Conversation among the captains was, for the next two days, confined to two topics, speculation as to how soon they might expect a reply from the Nantucket female and whether or not Mr. Langley would discharge Hazeltine. On the latter point Captain Eri was decided.
“He won't be bounced,” said the Captain; “now you just put that down in your log. Langley ain't a fool, and he can put two and two together as well as the next feller. If I thought there was any need of it, I'd just drop him a hint myself, but there ain't, so I shan't put my oar in. But I wish you two could have heard that youngster talk to that McLoughlin critter; 'twould have done you good. That boy's all right.”
Captain Jerry was alone when the expected letter came. He glanced at the postmark, saw that it was Nantucket, and stuck the note behind the clock. He did his best to forget it, but he looked so guilty when Captain Perez returned at supper time that that individual suspected something, made his friend confess, and, a little later when Captain Eri came in, the envelope, bearing many thumb-prints, was propped up against the sugar bowl in the middle of the table.
“We didn't open it, Eri,” said Perez proudly. “We did want to, but we thought all hands ought to be on deck when anything as important as this was goin' to be done.”
“He's been holdin' it up to the light for the last ha'f hour,” sneered Captain Jerry. “Anybody 'd think it had a million dollars in it. For the land's sake, open it, Eri, 'fore he has a fit!”
Captain Eri picked up the letter, looked it over very deliberately, and then tore off the end of the envelope. The inclosure was another sheet of note paper like the first epistle. The Captain took out his spectacles, wiped them, and read the following aloud:
“CAPTAIN JEREMIAH BURGESS.
“Sir: I like your looks well enough, though it don't pay to put too much dependence in looks, as nobody knows better than me. Besides, I judge that picture was took quite a spell ago. Anyway, you look honest, and I am willing to risk money enough to carry me to Orham and back, though the dear land knows I ain't got none to throw away. If we don't agree to sign articles, I suppose likely you will be willing to stand half the fare. That ain't any more than right, the way I look at it. I shall come to Orham on the afternoon train, Thursday. Meet me at the depot.
“Yours truly,
“MARTHA B. SNOW.
“P. S.—I should have liked it better if you was a Methodist, but we can't have everything just as we want it in this world.”
Nobody spoke for a moment after the reading of this intensely practical note. Captain Eri whistled softly, scratched his head, and then read the letter over again to himself. At length Captain Perez broke the spell.
“Jerusalem!” he exclaimed. “She don't lose no time, does she?”
“She's pretty prompt, that's a fact,” assented Captain Eri.
Captain Jerry burst forth in indignation:
“Is THAT all you've got to say?” he inquired with sarcasm, “after gittin' me into a scrape like this? Well now, I tell you one thing, I—”
“Don't go on your beam ends, Jerry,” interrupted Captain Eri. “There ain't no harm done yit.”
“Ain't no harm done? Why how you talk, Eri Hedge! Here's a woman that I ain't never seen, and might be a hundred years old, for all I know, comin' down here to-morrow night to marry me by main force, as you might say, and you set here and talk about—”
“Now, hold on, hold on, Jerry! She ain't goin' to marry you unless you want her to, 'tain't likely. More I think of it, the more I like the woman's way of doin' things. She's got sense, there's no doubt of that. You can't sell HER a cat in a bag. She's comin' down here to see you and talk the thing over, and I glory in her spunk.”
“Wants me to pay her fare! I see myself doin' it! I've got ways enough to spend my money without paying fares for Nantucket folks.”
“If you and she sign articles, as she calls it, you'll have to pay more than fares,” said Captain Perez, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think same as Eri does; she's a smart woman. We'll have to meet her at the depot, of course.”
“Well I won't! Cheeky thing! Let her find out where I am! I cal'late she'll have to do some huntin'.”
“Now, see here, Jerry,” said Captain Eri, “you was jest as anxious to have one of us get married as anybody else. You haven't got to marry the woman unless you want to, but you have got to help us see the thing through. I wish myself that we hadn't been quite so pesky anxious to give her the latitude and longitude, and had took some sort of an observation ourselves; but we didn't, and now we've got to treat her decent. You'll be at that depot along with Perez and me.”
When Captain Eri spoke in that tone his two cronies usually obeyed orders. Even the rebellious Jerry, who had a profound respect for his younger friend, gave in after some grumbling.
They sat up until late, speculating concerning the probable age and appearance of the expected visitor. Captain Perez announced that he didn't know why it was, but he had a notion that she was about forty and slim. Captain Jerry, who was in a frame of mind where agreement with anyone was out of the question, gave it as his opinion that she was thirty odd and rather plump. Captain Eri didn't hazard a guess, but suggested that they wait and see.
But even Captain Eri's calmness was more or less assumed, for he did not go fishing the next morning, but stayed about the house, whittling at the model of a clipper ship and tormenting Captain Jerry. The model was one that he had been at work upon at odd times ever since he gave up sea-going. It had never been completed for the very good reason that when one part was finished the Captain tore another part to pieces, and began over again. It was a sort of barometer of his feelings, and when his companions saw him take down the clipper and go to work, they knew he was either thinking deeply upon a perplexing problem or was troubled in his mind.
Captain Perez sang a good deal, principally confining his musical efforts to a ballad with a chorus of,
| “Storm along, John;
| John, storm along;
| Ain't I glad my day's work's done!”
Also, he glanced at his watch every few minutes and then went to consult the chronometer to make sure of the time.
Captain Jerry went up to the schoolhouse and gave its vacant rooms a thorough sweeping for no particular reason except to be doing something. His appetite was poor, and he actually forgot to feed Lorenzo, a hitherto unheard-of slight, and one that brought down upon him a long lecture from Captain Eri, who vowed that loss of memory was a sure sign of lovesickness.
They started for the railway station immediately after supper. As they passed John Baxter's house they noticed a light in an upper chamber, and wondered if the old man was ill. Captain Eri would have stopped to find out, but Captain Perez insisted that it could be done just as well when they came back, and expressed a fear that they might miss the train. Captain Jerry hadn't spoken since they left home, and walked gloomily ahead with his hands in his pockets.
Mr. “Web” Saunders, fat and in his pink-striped shirtsleeves, sat upon the steps of his saloon as they went by. He wished them an unctuous good-evening. The oily smoothness of Mr. Saunders' voice cannot be described with plain pen and ink; it gurgled with sweetness, like molasses poured from a jug. This was not a special tone put on for the occasion; no one except his wife ever heard him speak otherwise.
The response from the three captains was not enthusiastic, but Mr. Saunders continued to talk of the weather, the fishing, and the cranberry crop until a customer came and gave them a chance to get away.
“Slick! slick! slick!” commented Captain Eri, as they hurried along. “Blessed if he don't pretty nigh purr. I like a cat fust-rate, but I'm always suspicious of a cat-man. You know he's got claws, but you can't tell where he's goin' to use 'em. When a feller like that comes slidin' around and rubbin' his head against my shin, I always feel like keepin' t'other foot ready for a kick. You're pretty sartin to need it one time or another.”
The train was nearly an hour late this evening, owing to a hot box, and the “ex-seafaring man” and his two friends peered anxiously out at it from around the corner of the station. The one coach stopped directly under the lights, and they could see the passengers as they came down the steps. Two or three got out, but these were men. Then came an apparition that caused Captain Jerry to gasp and clutch at Perez for support.
Down the steps of the car came a tall, coal-black negress, and in her hand was a canvas extension case, on the side of which was blazoned in two-inch letters the fateful name, “M. B. Snow, Nantucket.”
Captain Eri gazed at this astounding spectacle for a full thirty seconds. Then he woke up.
“Godfrey domino!” he ejaculated. “BLACK! BLACK! Run! Run for your lives, 'fore she sees us!”
This order was superfluous. Captain Jerry was already half-way to the fence, and going at a rate which bid fair to establish a record for his age. The others fell into his wake, and the procession moved across country like a steeplechase.
They climbed over stone walls and splashed into meadows. They took every short cut between the station and their home. As they came in sight of the latter, Captain Perez' breath gave out almost entirely.
“Heave to!” he gasped. “Heave to, or I'll founder. I wouldn't run another step for all the darkies in the West Indies.”
Captain Eri paused, but it was only after a struggle that Captain Jerry was persuaded to halt.
“I shan't do it, Eri!” he vowed wildly. “I shan't do it! There ain't no use askin' me; I won't marry that black woman! I won't, by thunder!”
“There! there! Jerry!” said Captain Eri soothingly. “Nobody wants you to. There ain't no danger now. She didn't see us.”
“Ain't no danger! There you go again, Eri Hedge! She'll ask where I live and come right down in the depot wagon. Oh! Lordy! Lordy!”
The frantic sacrifice was about to bound away again, when Captain Eri caught him by the arm.
“I'll tell you what,” he said, “we'll scoot for Eldredge's shanty and hide there till she gits tired and goes away. P'raps she won't come, anyhow.”
The deserted fish shanty, property of the heirs of the late Nathaniel Eldredge, was situated in a hollow close to the house. In a few moments the three were inside, with a sawhorse against the door. Then Captain Eri pantingly sat down on an overturned bucket and laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
“That's it, laff!” almost sobbed Captain Jerry. “Set there and tee-hee like a Bedlamite. It's what you might expect. Wait till the rest of the town finds out about this; they'll do the laffin' then, and you won't feel so funny. We'll never hear the last of it in this world. If that darky comes down here, I'll—I'll drown her; I will—”
“I don't blame Jerry,” said Perez indignantly. “I don't see much to laff at. Oh, my soul and body there she comes now.”
They heard the rattle of a heavy carriage, and, crowding together at the cobwebbed window, saw the black shape of the “depot wagon” rock past. They waited, breathless, until they saw it go back again up the road.
“Did you lock the dining-room door, Perez?” asked Captain Eri.
“Course I didn't. Why should I?”
It was a rather senseless question. Nobody locks doors in Orham except at bedtime.
“Humph!” grunted Captain Eri. “She'll see the light in the dining room, and go inside and wait, more 'n likely. Well, there's nothin' for us to do but to stay here for a while, and then, if she ain't gone, one of us 'll have to go up and tell her she won't suit and pay her fare home, that's all. I think Jerry ought to be the one,” he added mischievously. “He bein' the bridegroom, as you might say.”
“Me!” almost shouted the frantic Captain Jerry. “You go to grass! You fellers got me into this scrape, and now let's see you git me out of it. I don't stir one step.”
They sat there in darkness, the silence unbroken, save for an occasional chuckle from the provoking Eri. Perez, however, was meditating, and observed, after a while:
“Snow! That's a queer name for a darky, ain't it?”
“That colored man up at Barry's place was named White,” said Captain Jerry, “and he was black as your hat. Names don't count.”
“They say colored folks make good cooks, Jerry,” slyly remarked Eri. “Maybe you'd better think it over.”
The unlucky victim of chance did not deign an answer, and the minutes crept slowly by. After a long while they heard someone whistling. Perez went to the window to take an observation.
“It's a man,” he said disappointedly. “He's been to our house, too. My land! I hope he didn't go in. It's that feller Hazeltine; that's who 'tis.”
“Is it?” exclaimed Eri eagerly. “That's so! so 'tis. Let's give him a hail.”
Before he could be stopped he had pulled the saw-horse from the door, had opened the latter a little way, and, with his face at the opening, was whistling shrilly.
The electrician looked up and down the dark road in a puzzled sort of way, but evidently could not make up his mind from what quarter the whistles came.
“Mr. Hazeltine!” hailed the Captain, in what might be called a whispered yell or a shouted whisper. “Mr. Hazeltine! Here, on your lee bow. In the shanty.”
The word “shanty” was the only part of the speech that brought light to Ralph's mind, but that was sufficient; he came down the hill, left the road, and plunged through the blackberry vines to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked. “Why, hello, Captain! What on earth—”
Captain Eri signaled him to silence, and then, catching his arm, pulled him into the shanty and shut the door. Captain Jerry hastened to set the saw-horse in place again.
“Mr. Hazeltine,” said Captain Eri, “let me make you acquainted with Cap'n Perez and Cap'n Jerry, shipmates of mine. You've heard me speak of 'em.”
Ralph, in the darkness, shook two big hands and heard whispered voices express themselves as glad to know him.
“You see,” continued Eri in a somewhat embarrassed fashion, “we're sort of layin' to, as yer might say, waitin' to git our bearin's. We ain't out of our heads; I tell you that, 'cause I know that's what it looks like.”
The bewildered Hazeltine laughed and said he was glad to hear it. To tell the truth, he had begun to think that something or other had suddenly driven his nearest neighbors crazy.
“I—I—I don't know how to explain it to you,” the Captain stumbled on. “Fact is, I guess I won't jest yit, if you don't mind. It does sound so pesky ridic'lous, although it ain't, when you understand it. What we want to know is, have you been to our house and is there anybody there?”
“Why, yes, I've been there. I rowed over and dropped in for a minute, as you suggested the other day. The housekeeper—I suppose it was the housekeeper—that opened the door, said you were out, and I—”
He was interrupted by a hopeless groan.
“I knew it!” wailed Captain Jerry. “I knew it! And you said there wa'n't no danger, Eri!”
“Hush up, Jerry, a minute, for the love of goodness! What was she doin', Mr. Hazeltine, this woman you thought was the housekeeper? Did she look as if she was gettin' ready to go out? Did she have her bunnit on?”
“No. She seemed to be very much at home. That's why I thought—”
But again Captain Jerry broke in, “Well, by mighty!” he ejaculated. “That's nice, now, ain't it! SHE goin' away! You bet she ain't! She's goin' to stay there and wait, if it's forever. She's got too good a thing. Jest as like 's not, M'lissy Busteed, or some other gab machine like her, 'll be the next one to call, and if they see that great black critter! Oh! my soul!”
“Black!” said Ralph amazedly. “Why, the woman at your house isn't black. She's as white as I am, and not bad-looking for a woman of her age.”
“WHAT?” This was the trio in chorus. Then Captain Eri said:
“Mr. Hazeltine, now, honest and true, is that a fact?”
“Of course it's a fact.”
The Captain wiped his forehead. “Mr. Hazeltine,” he said, “if anybody had told me a fortn't ago that I was one of the three biggest fools in Orham, I'd have prob'ly rared up some. As 'tis now, I cal'late I'd thank him for lettin' me off so easy. You'll have to excuse us to-night, I'm afraid. We're in a ridic'lous scrape that we've got to git out of all alone. I'll tell you 'bout it some day. Jest now wish you'd keep this kind of quiet to oblige me.”
Hazeltine saw that this was meant as a gentle hint for his immediate departure, and although he had a fair share of curiosity, felt there was nothing else to do. He promised secrecy, promised faithfully to call again later in the week, and then, the sawhorse having been removed by Captain Perez,—Captain Jerry was apparently suffering from a sort of dazed paralysis,—he went away. As soon as he had gone, Captain Eri began to lay down the law.
“Now then,” he said, “there's been some sort of a mistake; that's plain enough. More 'n likely, the darky took the wrong satchel when she got up to come out of the car. That woman at the house is the real Marthy Snow all right, and we've got to go right up there and see her. Come on!”
But Captain Jerry mutinied outright. He declared that the sight of that darky had sickened him of marrying forever, and that he would not see the candidate from Nantucket, nor any other candidate. No persuasion could budge him. He simply would not stir from that shanty until the house had been cleared of female visitors.
“Go and see her yourself, if you're so set on it,” he declared. “I shan't!”
“All right,” said Captain Eri calmly. “I will. I'll tell her you're bashful, but jest dyin' to be married, and that she can have you if she only waits long enough.”
With this he turned on his heel and walked out.
“Hold on, Eri!” shouted the frantic Jerry. “Don't you do it! Don't you tell her that! Land of love, Perez, do you s'pose he will?”
“I don't know,” was the answer in a disgusted tone. “You hadn't ought to have been so pig-headed, Jerry.”
Captain Eri, with set teeth and determination written on his face, walked straight to the dining-room door. Drawing a long breath, he opened it and stepped inside. A woman, who had been sitting in Captain Perez' rocker, rose as he entered.
The woman looked at the Captain and the Captain looked at her. She was of middle age, inclined to stoutness, with a pair of keen eyes behind brass-rimmed spectacles, and was dressed in a black “alpaca” gown that was faded a little in places and had been neatly mended in others. She spoke first.
“You're not Cap'n Burgess?” she said.
“No, ma'am,” said the Captain uneasily. “My name is Hedge. I'm a sort of messmate of his. You're Miss Snow?”
“Mrs. Snow. I'm a widow.”
They shook hands. Mrs. Snow calmly expectant; the Captain very nervous and not knowing how to begin.
“I feel as if I knew you, Cap'n Hedge,” said the widow, as the Captain slid into his own rocker. “The boy on the depot wagon told me a lot about you and Cap'n Ryder and Cap'n Burgess.”
“Did, hey?” The Captain inwardly vowed vengeance on his chum's grandnephew. “Hope he gave us a clean bill.”
“Well, he didn't say nothin' against you, if that's what you mean. If he had, I don't think it would have made much diff'rence. I've lived long enough to want to find out things for myself, and not take folks' say-so.”
The lady seeming to expect some sort of answer to this statement, Captain Eri expressed his opinion that the plan of finding out things for one's self was a good “idee.” Then, after another fidgety silence, he observed that it was a fine evening. There being no dispute on this point, he endeavored to think of something else to say. Mrs. Snow, however, saved him the trouble.
“Cap'n Hedge,” she said, “as I'm here on what you might call a bus'ness errand, and as I've been waitin' pretty nigh two hours already, p'raps we'd better talk about somethin' besides fine evenin's. I've got to be lookin' up a hotel or boardin' house or somewheres to stay to-night, and I can't wait much longer. I jedge you got my letter and was expectin' me. Now, if it ain't askin' too much, I'd like to know where Cap'n Burgess is, and why he wa'n't at the depot to meet me.”
This was a leading question, and the Captain was more embarrassed than ever. However, he felt that something had to be done and that it was wisest to get it over with as soon as possible.
“Well, ma'am,” he said, “we—we got your letter all right, and, to tell you the truth, we was at the depot—Perez and me and Jerry.”
“You WAS! Well, then, for the land of goodness, why didn't you let me know it? Such a time as I had tryin' to find out where you lived and all!”
The Captain saw but one plausible explanation, and that was the plain truth. Slowly he told the story of the colored woman and the extension case. The widow laughed until her spectacles fell off.
“Well, there!” she exclaimed. “If that don't beat all! I don't blame Cap'n Burgess a mite. Poor thing! I guess I'd have run, too, if I'd have seen that darky. She was settin' right in the next seat to me, and she had a shut-over bag consid'rable like mine, and when she got up to git out, she took mine by mistake. I was a good deal put out about it, and I expect I talked to her like a Dutch uncle when I caught up with her. Dear! dear! Where is Cap'n Burgess?”
“He's shut up in a fish shanty down the road, and he's so upsot that I dunno's he'll stir from there tonight. Jerry ain't prejudiced, but that darky was too much for him.”
And then they both laughed, the widow because of the ludicrous nature of the affair and the Captain because of the relief that the lady's acceptance of it afforded his mind.
Mrs. Snow was the first to become grave. “Cap'n Hedge,” she said, “there's one or two things I must say right here. In the first place, I ain't in the habit of answerin' advertisements from folks that wants to git married; I ain't so hard up for a man as all that comes to. Next thing, I didn't come down here with my mind made up to marry Cap'n Burgess, not by no means. I wanted to see him and talk with him, and tell him jest all about how things was with me and find out about him and then—why, if everything was shipshape, I might, p'raps, think about—”
“Jest so, ma'am, jest so,” broke in her companion. “That's about the way we felt. You see, there's prob'ly a long story on both sides, and if you'll excuse me I'll go down to the shanty and see if I can't git Jerry up here. It'll be a job, I'm 'fraid, but—”
“No, you shan't either. I'll tell you what we'll do. It's awful late now and I must be gittin' up to the tavern. S'pose, if 'tain't too much trouble, you walk up there with me and I'll stay there to-night and to-morrer I'll come down here, and we'll all have a common-sense talk. P'raps by that time your friend 'll have the darky woman some off his mind, too.”
Needless to say Captain Eri agreed to this plan with alacrity. The widow carefully tied on a black, old-fashioned bonnet, picked up a fat, wooden-handled umbrella and the extension case, and said that she was ready.
They walked up the road together, the Captain carrying the extension case. They talked, but not of matrimonial prospects. Mrs. Snow knew almost as much about the sea and the goings and comings thereon as did her escort, and the conversation was salty in the extreme. It developed that the Nantucket lady had a distant relative who was in the life-saving service at Cuttyhunk station, and as the Captain knew every station man for twenty miles up and down the coast, wrecks and maritime disasters of all kinds were discussed in detail.
At the Traveler's Rest Mrs. Snow was introduced by the unblushing Eri as a cousin from Provincetown, and, after some controversy concerning the price of board and lodging, she was shown up to her room. Captain Eri walked home, absorbed in meditation. Whatever his thoughts were they were not disagreeable, for he smiled and shook his head more than once, as if with satisfaction. As he passed John Baxter's house he noticed that the light in the upper window was still burning.
Captain Perez was half asleep when Eri opened the door of the shanty. Captain Jerry, however, was very much awake and demanded to be told things right away. His friend briefly explained the situation.
“I don't care if she stays here till doomsday,” emphatically declared the disgruntled one, “I shan't marry her. What's she like, anyhow?”
He was surprised at the enthusiasm of Captain Eri's answer.
“She's a mighty good woman; that's what I think she is, and she'd make a fust-class wife for any man. I hope you'll say so, too, when you see her. There ain't nothin' hity-tity about her, but she's got more common-sense than any woman I ever saw. But there! I shan't talk another bit about her to-night. Come on home and turn in.”
And go home and turn in they did, but not without protestation from the pair who had yet to meet the woman from Nantucket.
“All hands on deck! Turn out there! Turnout!”
Captain Eri grunted and rolled over in his bed; for a moment or two he fancied himself back in the fo'castle of the Sea Mist, the bark in which he had made his first voyage. Then, as he grew wider awake, he heard, somewhere in the distance, a bell ringing furiously.
“Turn out, all hands! Turn out!”
Captain Eri sat up. That voice was no part of a dream. It belonged to Captain Jerry, and the tone of it meant business. The bell continued to ring.
“Aye, aye, Jerry! What's the matter?” he shouted.
“Fire! There's a big fire up in the village. Look out of the window, and you can see. They're ringing the schoolhouse bell; don't you hear it?”
The Captain, wide awake enough by this time, jumped out of bed, carrying the blankets with him, and ran to the window. Opening it, he thrust out his head. The wind had changed to the eastward, and a thick fog had come in with it. The house was surrounded by a wet, black wall, but off to the west a red glow shone through it, now brighter and now fainter. The schoolhouse bell was turning somersaults in its excitement.
Only once, since Captain Jerry had been janitor, had the schoolhouse bell been rung except in the performance of its regular duties. That once was on a night before the Fourth of July, when some mischievous youngsters climbed in at a window and proclaimed to sleeping Orham that Young America was celebrating the anniversary of its birth. Since then, on nights before the Fourth, Captain Jerry had slept in the schoolhouse, armed with a horsewhip and an ancient navy revolver. The revolver was strictly for show, and the horsewhip for use, but neither was called into service, for even if some dare-devil spirits did venture near the building, the Captain's snores, as he slumbered by the front door, were danger signals that could not be disregarded.
But there was no flavor of the Fourth in the bell's note this night. Whoever the ringer might be, he was ringing as though it was his only hope for life, and the bell swung back and forth without a pause. The red glow in the fog brightened again as the Captain gazed at it.
Captain Jerry came tumbling up the stairs, breathless and half dressed.
“Where do you make it out to be?” he panted.
“Somewhere's nigh the post-office. Looks 's if it might be Weeks's store. Where's Perez?”
Captain Eri had lighted a lamp and was pulling on his boots, as he spoke.
“Here I be!” shouted the missing member of the trio from the dining room below. “I'm all ready. Hurry up, Eri!”
Captain Eri jumped into his trousers, slipped into a faded pea-jacket and clattered downstairs, followed by the wildly excited Jerry.
“Good land, Perez!” he cried, as he came into the dining room, “I thought you said you was all ready!”
Captain Perez paused in the vain attempt to make Captain Jerry's hat cover his own cranium and replied indignantly, “Well, I am, ain't I?”
“Seems to me I'd put somethin' on my feet besides them socks, if I was you. You might catch cold.”
Perez glanced down at his blue-yarn extremities in blank astonishment. “Well, now,” he exclaimed, “if I hain't forgot my boots!”
“Well, git 'em on, and be quick. There's your hat. Give Jerry his.”
The excited Perez vanished through the door of his chamber, and Captain Eri glanced at the chronometer; the time was a quarter after two.
They hurried out of the door and through the yard. The wind, as has been said, was from the east, but there was little of it and, except for the clanging of the bell, the night was very still. The fog was heavy and wet, and the trees and bushes dripped as if from a shower. There was the salt smell of the marshes in the air, and the hissing and splashing of the surf on the outer beach were plainly to be heard. Also there was the clicking sound of oars in row-locks.
“Somebody is comin' over from the station,” gasped Captain Jerry. “Don't run so, Eri. It's too dark. I've pretty nigh broke my neck already.”
They passed the lily pond, where the frogs had long since adjourned their concert and gone to bed, dodged through the yard of the tightly shuttered summer hotel, and came out at the corner of the road, having saved some distance by the “short-cut.”
“That ain't Weeks's store,” declared Captain Perez, who was in the lead. “It's Web Saunders's place; that's what it is.”
Captain Eri paused and looked over to the left in the direction of the Baxter homestead. The light in the window was still burning.
They turned into the “main road” at a dog trot and became part of a crowd of oddly dressed people, all running in the same direction.
“Web's place, ain't it?” asked Eri of Seth Wingate, who was lumbering along with a wooden bucket in one hand and the pitcher of his wife's best washstand set in the other.
“Yes,” breathlessly answered Mr. Wingate, “and it's a goner, they tell me. Every man's got to do his part if they're going to save it. I allers said we ought to have a fire department in this town.”
Considering that Seth had, for the past eight years, persistently opposed in town-meeting any attempt to purchase a hand engine, this was a rather surprising speech, but no one paid any attention to it then.
The fire was in the billiard saloon sure enough, and the back portion of the building was in a blaze when they reached it. Ladders were placed against the eaves, and a line of men with buckets were pouring water on the roof. The line extended to the town pump, where two energetic youths in their shirtsleeves were working the handle with might and main. The houses near at hand were brilliantly illuminated, and men and women were bringing water from them in buckets, tin pails, washboilers, and even coalscuttles.
Inside the saloon another hustling crowd was busily working to “save” Mr. Saunders' property. A dozen of the members had turned the biggest pool table over on its back and were unscrewing the legs, heedless of the fact that to attempt to get the table through the front door was an impossibility and that, as the back door was in the thickest of the fire, it, too, was out of the question. A man appeared at the open front window of the second story with his arms filled with bottles of various liquids, “original packages” and others. These, with feverish energy, he threw one by one into the street, endangering the lives of everyone in range and, of course, breaking every bottle thrown. Some one of the cooler heads calling his attention to these facts, he retired and carefully packed all the empty bottles, the only ones remaining, into a peach basket and tugged the latter downstairs and to a safe place on a neighboring piazza. Then he rested from his labors as one who had done all that might reasonably be expected.
Mr. Saunders himself, lightly attired in a nightshirt tucked into a pair of trousers, was rushing here and there, now loudly demanding more water, and then stopping to swear at the bottle-thrower or some other enthusiast. “Web's” smoothness was all gone, and the language he used was, as Abigail Mullett said afterward, “enough to bring down a jedgment on anybody.”
Captain Eri caught him by the sleeve as he was running past and inquired, “How'd it start, Web?”
“How'd it START? I know mighty well HOW it started, and 'fore I git through I'll know WHO started it. Somebody 'll pay for this, now you hear me! Hurry up with the water, you—”
He tore frantically away to the pump and the three captains joined the crowd of volunteer firemen. Captain Eri, running round to the back of the building, took in the situation at once. Back of the main portion of the saloon was an ell, and it was in this ell that the fire had started. The ell, itself, was in a bright blaze, but the larger building in front was only just beginning to burn. The Captain climbed one of the ladders to the roof and called to the men at work there.
“That shed's gone, Ben,” he said. “Chuck your water on the main part here. Maybe, if we had some ropes we might be able to pull the shed clear, and then we could save the rest.”
“How'd you fasten the ropes?” was the panted reply. “She's all ablaze, and a rope would burn through in a minute if you tied it anywheres.”
“Git some grapples and anchors out of Rogers' shop. He's got a whole lot of 'em. Keep on with the water bus'ness. I'll git the other stuff.”
He descended the ladder and explained his idea to the crowd below. There was a great shout and twenty men and boys started on a run after ropes, while as many more stormed at the door of Nathaniel Rogers' blacksmith shop. Rogers was the local dealer in anchors and other marine ironwork. The door of the shop was locked and there was a yell for axes to burst it open.
Then arose an agonized shriek of “Don't chop! don't chop!” and Mr. Rogers himself came struggling to the defense of his property. In concert the instant need was explained to him, but he remained unconvinced.
“We can't stay here arguin' all night!” roared one of the leaders. “He's got to let us in. Go ahead and chop! I'll hold him.”
“I give you fair warnin', Squealer Wixon! If you chop that door, I'll have the law onto you. I just had that door painted, and—STOP! I've got the key in my pocket!”
It was plain that the majority were still in favor of chopping, as affording a better outlet for surplus energy, but they waited while Mr. Rogers, still protesting, produced the key and unlocked the door. In another minute the greater portion of the ironwork in the establishment was on its way to the fire.
The rope-seekers were just returning, laden with everything from clothes-lines to cables. Half a dozen boat anchors and a grapnel were fastened to as many ropes, and the crowd pranced gayly about the burning ell, looking for a chance to make them fast. Captain Eri found a party with axes endeavoring to cut a hole through the side of the saloon in order to get out the pool table. After some endeavor he persuaded them to desist and they came around to the rear and, taking turns, ran in close to the shed and chopped at it until the fire drove them away. At last they made a hole close to where it joined the main building, large enough to attach the grapnel. Then, with a “Yo heave ho!” everyone took hold of the rope and pulled. Of course the grapnel pulled out with only a board or two, but they tried again, and, this time getting it around a beam, pulled a large portion of the shed to the ground.
Meanwhile, another ax party had attached an anchor to the opposite side, and were making good progress. In due time the shed yawned away from the saloon, tottered, and collapsed in a shower of sparks. A deluge of water soon extinguished these. Then everyone turned to the main building, and, as the fire had not yet taken a firm hold of this, they soon had it under control.
Captain Eri worked with the rest until he saw that the worst was over. Then he began the search that had been in his mind since he first saw the blaze. He found Captain Jerry and Captain Perez perspiringly passing buckets of water from hand to hand in the line, and, calling them to one side, asked anxiously:
“Have either of you fellers seen John Baxter tonight?”
Captain Perez looked surprised, and then some of the trouble discernible in Eri's face was apparent in his own.
“Why, no,” he replied slowly, “I ain't seen him, now you speak of it. Everybody in town's here, too. Queer, ain't it?
“Haven't you seen him, either, Jerry?”
Captain Jerry answered with a shake of the head. “But then,” he said, “Perez and me have been right here by the pump ever sence we come. He might be 'most anywheres else, and we wouldn't see him. Want me to ask some of the other fellers?”
“No!” exclaimed his friend, almost fiercely. “Don't you mention his name to a soul, nor let 'em know you've thought of him. If anybody should ask, tell 'em you guess he's right around somewheres. You two git to work ag'in. I'll let you know if I want you.”
The pair took up their buckets, and the Captain walked on from group to group, looking carefully at each person. The Reverend Perley and some of his flock were standing by themselves on a neighboring stoop, and to them the searcher turned eagerly.
“Why, Cap'n Eri!” exclaimed Miss Busteed, the first to identify him, “how you've worked! You must be tired pretty nigh to death. Ain't it awful! But it's the Lord's doin's; I'm jest as sure of that as I can be, and I says so to Mr. Perley. Didn't I, Mr. Perley? I says—”
“Lookin' for anybody, Cap'n?” interrupted the reverend gentleman.
“No,” lied the Captain calmly, “jest walkin' around to git cooled off a little. Good-night.”
There was the most likely place, and John Baxter was not there. Certainly every citizen in Orham, who was able to crawl, would be out this night, and if the old puritan hermit of the big house was not present to exult over the downfall of the wicked, it would be because he was ill or because—The Captain didn't like to think of the other reason.
Mrs. “Web” Saunders, quietly weeping, was seated on a knoll near the pump. Three of the Saunders' hopefuls, also weeping, but not quietly, were seated beside her. Another, the youngest of the family, was being rocked soothingly in the arms of a stout female, who was singing to it as placidly as though fires were an every day, or night, occurrence. The Captain peered down, and the stout woman looked up.
“Why, Mrs. Snow!” exclaimed Captain Eri.
The lady from Nantucket made no immediate reply. She rose, however, shook down the black “alpaca” skirt, which had been folded up to keep it out of the dew, and, still humming softly to the child, walked off a little way, motioning with her head for the Captain to follow. When she had reached a spot sufficiently remote from Mrs. Saunders, she whispered:
“How d'ye do, Cap'n Hedge? I guess the wust is over now, isn't it? I saw you workin' with them ropes; you must be awful tired.”
“How long have you been here?” asked the Captain somewhat astonished at her calmness.
“Oh, I come right down as soon as I heard the bell. I'm kind of used to fires. My husband's schooner got afire twice while I was with him. He used to run a coal vessel, you know. I got right up and packed my bag, 'cause I didn't know how the fire might spread. You never can tell in a town like this. Ssh'h, dearie,” to the baby, “there, there, it's all right. Lay still.”
“How'd you git acquainted with her?” nodding toward the wife of the proprietor of the scorched saloon.
“Oh, I see the poor thing settin' there with all them children and nobody paying much attention to her, so I went over and asked if I couldn't help out. I haven't got any children of my own, but I was number three in a fam'ly of fourteen, so I know how it's done. Oh! that husband of hers! He's a nice one, he is! Would you b'lieve it, he come along and she spoke to him, and he swore at her somethin' dreadful. That's why she's cryin'. Poor critter, I guess by the looks she's used to it. Well, I give HIM a piece of my mind. He went away with a flea in his ear. I do despise a profane man above all things. Yes, the baby's all right, Mrs. Saunders. I'm a-comin'. Good-night, Cap'n Hedge. I s'pose I shall see you all in the mornin'. You ought to be careful and not stand still much this damp night. It's bad when you're het up so.”
She went back, still singing to the baby, to where Mrs. Saunders sat, and the Captain looked after her in a kind of amazed fashion.
“By mighty!” he muttered, and then repeated it. Then he resumed his search.
He remembered that there had been a number of people on the side of the burning shed opposite that on which he had been employed, and he determined to have one look there before going to the Baxter homestead. Almost the first man he saw as he approached the dying fire was Ralph Hazeltine. The electrician's hands and face were blackened by soot, and the perspiration sparkled on his forehead.
“Hello, Captain!” he said, holding out his hand. “Lively for a while, wasn't it? They tell me you were the man who suggested pulling down the shed. It saved the day, all right enough.”
“You look as if you'd been workin' some yourself. Was you one of the fellers that got that anchor in on this side?”
“He was THE one,” broke in Mr. Wingate, who was standing at Hazeltine's elbow. “He waded in with an ax and stayed there till I thought he'd burn the hair off his head. Web ought to pay you and him salvage, Eri. The whole craft would have gone up if it hadn't been for you two.”
“I wonder if they got that pool table out,” laughed Ralph. “They did everything but saw it into chunks.”
“I never saw Bluey Bacheldor work so afore,” commented the Captain. “I wish somebody'd took a photograph of him. I'll bet you could sell 'em round town for curiosities. Well, I can't be standin' here.”
“If you're going home I'll go along with you. I may as well be getting down toward the station. The excitement is about over.”
“I ain't goin' right home, Mr. Hazeltine. I've got an errand to do. Prob'ly I'll be goin' pretty soon, though.”
“Oh, all right! I'll wait here a while longer then. See you later perhaps.”
The fog had lifted somewhat and as the Captain, running silently, turned into the “shore road,” he saw that the light in the Baxter homestead had not been extinguished. The schoolhouse bell had ceased to ring, and the shouts of the crowd at the fire sounded faintly. There were no other sounds.
Up the driveway Captain Eri hurried. There were no lights in the lower part of the house and the dining-room door was locked. The kitchen door, however, was not fastened and the Captain opened it and entered. Shutting it carefully behind him, he groped along to the entrance of the next room.
“John!” he called softly. There was no answer, and the house was perfectly still save for the ticking of the big clock. Captain Eri scratched a match and by its light climbed the stairs. His friend's room was empty. The lamp was burning on the bureau and a Bible was open beside it. The bed had not been slept in.
Thoroughly alarmed now, the Captain, lamp in hand, went through one room after the other. John Baxter was not at home, and he was not with the crowd at the fire. Where was he? There was, of course, a chance that his friend had passed him on the way or that he had been at the fire, after all, but this did not seem possible. However, there was nothing to do but go back, and this time the Captain took the path across the fields.
The Baxter house was on the “shore road,” and the billiard room and post-office were on the “main road.” People in a hurry sometimes avoided the corner by climbing the fence opposite the Baxter gate, going through the Dawes' pasture and over the little hill back of the livery stable, and coming out in the rear of the post-office and close to the saloon.
Captain Eri, worried, afraid to think of the fire and its cause, and only anxious to ascertain where his friend was and what he had been doing that night, trotted through the pasture and over the hill. Just as he came to the bayberry bushes on the other side he stumbled and fell flat.
He knew what it was that he had stumbled over the moment that he fell across it, and his fingers trembled, so that he could scarcely scratch the match that he took from his pocket. But it was lighted at last and, as its tiny blaze grew brighter, the Captain saw John Baxter lying face downward in the path, his head pointed toward his home and his feet toward the billiard saloon.
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