Doctor Luke of the Labrador Part 40

"'Do!' says he. 'What'll I do? Is it you, Docks, that's askin' me that?

Well,' says he, 'Jagger an' me fixed _that_ all up when I seed him there t' Wayfarer's Tickle. They's three ports above Harbour Deep, an' I'm goin' t' trade un all. 'Twill be a v'y'ge by that time. Then I'm goin'

t' run the _Sink or Swim_ back o' the islands in Seal Run. Which done, I'll wait for Tommy Mib t' make up his mind, one way or t' other. If he casts loose, I'll wait, decent as you like, 'til he's well under weigh, when I'll ballast un well an' heave un over. If he's goin' t' bide a spell longer in this world, I'll wait 'til he's steady on his pins. But, whatever, go or stay, I'll fit the schooner with a foretopmast, bark her canvas, paint her black, call her the _Prodigal Son_, an' lay a course for St. Johns. They's not a man on the docks will take the _Prodigal Son_, black hull, with topmast fore an' aft an' barked sails, inbound from the West Coast with a cargo o' fish--not a man, sir, will take the _Prodigal Son_ for the white, single-topmast schooner _Sink or Swim_, up from the Labrador, reported with a case o' smallpox for'ard. For, look you, b'y,' says he, 'n.o.body knows _me_ t' St. Johns.'

"'Skipper Jim,' says I, 'sure you isn't goin' t' put this fish on the market!'

"'Hut!' says he. 'Jagger an' me is worryin' about the price o' fish already.'

"We beat about offsh.o.r.e for three days, with the skipper laid up in the forecastle. Now what do you make o' that? The skipper laid up in the forecastle along o' Tommy Mib--an' Tommy took the way he was! Come, now, what do you make o' that?" We shook our heads, one and all; it was plain that the skipper, too, had been stricken. "Well, sir," Docks went on, "when Skipper Jim come up t' give the word for Rocky Harbour, he looked like a man risin' from the dead. 'Take her there,' says he, 'an' sing out t' me when you're runnin' in.' Then down he went agin; but, whatever, me an' the cook an' the second hand was willin' enough t' sail her t' Rocky Harbour without un, for 'twas in our minds t' cut an' run in the punt when the anchor was down. 'A scurvy trick,' says you, 't'

leave old Skipper Jim an' Tommy Mib in the forecastle, all alone--an'

Tommy took that way?' A scurvy trick!" cried Docks, his voice aquiver.

"Ay, maybe! But you ain't been aboard no smallpox-s.h.i.+p. You ain't never knowed what 'tis t' lie in your bunk in the dark o' long nights s.h.i.+verin' for fear you'll be took afore mornin'. An' maybe you hasn't seed a man took the way Tommy Mib was took--not took _quite_ that way."

"Yes, I has, b'y," said Skipper Billy, quietly. "'Twas a kid that I seed."

"Was it, now?" Docks whispered, vacantly.

"A kid o' ten years," Skipper Billy replied.

"Ah, well," said Docks, "kids dies young. Whatever," he went on, hurriedly, "the old man come on deck when he was slippin' up the narrows t' the basin at Rocky Harbour.

"''Tis the last port I'll trade,' says he, 'for I'm sick, an' wantin' t'

get home.'

"We was well up, with the canvas half off her, sailin' easy, on the lookout for a berth, when a punt put out from a stage up alongsh.o.r.e, an'

come down with the water curlin' from her bows.

"'What's the meanin' o' that, Docks?' sings the skipper, pointin' t' the punt. 'They're goin' out o' the course t' keep t' win'ard.'

"'Skipper Jim,' says I, 'they knows us.'

"'Sink us,' says he, 'they does! They knows what we is an' what we got for'ard. Bring her to!' he sings out t' the man at the wheel.

"When we had the schooner up in the wind, the punt was bobbin' in the lop off the quarter.

"'What s.h.i.+p's that?' says the man in the bow.

"'_Sink or Swim_,' says the skipper.

"'You get out o' here, curse you!' says the man. 'We don't want you here. They's news o' you in every port o' the coast.'

"'I'll bide here 'til I'm ready t' go, sink you!' says the skipper.

"'Oh, no, you won't!' says the man. 'I've a gun or two that says you'll be t' sea agin in half an hour if the wind holds.'

"So when we was well out t' sea agin, the cook he says t' me that he've a wonderful fondness for a run ash.o.r.e in a friendly port, but he've no mind t' be shot for a mad dog. 'An' we better bide aboard,' says the second hand; 'for 'tis like we'll be took for mad dogs wherever we tries t' land.' Down went the skipper, staggerin' sick; an' they wasn't a man among us would put a head in the forecastle t' ask for orders. So we beat about for a day or two in a foolish way; for, look you! havin' in mind them Rocky Harbour rifles, we didn't well know what t' do. Three days ago it blew up black an' frothy--a nor'east switcher, with a rippin' wind an' a sea o' mountains. 'Twas no place for a short-handed schooner. Believe _me_, sir, 'twas no place at all! 'Twas time t' run for harbour, come what might; so we asked the cook t' take charge. The cook says t' me that he'd rather be a cook than a skipper, an' a skipper than a s.h.i.+p's undertaker, but he've no objection t' turn his hand t'

anything t' 'blige a party o' friends: which he'll do, says he, by takin' the schooner t' Broad Cove o' the Harbourless Sh.o.r.e, which is a bad shelter in a nor'east gale, says he, but the best he can manage.

"So we up an' laid a course for Broad Cove; an' they was three schooners harboured there when we run in. We anch.o.r.ed well outside o' them; an', sure, we thought the schooner was safe, for we knowed she'd ride out what was blowin', if it took so much as a week t' blow out. But it blowed harder--harder yet: a thick wind, squally, too, blowin' dead on sh.o.r.e, where the breakers was leapin' half-way up the cliff. By midnight the seas was smotherin' her, fore an' aft, an' she was tuggin' at her bow anchor chain like a fish at the line. Lord! many a time I thought she'd rip her nose off when a hill o' suddy water come atop of her with a thud an' a hiss.

"'She'll go ash.o.r.e on them boilin' rocks,' says the cook.

"We was sittin' in the cabin--the cook an' the second hand an' me.

"''Tis wonderful cold,' says the second hand.

"'I'm chillin', meself,' says the cook.

"'Chillin'!' thinks I, havin' in mind the way poor Tommy Mib was took.

'Has you a pain in your back?' says I.

"They was s.h.i.+verin' a wonderful lot, an' the cook was holdin' his head in his hands, just like Tommy Mib used t' do.

"'Ay, b'y,' says he.

"'Ay, b'y,' says the second hand.

"'Been drilled too hard o' late,' says the cook. 'We're all wore out along o' work an' worry.'

"I didn't wait for no more. 'H-m-m!' says I, 'I thinks I'll take a look outside.'

"It was dawn then. Lord! what a sulky dawn it was! All gray, an' drivin'

like mad. The seas was rollin' in, with a frothy wind-lop atop o' them.

They'd lift us, smother us, drop us, toss the schooners ridin' in our lee, an' go t' smash on the big, black rocks ash.o.r.e. Lord! how they pulled at the old _Sink or Swim_! 'Twas like as if they wanted her bad for what she done. Seems t' me the Lord G.o.d A'mighty must 'a' knowed what He was about. Seems to me the Lord G.o.d A'mighty said t' Hisself: 'Skipper Jim,' says He, 'I'm through usin' _you_. I've done all the damage I want done along o' you. I've sent some o' the wicked t' beds they chose t' lie on; an' the good folk--all the good folk an' little kids I couldn't wait no longer for, I loved un so--I've took up here.

Ay, Jim,' says the Lord G.o.d A'mighty, 'I'm through usin' you; an' I got t' get rid o' the old _Sink or Swim_. I'm sorry for the cook an' the second hand an' poor Tommy Mib,' says He, 'wonderful sorry; but I can't run My world no other way. An' when you comes t' think it over,' says He, 'you'll find 'tis the best thing that could happen t' they, for they're took most wonderful bad.' Oh ay," said Docks, with a gentle smile, "the Lord G.o.d A'mighty knowed what He was about.

"I went for'ard t' have a look at the chain. Skipper Jim hisself was there, watchin' it close.

"'She's draggin',' says he. But I wouldn't 'a' knowed that voice for Skipper Jim's--'twas so hollow and breathless. 'She's draggin',' says he. 'Let her drag. They's a better anchorage in there a bit. She'll take the bottom agin afore she strikes them craft.'

"We was draggin' fast--bearin' straight down on the craft inside. They was a trader an' two Labrador fis.h.i.+n'-craft. The handiest was a fis.h.i.+n'

boat, bound home with the summer's cotch, an' crowded with men, women, an' kids. We took the bottom an' held fast within thirty fathom of her bow. I could see the folk on deck--see un plain as I sees you--hands an'

lips an' eyes. They was swarmin' fore an' aft like a lot o' scared seal--wavin' their arms, shakin' their fists, jabberin', leapin' about in the wash o' the seas that broke over the bows.

"'Docks,' says the skipper, 'what's the matter with they folk, anyhow?

We isn't draggin', is we?' says he, half cryin'. 'We isn't hurtin'

_they_, is we?'

"An old man--'tis like he was skipper o' the craft--come runnin'

for'ard, with half a dozen young fellows in his wake. 'Sheer off!' sings the old one. He jabbered a bit more, all the while wavin' us off, but a squall o' wind carried it all away. 'We'll shoot you like dogs an you don't!' says one o' the young ones; an' at that I felt wonderful mean an' wicked an' sorry. Back aft they went. There they talked an' talked; an' as they talked they pointed--pointed t' the breakers that was boilin' over the black rocks; pointed t' the spumey sea an' t' the low, ragged clouds drivin' across it; pointed t' the _Sink or Swim_. Then the skipper took the wheel, an' the crew run for'ard t' the windla.s.s an' jib sheets.

"'Skipper, sir,' says I, 'they're goin' t' slip anchor an' run!'

"'Ay,' says Skipper Jim, 'they knows us, b'y! They knows the _Sink or Swim_. We lies t' win'ard, an' they're feared o' the smallpox. They'll risk that craft--women an' kids an' all--t' get away. They isn't a craft afloat can beat t' sea in this here gale. They'll founder, lad, or they'll drive on the rocks an' loss themselves, all hands. 'Tis an evil day for this poor old schooner, Docks,' says he, with a sob, 'that men'll risk the lives o' kids an' women t' get away from her; an' 'tis an evil day for my crew.' With that he climbed on the rail, cotched the foremast shrouds with one hand, put the other to his mouth, an' sung out: 'Ahoy, you! Bide where you is! Bide where you is!' Then he jumped down; an' he says t' me, 'tween gasps, for the leap an' shout had taken all the breath out of un, 'Docks,' says he, 'they's only one thing for a man t' do in a case like this. Get the jib up, b'y. I'm goin' aft t' the wheel. Let the anchor chain run out when you sees me wave my hand. See, lad,' says he, pointin' t' leeward, 'they're waitin', aboard that fis.h.i.+n' craft, t' see what we'll do. We'll show un that we're men!

Jagger be d.a.m.ned,' says he; 'we'll show un that we're men! Call the hands,' says he; 'but leave Tommy Mib lie quiet in his bunk,' says he, 'for he's dead.'

"'Skipper Jim,' says I, lookin' in his blood-red eyes, an' then t' the breakers, 'what you goin' t' do?'

"'Beach her,' says he.