“That so? Well, I don’t see you goin’ in, nor I don’t see no ridin’ light hangin’ from your stern.”
“No? Well, s’pose you follow on and stop talkin’.”
A lantern was dropped over the stern of the Lucy Foster, Wesley put her wheel up, and the Lucy was off. Another moment, and they made out the green light of the Calumet coming after.
Wesley, chuckling to himself, sailed scandalous courses with the Lucy. “If I don’t scare him ’bout half to death, and if him and me don’t have a heart-to-heart talk after we come to anchor inside—if ever he comes to anchor inside! Let’s see now, Charlie. There’s Kirby Rock under our lee. I hope the Calumet carries a weather helm—for the crew’s sake, I mean. And now west half no’the— I’ll give him a scare. There’s Black Rocks ahead—he’s got to keep on now. And now for the Bootes—a nice little lot of ledges, the Bootes—but not to make a landin’ on—six feet in spots and the surf breakin’ fine over ’em. Hear it roar? Lord, yes, and see it. We’ll hold up a bit, Charlie, or it’s the Lucy’ll be gettin’ into trouble. And now for Man-o’-war, another fine little spot—six or eight feet of water there—no’the three-quarters west. Oh, man, hear it roar! How’s he makin’ out behind? There he is, and scared blue, I’ll bet, for fear she’ll swing a foot out of the way. Let’s see, now, where we ought to be! Let’s see—man, but it’s thick here!—let her go—off, now, Charlie, west no’west and a hair west, just a hair now, ought to take us inside Mackerel Rock. If Glover knows his business now, it won’t matter; if he don’t, then Lord help his name for master of a vessel. Enough on that course—shoot her up now by the Rock no’the, quarter west. Go ahead, the Lucy’ll make it, don’t fear. Man, she’ll sail in the wind’s eye, the Lucy. Don’t fear for the Lucy—a weather helm she carries. She’ll shy off herself if we get too close. That’s the girl—there she is—a good place to be by, that! And now for the reg’lar channel—no’west by west—and let her go! But how are they makin’ out on the Calumet, I wonder?”
They were not making out on the Calumet at all. Evidently she did not carry a weather helm. From the Lucy they could make out her port light—for a while they thought she was past the ledge and all safe. Then the red light swung off to leeward. They soon heard a hail. Then a series of hails.
“Lord,” said Wesley, “d’y’ s’pose she struck?” and himself jumped to the wheel again. His first thought was to put the Lucy right back to the Rock; his second, and the one he acted on, was to get her lights out of sight and then to turn back, sail wide, and come up to the Calumet as though he had just come in the harbor himself. “They’re safe for a while there, and there was no reason in the world why he couldn’t have got by there if we did,” said Wesley, and began to nose her way back. It was his seaman’s extra sense that brought him safely to the Calumet again.
He found her on the edge of the ledge, with the sea washing over her. She was pounding, and from her deck they heard the sounds that meant that a dory was to be launched. There was much talking, some free comment, and not a little profanity.
“Hi-i!” hailed Wesley, in his own person. “What vessel’s that?”
“What? That you, Wesley?” came Captain Glover’s voice.
“Why, is that you, Harry?” answered Wesley.