Another blast howled through the distant trees and swept down upon him. Then, borne on the wind, he heard from somewhere ahead, and alarmingly near at hand, other sounds, voices, calls for help.
"Ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy there! Who is it? Where are you?"
"Help!" came the calls again--and nearer. "Help!"
"Look out!" roared Seth, peering excitedly over his shoulder into the dark. "Where are you? Look out or you'll be afoul of . . .
Jumpin' Judas!"
For out of the fog loomed a bulky shape driving down upon him. He pulled frantically at the oars, but it was too late. A mast rocked against the sky, a stubby bowsprit shot over the dory, and the little boat, struck broadside on, heeled to the water's edge. Seth, springing frantically upward, seized the bowsprit and clung to it.
The dory, pushed aside and half full of water, disappeared. From the deck behind the bowsprit two voices, a man's voice and a woman's, screamed wildly.
Seth did not scream. Clinging to the reeling bowsprit, he swung up on it, edged his way to the vessel's bows and stepped upon the deck.
"For thunder sakes!" he roared angrily, "what kind of navigation's this? Where's your lights, you lubbers? What d'you mean by--Where are you anyhow? And--and what schooner's this?"
For the deck, as much as he could see of it in the dark, looked astonishingly familiar. As he stumbled aft it became more familiar still. The ropes, a combination of new and old, the new boards in the deck planking, the general arrangement of things, as familiar to him as the arrangement of furniture in the kitchen of the Lights!
It could not be . . . but it was! The little schooner was his own, his hobby, his afternoon workshop--the Daisy M. herself. The Daisy M., which he had last seen stranded and, as he supposed, hard and fast aground! The Daisy M. afloat, after all these years!
From the stern by the cabin hatch a man came reeling toward him, holding to the rail for support with one hand and brandishing the other.
"Help!" cried the man wildly. "Who is it? Help us! we're drowning!
We're . . . Can't you put us ashore. Please put us . . . Good Lord!"
Seth made no answer. How could he? The man was Bennie D.
And then another figure followed the first, and a woman's voice spoke pleadingly.
"Have you got a boat?" it cried. "We're adrift on this dreadful thing and . . . why, SETH!"
The woman was Emeline Bascom.
"Why, SETH!" she said again. Then the sounds of the wind and waves and the creaking and cracking of the old schooner alone broke the silence.
But Bennie D., even under the shock of such a surprise as this, did not remain silent long. His precious self was in danger.
"You put us ashore!" he shouted. "You put us ashore right off, do you hear? Don't stand there like a fool! Do something. Do you want us to drown? DO something!"
Seth came to life. His first speech was sharp and businesslike.
"Emeline," he said, "there's a lantern hanging up in the cabin. Go light it and fetch it to me. Hurry!"
"It's upset," was the frightened answer. "Bennie found it when we first came aboard. When we--when this awful boat started, it upset and went out."
"Never mind. Probably there's ile enough left for a spell. Go fetch it. There's matches in a box on the wall just underneath where 'twas hangin'. Don't stop to talk! Move!"
Mrs. Bascom moved. Seth turned to the "inventor."
"Come for'ard with me," he ordered. "Here! this way! for'ard!
FOR'ARD!"
He seized his companion by the arm and pulled him toward the bow.
The frightened genius held back.
"What in time is the matter with you?" snarled the lightkeeper.
"Are your feet asleep? Come!"
Bennie D. came, under compulsion. Seth half led, half dragged him to the bow, and, bending down, uncoiled a rope and put it in his hands.
"Them's the jib halliards," he explained. "Haul on 'em quick and hard as you can. If we can h'ist the jib we can get some steerage way on her, maybe. Haul! haul till you can't haul no more. Then hang on till I come back and make fast."
He rushed back to the wheel. The tiller ropes were new, and he could trust them, fortunately. From the cabin hatchway emerged Mrs.
Bascom bearing the lighted lantern.
"Good!" snapped Seth. "Now we can see what we're doin' and, if we show a glim, maybe we won't run down no more dories. You go for'ard and-- No, you take this wheel and hold it just as 'tis. JUST as 'tis; understand? I'll be back in a jiffy. What in thunder's the matter with that foolhead at the jib?"
He seized the lantern and rushed to the bow. Bennie D. had dropped the halliard and was leaning over the rail screaming for help.
Seth hoisted the jib himself, made it fast, and then turned his attention to the mutinous hand.
"Shut up!" he bellowed, catching him by the arm. "Who do you cal'late's goin' to hear you? Shut up! You come with me. I want you to pump. The old craft would do well enough if she was tight, but she's more'n likely takin' water like a sieve. You come and pump."
But Bennie had no notion of pumping. With a jerk he tore loose from the lightkeeper's grasp and ran to the stern, where he continued his howls for help.
Seth was at his heels.
"Stop that, I tell you," he commanded angrily. "It don't do no good. If you don't want to go to the bottom you'll work that pump.
Don't be such a clown."
The frantic genius paid no attention. His sister-in-law left the wheel and put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Bennie," she pleaded. "Please do as he says. He knows, and--"
Bennie D. pushed her backward with savage force. "Mind your own business," he yelled with an oath. "'Twas your foolishness got me into this." Then, leaning over the rail, he called shrilly, "He--lp! I'm drowning! Help!"
Mrs. Bascom staggered back against the wheel, which Seth had seized the instant she deserted it. "Oh!" she said, "you hurt me."
Her husband freed an arm and put it about her. "Are you much hurt, Emeline?" he asked sharply.
"No--o. No, Seth. I--I guess I ain't really hurt at all."
"Good! Then you take this wheel and hold her just so. That's it.
AND DON'T YOU DROP IT AGAIN. I'll attend to this feller."