The light which flamed about her, showing up her rig and lines, was
weirdly unreal and more than ever did she seem like a ghost ship.
The thick curtain of the mist caught up the flare of the torches and
reflected it upon her from the skies, and she was limned in fantastic
fashion from truck to water-line. Shadows of men in the tenders were
thrown against the fog-screen in grotesque outline, and a spirit crew
appeared to be toiling in the top-hamper of the old schooner.
Captain Mayo ordered his men to hold water and the tender drifted close
to the flotilla. He spied a yacht skipper whom he had known when both
were in the coasting trade.
"What's the idea, Duncan?"
His acquaintance grinned. "Serenade for old Epps Candage's girl--handed
to her over his head." He pointed upward.
Projecting over the schooner's rail was the convulsed countenance of
Captain Candage. Choler seemed to be consuming him. The freakish light
painted everything with patterns in arabesque; the captain's face looked
like the countenance of a gargoyle.
Mayo, observing with the natural prejudice of a "native," detected
mockery in the affair. He had just been present at one exhibition of the
convivial humor of larking yachtsmen.
"What's the special excuse for it?" he asked, sourly.
"According to the story, Epps has brought her with him on this trip to
break up a courting match."
"Well, does that have anything to do with this performance?"
"Oh, it's only a little spree," confessed the other. "It was planned out
on our yacht. Old Epps made himself a mucker to-day by sassing some of
the gents of the fleet, and the boys are handing him a little something.
That's all! It's only fun!"
"According to my notion it's the kind of fun that hurts when a girl is
concerned, Duncan."
"Just as serious as ever, eh? Well, my notion is that a little
good-natured fun never hurts a pretty girl--and they say this one is
some looker! Oh, hold on a minute, Boyd!" The master of the Olenia had
turned away and was about to give an order to his oarsmen. "You ought to
stop long enough to hear that new song one of the gents on the Sunbeam
has composed for the occasion. It's a corker. I heard 'em rehearsing it
on our yacht."
In spite of his impatient resentment on behalf of the daughter of Epps
Candage, Captain Mayo remained. Just then the accredited minstrel of
the yachtsmen stood up, balancing himself in a tender. He was clearly
revealed by the lights, and was magnified by the aureole of tinted fog
which surrounded him. He sang, in waltz time, in a fine tenor: "Our Polly O,
O'er the sea you go;
Fairer than sunbeam, lovely as moon-gleam,
All of us love thee so!
While the breezes blow
To waft thee, Polly O,
We will be true to thee,
Crossing the blue to thee,
Polly--Polly!
Dear little Polly,
Polly--O-O-O!"