"I have commanded a fishing-steamer, sir."
"On top of it all you gave him three whistles--regular fishing-boat
manners, eh?"
Captain Mayo straightened and his face and eyes expressed the spirit of
a Yankee skipper who knew that he was right.
"I say," insisted Marston, "that you saluted him."
"And I say, sir, that he cross-signaled, an offense that has lost
masters their licenses. When I was pinched I gave him three whistles to
say that my engines were going full speed astern. If Mr. Beveridge had
looked farther in that book he might have found that rule, too!"
"When I looked up at the bridge, here, you were waving your hand to
him--three whistles and a hand-wave! You can't deny that you were
saluting!"
"I was shaking my fist at him, sir."
Within himself Captain Mayo was frankly wondering because the owner of
the Olenia was displaying all this heat. He remembered the taunt from
the pilot-house of the Conomo and understood vaguely that there were
depths in the affair which he had not fathomed. But he was in no mood to
atone vicariously for the offenders aboard the Conomo.
"If I could have found a New York captain who knew the short cuts along
this coast I could have had some decency and dignity on board my yacht.
I'm even forgetting my own sense of what is proper--out here wasting
words and time in this fashion. You're all of the same breed, you
down-easters!"
"I am quite sure you can find a New York captain--" began Mayo.
"I don't want your opinion in regard to my business, young man. When I
need suggestions from you I'll ask for them." He flung his soggy cigar
over the rail and went down the ladder, and the fog closed immediately
behind him.
Captain Mayo paced the bridge. He was alone there. A deck-hand had
hooded the brass of the binnacle and search-light, listening while the
owner had called the master to account. Mayo knew that the full report
of that affair would be carried to the forecastle. His position aboard
the yacht had become intolerable. He wondered how much Marston would
say aft. His cheeks were hot and rancor rasped in his thoughts. In the
hearing of the girl he adored his shortcomings would be the subject for
a few moments of contemptuous discourse, even as the failings of cooks
form a topic for idle chatter at the dinner-table.
Out of the blank silence of the wrapping fog came many sounds. Noises
carried far and the voice of an unseen singer, who timed himself to
the clank of an Apple-treer pump, brought to Mayo the words of an old
shanty: "Come all you young fellows that follow the sea,
Now pray pay attention and lis-ten to me.
O blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
Way-ay, blow the man down.
O blow the man down in Liverpool town!
Give me some time to blow the man down.
'Twas aboard a Black-Bailer I first served my time,
And in that Black-Bailer I wasted my prime.
'Tis larboard and starboard on deck you will sprawl,
For blowers and strikers command the Black Ball.
So, it's blow the man down, bullies--"