“Five hundred barrels? Man, but that’s good news—better have another little touch.”
After that second drink, the boatman, who had been nursing a few little suspicions for two days now, thought he had better tell Captain Marrs of his meeting with Captain Glover. And he did, or rather began to. He was about one-quarter through when Wesley jumped for the companionway. “Break out the anchor and make sail,” ordered Wesley, and then, dropping back into the cabin, and suggesting to the boatman that he had better have one more drink, he started to fill his pipe. With his pipe going freely Wesley could think more rapidly—could fathom things more surely.
“Harry Glover,” said Wesley, to himself as he supposed, but really half aloud, “I know you, Harry Glover, and your father and your grandfather afore you, and all the rest of your fore-people on Cape Ann by hearsay, and not one of you I’d trust with so much as the price of a bait-knife—no. Now, let’s see— Glover, he’s got them herrin’.”
“But how’s he going to get ’em, Captain? John Rose is keepin’ ’em for you,” said the belated boatman at this point.
“Who in the devil,” began Wesley, but recovering himself, pushed the jug toward the messenger. “About one more drink is what you need, and that about empties the jug, too. Take it and keep quiet, or I’ll carry you up on deck and heave you over the rail, and heave the jug after you to make sure you go down.
“Let’s see, now”— Wesley resumed his meditations—“he’s got them herrin’ and off long afore this. Now, where’ll he go first? To Saint Peer? That’s it, to Saint Peer for a few cases of wine to take home. And then? To Canso, of course, to see that girl that’s makin’ such a fool of him. Yes, and he’ll make a great fellow of himself by givin’ a case of cassy wine to her people. It’s most Christmas-time, and he’ll make a great hit, and it won’t cost him too much—a dozen bottles of cassy. And then? Then he’ll tell the girl, and everybody else in Canso, that he’s the first vessel to leave Newf’undland with anything like a load of frozen herrin’ this winter. And he’ll be right—he’ll be easy the first to Gloucester this season—or oughter be. And ‘Let me tell you how I filled up,’ he’ll say, and go on to spin a fine yarn on how he got the best of Wesley Marrs. Never let on he lied and cheated, not Mister Glover. And they’ll think he’s a devil—yes, sir, a clean devil of a man. ‘And Wesley Marrs,’ he’ll go on to say, ‘Wesley’s all right—he can handle a vessel pretty well, can Wesley, but when he gets to figurin’ against Harry Glover—’” Wesley drew a breath—“If I get near enough to lay my hands on him and don’t welt the head off him, then may the dogfish get me and——”
“Anchor’s hove short up, sir,” came down the companion-way.
Wesley took the jug from the messenger and locked it up. Then he went on deck.
Five minutes later the Lucy Foster was off and away. “I’ll chase him,” muttered Wesley, “chase him clear to Gloucester, but I’ll get him,” and himself standing close to the wheel, he drove the Lucy out of Big Whale Gut and across Placentia Bay.
“Just a minute at Folly Cove to drop this blessed fool of a messenger John Rose sent, and just another minute to hail John himself and make certain, and then across the Gulf to Canso,” said Wesley, and stood on the Lucy’s quarter and watched her go along.