CHAPTER XXXIV
_In Which Skipper Bill, as a Desperate Expedient, Contemplates the Use of His Teeth, and Archie Armstrong, to Save His Honour, Sets Sail in a Basket, But Seems to Have Come a Cropper_
Billy Topsail suddenly demanded:
"Where's the _Grand Lake_?"
"The _Grand Lake_," Skipper Bill drawled, with a sigh, "is somewherest' the s'uth'ard footin' it for St. John's."
"You missed her!" Billy accused.
"Didn't neither," said the indignant skipper. "She steamed right pastHook-an'-Line without a wink in that direction."
This was shocking news.
"Anyhow," said little Donald North, as though it mattered importantly,"we seed her smoke."
Billy looked from Donald to Jimmie, from Jimmie to Bagg, from Bagg tothe skipper; and then he stared about.
"Where's Archie?" he asked.
"Archie," the skipper replied, "is footin' it for St. John's, too.'Skipper Bill,' says Archie, 'Billy Topsail has kep' that schoonersafe. I knows he has. It was up t' Billy Topsail t' save the firm fromwreckers an' I'll lay you that Billy Topsail has saved the firm. Now,Skipper Bill,' says Archie, 'you go back t' Jolly Harbour an' get thatschooner off. You get her off somehow. Get her off jus' as soon as youcan,' says he, 'an' fetch her to St. John's.'
"'I _can't_ get her off,' says I.
"'Yes, you can, too, Skipper Bill,' says he. 'I'll lay you can get heroff. I don't know how you'll do it,' says he; 'but _I'll lay youcan_!'
"'I'll get her off, Archie,' says I, 'if I got t' jump in the sea an'haul her off with a line in my teeth.'
"'I knowed you would,' says he; 'an' you got the best teeth, SkipperBill,' says he, 't' be found on this here coast. As for me,skipper,' says he, 'I'm goin' down t' St. John's if I got t' walkon water. I told my father that I'd be in his office on the firsto' September--an' I'm goin' t' be there. If I can't be there with thefish I can be there with the promise o' fish; an' I can back thatpromise up with a motor boat, a sloop yacht an' a pony an' cart. Idon't know how I'm goin' t' get t' St. John's,' says he, 'an' I don'twant t' walk on a wet sea like this; but I'm goin' t' get theresomehow by the first o' September, an' I'm goin' to assoom'--yes,sir, '_assoom_, Skipper Bill,' says Archie--'I'm goin' to assoomthat you'll fetch down the _Spot Cash_ an' the tail an' fins of everylast tom-cod aboard that there craft.'
"An' I'm goin' t' _do_ it!" Skipper Bill roared in conclusion, with aslap of the counter with his hairy fist that made the depleted stockrattle on the shelves.
"Does you t-t-think you c-c-_can_ haul her off with your teeth?"Donald North asked with staring eyes.
Bill o' Burnt Bay burst into a shout of laughter.
"We'll have no help from the Jolly Harbour folk," said Billy Topsail,gravely. "They're good-humoured men," he added, "but they means t'have this here schooner if they can."
"Never mind," said Skipper Bill, with an assumption of far more hopethan was in his honest, willing heart. "We'll get her off afore theycomes again."
"Wisht you'd 'urry up," said Bagg.
With the _Spot Cash_ high and dry--with a small crew aboard--with anumerous folk, clever and unfriendly (however good-humoured theywere), bent on possessing that which they were fully persuaded it wastheir right to have--with no help near at hand and small prospect ofthe appearance of aid--the task which Archie Armstrong had set Bill o'Burnt Bay was the most difficult one the old sea-dog had everencountered in a long career of hard work, self-dependence and tightplaces. The Jolly Harbour folk might laugh and joke, they might evenoffer sympathy, they might be the most hospitable, tender-hearted,God-fearing folk in the world; but tradition had taught them that whatthe sea cast up belonged righteously to the men who could take it, andthey would with good consciences and the best humour in the worldstand upon that doctrine. And Bill o' Burnt Bay would do no murder toprevent them: it was not the custom of the coast to do murder in suchcases; and Archie Armstrong's last injunction had been to take nolives.
Bill o' Burnt Bay declared in growing wrath to the boys that he wouldcome next door to murder.
"I'll pink 'em, anyhow," said he, as he loaded his long gun. "_I'll_makes holes for earrings, ecod!"
Yes, sir; the skipper would show the Jolly Harbour folk how near aventuresome man could come to letting daylight into a Jolly Harbourhull without making a hopeless leak. Jus' t' keep 'em busy calking,ecod! How much of this was mere loud and saucy words--with how muchreal meaning the skipper spoke--even the skipper himself did not know.But, yes, sir; he'd show 'em in the morning. It was night, now,however--though near morning. Nobody would put out from shore beforedaybreak. They had been frightened off once. Skipper Bill's wrathcould simmer to the boiling point. But a watch must be kept. Nochances must be taken with the _Spot Cash_, and--
"Ahoy, Billy!" a pleasant voice called from the water.
The crew of the _Spot Cash_ rushed on deck.
"Oh, ho!" another voice laughed. "Skipper's back, too, eh?"
"_With_ a long--perfeckly trustworthy--loaded--gun," Skipper Billsolemnly replied.
The men in the punts laughed heartily.
"Sheer off!" Skipper Bill roared.
But in the protecting shadows of the night the punts came closer. Andthere was another laugh.
* * * * *
It chanced at Hook-and-Line Harbour before night--Skipper Bill hadthen for hours been gone towards Jolly Harbour--that a Labradorfishing craft put in for water. She was loaded deep; her decks werefairly awash with her load of fish, and at best she was squat and oldand rotten--a basket to put to sea in. Here was no fleet craft; butshe was south-bound, at any rate, and Archie Armstrong determined toboard her. To get to St. John's--to open the door of his father'soffice on the first of September as he had promised--to explain and toreassure and even to present in hard cash the value of a sloop yachtand a pony and a motor boat--was the boy's feverish determination. Hecould not forget his father's grave words: "Your honour is involved."Perhaps he exaggerated the importance of them. His honour? The boy hadno wish to be excused--had no liking for fatherly indulgence. He waswholly intent upon justifying his father's faith and satisfying hisown sense of honourable obligation. It must be fish or cash--fish orcash--and as it seemed it could not be fish it must therefore becash.
It must be hard cash--cash down--paid on the first of September overhis father's desk in the little office overlooking the wharves.
"Green Bay bound," the skipper of the Labrador craft replied toArchie's question.
That signified a landing at Ruddy Cove.
"I'll go along," said Archie.
"Ye'll not," the skipper snapped. "Ye'll not go along until ye mendyour manners."
Archie started in amazement.
"_You'll_ go along, will ye?" the skipper continued. "Is you the ownero' this here craft? Ye may _ask_ t' go along; but whether ye go or notis for me--for _me_, ye cub!--t' say."
Archie straightened in his father's way. "My name," said he, shortly,"is Archibald Armstrong."
The skipper instantly touched his cap.
"I'm sorry, skipper," Archie went on, with a dignity of which hismanner of life had long ago made him unconsciously master, "for havingtaken too much for granted. I want passage with you to Ruddy Cove,skipper, for which I'll pay."
"You're welcome, sir," said the skipper.
The _Wind and Tide_ lay at Hook-and-Line that night in fear of the seathat was running. She rode so deep in the water, and her planks andrigging and sticks were at best so untrustworthy, that her skipperwould not take her to sea. Next morning, however--and Archiesubsequently recalled it--next morning the wind blew fair for thesouthern ports. Out put the old craft into a rising breeze and waspresently wallowing her way towards Green Bay and Ruddy Cove. Butthere was no reckless sailing. Nothing that Archie could say with anyappearance of propriety moved the skipper to urge her on. She wasdeep, she was old; she must be humoured along. Again, when night fell,she was taken into harbour for shelt
er. The wind still blew fair inthe morning; she made a better day of it, but was once more safelyberthed for the night. Day after day she crept down the coast,lurching along in the light, with unearthly shrieks of pain andcomplaint, and lying silent in harbour in the dark.
"'Wisht she'd 'urry up,'" thought Archie, with a dubious laugh,remembering Bagg.
It was the twenty-ninth of August and coming on dark when the boyfirst caught sight of the cottages of Ruddy Cove.
"Mail-boat day," he thought, jubilantly. "The _Wind and Tide_ willmake it. I'll be in St. John's the day after to-morrow."
"Journey's end," said the skipper, coming up at that moment.
"I'm wanting to make the mail-boat," said Archie. "She's due at RuddyCove soon after dark."
"She'll be on time," said the skipper. "Hark!"
Archie heard the faint blast of a steamer's whistle.
"Is it she?" asked the skipper.
"Ay," Archie exclaimed; "and she's just leaving Fortune Harbour.She'll be at Ruddy Cove within the hour."
"I'm doubtin' that _we_ will," said the skipper.
"Will you not run up a topsail?" the boy pleaded.
"Not for the queen o' England," the skipper replied, moving forward."I've got my load--an' I've got the lives o' my crew--t' care for."
Archie could not gainsay it. The _Wind and Tide_ had all the sail shecould carry with unquestionable safety. The boy watched themail-boat's lights round the Head and pass through the tickle into theharbour of Ruddy Cove. Presently he heard the second blast of herdeep-toned whistle and saw her emerge and go on her way. She lookedcozy in the dusk, he thought: she was brilliant with many lights. Inthe morning she would connect with the east-bound cross-countryexpress at Burnt Bay. And meantime he--this selfsame boastful ArchieArmstrong--would lie stranded at Ruddy Cove. At that moment St. John'sseemed infinitely far away.