 CHAPTER 24 THE SIREN He saw the glad smile on her lips, the light in her great lustrous dark eyes, and the beauty of her faultless body, and yet they all faded to nothing beside the astounding and inexplicable fact that she was in the mystery schooner. "'You here!' he gasped, taking her hands in his big rough ones, and gripping them tight. The impulse to draw her to him in an embrace was almost irresistible, for not only was she lovely in the extreme, but she was from free-kirk head and home, and his soul had been starved with loneliness, and the ceaseless repetition of his own thoughts. "'Yes,' she replied, in her gentle voice, "'I am here. You are surprised?' "'That hardly expresses it,' he returned. "'So many things have happened today that I expect anything now.' "'Come, let us go in,' she said, and led him through a doorway that connected with an adjoining-room. In the center of it was a small table, laid with linen, and furnished with glittering silver and glass. "'Are you hungry?' she asked. "'You know fishermen well enough not to ask that,' he laughed, and they sat down. Elsa did not make any tax upon his conversational powers. It was Code himself who first put a pertinent question. "'I take for granted your being here, and your living like this,' he said. "'But I am bursting with curiosity. How do you happen to be in this schooner?' "'It is my schooner. Why shouldn't I be in it?' she smiled. "'Yours!' he was mystified. "'But why should you have a vessel like this? You never used one before that I know of.' "'True, Code, but I have always loved the sea, and it amuses me. You remember that sometimes I have been away from Freekirk Head for a month at a time. I have been cruising in this schooner. Once I went nearly as far as Iceland, but that took longer. A woman in my position must do something. I can't sit up in that great big house alone all the time.' The intensity with which she said this put a decidedly new face on the matter. It was just like her to be lonely without Jim, he thought. Naturally a woman with all her money must do something. "'What, Elsa?' he protested. "'You're having the schooner for your own use is all right enough. But why has it always turned up to help me when I need it help most? Really, if I had all the money in the world I could never repay the obligations that you have put me under this summer.' "'I don't want you to repay me,' she said quietly. "'Just the fact that I have helped you and that you appreciate it is enough to make me happy.' He looked steadily into her brown eyes for a few moments. Then her gaze dropped and a dull flush mounted from her neck until it suffused her face. He had never seen her look so beautiful. The wealth of her black hair was coiled about the top of her head like a crown, and held in its depths a silver butterfly. Her gown was quaker gray in color, and of some soft clinging material that enhanced the lines of her figure. It was an evening gown, and cut just low enough to be at the same time modest and beautiful. Code, without knowing why, admired her taste and told himself that she erred in no particular. Her mode of life was, at the same time, elegant and feminine, exactly suited her. "'You are easily made happy,' he remarked, referring to her last sentence. "'No, I'm not,' she contradicted him seriously. "'I am the hardest woman in the world to make happy.' "'And helping me, does it?' "'Yes.' "'You are a good woman,' he said gratefully, and always seemed to be doing for others. "'No one will ever forget how you offered to stand by the women of Grande-Mignonne while the men went fishing.' Again Elsa blushed, but this time the color came from a different source. Little did he know that her philanthropy was all a part of the same plan, to win his favor. "'And the things I know you must have done for my mother,' he went on. "'Those are the things that I appreciate more than any. "'It is not every woman who would even think of them, let alone do them.' "'Why would he force her into this attitude of perpetual lying?' she thought. "'It was becoming worse and worse. "'Why was he so straightforward and so blind? "'Could he not see that she loved him? Was he one of those cold and passionless men upon whom no woman ever exerts an intense influence?' Though she did not know it, she expressed the whole fault in her system. "'A man reared in a more complex community than a fishing village would have divined her scheme, and the result would have been a prolonged but most delightful duel of wits and hearts. But Code, by the very directness of his honesty and simplicity of his nature, cut through the gauzy wrappings of this delectable package and went straight to its heart. And there he found nothing, because what little of the deeply genuine their lay in this woman's restless nature was disguised and shifted at the will of her caprice. When Code had experienced the pleasure of lighting a genuine clear Havana cigar after many months of abstinence, she leaned across the table to him, her hands clasped before her. "'Code, what does loneliness represent to you?' she asked. "'Oh, I don't know,' he temporized, taken aback. "'I don't go in for loneliness much. But when I do, why, all I want is—well, let me see. A good game of coits with the boys in front of the church, or a talk with my mother about how rich we are going to be some day when I get that partnership in the fish stand. I'm too busy to be lonely. And I'm too lonely to be busy.' He looked at her unbelievingly. "'You!' he cried. "'Why, you have everything in the world. You can go anywhere. Do anything. Have the people about you that you want. You lonely? I don't understand you. Well, I'll put it another way. Did you ever want something so hard that it hurt and couldn't get it?' "'Yes, I wanted my father back after he died,' said Code simply. "'And I wanted Jim after he died,' added Elsa. Those things are bad enough, but one gets used to them. What I mean especially is something we see about us all the time and have no chance of getting. Did you ever want something like that so that it nearly killed you and couldn't get it?' Code was silent. The one rankling hurt of his whole life after seemingly being healed broke out afresh. The engagement of Nat Burns and Nellie Tanner. He suddenly realized that since seeing Elsa he had not as much as remembered Nellie's existence, when usually her mental presence was not far from him. Elsa, with all her luxury and alluring feminine charms, seemed to cast a spell that bound him helpless, like the music in the fairy stories. He liked the spell, and after all she had done he confessed to an extraordinary feeling for the enchantress. Now had come the memory of Nellie. Dear Frank Eyde, open-hearted Nellie Tanner, and the thought that her fresh wholesomeness was pledged to make glad the life of Nat Burns seared his heart. A cloud settled down on his brow, but in a moment he recalled himself. His hostess had asked him a question. He must answer it. Yes, I have wanted something and couldn't get it. Yes, said Elsa slowly. A thing is bad enough, but it seems to me that the most hopeless thing in the world is to want a person in that way. Her voice was dreamy and retrospective. This peculiar, vibrant timbre thrilled him with the thought that perhaps there was some hidden tragedy in her life that he had never suspected. Any unpleasant sense that she was curious was overcome by the manner in which she spoke. Yes, it is, he answered solemnly. She looked up in astonishment at the sincerity of his tone, her heart tingling with a new emotion of delicious uncertainty. What if, after all, he had wanted someone in the way she wanted him? What if the someone were herself, and he had been afraid to aspire to a woman of her wealth and position? She asked this without any feeling of conceit, for one who loves always dreams he sees signs of favour in the one beloved. Then you have wanted someone? All her manner, her voice, her eyes expressed sympathy. She was the soul of tact and no mean actress at the same time. Code, still in the depth of reminiscence and averted happiness, scarcely heard her, but he answered, Yes, I have. Then, coming to full realization of the confession, he coloured and laughed uneasily. But let's not talk of such personal things any more, he added. You must think me very foolish to be moaning about like this. Can I help you? She asked, half suffocated by the question. Perhaps there might be something I could do that would bring the one you want to you. It was the crucial point in the conversation. She held her breath as she awaited his answer. She knew he was no adept at the half-meanings and near-confessions of flirtation and that she could depend upon his words and actions to be genuine. He looked at her calmly without the additional beat of a pulse. His colour had died down and left him pale. He was considering. You have done much for me, he said at last, and I shall never forget it, but in this matter even you could not help me. Only the Almighty could do it by direct intervention, and I don't believe he works that way in this century. Code smiled faintly. As for Elsa she felt the grip as of an icy hand upon her heart. It was someone else that he meant. Was it possible that all her carefully planned campaign had come to this miserable failure? Had she come this far only to lose all? The expression of her features did not change and she sought desperately to control her emotion, but she could not prevent two great tears from welling up in her eyes and slowly rolling down her cheeks. Code sat startled and nonplussed. Only once before in his life had he seen a woman cry, and that was when Nelly broke down in his mother's house after the fire. But the cause for that was evident, and the very fact of her tears had been a relief to him. Now, apparently without rhyme or reason, Elsa Malaby was weeping. The sight went to his heart as might the scream of a child in pain. He wondered with a panicky feeling whether he had hurt her in any way. "'I say, Elsa,' he cried, "'what's the matter? Don't do that. If I've done anything!' He was on his feet and around the little table in an instant. He took her left hand in his left and put his right on her shoulder, speaking to her in broken, incoherent sentences. But his words, gentle and almost endearing, emphasized the feeling of miserable self-pity that had taken hold of her, and she suddenly sobbed aloud. "'Elsa, dear,' he cried, beside himself with uncertainty, "'what is it? Tell me. You've done so much for me. Please let me do something for you, if I can.' "'You can't, Code,' she said, "'unless it's in your heart.'" And then she bowed her beautiful head forward upon her bare arms and wet. After a while the storm passed and she leaned back. He kissed her suddenly. Then he abruptly turned to the door and went out. Schofield had suddenly come to his senses and disengaged himself from Elsa's embrace. CHAPTER 25 THE GUILT FIXED It was the following afternoon before Code Schofield ventured on deck. When he did so it was to find that all naval uniforms had been laid aside, the imitation brass guns forward had been removed, and the schooner so altered that she would scarcely have been recognized as the albatross. The wireless had been erected again, and now the apparatus was spitting forth an almost constant series of messages. The crew, spotless in dungarees and without a vestige of a weapon, maneuvered the schooner as Code had never in his life seen a vessel handled. At a word from the officer of the watch they jumped as one man. Every order was executed on the run, and all sails were swayed as flat and taut as boards. Code found Elsa ensconced with a book under the awning amidships. Big comfortable wicker chairs were about, and the deck so lately cleared for action had an almost home-like look. "'Did you sleep well?' asked the girl, with an entire lack of self-consciousness, as though the episode of the night before had never occurred. Code was very thankful for her tact and much relieved. It was evident that their relations for the remainder of the four days' journey north were to be impersonal unless he chose to make them otherwise. This he had no intention of doing after his morning's battle with himself. "'Like a top when I got started,' he replied, and you?' "'Splendidly, thanks. And you should have seen the breakfast I ate. I am a shameful gourmand when I am at sea.' He took a chair and filled his pipe. "'By the way, how long have you been out on this cruise? You weren't aboard, were you, the time the mystery schooner led the revenue steamer such a chase?' "'No,' she replied, but I wish I had been. I nearly died when I heard about that. It was so funny. I have only been aboard about four days. I'll tell you the history of it.' I was having a very delightful dinner up at Malaby House with Mrs. Tanner, Nellie's mother, you know.' She looked unconcernedly out to sea. "'When I got a message, part wireless and part telegram, saying that Nat Burns had nabbed you in St. Pierre and was racing with you to St. Andrews. Well, I've sworn all along that you shouldn't come to any harm through him. So I just left Free Kirkhead the next morning on the steamer, took a train to Halifax, and had the schooner pick me up there. Off Halifax they told me that the netty bee was six hours ahead of us and going hard. So we had to wing it out for all there was in this one. I had provided all the naval fixings before, realizing that we would probably have to use them some time, and that's all there is to it. Well, Elsa, I'll say this, that I don't believe that there was ever a schooner built that could out-game and out-sale this one. She's a wonder!' For a while they talked of trite and inconsequential things. It was very necessary that they become firmly grounded on their new footing of genuine friendship before departing into personalities. And so for two days they avoided any but the most casual topics. As the weather was exceptionally warm, with a spicy salt breeze that seemed to bear the very germ of life in its midst, they had breakfast and luncheon on deck, dining below in the rosy little dining-room. Thirty-six hours before they expected to catch the fishing fleet, it had been maneuvered so that code should be restored to the charming lass after dark, Elsa opened the subject of code's trouble with Nat Burns. It was morning and his recent days of ease and mental refreshment had made him see things clearly that had before been obscured by the great strain under which he labored. And told her the whole thing from beginning to end, leaving out only that part of Nat's cumulative scheme that had to do with Nellie Tanner. He showed Elsa how his enemy had left no stone unturned to bring him back home a pauper, a criminal, and one who could never again lift his head among his own people, even though he escaped years in prison. It was a brief and simple story, but he could see Elsa's face change as emotions swept over it. Her remarks were few, but he suddenly became aware that she was harboring a great and lasting hatred against Nat. He did not flatter himself that it was on his own account, nor did he ask the reason for it, but the knowledge that such a hatred existed came to him as a decided surprise. When he had finished his narrative, she sat for some little time silent. And you think, then, she asked at last, that his motive for all this is revenge because his father happened to meet death on the old May? So far it has seemed to me that that can be the only possible reason. What else? But now wait a moment while I think. He went below into his room, secured the old log of the MC Burns and the artificial horizon. Together they read the entries that Michael Burns had made. Now, Elsa, said code by way of explanation, it was a dead-sure thing that Nat could never have beaten me and his schooner, and for two reasons. First, the May was a naturally faster boat than the old MC, although Nat would never admit it. That is what really started our racing. Secondly, I am only telling the truth when I say that I can out-sail Nat Burns in any wind from a zephyr to a typhoon. She is the kind of chap in regard to sailing who doesn't seem to have the feel of the thing. There is a certain instinct of forces and balance that is either natural or acquired. Nat is acquired. Why, I can remember just as well when I was eight years old my father used to let me take a short trick at the wheel in good weather, and I took to it naturally. Once on the banks in a gale when I was only eighteen, the men below said that my trick at the wheel was the only one when they got any sleep. Now those two things being the case, Elsa, how did Nat Burns expect to win the second race from the May? I don't know. It doesn't seem possible that he could win. Of course it doesn't, and yet his father writes here that Nat swears he can't lose. Well, now you know a man that swears he can't lose is pretty positive. Did he try to bet with you for the second race? asked Elsa. Did he? I had five hundred dollars at the bank and he tried to bet me that. I never bet because I've never had enough money to throw it around. A good deal changed hands on the first race, but none of it was mine. I raced for sport and not for money, and I told Nat so when he tried to bet with me. If I had raced for money I couldn't have withdrawn that day and gone to St. John for cargo the way I did. Then it seems to me that he must have known he couldn't lose or he would not have tried to bet. Exactly. But how could he know it? That is what I would like to find out. Code absently thrust his hand into his coat pocket and encountered the mirror he had found aboard the netty bee. He drew it out and polished its bright surface with his handkerchief. Elsa was immediately interested and Code told her of its unexpected discovery. And he had it! she cried, laughing. Of all things! Yes, and he always wanted it. I remember when Father first gave it to me and I was working out little problems in astronomy, Nat used to take the thing and handle it and admire it. You see the back and edges are silver plated and it is really quite valuable. He tried to get his father interested, but so far as I know never succeeded. It was a strange thing, but that simple mirror appealed to Nat tremendously, and you know how that would act on a man of his nature. He is and always has been utterly selfish, and if there was any object he wanted and could not have it increased his desire. But how did he get it, I wonder? Asked the girl, taking the object and heliographing the bright sun's rays from the polished surface. When did you have it last? God knitted his brows and thought back carefully. He had an instinctive feeling that perhaps in this mirror lay the key to the whole situation, just as often in life the most unexpected and trivial things or events are pregnant with great moment. I had it, he said slowly, thinking hard. Let me see. The last time I remember it was the day after my first race with Nat. In the desk that stood in the cabin of the old May I kept the log, my sextant, and a lot of other things of that kind. In a lower drawer was this mirror and the reason I saw it was this. When I had made fast to my moorings in the harbour I immediately went below to make the entry in the log about the race. Naturally I couldn't leave that undone. I remember I looked in the top drawer for the book, but didn't find it. So then I looked in the other drawers and, in doing so, opened the one containing the mirror. I distinctly remember seeing it, for the lamp was lighted and the glass flashed a blinding glare into my eyes. You see, we raced in about the worst winter weather there was and the lamp had to be lighted very early. The logbook wasn't there and I found it somewhere or other later, but that hasn't anything to do with the case. I never saw the mirror after that. In fact, never looked for it. I took for granted it had gone down with the May, along with all my other things, except the logbook, which I saved and use now aboard the last. And you didn't take it out or give it to anybody? No, I am positive of that. I didn't touch it after seeing it that once. Then it is very plain, Code, that if Nat Burns came into possession of it he must have taken it himself. He was very angry with you for winning, wasn't he? Terribly. For once I thought he might be dangerous and kept out of his way until the thing had worn off a little. Just like him, said Elsa in that tone of bitter hatred that Code had heard her use before when speaking of Burns. He must have gone aboard the May and taken it, because you prized it so much. A fine revenge. Yes, but we don't do those things in Free Kirkhead, Elsa. You know that. We don't steal from one another's trawl lines, and we don't prowl about other men's schooners. I can't understand his doing a thing like that. Perhaps not. But if not, explain how he got it. You're right, Code admitted, after a moment's thought. That's the only way. They were silent for a while, pondering over this new development, and trying to discover where it might lead. Under sharp commands the crew brought the schooner about on the starboard tack, for the wind was on the bow, and set a stacyl between the fore and the main masts. The splendid ship seemed to skim over the surface of the sea, touching only the tops of the waves. No, it's no good, broke out Code suddenly. Much as I hate Nat Burns, I don't believe he would come aboard my schooner just for the purpose of stealing a silver-plated mirror. That isn't like him. He's too clever to do anything like that. And besides, what kind of a revenge would that be for having lost the race? Well, what can you suggest? How else did he get it? Elsa was frankly skeptical and clung to her own theory. He might have come aboard for something else, mighten't he, and picked up the mirror just incidentally. He might have, yes, but what else would bring him there? Code sat rigid for a few minutes. He had such a thought that he scarcely dared consider it himself. It's all clear to me now, he said in a low horse voice. That came aboard to damage the schooner so that he would be sure to win the second race. Code! The cry was one of involuntary horror, as Elsa remembered the tragedy of the May. Hate Nat, though she might, this was an awful charge to lay at his door. Then he killed his own father, if what you say is true, she added breathlessly. Oh, the poor wretch! The poor wretch! Yes, that solves it, went on Code, who had hardly heard her. That solves the entries that Michael Burns made in his ship's lug before he went to St. John on his last business trip. Nat swore he could not lose, and the old man, who was honest enough himself, must have wondered what his son was up to. This mirror proves that Nat must have been aboard the schooner secretly. What he told his father, and his eagerness to bet with me on a proposition that seemed foolhardy on the face of it, clenched the thing in my mind. The misguided fool. That, Elsa, is an example of how low a man will go who has been spoiled and brought up without the slightest idea of self-control. Why, you're preaching to me, Code, laughed the girl, and he joined her. But she sobered in a moment. This is all very fine theory, she said, and I have to believe it myself, but it's worthless. You haven't a grain of proof. Tell me, have you ever thought over the details of the sinking of the May? Only once, Grone Schofield. And I hate to do it, Elsa. I'd rather not. Every time I think of that awful day I sweat with sheer horror. Every incident of it is engraved on my brain. But listen, Code, you must think about it for once, and think about it with all your mind. Tell me everything that happened. It is vital to our case. It may save the whole thing from being worthless. Even if we get nothing, you must make the effort. Code knew that what Elsa said was true. With an effort he focused his mind back on that awful day and began. There was a good sea that day, he said, and more than half a gale out of the northeast. If it had been any other day I shouldn't have taken the Old May out at all, because she was loaded very deep. But the whole trip was a hurry call, and they wanted me to get back to Mignon with the salt as soon as I could. Old Burns saw me on the wharf and asked me if he could go along as passenger. I said he could, and we started early in the morning. Now that day wasn't anything unusual, Elsa. I've been in a lot worse gales in the May, but not with her so deep, but I didn't think anything would happen. Everything went all right for three hours, with the wind getting fresher all the time, and the vessel under four lowers, which was a pretty big strain on any schooner. As I say, she should have stood it, but all of a sudden, on a big lurch, the four topmost that hadn't a rag on her broke off short and banged down, hanging by the guys. With one swipe it smashed the foregap to splinters, and half the canvas hung down flapping like a great wing. I couldn't understand it. I knew the topmost was in a weakened condition, but not as rotten as punk. And I supposed my foregap was as solid a piece of timber as ever went into a vessel. But listen, as Elsa started to speak, that isn't all. The flapping canvas, with part of the gaff, pounded around like the devil let loose for the ten seconds before we couldn't loosen the halyards and lower away the wreckage. But in that time it had parted the mainstay in two like a woman snipping a thread. Mind that, Elsa, a steel mainstay, an inch thick. I never heard of one parting in my life before. Things were happening so fast that I couldn't keep track of them, and now, just at the crucial minute, the old maid jibed, fell off from the wind, and went into the trough of the sea. A great wave came then, ripped her rudder off, I found this as soon as I tried to use the wheel, and swept the decks, taking one man. Meanwhile, the mainmast, with one stay gone, was whipping from side to side like a great loose stick. I put the wheel in the bucket, and in one jump released the mainsail-throat halyards, while another fellow released the peak. The sail came down on the run in the lazy jacks, and the men jumped on it, and began to crowd it into some kind of a furrow. I jumped back to the wheel, and tried to bring her up into the wind, but I might as well have tried to steer an ocean liner with a sculling sweep. Not only was her rudder gone, but the tiller ropes were parted on each side. It was damaged beyond repair. Once I read in school the funny poem of an American named Holmes. It was called the One Hoss Shea, and it told about an old shez that, after a hundred years of service, suddenly went to pieces all at the same time and the same place. Even in that time of danger the memory of the One Hoss Shea came to me, and I thought that the May Schofield was doing exactly the same thing, although only half as old. And then what happened? asked Elsa, who had sat breathless through Code's narrative. There's not much more to tell, he said, with an involuntary shudder. It was too much for the old girl, with that load in her. She began to wallow and drive toward the wolves that I had caught a glimpse of through the scud. She hadn't got half way there when the main mast came down, bringing nearly everything with it, and hung over the starboard quarter, dragging the vessel down like a stote hanging to a duck's leg. After that it was easy to see she was doomed. We chopped away at the tangle of wreckage whenever we got a chance, but that wasn't often, because in her present position the waves raked her every second and we had to hang on for dear life. And then she began to go to pieces, which was the beginning of the end. All hands knew it was to be every man for himself. We had no life preservers, and our one big dory had been smashed when the wreckage came down. Code's face was working with suppressed emotion, and Elsa reached out her hand and touched his. Don't tell me any more, she said. I know the rest. Let's talk about the present. Thanks, Elsa, he said, gratefully. How long have you thought that the schooner was a second one-hust shay? Until this talk with you. I would never have thought anything else. It's the logical thing to think, isn't it? All my neighbors at Freekirk Head, except those who believe the evil they hear, have told me half a dozen times that that is what must have happened to the May. She had lived her life, and that last great strain, combined with the race the week before, was too much for her. I simply could not explain those things happening. Yes, but you can now, can't you? she asked, coolly. Reluctantly he faced the issue, but he faced it squarely. Yes, I can. Nat expected me to sail the May in a race, so he weakened my topmost and mainstay. Of course when there is sport in it, you set every kite you've got in your lockers, and, you know, Elsa, I never took my mainsail in yet while there was one standing in the fleet, even ordinary fishing days. I know it. You've scared me half to death a dozen times with your sail carrying. And mind, Elsa, I've been warned by all the wise-acres in Freekirk Head that my sticks would carry away some time in a gala wind. Nat banked on that, too, and it shows how clever he was. For ever since the May sank, I've had men tell me I shouldn't have carried four lowers that day. He planned to weaken me where I needed sail most, and he succeeded. Why, Elsa, that topmost must have been sawed a quarter of the way through, and that mainstay is much again. I don't really believe he did anything to the foregap. It appeared to be the natural result of the topmost falling, but the damage he did resulted in the wreck of the schooner. And the death of his own father. Yes, Code, we've got him where he is probably the wretchedest man in the world. Fury and hurt pride made him injure the May, so he would be sure to win the second time, and instead of that, fate intervened, sent you on the cargo voyage, and killed his father. Now it is perfectly plain to me why he is charging you with all these crimes. Why? Nat is a weak nature, because uncontrolled, and when weak natures do wrong, they suffer agonies of fear that they will be found out. Nat committed this double crime in a momentary passion. Then as the weeks passed by, and the village talked of nothing else, he finally began to fear that he would be found out. There was no one who could have found him out, but there was that haunting terror of the weak nature. Somebody spoke a word, perhaps in jest, that you must have wanted a new schooner since the May's policy was to run out so soon, and he seized the thought in a frenzy of joy and began to spread rumors. This grip on you gave him courage. He remembered that his revenge against you was still unsatisfied, and it became clear to him that perhaps, after all, he could get one much more complete. Code, the picture of that man's mind is a terrible one to me. He may have hated you before, but just think how he must have hated you after knowing how he had wronged and was going to ruin you. It is only the one of two people who does the injury whose hatred grows. An injured person who is sensible in regard to such matters, as you have been with Nat all your life, throws them off and thinks nothing more about them. So Nat's hatred of you and the fear of discovery, preying on his mind, finally urged him into the course he had taken. And he went into it with open eyes, rejoined Code, for his plans were perfect. He pays his crew double wages and they ask no questions. Had it not been for you, on two occasions, I should have been in jail long before this. Yes, but now that is past. No, interrupted Code, it isn't, Elsa. He has just as much power over me as he ever had. I am still a criminal at large to be arrested, and you can wager your last dollar that if he can bring it about, I will be picked up by the first gun boat that finds me. But after all this? Yes, after all this. We have made a beautiful case against him, and it fits, but Elsa, there's one thing we haven't got, and that is a single word of proof. We haven't enough to even bring a charge against him. Do you realize that? The girl sat back, unable to reply. Code had expressed the situation in a sentence. Despite all they had pieced together, he, Code, was still the man against whom the burden of circumstantial evidence rested. Nat was, and always, could go scot-free. Code, this is terrible, she said. But there may be a way out yet. No man with the right on his side has ever failed to triumph, however black things look. But how, he cried despairingly, I have racked my brains for some means of closing the net about him, but there seems no way. Now there is not, she returned. But, Code, you can rest assured that I will do everything I can. God bless you, he said, taking her hand. You are the best friend a man ever had. End of Chapter 25 Recording by Roger Maline This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbour of Doubt by Frank Williams Chapter 26 Wetting Their Salt Pete Ellenwood, alone except for the cook who sat peeling potatoes just outside the galley, paced the quarter-deck of the charming lass. He seemed to be an older man than that night when, goaded beyond endurance by the taunts of the big Frenchman, he had fought a fight that would long be remembered in the streets of the roaring town of Saint Pierre. He felt that he had broken his promise to Moscowfield that he would keep guard over her boy. Now, for all he knew, that boy was lying in jail at Saint Andrews, or was perhaps defending his life in the murderers' pen. The night of the fight had been a wild one for Ellenwood. At the cry of, police! The crowd had seemed to melt away from him like the bank fog at the sweep of a breeze. A dozen comrades had seized the prostrate Jean and hurried him away, and Pete, with the instinct of self-preservation, had snatched up his clothes and dodged down a dark alley toward the dirty drinking-shops along the waterfront. There, as he dressed himself, he first asked the question, Where is code? Then, in a frenzy of remorse, he returned to the street and began a wild and fruitless search all night. Then he accidentally learned that the netty bee had been in port two days and that her crew had been ashore on the night of the fracas. Sorrowful, bedraggled, and bruised, he rode out to the charming lass just as the whole crew was setting out for shore to search for code and himself. During the night the barrels of fresh bait had been lighter to the lass, and there was nothing for it but to make sail and get back on the banks as soon as possible, leaving code to his fate but carrying on the work he had begun. In accordance with code's instructions, Pete automatically became the skipper of the schooner, and he selected Jimmy Thomas as his mate. By nightfall they had picked up the fleet, and early the next morning the dories were out. Then, for eight days, it had been nothing but fish, fish, fish. Never in all his experience had Pete seen such schools of code. They were evidently herding together in thousands, and had found but scanty food for such great hosts, for they bit almost on the bare hook. Now, as he looked around the still sea, the white or yellow sails of the fishing fleet showed on all sides in a vast circle. Not five miles away was the Roseanne, and to the southward of her the herringbone, with mean old Jed Martin aboard. Bajona Tanner had tried his best to shake Martin, but the hard fisted old skipper, knowing and recognizing Tanner's nose for fish, had clung like a leech and profited by the other sagacity. Nor was this all the Grand Mignon fleet. There were Glostermen among it, the champion fishers of the world, who spent their spare time in drifting past the English boats, and hurling salty wit, at which pastime they often came off second best. There were Frenchmen too, from the Michelin Islands, who worked in colored caps and wore sheath-knives in belts around their waists. Pete often looked over their dirty decks and wondered if his late enemy were among them. There were also vessels called Toothpicks that did an exclusive trawling business, never using dories except to underrun the trawls or to set them out. These vessels were built on yacht lines, and because they filled their holes quickly, made quick runs to port with their catches, thus getting in several trips in a season. Also there were the steam trawlers, the most progressive of the fleet, owned and operated by huge fish firms in Boston or Portland. These were not dependent on the vagaries of the wind, and steamed wherever their skippers divined that fish might be. Last of all were the Sainers after herring and mackerel, schooners mostly, and out of Gloucester or Nova Scotia ports, who secured their catch by encircling schools of fish that played a top of the water, with nets a quarter of a mile long, and pursued them in by drawstrings much as a man closes a tobacco pouch. This was the cosmopolitan city that lived on the unmarked lanes of the ocean and preyed upon the never-failing supplies of fish that moved beneath. Among the grand mignon boats there was an intense rivalry. In the holds the layers of salted fish rose steadily under the phenomenal fishing. The salt barrels were emptied and crowded out by the cod, hake, and pollock. It was these boats that Ellen would watch with the eye of a hawk, for back in Free Kirk Head he knew that Bill Bouton stood ready to pay a bonus for the first cargo to reach port. Now was the time when the advance orders from the West Indies were coming up, and because of the failure of the season on the island itself these orders stood unfilled. One or two of the smallest sloops had already wet their salt and weighed anchor for home, taking letters and messages. But these, Pete knew, could only supply an infinitesimal portion of the demand. What Bouton looked for was a healthy load of fifteen hundred to two thousand quintals already for drying. Night and day the work went on. With the first signs of daylight the dories were swung outboard, and the men took their positions. A catch of two hundred good-sized cod was now considered the usual thing for a hand-liner, and night after night the piles of silver fish in the pens of midships seemed to grow in size. Now they dressed down under lantern-light, sometimes aided by the moon, and the men stood to the tables until they fell asleep on their feet and split their fingers instead of the fish. Then after buckets of hot coffee they would fall to again and never stop until the last wet body had been laid at the top of its thousands of brothers. The men were constantly on the trawls. Sometimes they did nothing all day but pick the fish and rebate, finding, after a trip to the schooner to unload, that a thousand others had struck on the long lines of sagging hooks while they were gone. It was fast and feverish work, and it seemed as though it would never end. The situation had resolved itself into a race between the schooners, and Ellenwood was of no mind to come off second best. Like a jockey before a race he watched his rivals. He knew that foxy by Jonah Tanner, who sometimes looked like an old hump-backed cod himself, was his most dangerous rival. Tanner said nothing, but his boats were out early and in late, and the lanterns on his deck over the dressing-pens could sometimes be seen as late as ten o'clock at night. Visits among the fleet had now ceased, both because there was no time for it, and because a man from another schooner was looked upon as a spy. At the start of the season it had been expected that Nat Burns in the netty bee would prove a strong contender for premier honors, but because of his ceaseless efforts to drive home his revenge, Nat had done very little fishing and therefore could not possibly be in the market. Other free-kirk headmen shrugged their shoulders at this. Nat had the money and could act that way if it pleased him, they said. But nevertheless he lost favor with a great many of his former friends for the reason that the whole fishing expedition had been a concerted movement to save the people and credit of the island, and not an exploitation of individual desires. Burns had, with his kind, had a strong desire for the Burn's head, with his customary indifference to others, made it just exactly such an exploitation, and the sentiment that had been strong for him at the outset of the cruise was now turning decidedly the other way, although he little guessed this or would have been influenced had he done so. In reality, then, the race for fish was keenest between the charming lass, the Roseanne, and the herringbone, with three other schooners very close on their heels. At the end of the nine days there was little space beneath the deck-planks of the charming lass, but every night Pete would come up, slapping his hands free of salt and say, Well, boys, I guess we can crowd another day's work into her, and the exhausted men would gather themselves for another great effort as they rolled forward into their bunks. Every twenty-four hours they did crowd another day's work into her, so that she carried nearly a hundred and fifty tons, and the dripping brine had to be pumped out of the hold. It was the night of the day that opened this chapter. The lanterns by which the men had dressed down had been lifted from their supports, the cod-livers dumped into the gurry-butt, and the tables removed from the rails. The two men on the first watch were sharpening the splitting knives on a tiny grindstone and walking forward occasionally to see that the anchor and trawl-boy lights were burning. The still air resounded with the snores of the exhausted men forward in the folksal. Silently, out of the darkness, a dory came toward the schooner, pulled by the brawny arms of two men. In the stern of the oncoming boat sat a solitary figure who strained his eyes toward his destination. The dory was within fifty yards of the lass before the men on deck became aware of its approach. Then, fearing some evil work in connection with the last desperate days of fishing, they rushed to the bulwarks and challenged the newcomers. They did not see, a mile away, a schooner without lights gently rising and falling on the oily sea. Who is that? demanded one man, but he received no answer except a friend, and the boat continued its stealthy approach. It drew alongside the ladder in the waist and the man in the stern sheets rose. Kent of the lass's crew leaned over the side and threw the light of his lantern upon the man. By God! he cried like one who has seen a ghost. It's the skipper! End of Chapter 26 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 27 of The Harbor of Doubt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbor of Doubt by Frank Williams Chapter 27 The Reward of Evil The netty bee was surging north, nearing Cape Breton. Nat Byrne sat moodily on the top of the house and watched the schooner take him green over her boughs. Within the last day a fog with the wind behind it had drifted across the lead-colored ocean, and now, although the fog was gone, the wind was still howling and bringing with it a rising sea. The equinoxes were not far off, and all skippers had a weather eye out, and paid a special attention to the stoutness of lashings and patched canvas. Never had Byrne's been in a blacker mood, and never had he better cause. He was three days from St Andrews, and there he had become acquainted with several fats. The first was that no Canadian gunboat by the name of Albatross had called at Sedport, and left any prisoner by the name of Code Schofield. In fact, such gunboat had not called at all. Investigation at the Admiralty Office proved to Nat that the real Albatross had reported from St John's Newfoundland on the very day he supposed he had met her. As the waters near St Andrews and St John's are several hundred of miles apart, Nat was not long informing the opinion that he had been duped. Filming with rage, he began to investigate. Gradually he learned the story, from sailors and wine shops and general hearsay, of the mysterious schooner that had twice saved Code Schofield from actual capture, and had aided him on one or two other occasions. One man said he had heard of a retired naval officer named Foraker, who was supposed to be in command. As a matter of fact, there was a Captain Foraker aboard the schooner who navigated her, and instilled the run-and-jump discipline that had so excited Code's admiration. Outside of this vague fact, Nat's knowledge was scant. He was ignorant of who owned the Swift Vessel. He would never have connected Elsa Malaby with her in ten years of hard thinking. All he did know was that some unknown agency was suddenly at work on behalf of the man he hated. He notified the Admiralty that a strange schooner had impersonated the gunboat of H. I. M. George V, and gave a very accurate description of her. As this was a new offence for the vessel that had already interfered with Justice twice, the skippers of all the revenue-cutters along the coast bent their energies to capturing or sinking the semi-paradical craft upon the receipt of radiograms to that effect. Not only had Nat set the machinery of the law in motion against the mystery schooner, but he had provided against any future dabbling with his constabulary powers by the simple expedient of having with him an officer of the law who was empowered to bring the accused murderer of Michael Burns before the Bar of Justice without transfer. When the supposed gunboat had removed the prisoner from his deck and borne away, for a while, on the course to St. Andrews, Nat, relieved of responsibility, ran over to Grand Mignot and into the harbor of Freekirk Head. His purpose in this was twofold, and treacherous in both cases. First, he lost no time in spreading the details of how Code Schofield had been captured in a drunken brawl at St. Pierre and was fighting the jailers in St. Andrews. Secondly, he had a long private interview with Bill Bouton, in which he tried to get the storekeeper to sign a contract for his, Burns's, fish at a certain price. While the former was a meanness of a hideous kind, this latter move was one of treachery against the men of Freekirk Head. The worst part of it was that Nat had about a hundred quintals of splendid-looking cod, every pound he had caught, in his hold, and these he handed over to Bouton as a sample of what was to come from him very shortly. Bouton was hard up for fish, for none had come from the banks, and bought them at a big price. But as to the signing of the contract, he demurred. When Nat could not explain why he had caught so few fish in such a long time, the storekeeper became wary and refused to commit himself. Finally he agreed to the price, if Nat would deliver a thousand quintals before any of the rest of the fleet arrived home. Consequently it was up Mainsell and Swayam Flat, and a fast run north of the Netty B. During his day's stay in Freekirk Head, he had received a great bag of mail for the men of the fleet from their women-folk at home, and this he had in his cabin, now all distributed and tied into bundles, one for each schooner, so that they could be easily sorted and thrown aboard as he met them. Burns caught the fleet of a Thursday morning, just as they had dropped anchors after making a night berth, and the dories were out sampling the ground and the fish. It was just three days after code had arrived aboard the charming lass again. As Nat worked his way in and out among the vessels, throwing their mail aboard attached to pieces of coal, he kept an eye out for the Roseanne. One very important piece of business that had brought him north was a reconciliation with Nellie Tanner, and he meant, while his men were out in the dories, to accomplish this first. At last he sighted her near the very front line of the fleet. The charming lass he could not see, for code had taken a different direction from the Roseanne, and was one of the score of sales scattered around the horizon. But Nat was in no great hurry to get him on the minute. If the mystery schooner were attended to, then it would be merely a matter of time until the capture of code. He ranged up a stern at the Roseanne with a cheery yell and let go his anchor, ordering the dories over the side in the same breath. But his aspirations received a chilling setback from none other than by Jonah Tanner himself. The old man had been sleepless for a week, trying to nose out the last for the top hall of the fleet, and here was a young scapegrace who came and cast anchor within a hundred yards of his chosen ground. Nat laughed carelessly at the storm of abuse that rattled over the stern of the Roseanne and rode over to her in his dory with a package of mail. Forget it, Papa! he said, easily insolent, as he climbed over the rail in the teeth of a broadside. We're not going to file your rodent or steal your fish. I've just come to make a call and tell you the news from home. He handed by Jonah a couple of letters and a package containing those of the men. Two others he kept in his hand. For a few moments he chatted with the old man, telling him what had happened in Free Kirkhead. Then he asked for Nelly whom he had not seen. As he asked, she came up out of the cabin, having just finished breakfast. She was dressed in white this morning, a white canvas blouse with a broad blue collar and v-neck held to mod a stricture by a flowing blue tie, a white duck skirt and whiteened shoes, a costume that set off her pink cheeks and bright eyes. Since the violent emotions of the fire at the head, her courtship and her self-analysation since her split with Nat, she had seemed to become more of a woman. Nat had not the slightest doubt but that Nelly by this time would have recovered from her angry pet of their last interview. He was very certain that their ruction had only been temporary. Nelly was unfanely glad to see him. He stretched out his arms to her impulsively, but she refused him, and he laughed the rebuff off, good-naturedly. Oh, did you bring any letters for me? She cried eagerly. He held out the two he had kept in his hand. Oh, goodness, Nat, only from Mama and Ludie Bissell. You excited me so! He spread a tarpaulin amid the clutter, amid ships, and they sat down. She excused herself and began to read her letters, first opening the one from the girlfriend, which, as such letters usually do, contained nothing of importance. Then she opened the one from her mother. It was long and she settled back to the pleasure of deciphering it. Nat smoked and whistled and looked out to sea, waiting for her to finish. Therefore he did not observe the changes that passed across her face. Near the middle of the letter the color rose to her forehead in a hot wave, but at the end it had receded, leaving her pale. Methodically she folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. Well, dearest, he said cheerfully, all through? Now I want to talk to you. He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it beyond his reach and looked at him with the steady brown eyes whose level gaze he hated. Come on now, Nelly, he said impatiently, stung by her relentlessness. You ain't going to be mad forever about that other time, are you? I was out of temper and said things. Mother was up to Malaby House for dinner a little while ago, interrupted Nelly, as though she had not heard him. Yes, that's good. Fine place, ain't it? As I was saying, I forgot myself. They talked about us, too. Mother says that's nearly all they talked about. Must have been short a conversation. And I want to say, Nelly, that I'll try never to speak like that to you again. I— Mother says she learned things about you that she never had imagined before, persisted Nelly with quiet insistence. But again Nat did not seem to have heard her. With an awkward motion he drew from his pocket the little glazed paper box that contained the engagement ring. Please, he said, I want you to take this again. He was in earnest. It's strange Elsa Malaby should be able to tell Mother things about you. Nat lost his patience. He had tried his best to make peace, and the girl was only baiting him for her own amusement. What the deuce is all this about that Malaby woman? he asked. I should think you'd listen to me, Nelly. If you will listen to me first, then I'll listen to you as long as you like. I agree, he said, thrusting the ring-box back into his pocket. Only make it short, will you, little girl? Yes, I will, she promised, without smiling. I merely said that Mother and Mrs. Malaby had discussed you and me, and our marriage, and that Mrs. Malaby had said some things about you. Well, lots of people do that, he smiled. Yes, but they haven't said just this thing, Nat. What was that? I'm going to let you think. Just suppose that Mrs. Malaby hated you very much and wanted to do you harm. What would she tell my mother? The girl, pale and on the verge of an hysterical outburst, watched his face out of her mask of self-control. The blood beneath his tan receded, and was replaced by a sickly greenish hue. That flash had brought its memory, a memory that had lain buried beneath the events of his later life. Did she know? How could she know? To the girl watching him, there was confirmation enough. She was suddenly filled with inexpressible distaste for this man who had in days past smothered her with caresses, and dinned into her ears speeches concerning a passion that he called love. I see it is all true, she said quietly. This is all I have to say. Now I will listen to what you were going to tell me a few minutes ago. That is, if you still wish to say it. Nat read his doom in those few calm words. The things that had been in his mind to say rose and choked his throat. The thought of the ring in his pocket seemed like profanation. He gulped twice and tried to speak, but the words clotted on his tongue. Still she sat quietly looking at him, politely ready to listen. With the horrible croaking sound he got to his feet, looked irresolutely at her for a moment, and then went to the side where his dory lay. She next saw him rowing daisily to the netty bee, and then she turned her face from the side of him. And suddenly into her mind, long prepared, came the thought of Code Schofield. Amid the chaos of her shattered ideals, his face and figure rose more desirable than all the earth. Oh, heaven, give him to me some time! she breathed in a voice of humble prayer. Nat Burns went back to his schooner, squarely defeated for the first time in his life. Humbled and cringing like a whipped dog, he made his dory fast to the netty's rail, and slunk aft to the solitude of his cabin. He was glad that even the cook was looking the other way. She has flouted me, and the whole of Grand Mignon will know it, he said to himself. Then they will want to know why, but that is easy enough to lie about. Hang that malady woman! Who would ever think she'd squeal? Yes, and Schofield, the smug crook. They're the two that are doing the damage to me. Nat's lifelong knowledge of Code's and Nelly's affection returned to him now, with a more poignant pang of memory than he had ever experienced. With the hopeless egotism of a totally selfish nature, he laid his calamity and love to activity on Code's part. He was pretty well aware of Elsa's extravagant favoritism of Code, and he immediately figured that Code had enlisted Elsa on his side to the ruin of Nat. So I've got to beat him all now, have I? He asked grimly, his jaw setting with an ugly click. Schofield and Malaby, and yes, while I'm about it, tanner too. The old man never liked me, the girl hates me, and I wouldn't mind giving him a dig along with the rest. Just to show him that I'm not so easy and peaceful as I look. But how? For a considerable space of time he sat there, his head low on his breast, and his eyes half closed as his brain went over scheme after scheme. The detective that Nat had brought from St Andrew's stuck his head down the cabin and remarked, Look here, Captain. I want to arrest my man and get back. Why don't you hunt up that ship and let me finish? I've got something a lot better on hand, Durkey, remarked Nat with a grin rising from his chair, a plan having leaped full blown into his mind. Just stick along with me and you'll get your man all right. He went outside and called the men in with a revolver shot and a trawl-tub run to the masthead. It was about noon when they came in, and after eating, three o'clock passed before they had finished dressing down. Any of you boys run across a dory from the Nighthawk? Asked Nat as the men came inboard with their shower of fish. Yes, said a youth. I've found one of them, and he told me the hawk's luck was jonaed this trip. Where's the packet lying? About twelve miles southeast, near the edge of the bank. Nat went to the wheel himself. Up jib and foresail, he sang out, and sway him flat. Mainsles and topsles after that. Raymond overhauled the balloon, stacils and tracel. Maybe we'll drive her a little forward through. Burns found the Nighthawk in a patch of sea by herself, more or less deserted by the other schooners, because of the jona report that had gone abroad concerning her. Her dories were just coming in from the day's work partially loaded with fish. Hello, bald Nat. Is Billy Stetson aboard? Billy was the skipper. Yes, you want to see him? Yes, send him along over. It's mighty important, but I ain't going to board no jona boat. Tell him he'll be glad he came. Presently Stetson came, and the two retired into the cabin of the netty bee. End of Chapter 27 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 28 Of The Harbor of Doubt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbor of Doubt By Frank Williams Chapter 28 The Race It was dawn of a heavy, dark day. There was a mighty sea rolling and a forty-mile wind off the cape shore that promised a three-day ruction. The charming lass at her anchor reared and plunged like a nervous horse. Weighty with fish, she struggled heroically up the great walls of water, only to plump her sharp boughs into the hollow with a force that half buried her. Between times she wriggled and capered like a dancing elephant, and jerked at her cable until it seemed as though she would take her windlass out. In the midst of all this, Code Schofield struggled aft and began hauling forth the mainsail, that at the first edge of the bank had been relegated in favor of the triangular riding sail. Pete Ellenwood saw him and in a great voice balled down the hatchway to the folksail. Salt's wet, boys! The skippers hauling out the mainsail! At which there broke forth the most extravagant sounds of jubilation and all hands tumbled up to help bend it on. The crew of the lass did not know it, but by Jonah Tanner and the Roseanne had actually been gone twelve hours, having stolen away from the fleet before dressing down the night before when darkness had fallen, and so successfully had Jed Martin stolen by Jonah's thunder that he had left but three hours later when the fish had been dressed. Schofield was honest with himself, and he waited until morning to see if the great stacks of fish would not settle enough to allow of another day's work to be crowded in. But when he saw that space above the fish was very small, he waited no longer. Four men heaved on the windless breaks, and the others got sail on her as fast as they could haul halyards. She started under jib, jumbo, fore, and mainsail, with the wind a little on her port quarter and every fiber of her yearning to go. When the sails were apparently flat as boards, Schofield made Ellenwood rig pulleys leading to the middle of the halyards so that the men could sway on them. She was fit as a racing yacht, her load was perfectly distributed, and she trimmed to a hair-breath. An hour later they snored down upon the night-hawk, the last vessel at the edge of the fleet. Better hurry! Megaphone Stetson tickled with himself. Burns cleared six hours ago for free Kirkhead with a thousand quintal. He's got Bouton sued up to buy him, too. Bring her to, snarled code, and the last, groaning and complaining at the brutality, whirled up into the wind enough to take her sticks out. Burns is going home, you say, and with Fish, where'd he get him? From me. I sold him my whole load at a better price than I would have got if I had waited to fill the hawk's belly and then gone home. Gave me cash and threw in a lot of bait, so I'll stay right out here and get another load. Pretty good for a Jonah, what? Ha-ha! The man roared exasperatingly. Damnation! wrapped out Scofield. Lively now! Topsil's honor, and two of you, stay aloft to shift tax if we should need to come about. Hey, you! bald Stetson, as the last began to heel to the great sweep of the wind. There's two ahead of him by Jonah Tanner and Jed Martin. Better hurry if you're going to catch the market! Hurry, is it, growled code to himself. I'll hurry so some people won't know who it is. It was the first time that code had had occasion to drive the last, for the mignon fishermen here too for had confined their labor to the shoals near home, or at farthest, on the Nova Scotia coast. The present occasion was different. Between where he lay and the friendly side of Swallowtail Light was more than 850 miles of wallowing, tumbling ocean. Treacherous shoals underran it, biting rocks pierced up in saw-toothed reefs, the bitterest gales of all the seas swept in leaden wastes. It was a cutthroat business, this mighty pole for the market. But upon it not only depended the practical consideration of the highest market prices, but the honor and glory of owning the fastest schooner out of Free Kirk Head. The task of the charming lass was delightful in its simplicity, but fearful in its arduousness. Jimmy Thomas came aft and stood by the wheel on the port side. It took two men to handle her now, for the vast dead weight in her hold flung her forward and sidewise, despite the muscular clutch on the wheel, and when she rolled down she came up sluggishly. "'Isn't she a dog, though, Code?' exclaimed Jimmy in admiration. "'Look at that now. Rose to it like a duck. See her now just to plan with them waves?' "'Just a playin'. "'Oh, she's a dog, Skipper. A dog, I tell ya. Driver! She loves it!' "'I'll drive her, Jimmy, don't you worry. Before I get through some fellas I know wish they'd never heard of driving.' He motioned Pete Ellenwood aft with a free hand. "'Tell the boys,' said Code, that what sleepin' they do between here and home will be on their feet, for I want all hands ready to jump to orders. They can mug up all day and night, but let nobody get his boots off.' "'Aye, aye, sir,' replied Pete involuntarily. This bright-eyed, firm-mouthed Skipper was a different being from the cheerful, careless boy he had been familiar with for years. There was the ring of confidence and command in his voice that inspired respect. "'Look out there! Jump for it!' The head of the lass went down with the sickening swoop and the sound of thunder. Our great gray-and-white wall boiled and raced over her bows. Ellenwood leaped for the weather-rigging, and the other two clutched the wheel, as they stood waist-deep in the surge that roared over the taff rail and to leeward. "'Pass the lifelines, Pete,' ordered Code, and all hands passed stout ropes from rigging to house to rail, forward and astern, so that there might be something to leap for when the lass was boarded by a Niagara. Ellenwood got out two stout lines and made one fast around Code's waste, leading it to the starboard bit. The other fastened Jimmy to the port bit, so that if they were washed overboard they might be hauled back to safety and life again. "'Looks like she was blowing up a little,' remarked Pete later in the day, as the lass rolled down to her sheer poles in a sudden rain squall. "'Better take in them top-sills, hadn't he, Skipper?' "'Take in nothing,' snapped Code across the cabin-table. "'Any canvas that comes off this vessel between here and Freekirk Head blows off, unless we have passed all those schooners ahead of us. "'Haven't raised any of them, have you?' "'Not yet, Skipper, but we ought to by night,' said Ellenwood, "'as though he felt he was personally to blame. "'But let me tell you something, Skipper. It's all right to carry sail, but if you get your sticks ripped out you won't be able to get anywhere at all. "'If my sticks go, let them go. I'll take my medicine. "'But I'll tell you this much, Pete, that nobody is going to beat me home while I've got a stick to carry canvas, unless they have a better packet than the charming lass, which I know well they haven't.' "'That's the spirit, Skipper,' yelled Ellenwood, secretly pleased. "'There is no telling exactly what speed certain fishing schooners have made on their great drives from the banks. Some men go so far as to claim that the old China tea clippers have lost their laurels both for daily runs and for passages up to four thousand miles. One ambitious man hazards his opinion, and he is one who ought to know, that a fishing schooner has done her eighteen knots or upward for numerous individual hours, for fishermen, even on record passages, fail to haul the log sometimes for a half a day at a time. Skowfield, however, took occasion to have the log hauled for one especially squally mile, and the figure showed that the lass had covered fifteen knots in the hour, seventeen and a half land miles. She was booming along now, seeming to leap from one great crest to the next, like a giant projectile driven by some irresistible force. She was canted at such an angle that her lee-rail was invisible under the boiling white, and her deck planks seemed a part of the sea. The course was almost exactly south-west, and that first day the lass roared down the Atlantic, passing the wide mouth of Cabot Strait that leads between Newfoundland and Nova Scotia into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. They passed one of the Quebec and Montreal liners, and took pleasure shooting the schooner under her flaring boughs. The next morning at seven, twenty-four hours out, found them three hundred and fifty miles on their course, but what was better than all, showed three sails ahead. Then did the crew of the charming lass rejoice, climbing into the spray-last rigging and yelling wildly against the timmelt of the waters. Nor did the wind subside. It had gone to forty-five miles an hour overnight, and in landlocked harbors, the skippers of big steel passenger vessels shook their heads and refused to venture out into the gale. As well as could be judged, the netty bee, rosam, and herringbone were nearly on even terms twenty miles ahead, all with every stitch set and flying like leaves before a wind. Bend on balloon, Jeb! snapped Scofield when he had considered the task before him. Pete ran joyfully to execute the order, but some of the men hesitated. Up with her roared Pete, and up she went, a great concave hollow of white like the half of a pair. The lass's head went down, and now, instead of attempting to go over the waves, she went through them without argument. Tons of divided water crashed down upon her decks and roared off over the rails. The men at the wheel were nevertheless the knee deep. The sheets strained, the timbers creaked, and the sails roared, and back of all were the wind and the North Atlantic in hot pursuit. By noon it could be seen that the three vessels ahead were commencing to come back, but with terrible slowness. Code, lashed in the weather rigging, studied them for more than an hour through his glasses. Then he'd leap to the deck. Hell's bells! No wonder we can't catch them. Burns has got Stasel set, and I think Tanner has too. Couldn't see Martin. Set Stasel's, all hands. Under the driving of Ellenwood the Stasel was set, and from then on the charming lass sailed on her side. At every roll her sheer poles were buried, and it seemed an open question whether she would ever come up or not. It was at this time that Tip O'Neill, a daring young buck of Freekirk Head, performed the highly dangerous feet of walking from her mane to her fore rigging along the weather run, which fact shows there was foothold on her uppermost side for a man crazy enough to desire it. That Ellenwood and the daring Jimmy Thomas were thoroughly in accord with Schofield's preposterous sail-carrying was a foregone conclusion. But others of the crew were not of the same mind. An hour more here or there seemed a small matter to them, as compared to the chance of drowning and leaving a family unprotected and unprovided for. Schofield sensed this feeling immediately, it had manifested itself, and he called his lieutenants to him. He wished to provide against interference. How's the Halyard's aloft? he commanded, and at this even those two daring souls stood aghast, for it meant that whatever the emergency no sail could be taken off the charming lass. With the end of the Halyard's aloft no man could reach them in time to a verticatastrophe. You're a short drive in there, skipper! roared Pete in amazed admiration. Up them Halyard's go! Oh, Lord, but she's a dog, and she'll stand it! So up the Halyard's went, and with them went a warning, and with them went a warning, that whoever jumped to loosen them would get a gaff-hook in his britches and be hauled down ignominously. This time when the log was hauled for the hour from three to four in the afternoon, it showed a total of seventeen knots, or a fraction under twenty miles for the hour. And best of all, the three flying schooners had come back five miles. By ten o'clock that night Code judged they had come back five more, and knew that the next day would bring the test. They were not in over-deep water here, for the coast of Nova Scotia is extended for miles out under the sea in excellent fishing shoals and banks. At Artamon Bank they switched their course to westward, so as to pass inside of Sable Island and around Cape Sable in the shoalest water possible. Down across western they roared, and almost to Le'ab before midnight came. Now it is one thing to sail like the flying Dutchman with the sun up and one's eyes to use, but it is another to career through the night without taking in a stitch of canvas, trusting to luck and the providence that watches over fishermen, that the compass is good and that no blundering coasters will get in the way. When dawn broke wild and dirty, the charming lass was reeling through the water less than a quarter of a mile of stern of the Roseanne and the Herringbone. Through the murk Code could see the netty bee three miles ahead. An hour, and she had drawn a breast of her two rivals. Another hour, and she had left them a stern. Day had fully broken now, and Code, grinning over his shoulder at the defeated schooners, gave a cry of surprise. For no longer were there two only. Another, plunging through the mist, had come into view. Far back she was, but carrying a spread of canvas that gave indications enough of her speed. But Code spent little time looking back. He gripped the wheel, set his teeth, and urged the lass forward after the netty with every faculty of his power. After that terrible night the crew had lost their fear and worked with enthusiasm. Some hands were always at the pumps when they could be worked, for besides the brine from the fish gathering below, Code feared the vessel had spewed some oakum and was taking a little water forward. Now too the horrible stench of riled bilge water floated over all, compared to which an aged egg is a bouquet of roses. At eight o'clock that morning they rounded Cape Sable at the tip of Nova Scotia, and laid a course a trifle west of north for the final beat home. There was a hundred miles to go, and Byrne still held his three-mile lead. By herself, and loaded only with ballast, the netty was a better sailor in a beating game, for she was older and heavier than the charming lass. But now she had but a thousand quintal of fish compared to the sixteen hundred of her rival. This difference gave the lass much needed stability without which she could never have hoped to win from the Byrne schooner. The two were therefore about equally matched, and it was evident that the contest would resolve itself into one of sail-carrying, seamanship, and nerve. That other fellow's coming up fast, said Pete Ellynwood, and Code looked back to see the strange schooner looming larger and larger in his wake. He knew that no vessel in the Grand Mignon fleet could ever have caught the lass the way he had been driving her, and yet she was not near enough for him to get a good view of her. If she's a fisherman, said Code, I'll pull the lass out of water before she beats us in. It was killing work the last beat home. Hardly would come the command, and some men would go down into the smother of the lee-rail and haul in or slack away sheets, while others at the mastheads would shift top and stacyle-tacks. Her head would swing, there would be a minute of thrashing and roaring of gear, and the gale would leap into her sails and bend her down on her side again. Then away she would go. The station of those on deck was a good two-handed grip on the ring-bolts under the weather rail, where, so great was the slope of the deck, they clung desperately for fear of sliding down and into the swirling torrent. Hour after hour the netty and the lass fought it out, and hour after hour the gale increased. Hurricane warnings had been issued all along the coast, and not a vessel ventured out, but these staunch fishing vessels cared not a wit. It was evident, however, that something must give. Human ingenuity had not constructed a vessel that could stand such driving. Even Pete Ellenwood began to lose his hardiness as the lass went down and stayed down longer with each vicious squall. Shut up, Pete, said Code, when the mate started to speak. No sails comes off but what blows off, and while there's all sail on the netty, I carry all sail if I heave her down for it. Watch him, he'll break, burns his yellow. The words were a prophecy. He had hardly uttered them when down came the great balloon jib of the netty bee. At once the lass began to gain in great leaps and bounds. There were fifty miles from home and two miles only separated them. But fortune had not finished with Code. Half an hour later there came a great sound of tearing, like the volley of small arms, and the lass's balloon jib ripped loose and soared to heaven like some gigantic wounded bird. Let it go, curse it, growled Code. Anyway, I didn't take it down. The loss of her big jib was the only thing that saved the lass from being hoved down completely. For two hours later the gale had reached its height, and she was laboring like a drunken man under her stacyle, topsoil, and four lowers. Twenty miles from home and the two schooners were abreast, tacking together on the long leeward reaches and the short windward ones, as they made across the bay of Fundy. Look at her coming like a racehorse! cried Ellen Wood again, and this time Code recognized the vessel that was pursuing them. It was the mystery schooner, and in all his life at sea Code had never seen a ship fly as that one was flying then. Wonder what she's up to now, he asked vaguely. But he gave no further thought to the matter, for the netty bee claimed all his attention. Suddenly, from between the masts of the burn schooner, a great flutter of white appeared as though someone had hung a huge sheet from her stay. Ha! I told you he was yellow! shouted Code in glee. Somebody's cut away one edge of the stacyle. Now we've got him! And they had, for within a quarter of an hour they left the netty bee a stern, finally defeated, Nat Burns's last act of treachery gone for nothing. But the mystery schooner would not be denied. Though the last made her seventeen knots, the wonderful Malaby schooner did her twenty, with everything spread in that gale, and when the white lighthouse of Swallowtail Point was in plain sight through the merc, she swept by like a magnificent racer and beat the charming last moorings by twenty minutes. Half an hour behind Schofield came the Burns' boat, but in that time Code Schofield had already hurried ashore in his dory and clenched his sail-price with Bill Bouton, who also assured him of the bonus offered for the first vessel in. Like Code the first thing Nat did, when his schooner had come up into the wind with jib and forsel on the run, was to take a dory ashore. In it, besides himself, was a man. These two encountered Code just as he came out of Bouton's store. The second, who was tall and broad-shouldered, threw back his coat and displayed a government shield. Then he laid his hand on Code's arm. Captain Schofield, he said, you are under arrest.