
So they unloaded the bully and hid everything among the bushes.
"Now you must lay low," cautioned Mary, "an' I'll bring yer bully back
to ye as soon as I kin--or maybe one o' the skipper's bullies in its
place. Anyhow, I'll get to see ye agin to-morrow night. Lay low, now,
an' don't be lightin' a fire."
As she stepped aboard the bully George's mind cleared a little.
"Ye bain't playin' any tricks on me, I do hope," he whispered. "Ye
wouldn't be leavin' me here all alone by meself forever, widout me bully
even, would ye now?"
"Ye kin trust me," said Mary. Then she shoved off into the darkness.
Half an hour later the keel of the bully touched the land-wash in the
sheltered harbor of Chance Along. Mary Kavanagh stepped ashore, laid the
oar noiselessly inboard and set the bully adrift, and then made her
cautious way up and into her father's cabin. Snow began to fall thickly
and silently as she closed the door.
CHAPTER XVIII
MOTHER NOLAN DOES SOME SPYING
John Darling was sore, hungry and cold; but his heart was joyful and
strong. He had been knocked over the head, and he had been robbed of the
newly-recovered necklace and the reward of a thousand pounds; but he had
found Flora, alive, evidently not ill-treated and not in any real danger
save of oblivion, and with the memory of him clear in her heart. He had
failed to get her away from the harbor; but he felt convinced that a way
of escape for both of them would soon occur. He did not fear Black
Dennis Nolan. The fellow was a man, after all. He knew that if he should
come to any serious physical injury at the skipper's hands it would be
in a fair fight. Also, he knew that Mother Nolan and Mary Kavanagh were
on his side--were as anxious to get Flora out of the harbor as he was to
take her out. But the planks upon which he lay were as cold and hard as
ice; and at last he began to wonder if even his splendid constitution
would stand a night of this exposure, bound hand and foot, without
serious results. He lay awake for hours, suffering in body but rejoicing
in heart. At last, numb with cold, he sank into a half-doze. He was
aroused by sounds at the door--the cry of a key turning an unoiled lock
and the creak of rusty hinges. Then the welcome gleam of a lantern
flooded to him along the frosty floor. The visitor was Bill Brennen. He
stooped above the sailor and squinted at him curiously. Under his left
arm he carried a caribou skin and several blankets.
"Lad," said he, "ye must be full o' the divil's own ginger to cross the
skipper as ye done. Sure an' the wonder bes why he didn't kill ye dead!
But now that ye still be alive, him not killin' ye in the first flush,
ye bes safe as Mother Nolan herself. A divil o' a woman that, entirely.
Saints in glory, me whiskers still aches desperate! Here bes a grand rug
for ye to lay on, an' blankets to cover yerself wid. The skipper sent
'em. Kill a man he will, in fair fight; but it bain't in his nature to
let any man go cold nor hungry in Chance Along."
He spread the caribou skin and one of the blankets on the floor and
rolled John Darling on to them. Then he threw two more blankets over him
and tucked them in. Next, he produced a flask from his pocket and
uncocked it.
"Skipper's orders," he said, and held the flask to the helpless one's
lips.
"Now ye bes as snug as any marchant, what wid yer grand bed an' yer drop
o' fine liquor in yer belly," he remarked. He turned at the door and
said, "Some one will be bringin' ye grub in the mornin'. Good night to
ye."
From that until morning, the prisoner on the floor, bound at wrist and
ankle, rested more peacefully than Black Dennis Nolan in his father's
bed; for the sailor was only sore in his muscles and bones, but the
skipper ached in heart and soul. The skipper tossed through the black
hours, reasoning against reason, hoping against hopelessness. The girl
hated him and despised him! Twist and turn as he might, he could not
escape from this conviction. Now he even doubted the power of the
diamonds and rubies to win her, having seen that in her eyes which had
brought all his dreams crumbling to choking dust. Pain had laid the
devil of fury in him and aroused the imp of stubbornness. He would wait
and watch. He was safe to keep them both in the harbor until the arrival
of Father McQueen, in June; and perhaps, by that time, he would see some
way of winning the girl. Should the necklace of diamonds and rubies fail
to impress the girl, then he might bribe John Darling with it to leave
the harbor. You see, the workings of the skipper's mind were as
primitive as his methods of coping with mutineers.
The skipper left his bed and the house at the first gray of dawn,
determined to search the coast high and low for a solution of the
mystery of the stranger's arrival. He went down between the silent
cabins, all roofed with new snow, and the empty snow-trimmed stages, and
looked out upon the little harbor. What was that, just at the edge of
the shadow of the rock to the right of the narrow passage?--a boat, lump
of wreckage or a shadow? Stare as he would, he could not determine the
nature of the thing in that faint and elfin twilight; but it drew his
eye and aroused his curiosity as no natural shadow of any familiar rock
could have done. He dragged a skiff from under one of the stages and
launched it into the quiet harbor and with a single oar over the stern
sculled out toward the black object on the steel-gray tide. It proved
to be a fine bully, empty and with the frozen painter hanging over the
bow and trailing alongside.
"So this bes how he come to Chance Along--an' not man enough to moor his
boat safe!" exclaimed the skipper.
The bully was as empty as on the day it had been built, save for one oar
lying across the thwarts. Not even a spar and sail were aboard her. The
man must be an absolute fool to set out along a dangerous coast, in a
bad time of year, single-handed and without grub or gear, reflected the
skipper. The thought that such a bungler as this stranger should be
preferred to himself, intensified his pangs of humiliation. No girl who
understood such things--no girl of that coast--would treat him so, he
reflected, bitterly. He pulled the dripping painter aboard the skiff,
made it fast around a thwart and towed the bully ashore.
Mary Kavanagh had been astir as early as the skipper himself. She had
gone first to the store. Peering through a window, she had made out the
stranger's form on the floor, bulkily blanketed. From the store, she
hastened to the skipper's house, saw his footprints pointing toward the
land-wash, and stood with her hand on the latch until a skiff slid out
into her line of vision from behind the drying-stages. She knew that the
skipper was on his way to investigate the derelict bully. She opened the
door then, entered quietly and went to Mother Nolan's room. The old
woman was sitting up in bed with her night-cap a-tilt over one ear.
"Saints alive, Mary, what mischief bes afoot now?" asked Mother Nolan.
Mary drew close to the bed-side and leaned over to her confederate.
"The captain bes safe in the store, all rolled up in blankets," she
whispered, "an'--an' I larned something last night that means as how we
kin get 'em both away before long, wid luck. An' I played a trick on the
skipper--so don't ye bes worryin' when he tells ye as how he's found the
captain's boat. Give the word to the lass to keep her heart up. Sure,
we'll be gettin' the two o' them safe out o' the harbor yet."
"An' where bes Denny now? How'd ye get into the house?" asked the old
woman.
"He bes out in a skiff this very minute, a-lookin' at the captain's boat
where it bes driftin' 'round the harbor. Sure, an' that bes just where
I wants him. An' now I'll be goin', Mother Nolan dear, for I bain't
wishin' Denny to catch me here a-whisperin' t'ye so early in the mornin'
or maybe he'd get the idea into his head as how us two women bain't such
harmless fools as what he's always bin takin' us for."
"Ye bes a fine girl, Mary Kavanagh," returned Mother Nolan, "an' I
trusts ye to clear this harbor o' trouble. I'll be tellin' the good word
to the poor lass inside this very minute. Her heart bain't all diamonds
an' pride, after all, as she let us know last night, poor dear."
Mary left them, and a minute later met the skipper on his way up from
the land-wash.
"I's found the boat the stranger come in," said the skipper.
"Sure, an' so ye would, Denny, if it was to be found," replied Mary.
The young man eyed her gloomily and inquiringly until she blushed and
turned her face away from him.
"Ye talks fair, Mary," he said. "Ye talks as if ye was a friend o' mine;
but ye bain't always actin' that same way, these days. Last night, now,
ye an' granny was sure fightin' agin me! I seed ye bat Nick Leary wid
the leg o' the chair--an' I seed that dacent old woman a-hangin' to Bill
Brennen's whiskers like a wildcat to the moss on a tree."
"An' why not, Denny Nolan?" retorted the girl. "Ye t'ree men was after
murderin' that poor lad! D'ye think Mother Nolan was wantin' to see ye
carried off to St. John's an' hung by yer neck? Sure, we was fightin'
agin ye. What hurt had that poor lad ever done to ye? He come to Chance
Along for his lass--an' sure, she was ready enough to be goin' away wid
him!"
The skipper's face darkened. "Who saved her life from the wrack?" he
cried. "Tell me that, will ye! Who salvaged her from the fore-top o' the
wrack?"
Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past Mary and strode up to his
house. The girl stood motionless for a little while, gazing after him
with a flushed face, twitching lips and a flicker of amusement in her
gray eyes.
"Poor Denny," she murmured. "His pride bes hurt more nor the heart of
him!"
John Darling was not honored by a visit from the skipper that day; but
Bill Brennen carried food to him, made up a fire in the stove, and even
loosed his bonds for a few minutes upon receiving his word of honor that
he would not take advantage of the kindness by trying to escape.
"What does Nolan intend to do with me?" asked Darling.
"Well, sir, it looks to me as how he bes figgerin' to keep ye in Chance
Along till June. He bes t'inkin' as how the young lady may blow 'round
to his own idee," replied Bill.
"And what is his idea?"
"As how he bes a better man nor ye be."
"But why does he figure to keep me until June? Why not until July, or
August--or next Christmas?"
"Well, sir, ye see it bes this way wid him. Father McQueen, the dear,
riverent gentleman--an' may he never die till I kills him, an' may every
blessed hair on his head turn into a wax candle to light him to
glory!--bes comin' back to Chance Along in June. The skipper bain't
afeared o' any man in the world but his riverence."
John Darling smiled. "I should like to see Father McQueen," he said;
"but I am afraid I must be going away from here considerably before the
first of June."
Bill wagged his head. "Now don't ye be too sure, sir," he whispered. "Ye
bain't dealin' wid any ignorant fisherman when ye bes dealin' wid Black
Dennis Nolan. Sure, didn't he find yer bully this very mornin'!"
"My bully!" exclaimed the other, losing color. "Where did he find it?"
"Driftin' in the harbor," returned Bill. "It bes a grand bully entirely,
sir."
Darling was silent for a moment. Then, trying to look as if the finding
of the bully drifting in the harbor was rather a joke, he laughed.
"And did he capture my crew of five strong men?" he asked.
Bill Brennen grinned. "Now ye needn't be tryin' any o' yer divilment on
me," he said. "The bully was as empty as Tim Sullivan's
brain-locker--an' the holy saints knows as that bes empty enough! Sure,
there wasn't even a sail aboard her, nor a bite o' grub nor a drop o'
liquor."
"My five men must have fallen overboard," said Darling, smiling. Poor
John! Now, should he manage to escape and get Flora out of the skipper's
house, how was he to get out of the harbor? What had happened to George
Wick? The tide must have carried the bully out of the drook, while
George was asleep, and drifted it around to the harbor. He promised
himself the pleasure of teaching Master George the art of mooring a boat
if he ever met him again.
John Darling spent an anxious day. Shortly after midnight he was
startled by a faint tapping on one of the windows. The night was pitch
black, and so he could see nothing. The tapping was repeated. He rolled
out of his blanket and across the floor toward the sound. His progress
was arrested by a rank of boxes and flour-bags. Pressing his shoulder
against these, he hitched himself to his feet, turned and leaned across
them until his face was within a foot of the faint square of the window.
Against the half-darkness he could now see something indistinct in
shape, and all of a dense blackness save for a pale patch that he knew
to be a human face. It was Mary Kavanagh. She told him briefly of the
way she had turned the skipper from searching the coast for his boat and
his companion; of Flora's safety, and of how she hoped to accomplish
their escape before long--perhaps on the following night. Wick was
still hidden in the drook, she said. She would try to get a boat of some
kind around to him on the next night; and if she succeeded in that, she
would return and try to get Darling out of the store and Flora out of
the skipper's house.
The sailor was at a loss for words in which to express his gratitude.
"But ye must promise me one thing," whispered the girl. "Ye must swear,
by all the holy saints, to do naught agin Denny Nolan when once ye git
safe away--swear that neither Flora nor yerself puts the law on to
Denny, nor on to any o' the folks o' this harbor, for whatever has been
done."
"I swear it, by all the saints," replied Darling. "For myself--but I
cannot promise it for Flora. You must arrange that with her."
Several hours after Mary's interview with John Darling, old Mother Nolan
awoke in her bed, suddenly, with all her nerves on the jump. The room
was dark, but she felt convinced that a light had been held close to her
face but a moment before. She felt no fear for herself, but a chilling
anxiety as to what deviltry Denny might be up to now. Could it be that
she was mistaken in him after all? Could it be that he was less of a
man than she had thought? She crawled noiselessly from her bed and stole
over to the door of Flora Lockhart's room. The door was fastened. With
the key, which she had brought from under her pillow, she made sure that
it was locked. She unlocked it noiselessly, opened the door a crack and
peered in. The room was lighted by the glow from the fire and by a
guttering candle on a chair beside the bed. She saw that the room was
empty, save for the sleeping girl. Closing the door softly and locking
it again, she turned and groped her way across to the kitchen door,
beneath which a narrow line of light was visible. Scarcely breathing,
she raised the latch, drew the door inward a distance of half an inch
and set one of her bright old eyes to the crack. She saw the skipper
kneeling in a corner of the kitchen, with his back to her and a candle
on the floor beside him. He seemed to be working busily and heavily, but
not a sound of his toil reached her eager ears.
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