CHAPTER X ALEC'S DECISION
Bitter, indeed, were Alec's thoughts as he stumbled down the office stairs. Blinding tears stood in his eyes. His heart seemed dead within him. He felt sick all over—sick and indignant. Ever since he was a tiny child his father had taught him that his honor and his good name were to be treasured above all things. Never before had anybody even suspected him of dishonesty. Now he was worse than suspected. He was both accused and practically condemned. For it was perfectly evident to Alec that the oyster shipper still doubted him.
As Alec turned the situation over in his mind, his indignation grew fiercer and fiercer. He told himself that Captain Bagley had no right to leave the money in the ship's cabin, as he did; and Alec was right. He told himself that Captain Bagley should have told him to guard the money, when he rushed off after the shipper; and again Alec was right.
"I was free to come and go," said Alec to himself, "and Captain Bagley had no right to assume that I would stay on the Bertha B all the time, when there is so much that is interesting to see and learn. Why, anybody can walk into any of these boats at any time, and Captain Bagley knows that as well as I do. And if somebody dishonest came aboard and nobody was in the cabin and some money was lying loose, what could the captain expect? It wasn't fair for him to do what he did. It wasn't fair. He never said a word to me about his money and now he holds me responsible for its loss. It isn't fair! It isn't fair!"
In deep distress Alec walked up and down under the pier shed. He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, but his own distress.
"And I was trying so hard to be helpful and to show my appreciation of Captain Bagley's kindness," said Alec to himself. "Kindness! Bah! Let him keep his kindness for others. What I want is justice. I'll leave him and his old boat and go where people will treat me fair. That's all the kindness I want—just a square deal."
In his bitterness Alec was himself unjust. With the inexperience of youth, he reasoned that because he had been questioned as to his honesty he had necessarily been condemned. He failed to see that his employers owed it to him as well as to themselves and all the other oystermen to find out who was the thief. Necessarily they had to question Alec first, for circumstances certainly did point to him.
The more he brooded over the matter, the more indignant he felt. "I won't stay here another minute," he said. "I won't have anything to do with men who have so little fairness." And he headed for the Bertha B to get his valise and the few poor possessions in it. But half-way down the pier he stopped abruptly. A new idea popped into his head. "If you go aboard the Bertha B and take your things, and anything else should disappear, they'll say you stole the thing and ran away."
He pondered over the situation. "Run away!" he muttered. "That's just what you were about to do. An honest man doesn't run away when he's under fire. He stays and fights. Why, if I had run away, they'd never have doubted that I was the thief. Gee! I'm glad I thought in time." And Alec fairly shivered at the thought of what would have happened had he foolishly gone away.
"I'll fight," he muttered. "That's what I'll do. I'll show them I'm as honest and square and smart and able as any man that ever walked these planks. That's what I'll do. I'll be an oysterman, too. That's settled. I'll be a planter and shipper, too. I'll be just as big a man at Bivalve as Captain Rumford or anybody else. I'll show them what Alec Cunningham's got in him. I'll work and work and work and study and study and save my money, and some day I'll have the finest oyster-boat that sails out of this port. And I'll call her Old Honesty, too. And she won't be any old-fashioned sailing boat done over. She'll be an up-to-date oyster-boat, scientifically made. Captain Rumford will have to scrap his whole fleet when my new boat gets to work. He'll find it was a costly thing to call me a thief, that's what he will."
Now all faintness of heart had gone from Alec. The feeling of sickness had left him. He was all aglow with determination and purpose. He felt that the die was cast. He had made up his mind. He felt as strong as Atlas, as indomitable as Jupiter. In his vision he saw the delectable goal, but he could not see the hard and painful path that led up to it.
Nor was all this as foolish as it might seem to many an older head. Dreams are the thing that accomplishments are made of—dreams and work. Often the faith and enthusiasm of youth are more effective than the coldly reasoned acts of maturity. And now, though eventual success was no whit nearer than it had been a few moments previously, Alec felt immensely better in mind. He had come to a decision. He had mapped his course. He meant to keep his job, if that were at all possible, and fight. And he meant to fight until he got to the top.
Now his footstep was no longer stumbling. He walked with a firm tread. As he strode up and down the pier, his heart was beating the call to arms.
Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. On the adjoining pier was Hawley. Although it was now dark, Alec could see him plainly in the glow of the pier shed's lights. There could be no mistake as to the man's identity. Where he had come from, Alec had no idea; nor had he a much clearer idea of where the man was going, for Hawley, plainly intoxicated, was reeling about uncertainly. And he was dangerously near to the edge of the pier. He was on the ferry pier, where the tugboat from across the river landed its passengers; and no oyster-boat had tied up at the end of this pier. Beyond its edge was only deep, dark, cold, swirling water.
At sight of Hawley, a feeling of hatred leaped into Alec's heart. He wanted to rush over to the pier and attack this man who had tried to kill him.
Suddenly Alec's heart stood still. The drunken sailor, reeling at the very edge of the pier, stumbled over a coil of rope, and fell backward over the string-piece, bellowing like a mad bull. Then there was a splash and silence.
For a single instant Alec stood as though rooted to the floor. For one second he exulted at the disaster that had overtaken his enemy. Then a shudder ran over him as he realized that in thought, at least, he was a murderer, and that was a million times worse than being a thief.
"Help! Help!" he cried at the top of his voice. "Man overboard at the ferry landing!"
At the same time he rushed to the end of the pier and looked right and left for a trace of the missing sailor. In the darkness he could see only inky water.
Now he heard men running on the plank floor. "A light!" he cried. "Bring a light!"
In a moment the watchman was beside Alec with his lantern. Behind him came running the shipper and Captain Bagley. Alec seized the lantern and threw himself prone on the wharf. He held the light over the string-piece, while he looked right and left into the muddy water.
"Know who it was?" asked Captain Bagley, as he peered over Alec's shoulder.
"Hawley—drunk," said Alec briefly.
"The deuce!" exclaimed the skipper. "That's the end of him. He can't swim."
There was a swirl in the water a little way out from the pier. An arm and a shoulder writhed into view, then sank. Like a flash Alec was on his feet. He dropped the lantern on the pier, tore off his coat, and plunged headlong toward the swirl in the water.
In a moment his head popped up. "A rope!" he cried, then sank beneath the tide. The water began to foam and bubble. For an instant the struggling men came into view. An arm was around Alec's neck and another about his body. The men on the pier saw that he was struggling frantically in the clutch of the drowning sailor. The fight was terrific. Hawley clung to the lad with the strength of a giant, choking and strangling him. Alec worked frantically to get his arms free, treading water desperately to keep his head up. He swallowed quantities of muddy, salt water. Under the awful pressure about his neck, his eyes seemed to be fairly bulging from his head. Swiftly the tide swept the struggling men toward the next pier, where a row of oyster-boats lay fast. If the water carried them under the boats it meant the end of Alec and Hawley.
Captain Bagley raced around to the adjoining pier and out on a boat. Then he darted over the knighthead and lowered himself on the chains until he was level with the water.
"Bring that light, quick!" he cried.
The aged watchman hobbled to him as fast as he was able. Captain Rumford picked up the coil of rope, carried it swiftly aboard the boat, and made ready for a cast.
The tide swept the struggling sailors nearer. With all his power Alec was trying to free himself from the grip that was strangling him. His strength was almost gone. He could no longer see anything. His head was pounding. His brain seemed to swirl. But he tried desperately to keep his wits. He knew that unless he got free it would all be over in another moment. Now he wrenched his arms loose. Down under the tide sank the struggling men again, churning the water to foam in their struggles.
"Oh God!" cried Captain Bagley. "If only I could swim."
Above him the watchman steadied the light, while the shipper stood tense, the looped end of the hawser in his hand, ready to make his cast.
Down, down, down went the fighting sailors. But now Alec had his arms loose. With his last ounce of strength he shoved his hand over the arm that was strangling him and gripped the sailor by the nose. With his other hand he dealt him as savage a blow as he could in the pit of his stomach. The effect was magical. The sailor loosened his strangle hold and doubled up like a jack-knife. Alec grasped the man by the hair, and with all the strength left in him, struggled upward. His head popped out of water not ten feet from Skipper Bagley. The sailor, now unconscious, came to the surface. Alec could do no more. He turned on his back and tried to float. It seemed to him that he could not even wriggle his fingers. He was on the verge of unconsciousness himself. Yet he kept tight hold of Hawley's hair.
Then a voice that seemed to be almost overhead put new life in him. "Catch this rope," it said, "and slip it under your arms."
There was a splash in the water and the rope fell across his very fingers. Mechanically he grasped it. But he could not get it around his body. He slipped his free arm through the noose. Gently the rope tightened and he moved ahead through the water, the unconscious sailor trailing behind him. In a second Captain Bagley had him by the coat collar. Then the noose was slipped under both of Alec's arms.
"Easy now," cried the skipper, as he held himself on the chains with his legs, keeping Hawley's head above water with one hand, while he steadied Alec with the other. Strong arms pulled on the rope, and in a moment Alec was safe. Then the rope was made fast about Hawley, and shortly his prostrate form lay on the deck.
Captain Bagley tore off his own coat and wrapped it around Alec. "Run to the Bertha B," he said, "and get them wet things off. Stir up the fire and get something hot inside you."
"In a m-m-m-minute," said Alec, his teeth chattering. "We've g-g-got to save Hawley first."
"You get out of this," thundered the oyster shipper. "We'll take care of Hawley."
He grabbed the unconscious sailor by the heels and lifted him straight up. Captain Bagley drew down the man's tongue with his handkerchief. Water gushed from the sailor's open mouth. The watchman squeezed the man's ribs to try to press out more. Then they laid him on his back and began to pump his arms up and down.
"That's too fast," cried Alec, who was making haste slowly and watching them from the pier. "Fifteen times a minute is right, and you ought to press in his ribs when you pull down his arms."
"You get aboard the Bertha B," shouted Captain Bagley, "or I'll heave you overboard again."
"We've got to get him out of this cold air," said the shipper, for in a few minutes Hawley began to breathe. "Let's take him into the cabin of this boat."
The watchman led the way with his lantern, while the two captains carried the bulky form of the sailor down the companionway.
"Get his clothes off," said Captain Rumford.
Captain Bagley began to strip off the wet garments. Somehow Hawley's pocket-knife had worked up above his belt, taking the trousers' pocket with it. Captain Bagley could not loosen the belt buckle. He drew his own knife and started to cut off the offending pocket. The sailor's knife came tumbling out. After it slipped a tiny roll of round, green paper with a rubber band about it. For an instant Captain Bagley seemed paralyzed. Then he grabbed the roll and tore off the band. A number of wet greenbacks unrolled under his trembling fingers. Inside of them was another roll of bills, also fastened with a rubber band. Inside of all was a check. The ink on it had run, but the captain was still able to read the name on the check. The check was payable to Captain Christopher Bagley.