Swept Out to Sea / Or, Clint Webb Among the Whalers

In Which My Cousin and I have a Serious Falling Out

The wind had died to just a breath, barely filling the canvas of the Wavecrest. We were slowly making the mouth of the inlet at Bolderhead after a day's fishing. Occasionally as the fitful breeze swooped down the sloop made a pretty little run, then she'd sulk, with the sail flapping, till another puff came. I lay in the stern with my hand on the tiller, half asleep, while Paul Downes, my cousin, was stretched forward of the mast, wholly in dreamland. A little roll of the sloop as she tacked, almost threw him into the water and he awoke with a snarl and sat up.

"For goodness sake! aren't we in yet?" he demanded, crossly. "What you been doing for the last hour Clint Webb? We're no nearer the inlet now than we were then, I swear!"

That was a peculiarity about Paul. He was addicted to laying the faults of even inanimate objects to the charge of other people; and as for himself personally, he was never in the wrong! Now he felt that he must have somebody on whom to vent his vexation-and hunger; I was used to being that scapegoat, and it was seldom that I paid much attention to his snarling. On this particular occasion, I said, calmly:

"Now, Paul, you know very well that I hold no position with the Meteorological Bureau, and therefore you shouldn't lay the sins of the weather to me."

"Huh! ain't you smart?" he grunted.

You see, Paul had awakened in rather a quarrelsome frame of mind while-well, I was hungry, too (it was long past our dinner hour) and so felt in a tantalizing mood. If we had not been at just these odds on this lovely September evening, the incidents which follow might never have occurred. Out of this foolish beginning of a quarrel came a chain of circumstances which entirely changed the current of my life. Had I held my tongue I would have been saved much sorrow and peril, and many, many regrets.

"I'm smart-I admit it," said I, cooly; "but I can't govern the wind. We'll get in by bedtime."

"And nothing to eat aboard," growled Paul.

"There's the fish you caught," said I, chuckling.

Paul had had abominable luck all day, the only thing he landed being what we Bolderhead boys called a "grunter"-a frog-mouthed fish of most unpleasant aspect and of absolutely no use as food. All it did when he shook it off his hook in disgust was to swell up like a toy balloon and emit an objective grunt whenever it was poked. Funny, but these "grunters" always reminded me of Paul.

Now, at my suggestion, my cousin broke into another tirade of abuse of the Wavecrest, and what he termed my carelessness. I didn't care much what he said about me, and I suppose there was some reason for his criticism; I should not have gone outside the inlet without more than just a bite of luncheon in the cuddy. But when he referred to my bonnie sloop as "an old tub" and said it wasn't rigged right and that I didn't know how to sail her, then-well, I leave it to you if it wouldn't have made you huffy? You know how it is yourself. Wait till the next fellow makes disparaging remarks about your bicycle, for instance or your motor cycle, or canoe, or what-not, and see how you feel!

"What's the use of talking that way, Paul?" I demanded, interrupting him. "You know the Wavecrest is by far the lightest-footed craft of her class in Bolderhead Harbor."

"No such thing!" he declared. "She's a measly, good-for-nothing old tub."

"All I've got to say is that you're a bad judge of tubs," said I.

"You're a fool!" he exclaimed, and jumped up.

"Now, you know, Paul, if your opinion was of any consequence at all I should be angry," I replied, still with exaggerated calmness.

"I'm going to take the skiff and row ashore," said he. "You can bring your old tub in when you like."

"Thank you; but I guess not! I'd gladly be relieved of your company; but I shall want to get ashore myself some time tonight," I rejoined.

"I tell you I'm going ashore!" cried Paul, coming aft to where the painter was hitched.

"Get away!" I commanded, my own temper rising. "You're not going to leave me without means of landing after we reach our buoy."

"Oh, somebody will see you and take you off," he said, selfishly.

"Maybe somebody will; then again, maybe they won't."

"I'll come out for you after dinner," he said, with a grin that I knew meant he had no such intention.

"Get away from that painter!" I commanded. "You forced your company on me today-I didn't invite you to go fishing-"

"The sloop's as much mine as yours," he growled.

"I'd like to know how you figure that out?" returned I, in amazement.

"When your mother bought it she told father it was for us to use together; but of course you always 'hog' everything."

Now I knew that my mother never would have said what he claimed; but I was angry with her for the moment because of her good natured invitation to Paul to use my personal property. The Wavecrest was my dearest possession. As the saying is, there was more salt water in my veins than blood; our folks had all been sailors-my father's people, I mean-and I was enamored of the sea and sea-going.

When mother built our summer cottage on the Neck I knew how 'twould be. I foresaw that her brother-in-law and his son (Aunt Alice was dead some years then) would live with us about half the time; but that mother should have said anything to give Paul ground for his statement, rasped me sorely.

"Let me tell you, Paul Downes," said I, sharply, "that no person has any right in this boat but myself, unless I invite them; and I'll inform you right now that this is the last trip you'll ever take in her with my permission."

"Is that so?" sneered Paul.

"That's so-and you can make the best of it."

"Well, who wants to go out in your old tub?" he burst forth. "Goodness knows, I don't. But I'm going ashore right now and you can come in when you like."

He started to untie the painter. Somehow his perversity made me furious.

"Drop it!" I repeated; "you're not going to leave this sloop till I do-unless you swim ashore."

"Well, you just try stopping me," he snarled, his temper getting the better for the moment of his usual caution. Paul was a bigger and heavier, as well as an older fellow than I; but he had never dared try fisticuffs with me.

I sprang up and let the tiller bang. Luckily there was so little wind that the sloop took no harm. "Get away from there!" I cried.

"I tell you I am going ashore now."

"You're not."

"I am; and it won't be healthy for you to try to stop me, Clint Webb."

I know very well that this is a bad way to begin my story; I expect you will be disgusted with me right at the start. But what am I to do? I have started out to narrate the incidents which occurred and the various changes that have come into my life since this very September evening; and truth compels me to begin with this quarrel. For from this time dated the purpose which inspired my future life.

So, I hope that the reader will bear with me, even though I introduce much the worse side of my character first. Facts are stubborn things, and I have in this introduction to set down some very stubborn and unpleasant facts.

I sprang up, as I say, and left the tiller, and as Paul seemed to have no intention of obeying me, I advanced upon him threateningly. We were both enraged.

"Take your hand off that rope," said I, earnestly. "Get away! I mean it."

His reply was a foul word. His eyes were blazing and he grew dark under his skin like his father, as his wrath rose. I had always believed that there was Indian blood in the veins of Mr. Chester Downes. I was so near Paul that I had to step back to gather force for a blow, and as I retreated he suddenly kicked me. It was a mean trick-a foul blow and worthy of Paul Downes. Had I not stepped back as I did he might have broken my shin bone, for he wore heavy boots. As it was, the toe of his boot caught me just below the knee-cap and I could not stifle a cry of pain.

However, the kick did not stop the blow I landed straight from the shoulder and it gave me some satisfaction, even at the time, to note that Paul's howl of agony was much louder than mine as he picked himself up from the other end of the cockpit.

* * *

In Which Is Shown the Result of a Bad Beginning

Paul's face was convulsed with passion, and when he was in a rage he lost all control to his tongue, using language that was simply frightful from a boy brought up in a decent home. And at this particular time he was so enraged that he forgot to be afraid! He rushed at me the instant he regained his feet, his arms beating the air like those of a windmill. He was a lubberly fellow at best and the sloop, with the tiller swinging as it listed, was kicking and jumping like a restive pony. I squared off at him in proper form, and when he came within reach I landed a second blow which likewise sent him to the deck.

I glanced hurriedly about. The Wavecrest was some distance from any of the other craft beating into the harbor. The sun had set long since and the moon, a great, round target of silver, was rising out of the sea, its light shimmering across the heaving liquid plain. A more peaceful scene one could scarcely imagine, and somehow it took the heat of passion out of me.

"Hold on, Paul! we mustn't fight like this," I said, as he rose again, the blood running from his nose and his cheek swollen as though he had a walnut in it.

"You're goin' to crawl now, are ye?" he yelled.

"It's foolish and wicked for us to act like this," said I, hastily. "What will your father and my mother say?"

"I don't care what they say!" he shouted, wildly. "I'll make you wish you'd never struck me, Clint Webb."

He sprang aft again. I caught the glimmer of moonlight upon something he clutched in his hand. "What are you doing, Paul?" I cried.

But he plunged toward me, his dark features writhing in passion. At the moment Paul Downes was a murderer at heart; although I believed I could beat him in any fair fight, the weapon in his hand frightened me.

"Put it down, Paul! Put it down!" I begged of him. But he was on top of me in a breath and we rolled over and over in the sloop's cockpit. Why it was that he did not seriously injure me, I cannot tell to this day! He struck at me viciously a dozen times; but by a miracle I escaped even a scratch.

Suddenly I caught his wrist, twisting it so that the open claspknife shot out of his hand. The relief I felt at this must have renewed my strength. In another instant I had rolled him over upon his face and knelt upon him so that he could not move. There was a piece of codline in my pocket and I had his wrists knotted behind him in short order-nor was I particular whether I hurt him, or not! Then I stood up and rolled him over with my foot.

"There!" I panted; "if ever a fellow deserved jailing, you're that fellow, Paul Downes."

"I'll fix you for this! I'll fix you for this!" he kept blubbering.

I was bruised and lame myself (especially where Paul had kicked me in the leg) and now I discovered that my right coatsleeve was slit from the shoulder to the wrist. I had just escaped suffering a dangerous wound.

"Aren't you a pretty fellow?" I said, showing him this rent.

"I wish I'd got you!" he snarled so viciously that I was really startled.

"You won't feel that way when you cool down," I said.

"I won't cool down. I'll get square with you for this if I wait ten years," he declared.

"You're for all the world like your father," I said, hotly; "and he's as revengeful a person as I ever saw."

"Is that so?" retorted Paul. "Well, he isn't like your father was-he had to commit suicide to get out of trouble--"

"What do you mean?" I cried, amazed.

But Paul bit his lip and fell silent. He nevertheless looked at me with so threatening a scowl that, had he not been tied hard and fast, I should have been on the lookout for another cowardly attack.

"What nonsense is that you said?" I repeated. "What do you know about my father?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" returned my cousin, sullenly.

I recovered myself then, believing he was only trying to fret me. "You needn't talk nonsense," I said. "If you mean to say that my father made way with himself, why you're simply silly! Everybody knows that he was drowned while fishing, over there off White Rock."

"So everybody knows it, hey?" he responded, with a most exasperating air of knowing something that I didn't know. "All right. I'm glad that folks know so much. But let me tell you, Clint Webb, that you and your ma'd be paupers now if he hadn't got drowned as he did. It was the only thing he could do."

"You'd better drop it," I advised him, scornfully. "You'd much better be thinking of what will happen to you because of this evening's work. You can't bother me by any such silly talk."

"Oh, I can't hey?" he snarled in a tone that, defenceless as he was, tempted me to kick him.

But just then the sail of the sloop began to fill. I ran to the tiller and brought her head around. A little breeze had sprung up and the Wavecrest was under good way again. In a few moments we passed the light at the entrance to the harbor, and tacked for our anchorage. My mother's property did not include shore rights, so we had no private landing at which to tie the sloop, but moored her at a buoy in the quiet cove near the ferry dock.

"What do you mean to do with me?" asked Paul, having been mighty quiet for the last few minutes.

"I'm going to march you up to the house and hand you over to your father. And if I have any influence with mother at all, both you and he will pack your dunnage and leave in the morning."

He fell silent again until I had dropped the sail and picked up our float. When the Wavecrest was fast he asked more meekly:

"Aren't you going to take this cord off my wrist?"

"No. You're going up to the house in just that fix."

"I won't do it!" he cried with a sudden burst of rage.

"Then you'll stay here while I go up and tell them where you are."

He didn't like that idea, either, and whined: "Don't be so mean, Clint. I don't want to go up to the house this way. What will folks think?"

"'What will folks think?'" I repeated in amazement. "I s'pose that's the first thing you'd worried about if you'd cut me with that knife."

He said no more, but he gave me a threatening look which, had I been of a nervous temperament, might have kept me awake nights. When I drew the tender alongside he stepped in without further urging and sat down in the stern. I rowed ashore. Fortunately for the tender feelings of my cousin there wasn't a soul in sight when we landed. I fastened the boat, and then, with the oars on my shoulder and the slack of the codline in my hand, start him up the shell road.

"Let me go, Clint," he begged again.

"Not for Joe!"

"Then you'll be sorry the longest day you live," he cried, his ugly face suddenly convulsed.

And he was right; but I did not believe it at the time.

* * *

In Which I am Anxious to Learn the Particulars of a Matter of Fourteen Years Standing

My mother's summer home was built upon the highest point of Bolderhead Neck and commanded a view of both the ocean and the inlet, or harbor, around which Old Bolderhead was built.

My mother's early life had not been spent near the water; her people dwelt inland. My maternal grandfather owned half a township and was a very influential man. Naturally my mother had lived in affluence during her girlhood and it was considered by her friends a great mistake on her part when she married my father. He was a ship's surgeon when they were married and his only income was derived from the practise of his profession. He established himself as a physician in Bolderhead after the wedding; they lived simply, and I was their only child.

Grandfather didn't forgive mother for marrying a poor man. The old gentleman didn't get along well with his relatives, anyway. He hadn't liked the man his oldest daughter married, Mr. Chester Downes. When I grew old enough to understand the character of Mr. Downes I could not blame grandfather for his bad opinion of the man! Aunt Alice dying before grandfather, Mr. Downes could never hope to handle much of grandfather's money. There was a sum set aside for Paul in grandfather's will. And even that Mr. Downes could not touch; it was tied up until Paul was of age. After several large charities had been remembered in the will the residue of the property had come to my mother. As I understood it I was but two years old when grandfather died, and my own father was drowned three weeks after grandfather's burial.

We had gone to live at once in mother's old home; but she had a tender feeling for Bolderhead, and as I grew older and evinced such a love for the sea, she had built our summer home here.

Mother was one of those dependent, timid women, who seem unable to decide any matter for themselves. Not that she wasn't the very best mother that ever lived! But she was easily influenced by other people. As I grew older and began to understand what went on more clearly, I knew that Chester Downes possessed a stronger influence over mother than was good for either her or me. He was her confidant in business matters, too.

Being brought up in the same inland town together, my cousin Paul and I naturally saw a good deal of each other. Frankly I saw altogether too much of him-and I told my mother so. But Mr. Downes was all the time coming to the house-especially to the Bolderhead cottage-and bringing Paul with him.

I felt that they were steadily and insidiously influencing mother against me. We were drifting apart. Mother had through them acquired the belief that I was a rude and untrustworthy fellow, and she feared my boatmen companions were weaning me from her. Whereas I kept away from the house because the Downeses were there. I couldn't stand so much of them.

But on this evening I was determined that matters should come to a head. I saw my way clear, I believed, through Paul's vicious attack upon me, to rid the house of the Downeses for good and all.

As we came up the hill I saw that my mother, and doubtless Mr. Downes, were in the drawing room. It was long past the dinner hour. I drove Paul up onto the veranda and towards a French window that opened into the illuminated room. He began to hang back again.

"S'pose there's somebody there?" he said.

"That'll be the worse for you," I responded, callously. "Come on!"

I unlatched the window, held aside the draperies, and pushed him into the room before me. My mother and his father were the only persons present.

"Why, boys! how late you are," said my pretty mother, looking up from the lacework in her lap. Her fingers were always busy. "Were you becalmed outside? You must be awfully hungry. Ring for James, Clinton, and he will fix you up something nice in the pantry." Then she saw Paul's bound wrists, his bruised face, and our disarranged clothing. "What is the matter?" she cried, starting to her feet.

Mr. Downes had observed us too, and he broke in with: "What is the meaning of this outrage, Clinton Webb? My son's wrists lashed together! How dare you, sir?"

"I tied him up, Mr. Downes," I explained before Paul could get in a word; "but I turn him over to your now, sir, and if you wish to release him you may."

"Why-why-Whoever heard of such insolence?" sputtered Mr. Downes. "You see, Mary, what this young ruffian has done to poor Paul? Stand still, will you?" he added, jerking Paul around as he tried to untie the cod line. Paul began to snivel; I reckon his father pulled the line so tight that it cut into the flesh.

"See what he has done, Mary?" repeated my angry uncle, finally pulling out his pocketknife and cutting the cord. "Look at Paul's face! What have I told you about that boy?" and he pointed a bony and accusing index finger at me.

"Clinton! Clinton!" cried mother. "What have you done?"

Her question cut me to the quick. It showed me how deeply she had been impressed by Mr. Downes' calumnies. Her first thought was that I was at fault-that I had been the aggressor.

"You can see what I have done to him," said I, a little sullenly, I fear. "We got into a row on the boat coming in, and that is how he came by his bruises. But I tied him up because I didn't fancy being slit up like a codfish with this thing," and I drew the claspknife-a regular sailor's "gully"-from my coat pocket and tossed it, open, upon the table.

Mother screamed and shuddered, and sank back into her chair again.

"You needn't be scared," I said, more tenderly, crossing to her side and putting my arm across her shoulders. "I'm not hurt at all. He only slit my coat sleeve!"

Mr. Downes glanced from his son's swollen and disfigured face to my flapping coatsleeve, and fear came into his own countenance. He knew something about the ungovernable rages into which Paul frequently flew. He was obliged to wet his lips with his tongue before he could speak:

"You will not believe this horrible, scandalous story, Mary! Why-why-The boy is beside himself!"

"I think Paul was," I said, gravely. "We were both angry-I admit that. But I used nothing but my fists on him."

"Paul! Why don't you speak up and deny this charge?"

"I-I never struck him with the knife," said my cousin, sullenly. "He-he tied my arms and then he-he slit the coat himself. I-I never touched him."

He lied so clumsily that even my innocent and horrified mother could not believe him. But Mr. Dowries tried to make out that he believed Paul.

"Listen to that, Mary!" he blustered. "Did you ever hear of such depravity-such viciousness? A plot to ruin my boy in your eyes-a cowardly plot!"

"It is no plot, Mr. Downes, and you know it," I said. "But I am going to use the circumstance to a purpose which for some time I have longed to accomplish. You and Paul will leave my mother's house-and leave it at once!"

"Clinton!" gasped mother, seizing my hand.

"There, Madam!" cried Mr. Downes, furiously. "He has just as good as admitted it is a conspiracy. Nefarious! He has invented this story--"

"Mr. Downes," I interrupted, my anger rising, "you have done everything you could to prejudice mother against me. Is it any wonder that I desire to see the last of you and your precious son?"

"Clinton! Clinton! My dear son," mother begged. "Don't be so passionate."

"I never was more calm in my life," I responded, firmly. "But these two shall not stay in our house another night, mother."

She burst into tears. Mr. Downes stepped nearer and his sneering look would have enraged me at another time. But I felt that I had the whip-hand and held myself in.

"Fortunately," he said, "your will, young man, is not law here. It is not in your power to put us out of your mother's home."

"You are mistaken," I replied, still quietly. "I have that power."

"You are a minor, sir," said Mr. Downes, loftily. "I brand your ridiculous story as false. It would be quite within your character to have cut your coat sleeve as Paul says. I will not even believe that that is his knife--"

He stretched out his hand to take it from the table but I was too quick for him. "No, you don't!" I said. "That is too valuable a bit of evidence for you to get hold of. Even Paul will not deny owning the knife. I know where he bought it and I can find the man who engraved his initials on the blade."

"Very well planned indeed," sneered Mr. Downes, but I sternly interrupted:

"Mr. Downes, again I tell you that you must leave this house. You and Paul shall never again live under the same roof with me."

"When I hear your mother say this--"

"This is a matter which my mother will not have to decide," I assured him, and without looking at her although I had returned to my place by her side.

"And why should we obey your behest, young man?"

"If you don't leave I shall go out at once and swear out a warrant against Paul for assault with this knife. And I'll have the warrant served, too."

"Oh, Clinton!" sobbed my mother. "Don't think of such a thing."

"As sure as I live it shall be done, unless they go."

"Think of the publicity!" said my mother, clinging to my hand.

"Yes," I rejoined, bitterly. "And think what might have happened if he'd got me with that knife."

"You-you--" gasped Mr. Downes. "You are your father right over again!"

"Thank you; I consider that a compliment."

"You wouldn't consider it such if you knew as much about him as I do," he muttered.

"Now that will do!" I exclaimed, losing my self-control on the instant. "I've heard enough insinuations regarding father from Paul tonight. I won't stand any more of that talk, I warn you both!"

"Clinton!" murmured mother, with a very white face, while Downes turned upon his son in a sudden rage.

"What have you been saying-you fool?" he snarled. Paul was quite cowed before his sudden wrath.

"Paul may be diffident about saying," I observed. "But I'll tell you. He says my father committed suicide, and that if he hadn't done so my mother and I would be paupers today."

I never saw a man's countenance express such changes of emotion within so short a time. From anger to fear-and back again-was such a swift transition that it startled me. I began from that moment to wonder very much what the mystery was which surrounded my father's death fourteen years before!

But the next instant my attention was recalled to my mother. For a moment she sat motionless. Now she started up from her chair with a little cry.

"What is it, mother?" I cried, in alarm. Had I not caught her she would have fallen to the floor.

"Now, see what you have done!" snarled Mr. Downes. "You have over-excited her. Get out of the way, boy--"

I gave him a look that halted him. Had he touched my mother then I would have been at his throat! Exerting all my strength I picked her up bodily and carried her to the nearest couch. The bell push was at hand and I rang for her maid. The woman responded immediately and James was right behind her in the hall.

"Attend to your mistress, Marie," I said. "And James!"

"Yes, sir," said the big butler, coming to the door.

"Order the carriage at once and see that Mr. Downes' bags are brought down. They are leaving immediately."

The butler's face was perfectly impassive. Mr. Downes broke into a nasty laugh.

"James will do nothing of the sort," he said. "I think too much of my sister to leave the house while she is so unwell. What do you think, Marie? Is it serious? Shall I telephone for Dr. Eldridge?"

"I do not know, Monsieur," replied the French woman, anxiously. "She has been frightened-ees eet not?"

"This young reprobate would frighten anybody!" cried Mr. Downes, blusteringly.

"James," I said again, "do as I have told you. Tell Ham to bring the carriage around inside of half an hour and to drive wherever Mr. Downes shall direct. The ferry is not running at this hour, or I would not trouble him."

The butler glanced from my mother's death-white face to Mr. Downes. He did not so much as favor me with a look, but with sphynx-like composure left the room. To tell the truth I hadn't the least idea whether he would obey me, or Mr. Downes.

* * *