by Holman Day
Produced by David Widger
BLOW THE MAN DOWN
A ROMANCE OF THE COAST
By Holman Day
Copyright, 1916, by Harper & Brothers
TO MY GOOD FRIEND
Captain John W. Christie
BRITISH MASTER MARINER WHO HAS SUNG ALL THE SHANTIES AND HAS SAILED ALL THE SEAS
"_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." --Old Shanty of the Atlantic Packet Ships._
CONTENTS:
I ~ CAPTAIN BOYD MAYO GETS OUT OF SOUNDINGS
II ~ THEN CAPTAIN MAYO SEES SHOALS
III ~ THE TAVERN OF THE SEAS
IV ~ OVER THE "POLLY'S" RAIL
V ~ ON THE BRIDGE OF YACHT "OLENIA"
VI ~ AND WE SAILED
VII ~ INTO THE MESS FROM EASTWARD
VIII ~ LIKE BUGS UNDER A THIMBLE
IX ~ A MAN'S JOB
X ~ HOSPITALITY, PER JULIUS MARSTON
XI ~ A VOICE FROM HUE AND CRY
XII ~ NO PLACE POR THE SOLES OP THEIR FEET
XIII ~ A CAPTAIN OP HUMAN FLOTSAM
XIV ~ BEARINGS FOR A NEW COURSE
XV ~ THE RULES OF THE ROAD
XVI ~ MILLIONS AND A MITE
XVII ~ "EXACTLY!" SAID MR. FOGG
XVIII ~ HOW AN ANNUAL MEETING WAS HELD--ONCE!
XIX ~ THE PRIZE PACKAGE FROM MR. FOGG
XX ~ TESTING OUT A MAN
XXI ~ BITTER PROOF BY MORNING LIGHT
XXII ~ SPECIAL BUSINESS OF A PASSENGER
XXIII ~ THE MONSTER THAT SLIPPED ITS LEASH
XXIV ~ DOWN A GALLOPING SEA
XXV ~ A GIRL AND HER DEBT OF HONOR
XXVI ~ THE FANGS OF OLD RAZEE
XXVII ~ THE TEMPEST TURNS ITS CARD
XXVIII ~ GIRL'S HELP AND MAN'S WORK
XXIX ~ THE TOILERS OF OLD RAZEE
XXX ~ THE MATTER OP A MONOGRAM IN WAX
XXXI ~ THE BIG FELLOW HIMSELF
XXXII ~ A GIRL'S DEAR "BECAUSE!"
BLOW THE MAN DOWN
I ~ CAPTAIN BOYD MAYO GETS OUT OF SOUNDINGS
When in safety or in doubt, Always keep a safe lookout; Strive to keep a level head, Mind your lights and mind your lead. --Pilot-house Ditty.
For days he had been afraid of that incredible madness of his as a manfears a nameless monster. But he was sure of his strength even whileadmitting his weakness. He was confident that he had the thing securelyin leash.
Then all at once it happened!
Without preface of word or look he whirled and faced her, swept herinto his arms and kissed her. He did not attempt to absolve himselfor mitigate his offense by telling her that he loved her. He wasvoiceless--he could not control his speech. He did not dare to show suchpresumption as talk of love must seem to be to her. He knew he must notspeak of love; such proffer to her would be lunacy. But this greaterpresumption, this blind capture of her in his arms--this was somethingwhich he had not intended any more than a sane man considers flight tothe moon.
He did not understand; he had been himself--then, instantly, in timemeasured by a finger-snap, he had become this wretch who seemed to besomebody else.
He had ceased, for an insane moment, to be master of all his senses. Buthe released her as suddenly as he had seized her, and staggered to thedoor of the chart-room, turning his back on her and groaning in suprememisery.
In that moment of delirium he had insulted his own New England sense ofdecency and honor.
He was afraid to look back at her. With an agony of apprehensionhe dreaded the sound of her voice. He knew well enough that she wasstriving to get command of herself, to recover from her utter amazement.He waited. The outrage must have incensed her beyond measure; thesilence was prolonged.
In the yacht's saloon below a violin sang its very soul out upon thesummer night, weaving its plaint into the soft, adagio rippling of apiano's chords.
He searched his soul. The music, that distant, mellow phrasing of thecall of love, the music had unstrung him. While he paced the bridgebefore her coming that music had been melting the ice of his naturalreserve. But he did not pardon himself because he had acted the fool.
He stared at the night framed in the door of the chart-house. Littlewaves were racing toward him, straight from the moon, on the sea-line,like a flood of new silver pouring from the open door of plenty!
But the appealing beauty of that night could not excuse theunconscionable insult he had just offered her. He knew it, and shivered.
She had come and leaned close to him over the outspread chart, herbreath on his cheek--so close to him that a roving tress of her hairflicked him. But because a sudden fire had leaped from the touch to hisbrain was no reason for the act by which he had just damned himself as apresumptuous brute.
For he, Boyd Mayo, captain of her father's yacht, a hireling, had justpaid the same insulting courtship to Alma Marston that a sailor wouldproffer to an ogling girl on the street.
"I'll jump overboard," he stammered at last. "I'll take myself out ofyour sight forever."
The ominous silence persisted.
"I don't ask you to forgive me. It is not a thing which can be forgiven.Tell them I was insane--and jumped overboard. That will be the truth. Iam a lunatic."
He lurched through the door. In that desperate moment, in the whirlof his emotions, there seemed to be no other way out of his horriblepredicament. He had grown to love the girl with all the consumingpassion of his soul, realizing fully his blind folly at the same time.He had built no false hopes. As to speaking of that love--even betrayingit by a glance--he had sheathed himself in the armor of reservedconstraint; he had been sure that he sooner would have gone down on hishands and knees and bayed that silver moon from the deck of the yacht_Olenia_ than do what he had just done.
"Captain Mayo! Wait!"
He waited without turning to look at her. Her voice was not steady, buthe could not determine from the tone what her emotions were.
"Come back here!"
She was obliged to repeat the command with sharper authority before heobeyed. He lowered his eyes and stood before her, a voiceless suppliant.
"Why did you do that?" she asked. It was not the contemptuous demandwhich he had been fearing. Her voice was so low that it was almost awhisper.
"I don't know," he confessed.
The violin sang on; the moon shone in at the door; two strokes, likegolden globules of sound, from the ship's bell signaled nine o'clock.Only the rhythm of the engines, as soothing as a cat's purring, and theslow roll of the yacht and the murmuring of the parted waves revealedthat the _Olenia_ was on her way through the night.
"I don't know," he repeated. "It doesn't excuse me to say that I couldnot help it."
And he understood women so little that he did not realize that he wasmaking the ages-old plea which has softened feminine rancor ever sincethe Sabine women were borne away in their captors' arms and forgavetheir captors.
She stared at him, making once more a maiden's swift appraisal of thisyoung man who had offered himself so humbly as a sacrifice. His brownhands were crossed in front of him and clutched convulsively his whitecap. The cap and the linen above the collar of his uniform coat broughtout to the full the hue of his manly tan. The red flush of his shockedcontrition touched his cheeks, and, all in all, whatever the daughter ofJulius Marston, Wall Street priest of high finance, may have thought ofhis effrontery, the melting look she gave him from under lowered eyelidsindicated her appreciation of his outward excellencies.
"I supp
ose you are thoroughly and properly ashamed of what you havedone!"
"I am ashamed--so ashamed that I shall never dare to raise my eyes toyou again. I will do what I promised. I will jump overboard."
"Captain Mayo, look at me!"
When he obeyed, with the demeanor of a whipped hound, his perturbationwould not allow him to show as much appreciation of her as she haddisplayed in the secret study of him, which she now promptly concealed.He surveyed her wistfully, with fear. And a maiden, after she hasunderstood that she has obtained mastery over brawn and soul, does notcare to be looked at as if she were Medusa.
She stole a side-glance at her face in one of the mirrors, and thentucked into place a vagrant lock of hair with a shapely finger, therebysuggesting, had there been a cynical observer present, that Miss AlmaMarston never allowed any situation, no matter how crucial, to take herattention wholly from herself.
There was no mistaking it--had that cynical observer been there,he would have noted that she pouted slightly when Mayo declared hisunutterable shame.
"You will never get over that shame, will you?"
And Captain Mayo, feverishly anxious to show that he understood theenormity of his offense, and desiring to offer pledge for the future,declared that his shame would never lessen.
Her dark eyes sparkled; whether there was mischief mingled withresentment, or whether the resentment quite supplanted all otheremotions, might have been a difficult problem for the cynic. But whenshe tilted her chin and stared the offender full in the eyes, proppingher plump little hands in the side-pockets of her white reefer,Captain Mayo, like a man hit by a cudgel, was struck with the suddenand bewildering knowledge that he did not know much about women, forshe asked, with a quizzical drawl, "Just what is there about me, dearcaptain, to inspire that everlasting regret which seems to be troublingyou so much?"
Even then he did not grasp the full import of her provocative question."It isn't you. I'm the one who is wholly to blame," he stammered. "Ihave dared to--But no matter. I know my place. I'll show you I know it."
"You _dared_ to--What have you dared to do--besides what you just did?"
"I cannot tell you, Miss Marston. I don't propose to insult you again."
"I command you to tell me, Captain Mayo."
He could not comprehend her mood in the least and his demeanor showedit. Her command had a funny little ripple in it--as of laughtersuppressed. There were queer quirks at the corners of her full, redlips.
"Now straighten up like your real self! I don't like to see you standingthat way. You know I like to have all the folks on the yachts look atour captain when we go into a harbor! You didn't know it? Well, I do.Now what have you dared to do?"
He did straighten then. "I have dared to fall in love with you, MissMarston. So have a lot of other fools, I suppose. But I am the worst ofall. I am only a sailor. How I lost control of myself I don't know!"
"Not even now?" Still that unexplainable softness in her voice, thatstrange expression on her face. Being a sailor, he looked on this calmas being ominous presage of a storm.
"I am willing to have you report me to your father, Miss Marston. I willtake my punishment. I will never offend you again."
"You can control yourself after this, can you?"
"Yes, Miss Marston, absolutely."
She hesitated; she smiled. She lowered her eyelids again and surveyedhim with the satisfied tolerance a pretty woman can so easily extendwhen unconquerable ardor has prompted to rashness.
"Oh, you funny, prim Yankee!" she murmured. "You don't understand evennow just why you did it!"
His face revealed that he did not in the least understand.
"Come here," she invited.
He went three steps across the narrow cabin and stood in an attitude ofrespectful obedience before her.
"What now, sir?" It was query even more provocative--a smile went withit.
"I apologize. I have learned my lesson."
"You need to learn a lot--you are very ignorant," she replied, withconsiderable tartness.
"Yes," he agreed, humbly.
What happened then was so wholly outside his reckoning that thepreceding events of the evening retired tamely into the background. Ithad been conceivable that rush of passion might drive him to break allthe rules of conduct his New England conscience had set over him; butwhat Alma Marston did overwhelmed him with such stupefaction that hestood there as rigid and motionless as a belaying-pin in a rack. She putup her arms, pressed her two hands on his shoulders, stood on tiptoe,and kissed him on his lips.
"There, foolish old Yankee," she said, softly, her mouth close to his;"since you are so ashamed I give you back your kiss--and all is maderight between us, because we are just where we started a little whileago."
His amazement had so benumbed him that even after that surrender hestood there, close to her, his countenance blank, his arms dangling athis side.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" she asked, petulantly.
"I don't know! I--I--I don't seem to understand."
"I'm going to be honest with you. You are so honest you will understandme, then," she told him. It seemed to him that he must be mistaken, buthe certainly felt her arms were slipping up his shoulders and had metbehind his neck. "I saw it in your eyes long ago. A woman always knows.I wanted you to do what you did to-night. I knew I would be obliged totempt you. I came up here while the moon and the music would help me. Idid it all on purpose--I stood close to you--for I knew you were justmy slow old Yankee who would never come out of his shell till I poked.There! I have confessed!"
His mad joy did not allow him to see anything of the coquette in thatconfession. It all seemed to be consecrated by the love he felt forher--a love which was so honest that he perceived no boldness in theattitude of this girl who had come so far to meet him. He took her intohis arms again, and she returned his kisses.
"Tell me again, Boyd, that you love me," she coaxed.
"And yet I have no right to love you. You are--"
"Hush! Hush! There goes your Yankee caution talking! I want love, forI am a girl. Love hasn't anything to do with what you are or what I am.Not now! We will love each other--and wait! You are my big boy! Aren'tyou?"
He was glad to comply with her plea to put sensible talk from them justthen. There was nothing sensible he could say. He was holding JuliusMarston's daughter in his arms, and she was telling him that she lovedhim. The world was suddenly upside down and he was surrendering himselfto the mad present.
In the yacht's saloon below a woman began to sing:
"Love comes like a summer sigh, Softly o'er us stealing. Love comes and we wonder why To its shrine we're kneeling. Love comes as the days go by--"
"That's it," the girl murmured, eagerly. "We don't know anything at allabout why we love. Folks who marry for money make believe love--I havewatched them--I know. I love you. You're my big boy. That's all. That'senough."
He accepted this comforting doctrine unquestioningly. Her sereneacceptance of the situation, without one wrinkle in her placid browto indicate that any future problems annoyed her, did not arouse hiswonderment or cause him to question the depths of her emotions; it onlyadded one more element to the unreality of the entire affair.
Moon and music, silver sea and glorious night, and a maid who had been,in his secret thoughts, his dream of the unattainable!
"Will you wait for me--wait till I can make something of myself?" hedemanded.
"You are yourself--right now--that's enough!"
"But the future. I must--"
"Love me--love me now--that's all we need to ask. The future will takecare of itself when the time comes! Haven't you read about the greatloves? How they just forgot the whole petty world? What has love to dowith business and money and bargains? Love in its place--business in itsplace! And our love will be our secret until--"
He pardoned her indefiniteness, for when she paused and hesitated shepressed her lips to his, and that assurance was enough for
him.
"Yes--oh yes--Miss Alma!" called a man's voice in the singsong of eagersummons.
"It's Arthur," she said, with snap of impatience in her voice. "Whywon't people let me alone?"
He released her, and she stood at arm's-length, her hands againsthis breast. "I have thought--It seemed to me," he stammered, "thathe--Forgive me, but I have loved you so! I couldn't bear to think--thinkthat he--"
"You thought I cared for him!" she chided. "That's only the man myfather has picked out for me! Why, I wouldn't even allow my father toselect a yachting-cap for me, much less a husband. I'll tell him so whenthe time comes!"
Mayo's brows wrinkled in spite of himself. The morrow seemed to playsmall part in the calculations of this maid.
"Money--that's all there is to Arthur Beveridge. My father has enoughmoney for all of us. And if he is stingy with us--oh, it's easy enoughto earn money, isn't it? All men can earn money."
Captain Mayo, sailor, was not sure of his course in financial waters anddid not reply.
"Miss Alma! I say! Oh, where are you?"
"Even that silly, little, dried-up man," she jeered, with a duck of herhead in the direction of the drawling voice, "goes down to Wall Streetand makes thousands and thousands of dollars whenever he feels like it.And you could put him in your reefer pocket. They will all be afraid ofyou when you go down to Wall Street to make lots of money for us two.You shall see! Kiss me! Kiss me once! Kiss me quick! Here he comes!"
He obeyed, released her, and when Beveridge shoved his wizened face inat the door they were bending over the chart.
"Oh, I say, we have missed you. They are asking for you."
She did not turn to look at him. "I have something else on my mind,Arthur, besides lolling below listening to Wally Dalton fiddlelove-tunes. And this passage, here, Captain Mayo! What is it?" Herfinger strayed idly across a few hundred miles of mapped Atlantic Ocean.
"It's Honeymoon Channel," replied the navigator, demurely. His newecstasy made him bold enough to jest.
"Oh, so we are learning to be a captain, Miss Alma?" inquired Beveridgewith a wry smile.
"It would be better if more yacht-owners knew how to manage their owncraft," she informed him, with spirit.
"Yes, it might keep the understrappers in line," agreed the man atthe door.. "I apply for the position of first mate after you qualify,Captain Alma."
"And this, you say, is, Captain Mayo?" she queried, without troublingherself to reply. Her tone was crisply matter of fact.
Beveridge blinked at her and showed the disconcerted uneasiness of a manwho has intruded in business hours.
Captain Mayo, watching the white finger rapturously, noted that it wassweeping from the Arctic Circle to the Tropic Zone. "That's Love Harbor,reached through the thoroughfare of Hope," he answered, respectfully.
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Beveridge; "the sailors who laid out that coursemust have been romantic."
"Sailors have souls to correspond with their horizon, Arthur. Would youprefer such names as Cash Cove and Money-grub Channel?"
Mr. Beveridge cocked an eyebrow and stared at her eloquent back; also,he cast a glance of no great favor on the stalwart young captain of the_Olenia_. It certainly did not occur to Mr. Beveridge that two youngfolks in love were making sport of him. That Julius Marston's daughterwould descend to a yacht captain would have appeared as incredible anenormity as an affair with the butler. But there was something aboutthis intimate companionship of the chart-room which Mr. Beveridge didnot relish. Instinct rather than any sane reason told him that he wasnot wanted.
"I'm sorry to break in on your studies, Miss Marston," he said, a bitstiffly. "But I have been sent by your father to call you to the cabin."Mr. Beveridge's air, his tone of protest, conveyed rather pointed hintthat her responsibilities as a hostess were fully as important as herstudies as a navigator.
"I must go," she whispered.
Relief was mingled with Captain Mayo's regret. He had feared that thisimpetuous young woman might rebel against the summons, even though theword came from her father. And her persistent stay in his chart-room,even on the pretext of a fervid interest in the mysteries of navigation,might produce complications. This wonderful new joy in his life was tooprecious to be marred by complications.
She trailed her fingers along his hand when she turned from thechart-table, and then pinched him in farewell salute.
"Good night, Captain Mayo. I'll take another lesson to-morrow."
"I am at your service," he told her.
Their voices betrayed nothing, but Beveridge's keen eyes--the eyes whichhad studied faces in the greatest game of all when fortunes were atstake--noted the look they exchanged. It was long-drawn, as expressiveas a lingering kiss.
Mr. Beveridge, sanctioned in his courtship by Julius Marston, was notespecially worried by any inferences from that soft glance. He could notblame even a coal-heaver who might stare tenderly at Miss Alma Marston,for she was especially pleasing to the eye, and he enjoyed looking ather himself. He was enough of a philosopher to be willing to have otherfolks enjoy themselves and thereby give their approbation to his choice.He excused Captain Mayo. As to Miss Marston, he viewed her frivolity ashe did that of the other girls whom he knew; they all had too much timeon their hands.
"Give the poor devils a chance, Alma. Don't tip 'em upside down," headvised, testily, when she followed him down the ladder. He stood at thefoot and offered his hand, but she leaped down the last two steps anddid not accept his assistance. "Now, you have twisted that skipper ofours until he doesn't know north from south."
"I do not care much for your emphasis on the 'now,'" she declared,indignantly. "You seem to intimate that I am going about the worldtrying to beguile every man I see."
"That seems to be the popular indoor and outdoor sport for girls inthese days," he returned with good humor. "Just a moment ago you wereraising the very devil with that fellow up there with your eyes. Ofcourse, practice makes perfect. But you're a good, kind girl in yourheart. Don't make 'em miserable."
Mr. Beveridge's commiseration would have been wasted on Captain BoydMayo that evening. The captain snapped off the light in the chart-roomas soon as they had departed, and there in the gloom he took hishappiness to his heart, even as he had taken her delicious self to hisbreast. He put up his hands and pressed his face into the palms.He inhaled the delicate, subtle fragrance--a mere suggestion ofperfume--the sweet ghost of her personality, which she had left behind.Her touch still thrilled him, and the warmth of her last kiss was on hislips.
Then he went out and climbed the ladder to the bridge. A peep over theshoulder of the man at the wheel into the mellow glow under the hood ofthe binnacle, showed him that the _Olenia_ was on her course.
"It's a beautiful night, Mr. McGaw," he said to the mate, a stumpylittle man with bowed legs, who was pacing to and fro, measuring strideswith the regularity of a pendulum.
"It is that, sir!"
Mr. McGaw, before he answered, plainly had difficulty with somethingwhich bulged in his cheek. He appeared, also, to be considerablysurprised by the captain's air of vivacious gaiety. His superior hadbeen moping around the ship for many days with melancholy spelled inevery line of his face.
"Yes, it's the most beautiful and perfect night I ever saw, Mr. McGaw."There was triumph in the captain's buoyant tones.
"Must be allowed to be what they call a starry night for a ramble,"admitted the mate, trying to find speech to fit the occasion.
"I will take the rest of this watch and the middle watch, Mr. McGaw,"offered the captain. "I want to stay up to-night. I can't go to sleep."
The offer meant that Captain Mayo proposed to stay on duty until fouro'clock in the morning.
Mate McGaw fiddled a gnarled finger under his nose and tried to findsome words of protest. But Captain Mayo added a crisp command.
"Go below, Mr. McGaw, and take it easy. You can make it up to me sometime when there is no moon!" He laughed.
When all the cabin lights were out and h
e realized that she must beasleep, he walked the bridge, exulting because her safety was in hishands, but supremely exultant because she loved him and had told him so.
Obedience had been in the line of his training.
She had commanded him to live and love in the present, allowing thefuture to take care of itself, and it afforded him a sense of sweetcompanionship to obey her slightest wish when he was apart fromher. Therefore, he put aside all thoughts of Julius Marston and hismillions--Julius Marston, his master, owner of the yacht which swept onunder the moon--that frigid, silent man with the narrow strip of frostybeard pointing his chin.
Mayo walked the bridge and lived and loved.