8 Jimmy Thomas's Strategy On a chart the island of Grand Mignon bears the same relation to surrounding islands that a mothership bears to a flock of submarines. Westward her coast is rocky and forbidding, being nothing but a succession of frowning headlands that rise almost perpendicularly from the sea. It is one of the most desolate stretches of coast in moderate latitudes, for no one lives there, nor has ever lived there, except a few hermit-dulse-pickers during the summer months. Along the east coast, that looks across the Atlantic, are strung the villages, nestled in bays and coves. And it is out from this coast that the dozen little islands lie. First and partially across the mouth of the bay, where the fishing fleet lies, is Long Island. Then comes High Duck, Low Duck, and Big Duck. Farther south there are Rosses, Whitehead, and Big Wood Islands, not to mention spits, points, and ledges of rock innumerable and all-honored with names. It was the fact of so many treacherous ledges and reefs to be navigated safely in a four-knot tide that was agitating the half-dozen guests at Ms. Shannon's boarding-house. It need hardly be said that Ms. Shannon was a widow, but her distinction lay in being called Ms. instead of Ma. She made a livelihood by putting up the runners who made periodical trips with their sample cases for the benefit of the local tradesmen, and took in occasional rusticators, or summer tourists, who had courage enough to dare the passage of the strait in the tiny steamer. The principal auditor of the harrowing tails that were flying about the table over the fish-chowder was Mr. Arbery Templeton, the young lawyer from St. John's who had arrived on the steamer that afternoon. Just opposite to Mr. Templeton at the table sat Jimmy Thomas, who, being a bachelor, had made his home with Ms. Shannon for the last three years, and it was Jimmy who had held the table spellbound with his tails of danger and narrow escapes. He had just concluded a yarn, told in all seriousness, of how a shark had leaped over the back of a dory in Whale Cove, and the two men in the dory had barely escaped with their lives. "'And I know the two men had happened to,' he concluded, or I know one of them, the other's dead. Old Jasper Schofield never got over the scare he got that day.' The lawyer sat bolt upright in his chair. "'Do you know the Schofields?' he demanded of Thomas. "'Guess I ought to. I've been dory-mate with code when the old man was skipper. A finer young fellow ain't on this island.' "'Do you happen to know where he is?' asked Templeton. "'I came to Grand Mignon on several important matters, and one of them was to see him. I've tried to locate the fellow, but he seems to have disappeared.' "'Why, I've seen him to-day myself in Castalia,' cried Thomas. "'He's up there hiring men to ship with him. Said he was going to stay all night. I know the very house he's in.' "'You do?' "'Yes.' "'Do you think I could get there to-night?' "'You might,' Jimmy looked at his watch. "'The seal-cove mail-wagon's gone long ago, but I'll take you down in my mortar-dory if you'll come right now.' Templeton did not even wait to finish his supper, but went out with Thomas immediately. A few minutes walk brought them to the little beach where the dory was drawn up, and they were soon on their way.  Thomas kept the nose of his dory pointed to the lights of several houses that gleamed across the bay. They were not, however, the lights of Castalia, which were almost invisible farther south. But Templeton, who had never been on Grande Mignon before, sat blissfully ignorant of this circumstance. Later, however, he remembered that his accommodating guide had chuckled inexplicably during most of the trip. Twenty minutes' ride in the chill night air brought them to a long, low pier that extended out into the black water. Above, on the hillside, the windows of the big fishing settlement on Long Island gleamed comfortable and yellow. Thomas ran his dory close to the landing stage, and then reversed the engine so that at the time most convenient for Templeton to step off the boat had lost all motion.  Instead, he turned it on full speed and backed away from the dock. Hey, you! Where are you going?" called Templeton, vaguely alarmed for the first time. Back to the village, answered Thomas, sending his motor into the forward speed. I got something very important to do there. But in which house is Schofield? cried the other. You said you would show me. There was no reply, and it is possible that, due to the noise of the engine, Thomas had not heard the protest at all. Nat Burns arrived at Shannon's boarding house slightly in advance of the time named, and read Templeton's note, saying that he had gone to Castelia to nab Code while he had the chance. Who did Templeton go with? he asked fearfully of the landlady. Mr. Thomas replied that worthy. My God! wrapped out Burns in such a tone of disgust and defeat that she shrank from him with uplifted hands. But he did not notice her. Instead, he rushed out of the house and along the road toward Freekirk Head. The boarding house was a full half mile from the wharfs of the village, and after a hundred yards Burns slowed down into a rapid walk. The fool took the bait like a dog-fish, he snarled. Lord knows where he is by this time. I'll bet Schofield is at the bottom of this. He had not as yet found out where Code was, and his first step when he reached the village was to go to the Schofield cottage and verify Templeton's note. Josie, the orphan girl, was there alone, and was on the point of tears with having been left alone so long with night coming on. When questioned, the girl admitted readily enough that Mrs. Schofield had taken a bundle of Code's clothing and gone to Castelia in the afternoon, she having overheard the conversation that took place between her mistress and Pete Ellenwood. When he had gained this information, Burns hurried from the house and toward the spot on the beach between the wharfs where his dory lay. He had not the remotest idea what had become of Templeton, but he was reasonably sure that if Thomas had taken him to Castelia, Schofield was no longer there. What Thomas had really done did not occur to him, and his one idea was to get to the neighbouring villages as soon as possible and ascertain just what had taken place. His dory was beached alongside the pier where the charming lass had lain for the past week. Now, as he approached it, he suddenly stopped, rooted in his tracks. The charming lass was gone. End of Chapter 8. Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 9 of The Harbour of Doubt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbour of Doubt by Frank Williams Chapter 9 On The Course All dories abhorred? All hands set topsils. Jimmy Thomas, ease your mainsheet. Now, boys, all together. Yo, sway him flat. Yo, once more. Yo, fine. Stand by to sit balloon-jib. It was broad daylight, and the early sun lighted the newly painted, slanting deck of the charming lass as she snored through the gentle sea. On every side the dark-grey expanse stretched unbroken to the horizon, except on the starboard bow. There a long grey flatness separated itself from the horizon, the coast of southern Nova Scotia. There was a favourable following wind, and the clean, new schooner seemed to express her joy at being again in her element by leaping across the choppy waves like a live thing. While the crew of ten leaped to the orders, Code Schofield stood calmly at the wheel, easing her on her course so as to give them the least trouble. Under the vociferous bellow of Pete Ellenwood, the crew were working miracles in swiftness and organisation. The sun had been up two hours, and now, as Schofield glanced back at the wake that foamed and bubbled behind them, his eyes fell upon the white sails of a vessel far stern. Even at the distance it was plain that she was of schooner rig and probably a fisherman. Wonder who she is, asked Code, pointing her out to Ellenwood. Don't know! Thought perhaps you'd seen her before, Skipper. I've had my eye on her for an hour. Fisherman likely. You'll see him in all directions every day if or were through. The explanation was simple and obvious, and it satisfied Schofield. He promptly forgot her, as did everyone else aboard the lass.  First table! And the first table made a rush below. When the five men sat down it was the first time they had been able to relax since the evening before, when, without lights and under head sails only, the charming lass had stolen out between the reefs of Freekirk Head to sea. Well, boys, I calculate we're safe, ejaculated Ellenwood with great satisfaction. The lass is doing her ten knots steady, and I guess we'll have left Cape Sable a stern before the sleepy heads at home find out what's become of us.  If it hadn't been for you, I would never have got beyond St. John's. It was Code who spoke. And you pretty near spoiled what I did do, rumbled Pete. How's that? interrupted Thomas, interestingly. I don't know everything that happened to you, fellas. I was busy at the time, giving a friend of ours a joy ride. Tell me about it. It wasn't me that nearly broke up the show, Pete, protested Code. It was Mother. Of course, when Jimmy was taking her over to Castelia in his Dory, he told her what was in the wind. They found me at the Pembroke Place, and we all went into Pembroke's Ice House, where I was to stay until after dark. Then Ma started in to find out everything. She allowed it wasn't honorable for me to run away when the officer or lawyer was after me. She said it proved that I was guilty, and thought I ought to stay and be served with this paper. If I wasn't guilty of anything, it could be proven easily enough, she said. Poor honest mother. She forgot that the whole matter would take weeks, if not months, and that all that time I would be idle and discontented and spending most of my time before boards of inquiry. I suppose it will look queer to a lot of people at the head, because I've gone. They'll say right off, just as we thought. All this talk that has been going around is true, and put me down for a criminal that ought to go to jail.  But Jimmy, I couldn't do it. Grand Mignon is in too bad a hole. She needs every man who owns a schooner or a sloop or a dory to go out and catch fish and bring them home. The old islands gutter back against the wall, and I felt that when all the trouble and danger were over for her, I would go to St. John's and let those people try and prove their case. They can't prove anything, but that doesn't say they won't get a judgment.  The company is a big corporation with lawyers and plenty of money. If somebody there is after me, I haven't a chance, and they will gouge me for all they can get. You, Jimmy, and Pete know that this is so, and it was for all these reasons that I wouldn't stand my ground and let that fellow serve me. Ma is dependent on me, and when I have sold 1,500 quennels of fish, she will have enough to carry her along until that trouble is over. So I'm going out after the 1,500 quennels. Now, that's my story. We've heard Jimmy's. But how did you manage everything so well, Pete? Ellenwood was flattered and coughed violently over the last of his vittles. Hey! yelled some hungry member of the second half. If you fellas eat any more, you'll sink the ship. Get up out of there and give your betters a chance. Ellenwood rolled a forbidding eye toward the companion way. Some clam-spitter on deck don't seem to know that in this here pack at the youth and beauty is always considered first, he rumbled ominously. No reply being forthcoming, he turned to code. When old Byge Tanner come to me, shaken like a leaf, and said there was a fellow on the steamer that would attach your schooner and all ye had, because of some business about the sinkin' of the old May, I says to myself, says I, Pete, I says, we don't allow nothing like that to spoil our crews and keep the skipper ashore. Now, Mignon isn't very big, and I knew he would get you in a day or two if you didn't go back into the forest and hide. But I calculated you wouldn't want to do that, and so I figured the only way to beat that lawyer was to fool him before he got fair started on his search.  I found out that Nat Burns had taken the fellow to Miss Shannon's boarding-house, and knowing that Jimmy was livin' there, I got an idea. Jimmy's told about that already. The fellow bit, and that was the end of him. But that wasn't the worst of it. I knew we had to get out the same evening, if we was to get out at all. So what did I do but get Bill Rockwell here to hitch up the big double-buck board and go out after the five men that weren't on the job? He had to drive clear to Great Harbor for one, but he got back with all hands about seven o'clock. Everybody in town was at supper and didn't see us when we clumbabored the last. When it was pitch black, we cast off the lines, and she drifted out on the ebb tide, which just there runs easy a knot and a half. Then we got up our head-soul so as to get steerage-way on her, and bless my soul if the blocks made a creek. Might have been pullin' silk thread through a firm mitten for all the noise. I was afraid for a minute that the flash of swallow-tail light would catch her top mests, but it didn't. And after an hour we were outside and layin' in sixteen fathom off big duck. The tide there runs three knot, and with our head-souls and the light-arrow wind we just managed to hold her even. Of course you fellers know the rest. As soon as Jimmy landed his passenger on Long Island, he came out and straight south to where we was. I had told Jimmy to tell Code in the afternoon where to meet us. And so, when it was black enough, the skipper got into his motor-dory and came out too. When they climbed aboard, we got up sail and laid a southwest course to round Nova Scotchie.  Proud of you, Pete, you old fox, said Scofield, getting up from the table with a sigh of immense relief. Come on, let the second half in.  But wait, I almost forgot this. He unpinned the pocket of his waistcoat and drew forth the flimsy sheet of paper that he had picked up when Templeton had mistakenly tried to serve him. Briefly he told the skipper its history and handed it to him. Scofield's eyes opened wide as he saw that the paper was that of the Dominion Cable Office in Freekirk Head, and he read, To A. Templeton, Marine Insurance Company, St. John's, New Brunswick. Come at once with summons for Cody Albert Scofield and attachment for schooner Charming Lass as per former arrangements. Burnett, for a moment the signature puzzled him, and Ellenwood, grinning, stood watching his puzzled efforts to solve it. Skipper, if it was a mule, it would kick you in the face, he remarked. If you can't see Nat Burns in that, I can. And now you've got an idea just who's at the bottom of this thing. Code Scofield went aft to his cabin companion way and prepared to go below and open his log. Kent took the wheel, and Ellenwood lurched about with a critical eye upon the lashings, sheets, and general appearance of the deck. Scofield, remembering the schooner that had attracted his eye before, looked a stern for her. She had gained rapidly upon them in the half hour he had been below. Now he could see her graceful black hull, the shadows and the great sails, and the tiny men here and there upon her deck. What a sailor! he cried in involuntary admiration. She must be an American! It was clear that the other schooner, even in that moderate breeze, must be making the better side of twelve knots. Scofield gave her a final admiring glance and went below. August 29th, clear, wind west-south-west, canting to west, moderate breeze, knots log to twelve, noon 153, position twenty miles south, a little east of Cape Sable, end of this day. Code closed the dirty and thumb-worn paper-covered ledger that was the log of the charming lass, and had been the log of the old May Scofield for ten years before she went down. It was the one thing he had saved. He had been on deck, taken his sextant observation, and just completed working out his position. As he closed the old log, his eye was caught by a crudely penned name near the bottom of the paper-cover. The signature was Nelly Tanner's, and he remembered how, a dozen years ago, while they were playing together in the cabin of the old May, she had pretended she was captain and owned the whole boat, so that Code would have to obey her orders. As he looked he caught the almost obliterated marks of a pencil beneath Nelly's name, and, looking closer, discovered Nat Burns in boyish letters. For a moment he scowled blackly at the audacious words, and then, laughing at his foolishness, threw the book from him. Then slowly the scowl returned, and he asked himself seriously why Nat hated him so. That there had always been an instinctive dislike between them as boys, everybody in Freekirk had knew, and several vicious fights to a finish had emphasized it. But since coming to Manhood's estate, Code had left behind him much of the rancor and intolerance of his early youth, and had considered Nat Burns merely as a disagreeable person to be left heartily alone. But Burns had evidently not arrived at this mature point of self-education. In fact, Burns was a good example of a youth brought up without those powers of self-control that are absolutely necessary to anyone who expects to take a reasonable position in society, even as simple as that of Freekirk had. Code remembered that Nat and his father had always been inseparable companions, and that it was due to this father more than anyone else that the boy had been spoiled and indulged in every way. Michael Burns had risen to a position of considerable power in the humble life of the island. From a successful trawler he had become a successful fish-packer and shipper. Then he had felt a desire to spread his affluent wings, gone in for politics, and been appointed the squire or justice of the peace. In this position he was commissioned by the Marine Insurance Company of St. John's as its agent and inspector on Grand Mignon Island. In his less successful days he had been a boatbuilder in Gloucester and Bath, and knew much of ship construction. For more than half a year now, Code had been unable to think of Michael Burns or the old May Scofield without a shutter of horror. But now that Nat was suddenly hot on the trail of revenge, he knew he must look at matters squarely and prepare to meet any trap which might be laid for him. It seemed evident that the first aim in Nat's mind was the hounding of the man who had been the cause of his father's death, for that death had occurred at a most opportune time for the Scofields. The heavy insurance on the fifty-year-old May was about to run out, and it was almost a certainty that Burns would not recommend its renewal, except at a vastly increased premium. As a matter of fact, on a hurried trip that Code had taken, he had picked up Burns himself at St. John's, the inspector coming for the purpose of examining the schooner while under sail in a fairly heavy seaway. All the island knew this, and all the island knew that Code was the only one to return alive. The inference was not hard to deduce, especially as the gale encountered had been one such as the May had lived out a dozen times. Had not all these things been enough to fire the impulsive passionate Burns with a sullen hatred, the next events would have been. For Code received his insurance without a dispute, and not long afterward, while in Boston for the purpose, had picked up the almost new charming lass from a Gloucester skipper who had run into debt. Code now saw to what Nat's uncontrolled brooding had brought him, and he realized that the battle would be one of wits. He got up to go on deck. He had only turned to the companion way when the great voice of Pete Ellenwood rumbled down to him. Come on, deck-skipper, and look over this schooner astern of us. There's something queer about her. I don't like her actions. Code took the steps at a jump, and a moment later stood beside Ellenwood. The lass was snoring along under full sail. The stranger, which at eight o'clock had been five miles astern, was now, at noon, less than a mile away. Code instinctively shot a quick glance at the compass. The schooner was running dead east. What's this, Ellenwood? demanded the skipper sharply.  Yes, sir, and on purpose, replied the mate. I've been watching that packet for a couple of hours back, and it seemed to me she was a little bit too close on our track for comfort. What if she's from St. John's, I says to myself? Then there'll be the devil to pay for the skipper. So, after you'd got your observation and went below, I'd just put the wheel down a trifle. I hadn't been gone away from her five minutes when she followed. It's very plain, Code, that she's trying to catch us. A sudden feeling of alarm took possession of Scofield. That she was a wonderful speed-craft she had already proven by overhauling the lass so easily. The thought immediately came to him that Nat Burns, on discovering his absence, had sent the lawyer with the summons to St. John's, hired a fast schooner and set out in pursuit. Maybe it was only an accident, he said. She may be on the course to Sable Island. Give her another trial. Come about and head for Halifax. Stand by to come about, bawled Ellenwood. Two young fellows raced up the rigging, others stood by to prevent jiving, and the mate put the wheel hard to lee. The schooners had swung sharply. There was a thunder and rattle of canvas, a patter of reef-points, and the great boom swung over. The wind caught the sails, the charming lass healed and bore away on the new course. The men in the stern watched the movements of the stranger anxiously. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed when she also came about and headed directly into the wake of the lass. Scofield and Ellenwood looked at each other blankly. Are you going to run for it, skipper? asked the mate. I'll have the balloon-jib and Stasel set in five minutes, if you say so. Code thought for a minute. It's no use, he said. They'd catch us anyway. Let them come up and we'll find out what they want. Take in your topsils. There's no use wasting time on the wrong course. Under reduced sail the lass slowed, and the pursuing vessel overhauled them rapidly. With a great smother of foam at her bows she ducked into the choppy sea and came like a race-horse. In half an hour she was almost abreast on the port quarter. A man with a megaphone appeared on her poop-deck and leveled the instrument at the little group by the wheel. Heave to, he bawled. We want to talk with you. Heave to, ordered Cole, and the charming lass came up into the wind, just as the stranger accomplished the same maneuver. They were now less than fifty yards away, and the man again leveled his megaphone. Is that the charming lass out of Freekirk Head? he shouted. Yes. Captain Code Schofielden command? Yes. Bound to the banks on a fishing cruise? Yes. All right, that's all I wanted to know, said the man, and set down the megaphone. He gave some rapid orders to the crew, and his vessel swung around so as to catch the wind again. Code and Ellenwood looked at one another blankly. Hey there! shouted Schofield at the top of his voice. Who are you, and what do you want? The skipper of the other schooner paid no attention, whatever, and Schofield repeated his question, this time angrily. He might as well have shouted at the wind.  A minute later, and she was out of earshot. Look for her name on the stern, commanded Code. He plunged below into the cabin, and raced up again with his glasses. The mysterious schooner was now nearly a quarter of a mile away, but with an easy range of vision. Code fixed his gaze on her stern, where her name should be, and saw with astonishment that it had carefully been painted out. Then he swung his glasses to cover the door he's nested amid ships, and found that on them, too, new paint had obscured the name. He lowered the glasses helplessly. Do you recognize her, Pete? he asked. I know most of the schooners out of Freekirk Head and St. John's, but I never saw her before. Me neither, admitted the mate with conviction. I wonder what all this means? Code could not answer. Squid-ho! Squid-ho! Tumble up, all hands! Rod Kent, the old salt who had for the past hour been experimenting over the side, leaned down the main cabin hatch and woke the port watch. Behind him on the deck a queer marine creature squirmed in a pool of water, and sought vainly to disentangle itself from the apparatus that had caught it.  The squid is a very small addition of the giant devilfish or octopus. It has ten tentacles, a tapered body about ten inches long, and is armed with the usual defensive ink sack, by means of which it squirts a cloud of black fluid at a pursuing enemy escaping in the general murk. How'd you catch him? cried all hands, for the advent of squid was the most welcome news the men in the charming lass had had, since leaving home four days before. It meant that this favorite and succulent bait of the roaming cod had arrived in the banks, and that the catches would be good. Jigged him! replied Kent, leconically. He disengaged the struggling squid from the apparatus and examined the latter carefully. It was made of a single cork, through the lower edge of which pins had been thrust and bent back like the flukes of an anchor. To it was fastened a small shred of red flannel, the whole being attached to a line with a sinker. In five minutes, code had unearthed from an old shoe-box in his cabin enough jigs to supply all hands, and presently both rails were lined with men hauling up the bait as fast as it was lured to close proximity by the color of the red flannel.  But not without resistance. Just as they left the water they discharged their ink sacs at their captors, and the men in the decks of the lass were kept busy weaving their heads from side to side to avoid the assault. It was near evening of the second day after the mysterious schooner had hailed them and sailed away. Since that time they had forged steadily northeast along the coast of Nova Scotia. At last they had left Cape Breton at the tip of Cape Breton Island behind them and approached the southern shores of Newfoundland and that wonderful stretch of shoals called the Grand Banks. Southeast for three hundred miles from Newfoundland extends this undersea flooring of rocky shelves that run from ninety to five fathoms being most shallow at virgin rocks. In reality this is a great submarine mountain chain that is believed at one time to have belonged to the continent of North America. The outside edge of it is in the welter of the shoreless Atlantic and from this edge there is a sheer drop into almost unsounded depths. These depths have got the name of the whale-hole and many a fishing skipper has dropped his anchor into this abyss and earned the laughter of his crew when he could find no ground. Along the top and sides of this mountain range grow vegetable substances and small animacules that provide excellent feeding for the vast hosts of cod that yearly swim across it. For four hundred years the cod have visited these feeding grounds and been the prey of man, yet their numbers show no falling off. To them is due the wealth of Newfoundland, the Mycolon Islands, Nova Scotia, Labrador, and Prince Edward Island. The first manifestation of the annual visit is the arrival of enormous schools of Kaplan, a little silvery fish some seven inches long that invades the bays and the open sea. Close upon them follow the cod feeding as they come. The Kaplan lasts six weeks and disappear to be superseded in August by the squid of which the cod are very fond. Up until fifty years ago mackerel were caught in the banks and large quantities of halibut. But the mackerel disappeared suddenly, never to return, and the halibut became constantly more rare until it last only the cod remained. Abored the charming lass the squid jigging went on for a couple of hours, then suddenly the school passed and the sport ended abruptly. But the deck of the schooner was a mass of the bait and the tubs of salt clams brought from Freekirk Head could be saved until later. Rockwell, who had been looking out forward, suddenly called cod's attention to a flock of sea pigeons floating on the water a mile ahead. As the skipper looked he saw the fowl busily diving and upending, and he knew they had struck the edge of the banks. For waterfowl will always dive in shoal water, and a skipper sailing to the banks from a distance always looks for this sign. An hour later, when the cook had sent out his call for the first half, cod made Ellenwood stay on deck and bring the schooner to an anchorage after sounding. The sounding lead is a long slug, something like a window weight at the bottom of which is a saucer-shaped hollow. The Leedsman, a young fellow from Freekirk Head, took his place on the schooner's rail outside the fore-rigging. The lead was attached to a line, and as the schooner forged slowly ahead, close hauled, the youth swung the lead in ever-widening semi-circles. "'Let your pigeon fly!' cried Pete, and the lead swung far ahead and fell with a sudden plop into the dark blue water. The line ran out until it suddenly slackened just under the Leedsman. He fingered a mark. "'Forty fathoms!' he called. Five minutes later another sounding was taken and proved that the water was gradually shoaling. At thirty fathoms Pete ordered the anchor let go and a last sounding taken. Before the lead flew he rubbed a little tallow into the saucer, and this, when it came up, was full of sand, mud, and shells, telling the sort of bottom under the schooner. Pete called code, and together they read it like a book, favorable fishing-ground, though not the best. While the second half ate, the first half took in all canvas and reefed it with the exception of the mainsail. This was unbent entirely and stowed away. In its place was bent on a riding-sail, for until their salt was all wet there would be very little occasion for any sort of sailing, their only progress being as they ambled leisurely from birth to birth. Dory's oversight, sung out code, starboard first. A rope made fast to a mainstay and furnished with a hook at its end was slipped into a loop of rope at one end of the dory. A similar device caught a similar loop at the other end. One strong pull and the dory rose out of the nest of four others that lay just aft of the main mist. A hand swung her outboard, and she was lowered away until she danced on the water. Jimmy Thomas leaped into her, received a tub of briny squid, a dinner horn, and a beaker of water, besides his rectangular reels with their heavy cords, leads, and two hooks. Overside, Port Dory, came the command, and Kent was sent on his way. Thus, one after another, the men departed until on board the last, there remained only the cook and a boy helper. Code, as well as Ellenwood, had gone out, for they wished to test the fishing. These dories were entirely different propositions from the heavy motorboats that the men used almost entirely near the island. They were light, compact, and properly big enough for the only one man, although they easily accommodated two. The motor dories of Thomas and Code were on board, nested forward, but they were of little use here, where only short distances are covered, and those by rowing. The nine dories drew away from the schooner, each in a different direction, until they were a mile or more apart.  Then he baited his two hooks with bits of tentacle, and threw them overboard.  Unreeling a couple more fathoms of line, he cast the reel aside. Then he hauled his leads up until he judged them to be some six feet off the bottom and waited. Almost instantly there was a sharp jerk, and Code, with the skill of the trained fisherman, instantly responded to it with a savage pull on the line, and a rapid hand over hand as he looped it into the dory. The fish had struck on. The tough cords sung against the gunnel, and at times it was all the skipper could do to bring up his prize, for the great cod darted here and there, dove, rushed, and struggled to avert the end. Thirty fathoms is a hundred and eighty feet, and with a huge and desperate fish disputing every inch of the way, it becomes a seemingly endless labor. But at last Code, straining his eyes over the side, caught a glimpse of quick circles of white in the green, and reached for the maul that was stuck under a thwart. Two more heaves, and the Code, open mouth, thrashed on the surface. A smart wrap on the head with the maul, and he came into the dory quietly. There were little pink crabs sticking to him, and he did not seem as fat as he should, although he topped the fifty pound mark. Lousy, said Code, lousy and hungry, it's good fishing. With a short stout stick at hand, he wrenched the hook out of the Cod's mouth, baited up, and cast again. The descending bait was rushed and seized, this time both hooks bore victims.  When the dogfish came, the men pulled up their anchors and rowed a mile or so away, for where the dogfish pursues, all others fly.  An evil, curved horn, the thrust of which can be nearly fatal to a man. The bottom of the dory became covered with a flooring of liquid silver bodies that twined together and rolled with the roll of the dory. At five o'clock Code wound his line on the reel. He usually used two at a time, but one had been plenty with such fishing, and started to pull for the distant charming lass. He was now fully five miles from her, and his nearest neighbor was Bill Kent, three miles away. All hands were drawing in toward her, for they knew they must take a quick mug up and then dress down until the last cod lay in his shroud of salt. The schooner lay to the northeast of Schofield, and as he bent to his work he did not see a strange level mass of gray that advanced slowly toward him. From a distance to the lay observer this mass would have looked like an ordinary cloud bank, but the experienced eyes of a fisherman would have discerned its ghastly gray hue and its flat contour. All the afternoon there had been a freshening breeze, and now Schofield found himself rowing against a head-sea that occasionally slapped over the high bow of the dory and ran aft over the half ton of fish that lay under his feet. He had not pulled for fifteen minutes when the whole world about him was suddenly obscured by the thick woolly fog that swirled past on the wind. It was as though an impenetrable wall had been suddenly built up on all sides, a wall that offered no resistance to his progress, and yet no egress. He immediately stopped rowing and rested his oars, listening. No sound came to him except the slap of the increasing waves and the occasional flap of a wet fish in its last hour. He carried no pocket compass, and the light gave no hint of the direction of the sun. In the five minutes that he sat there, the head of his dory swung around, and even had he known the exact compass direction of the charming last before the fog, he would have been unable to find it. The situation did not alarm him in the least, for he had experienced it often before. Reaching into the bow, he drew out the dinner-horn that was part of the equipment of the dory, and sent an ear-splitting blast out into the fog. It seemed as though the opaque walls about him held in the sound as heavy curtains might in a large room. It fell dead on his own ears without any of the reverberant power that sound has in traveling across the water. Once more he listened. He knew that the schooner, being at anchor, would be ringing her bell, but he hardly hoped to catch a sound of that. Instead he listened for the answering peel of a horn in one of the other dories. Strain his ears, he thought he caught a faint toot ahead of him into starboard. He seized his oars and rode hard for several minutes in the direction of the sound. Then he stopped, and rising to his feet, sent another great blast brawling forth into the fog. Once more he listened, and again it seemed as though an answering horn sounded in the distance, but it was fainter this time.  The dory rolled heavily and code, losing his balance, sprawled forward on the fish, the horn flying from his hand overboard as he tried to save himself. For a moment only it floated, and then, as he was frantically swinging the dory to draw alongside, it disappeared beneath the water with a low gurgle. The situation was serious. He was unable to attract attention and must depend for his salvation upon hearing the horns of the other dories as they approached the schooner. Rowing hard all the time, with frequent shrieking, he strained his ears for the welcome sound. Sometimes he thought he caught a faint mellow call, but he soon recognized that these were deceptions produced in his ears by the memory of what he had heard before. Impatiently he rode on. After a while he stopped. Since he could not get track of any one, it was foolish to continue the effort, for every stroke might take him farther and farther out of hearing. On the other hand, if he were headed in the right direction, another dory trying to find the schooner might cross his path or come within earshot. He was still not in the least worried by the situation. Men in much worse ones had been rescued from them without thinking anything of them. But the rising wind and sea gave him something to think of. The waves found it a very easy matter to climb aboard the heavily laden dory, and occasionally he had to bail with the can and the bowels provided for the purpose. An hour passed, and at the end of that time he found that he was bailing almost constantly. There was only one thing to do, and it was not. There was only one thing to do under the circumstances. The gaff lay under his hand. This is a piece of broom handle to the end of which a stout, sharp hook is attached, and the instrument is used in landing fish which are too heavy to swing inboard on the slender fishing line. Code took the gaff and commenced to throw the fish over the side one at a time. He hated the waste of splendid cod, but things had now got to a pass where his own comfort and safety were at stake. Once the fish were gone, with the cleanliness of long habit, he swabbed the bottom and sides of the dory with an old rag and rinsed them with water which he afterward bailed out. The dory now rose high and dry on the waves, but Code found it increasingly difficult to row because the water tended to crab his oars and twist them suddenly out of his hands. To keep his head to the wind he paddled slowly, listening for any sound of a boat. Another hour passed, and darkness began to come down. The pearly gray fog lost its color and became black, like smoke from a burning oil tank. He knew the sun was below the horizon. He wondered if any of the other men had been caught. If none were gone but himself, he reasoned, the schooner would have come in search of him. So, from listening for the horn of a dory, he tried to catch the hoarse voice of a patent fog horn that would be grinding on the folksal head. By this time the wind was a gale and he knew it was driving him a stern, despite his rowing. The waves were no longer the little choppy seas that the lass had encountered since leaving Freekirk Head, but hustling, slapping hills that attacked him in endless and rapid succession. His progress was a continuous climb to one summit, followed by a dizzying swoop into the following depth. Each climb was punctuated at the top by a gallon or so of water, slopped into the dory from the crest of the wave. These influxes became so frequent that he was obliged to bale very often. Consequently he unshipped one oar and, crawling to the stern, shipped the other in the notch of the sternboard. Here he sculled with one hand so as to keep the dory's head to the wind and bailed with the other. Being aft, his weight caused the water to run down to him, and he could thus perform the two operations at the same time. When pitch blackness had come, he knew that he was out of reach of the schooner's horn. His only chance lay in the fog's lifting or the passing of some schooner. His principal concern was for the wind. It was just the time of year for those three-day Nor'easters that harry the entire coast of North America. When the first excitement of his danger passed, he was assailed by the fierce hunger of nervous and physical exhaustion, but there was no food aboard the dory. He had, of course, the breaker of water that was part of his regular equipment. But this was more for use during a long day of fishing than for the emergency of being lost at sea. He took a hearty drink and prepared for the long watch of the night. By a wax match several hours later he found that it was midnight. His struggle with wind and sea had now become unequal. He found it impractical to remain longer in the stern attempting to scull, so very cautiously he set about his last defensive measure. Taking the two oars and the anchor, as well as the thwarts, he bound them together securely with the anchor-roading. This drag he hold from the bow of the dory and it swung the boat's head into the wind. Schofield, with the baler in one hand, lay flat in the bottom. With the increasing sea water splashed steadily over the sides so that his exertions never ceased. The chill of the night penetrated his soaked garments and this, with his exhaustion, produced a stupor. The whistle of the wind and the hiss of foaming crests became dream-sound. Jonah Turner waved his hand with an error-finality and favored his daughter with a glare meant to be pregnant with parental authority. "'But, Father, listen to reason,' cried Nellie. "'Here is a mother to take care of the three small children, and here am I with nothing whatever to do. Be sensible and let me go along. I certainly ought to be able to help in some way.' "'But,' expostulated the captain, "'girls don't go on fishing trips.  But all this is not the real point. Things are different with us than they have ever been before. We have no home, and mother and the children have to board with Ma Sprague.  By Jonah scratched his head and looked at the girl helplessly. He had yet to score his first victory over her in an argument. "'Have you asked your mother?' he queried at last, seeking his time-worn refuge. "'Yes,' said she, brightening at the imminence of victory. And she says she thinks it'll be just the thing.' "'All right,' said by Jonah, weakly. "'Come along, then. But mind, you'll find things different.  But once I get the Roseanne past Swallowtail, my word goes.' "'All right, Daddy, dear,' laughed the girl. "'I know you'll be just the finest captain I ever sailed with. She kissed him impulsively, and ran upstairs to tell her mother the good news. The departure of the fleet from Grand Mignon was a sad day in the history of the island. The sun had hardly shone red and dripping from the sea when all the inhabitants were a stir. Men from as far south as Seal, Cove, and Great Harbour clattered up the King's Road in rickety vehicles, accompanied by their families and their dunnage. In Freekirk Head alone less than ten men would be left ashore. Of these one was Bill Bowton, the storekeeper, who was to arrange for the disposal of the catch. But the others were either incapacitated, sick, or old. The five aged fishermen, who subsisted on the charity of the town, formed a delegation on one string piece to wave the fleet farewell. Altogether there were fifteen boats, ten schooners and five sloops, carrying in all more than a hundred and twenty-five men. The whole resource of the island had been expended to provide tubs of bait and barrels of salt enough for all these, let alone the provisions. The men either shipped on shares, or, if they were fearful of chance, had a fixed monthly wage, and all found, to be paid after the proceeds of the voyage were realized. There was not a cent of grand mignon credit left in the world, and there was no child too small to realize that on the outcome of this venture hung the fate and future of the island. It was a brilliant day, with a glorious blue sky overhead, and a bracing breeze out of the east. Just beyond Long Island, a low stratum of miasmic gray was the only shred of the usual fog to be seen on the whole horizon. In the little roadstead, the vessels, black, hauled, or white, rode eagerly and gracefully at their moorings. The bright sun, bringing out the red, yellow, green, blue, and brown of the dories nested amid ships. At seven o'clock the steamer, Grand Mignon, blew a great blast of her whistle, cast off her lines, and cleared for St. Andrews and St. Stephens. Tuding a long last salute, she rolled out into Fundy and out of sight around the point. For these men breakfast was long past, but there were the myriad last details that could not be left undone. And it was fully eight o'clock before the last dory was swung aboard, and the last barrel stowed. Then there came the clicking of many windlesses and the strain of many ropes, and to the women and girls who lined the shore these noises were as the beatings of the executioner's hand upon the cell door of a condemned man. For the first time they seemed to realize what was about to happen. The young girls and the brides wept, but those with children at their skirts looked stonely to the vessel that bore their loved ones. For they were hardened in the fear of death and bereavement, and had become fatalists. The old women shook their heads, and if tears rolled down their faces they were the tears of dotage, and were shed perhaps in the midst of the and were shed perhaps for the swift and fleeting beauty of brides under the strain of their first long separation. Of these last one stood apart, a shawl over her gray hair and her hands folded as though obedient to a will greater than her own. In all the color and pageant of departure Mace Gofield wondered where her son might be, the son whom she felt had run away from his just responsibilities. Two nights ago he had gone, and since that time the little cottage had seemed worse than deserted. Somehow the story of the solicitor and his visit went swiftly around the village, and since that time Code's mother had been the shrinking object of a host of polite but evidently pointed inquiries. To most of these there was really no adequate reply, and the good woman had grown more hurt and more shrinking with every hour of the day. Now, with little orphan Josie at her side, she came out to see the departure of the fleet. Suddenly there came the squeaking of blocks and the rattle and scrape of rings, as four-sills were rushed up at peak and throat. Head-sills raced into position and with the anchors cat-headed. The vessels, with their captains at the wheels or tillers, swung into the wind and began to crawl ahead. Behind them as they forged toward the passage lay the great scimitar of Stony Beach half a mile long. Beyond it were the white, contented-looking cottages built along the road, and back of all rose the vivid green mountains covered with pine, tamarack, and silver birch. Above whose tops at the line of the summit there appeared three terrific puffy thunderheads. As they moved toward Flag Point the gaily-colored crowds moved with them past the post office, the stores, the burned wharfs, and the fish stands. Captain Bijona Tanner, by right of seniority, led the way in the Roseanne as Commodore of the fleet. He stood to his tiller like a graven image, looking neither to right nor left, but gripping his pipe with all the strength of his remaining teeth. He hoped that his triumph would not be lost upon his wife, nor was it, for it was a month afterward before the neighbor ceased to hear how her beige was the best captain that ever sailed out of Freekirk Head. At Swallowtail Bijona rounded the point, gave one majestic wave of his hat and farewell, and put the Roseanne over on the starboard tack, for the course was southeast, and followed practically the wake of Code Scofield. One after another the schooners and sloops, closely bunched, came about as smartly as their crews could bring them, and the smartest of them all was Nat Burns's Netty B. Nelly Tanner, jealous for her father's prestige, could not but admire the splendid discipline and tactics that whipped the Netty about on the tack, and sent her flying ahead of the Roseanne like a great sea bird. Once Swallowtail was passed the voyage had begun, and the lead belonged to anyone who could take it. At last the knife-like edge of Long Island shut them out completely, and seemed at the same instant to cut the last bonds and ties that had stretched from one to another as long as vision lasted. The men felt as released from a spell. One idea rushed into their mind suddenly and became an obsession. Fish. End of Chapter 12. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 13 of The Harbor of Doubt. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Harbor of Doubt by Frank Williams. Chapter 13. Nat Burns shows his hand. Off Cape Sable the fleet was overhauled by a half-dozen schooners bound the same way, which displayed American flags at their main trucks as they came up. Glosterman, said Nat Burns at the wheel of the Netty B. Set Baloon Gib and Stasel, and we'll give them a try-out. The men jumped to the orders, and the Netty gathered headway as the American schooners came up. But the Glostercraft crept up, past, and with an ironical dip of their little flags, raced on to the banks. Cape Sable was not yet out of sight when a top mast on the Roseanne broke off short in a sudden squall. By Jonah Tanner immediately laid her two and set all hands to work stepping his spare spar as he would not think of returning to a shipyard. Nat Burns, when he noticed the accident, laid two in turn and announced his intention of standing by the Roseanne until she was ready to go on. As these were among the fastest vessels in the fleet, the others proceeded on their way, and Nat seized the opportunity of the repairs to pay his fiance a visit and remain to supper on the Roseanne. He found Nelly radiant and more beautiful than he had ever seen her.  He took her in a strong embrace. She struggled free after a moment, her cheeks flooded with color. Don't, Nat, she cried.  This last a little nervously as she saw the gleam in his eyes. Suddenly, for her, all the day seemed to have lost its exhilaration. She was always glad to see Nat, but his insistent use of his fiancee rights, under all circumstances, graded on the natural delicacy that was hers. His ardor dampened by this rebuke, the gleam in Nat's eye became one of ugliness at his humiliation before the crew of the Roseanne. He scowled furiously and stood by her side without saying a word. It was in this unfortunate moment that Nelly seized on the general topic of the day. Guess you'll have to get off and push the netty bee before you can beat those Glostrum and Nat, she said, teasing him. Say, I've heard about all I want to hear about that, he snarled, suddenly losing control of himself as they walked back to the little cabin. The girl looked at him in hurt amazement. Never in all her life had a man spoken to her in such a tone. It was inconceivable that the man she was going to marry could address her so, if he even pretended to love her. Possibly you have, she returned, not without a touch of asperity. But you know as well as I do that you will have to deal with a Gloster-built schooner before you are through with this voyage. In her efforts to placate him, she had touched upon his sourest spot. His defeat by the American fisherman had been hard for his pride. I suppose you mean that crooked Schofield's boat? He flashed back, his face darkening. What do you mean by that?  Just what I said, he returned sullenly. You say things, then, that have no foundation in fact, she retorted vigorously. You have no right to say a thing like that about Code Schofield. I haven't, huh? He sneered furious. Since when have you been taking his side against me? No facts, eh? I'll show him and you and everybody else whether there's any foundation in fact. What do you suppose the insurance company is after him for, if he isn't a crook? Like all the people in Freekirk had, Nellie had heard some of the rumors concerning Code's possible part in the sinking of the May Schofield. Nat, for reasons of his own, had carefully refrained from enlarging on those to her, and in the absorption of her wooing by him she had let them go by unnoticed. Now, for the first time, the consequences they might have in Code's life were made clear to her. I—I don't know, she faltered, unable to reply to his direct question. But I know this, that all his life Code has been an honest man and one of my best friends. I grew up with him, just as I did with you, and I resent such talk about him as much as I would if it were about you. Yes, he sneered. He has been entirely too much of a good friend. What was he always over to your place for? I'd like to know. And even after he knew we were engaged, what was he doing down at Ma Sprague's that night I called? And what did you go to his place for after the fire when I tried to get you to come to mine? The last question he roared out at the top of his voice, and the girl, now afraid of him, shrank back against the wall of the cabin. She knew it was useless to say that she and Code had been like brother and sister all their lives, and that Mace Gofield was a second mother to her. All reason was hopeless in the face of this un-reasoning jealousy. After a moment she found her speech. I guess, Nat, she said, you had better go back to your schooner until you were in a different mood. Afraid to answer, ain't ya? he cried.  Well, now, let me tell you something. You're entirely too friendly with that crook, and I won't have it. You're engaged to me, and what I say goes. And let me tell you something else. The insurance company is after him because he sunk the Mace Gofield on purpose. But that ain't the worst of the things he did. What do you mean? she flashed at him. You'll find out quick enough, and so will he, he snarled. I'm not saying what is going to happen to him, but when I'm through we'll see if your hero is such a fine specimen. From fear to anger her spirit had gone, and now, under the lash, it turned to cold disdain. With a swift motion of her right hand over her left, she drew off the diamond ring he had given her and held it out to him. Take this, Nat, she said so coldly that for once his rage was checked. He looked stupidly at the glittering emblem of her love, and suddenly became aware of the extent to which he had driven her. The reaction was as swift as the rage. Please, Nelly dear, he begged, don't do that. Take it back. Forgive me. Everything is piled up so today that I lost my temper. Please don't do that. But he had gone too far. He had shown her a new side to his character. No, Nat, she said calmly, but still with that icy inflection of disdain. This has gone too far. Take this ring. Sometime when you have made amends for this afternoon, I may see you again. I won't take it, he replied doggedly. Please, Nelly, forgive—take it, she flashed, or I will throw it into the ocean. She had unconsciously submitted him to a final test. He was about to let her carry out her threat if she saw fit when his cupidity came over him. He reached out his hand and she dropped the ring into it. She stood silent, pale, and cold, waiting for him to go. He moved away. He had reached the foot of the companion-way when he turned back. He has brought me to this, he said so slowly and evilly, that each word seemed a drop of venom. But I'll make him pay.  His life won't be worth the threaded hangs on. With that he went up the companion-way, and not noticing the greeting of Captain Tanner, dropped into his yellow dory that swung and bumped against the Roseanne's side. Swiftly he rode to the netty bee and clambered aboard, bellowing orders to get up sail. In fifteen minutes the schooner was on the back track under every stitch of canvas she carried. By Jonah Tanner stared blankly after the retreating netty, then, knowing that his daughter had been with Matt, dropped down into the little cabin. He found Nellie seated in the chair by the little table and weeping. End of Chapter 13 Recording by Roger Maline This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbour of Doubt by Frank Williams Chapter 14 A Discovery Taken aback as he had been by the strange doings of Nat Schooner, his dismay then was a feeble imitation of the panic that smote him now. It had long been a favourite formula of by Jonah's that a schooner's a gal you can understand, she goes where you send her, and you know she'll come back when you yell her too. She's a snug, trusting kind of critter, and she's man's best friend because she ain't got a grain of sense. But woman! Here by Jonah always ended, his hands, his voice, and his sentence suspended in midair. Now he was baffled completely. Here was a girl who was deeply in love, crying. He tiptoed cautiously to the deck again and stole forward to the galley as though he had been detected in a suspicious action. After a while the storm passed, and Nelly sat up, red-eyed, and red-nosed, but with a measure of her usual tranquility restored. Idiot! she told herself. To howl like that over him! Nelly finally regained her poise of mind, and remembered that she had been at the point of writing a letter to her mother, to be mailed by the first vessel bound to a port, when Nat had interrupted her. The table at which she sat was a rough square one of oak with one drawer that extended its whole width. She opened the drawer and found it stuffed with an untidy mass of paper, envelopes, newspapers, clippings, books, ink, and a mucilage-pot that had foundered in the last gale and spread its contents over everything. Such was her struggle to find two clean sheets of paper and a pen that she finally dumped the contents of the drawer on top of the table and went to the task seriously. The very first thing that came under her hand was a heavy packet.  At the right-hand side of the envelope was this. Five tens. Ten fives. Fifty ones. One hundred and fifty dollars. Nelly Tanner stared at the envelope. It was the handwriting that held her. She had seen it before. She had once been honorary assistant treasurer of the Church of England Chapel, and it suddenly came to her that this was the handwriting that had adorned Elsa Malaby's checks and subscriptions. She knew she had solved the problem the instant the answer came. Elsa had been to Boston to school, and the fact was very evident.  Why should Elsa Malaby be sending money to Code Schofield? Everybody in Freekirk had knew that Code Schofield went up to Elsa Malaby's to dinner occasionally. So did other people in the village, but not so often as he. There had been a little gossip concerning the two of them, but while Code was an excellent enough fellow, it was hardly probable that a rich widow like Elsa would throw herself away on a poor fisherman. They forgot that she had done so the first time she married, and that she had the sea in her blood. These shreds of gossip returned to Nelly now with a crude interest, and she began to believe in the theory of fire being behind smoke. She also remembered the night of the mass meeting in the Odd Fellows Hall when Code had made his suggestion of going to the banks. There had flashed between Elsa's velvet dark eyes and Code's blue ones a message of intimacy of which the town knew nothing. Everyone saw the look, and nearly everyone talked about it, but they did not know that only a couple of nights before Elsa had been the one to put Code on guard against his enemies and that he was more than grateful. I'd just like to know what's in that letter so as to tease him the next time we meet, she said gaily to herself. She was now out of all mood for writing her letter home, and stuffing the contents of the drawer back into place, she returned the ladder to the table and went on deck. The sea was running higher, the new top mist was up, and within half an hour the Roseanne healed to the wind, and plowed her way northward after the remainder of the fleet. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 15 of The Harbour of Doubt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Harbour of Doubt by Frank Williams Chapter 15 The Catch of the Roseanne At the folksal head of the Roseanne stood a youth tolling the ship's bell. The windlass grunted and whined as the schooner came up on her hauser with a thump, and overhead a useless jib slatted and rattled. The youth could scarcely see aft of the formist because of the thickness of the weather, but he could hear what was going on. There was a thump, a slimy slapping of wet fish, and a voice counting monotonously as its owner forked his forenoon's catch into the pen of midships. 49, said the voice. All right, boys, swing her in! And a moment later the dory, hauled high, dropped down into her nest. Immediately there was a slight bump against the side of the schooner, and the slapping and counting would begin again. 87, and high line at that, said the next man. I'll bet that's the only halibut on the banks, and he's two hundred if he's an ounce. The great flat fish was raised to the deck by means of the topping haul that swung in the dories. By Jonah Tanner, who stood by the pen watching the silver stream as it flowed over the side into the pen, must his beard and shook his head. The fish were fair, but not what should be expected at this time a year. He would sail along to another favorable anchorage. This was his first day on the banks, and two days after Nelly's discovery of Elsa's packet. It was only noon, but by Jonah was speculating, and when he saw the Fog Bank coming, he refused to run any risk with his men, and recalled them to the schooner by firing his shotgun, until they all replied to the signal by raising one oar upright. It must not be thought that it was the Fog that induced by Jonah to do this. Dory men almost always fish when a Fog comes down, and trust to their good fortune in finding the schooner. By Jonah wanted to look over the morning's catch, and get in tune with the millions under his keel. By the time the last Dory was in, the pile of fish in the pen looked like a heap of molten silver. The men stretched themselves and set out to look at the fish. The men stretched themselves after their cramped quarters, and greeted the cook's announcement with delight. You fellers fixed tables for dressing down while the first half mugs up, said Tanner. Everybody lively now. I calculate to move just a little bit. The bottom here don't suit me yet. He went down from the poop and walked the deck, listening between clangings of the bell for any sound of an approaching vessel. The crew worked swiftly at dressing and salting the catch. Hall up anchor, he ordered when the work was done. The watch laid hold of the windless poles and hauled the vessel forward directly above her hook. Then there was a concerted heave, and the ground tackle broke loose and came up with a rush. Under head-sills and riding sail, the Roseanne swung into the light air that stirred the fog and began to crawl forward, while the men were still cat-heading the anchor. The youth who had been ringing the bell now substituted the patent foghorn, as marine law requires when vessels are under way. With his eyes on the compass, Turner guided the ship himself. They seemed to move through an endless gray world. For an hour they sailed, the only sounds being the flap of the canvas, the creaking of the tiller ropes, and the drip of the fog. Turner was about to give the word to let go the anchor when, without warning, they suddenly burst clear of the fog and came out into the vast gray welter of the open sea. Turner suddenly straightened up, and slipping the wheels swiftly into the becket, he ran to the taff rail and looked over the side. Good God! he cried. What's this? Not fifty feet away lay a blue dory, heavy and loggy with water, and in the bottom the unconscious figure of a man. A second look at the face of the man, and Turner cried, Whelan and Markle, oversight with the starboard dory. Here's Code Schofield adrift, lively now. There was a rush aft, but Turner met the crew and drove them to the nested boats and midships. Over, I say, he roared. The men obeyed him, and Whelan and Markle were soon pulling madly to the blue dory astern. When they reached it, one man clambered to the bow and cut the drag rope that Code, in his extremity, had thrown over nearly two days before. Then, fastening the short painter to a thwart on their own craft, they hauled the blue dory and its contents alongside the rosand.  In his right hand, he still gripped convulsively the bailing can he had used until consciousness left him. Man, boat, and all, the dory was hauled up and let gently down in the deck. Then the eager hands lifted Schofield from the water and laid him on the oiled boards. "'Take him into my cabin,' ordered Tanner. "'Johnson, bring hot water and rags. Cookie, make some strong soup. "'If there's any life in him, we'll bring it back. On the jump there.' "'Well,' said one man, when Code had been carried below, "'I thought my halibut was high-line today, but the skipper beat me out in the end. "'End of Chapter 15, Recording by Roger Maline. "'Chapter 16 of The Harbour of Doubt.' "'The Slyvervox Recording is in the public domain. "'Recording by Roger Maline. "'The Harbour of Doubt by Frank Williams. "'Chapter 16, A Staggering Blow. "'Here is something my father just asked me. "'Nelly held out to Code the packet that she had discovered in the skipper's drawer several days before. "'Code, seated on the roof of the cabin in the only loose chair "'aboard the Roseanne, and wrapped in blankets, "'took the sealed bundle curiously. "'He looked at the round, feminine handwriting across "'the envelope, and failed to evens any flash of guilt or "'intelligence. "'It was three days after Code's rescue by the Roseanne, "'and the first that he had felt any of his old strength "'coming back to him. "'For the first twenty-four hours after being revived, "'he did nothing but sleep, and awoke to find Nelly Tanner "'beside his bunk nursing him. "'Since then it had been merely a matter of patience, "'until his exhausted body had recuperated from the shock. "'For once Nelly had command of the Roseanne, "'and everything stood aside for her patient. "'The delicacies that issued from the galley after she had "'occupied at an hour, and that went directly to Code, "'almost had the result of inciting a mutiny among all "'hands, terms of settlement being the return of the Roseanne, "'terms of settlement being the retirement of the old cook "'and installation of this new find. "'Code ripped open the packet. "'He stared in amazement at the yellow bills. "'Then he discovered the letter, and began to read it. "'Despite the healthy red of his weather-beaten face, "'a tide of color surged up over it. "'Nelly turned her head away, and looked over the oily gray sea "'to where the men of the Roseanne were toiling in their doories. "'In the distance there was a sail here and there, "'for the Roseanne was slowly overhauling the fleet from "'Free Kirk Head. "'Code stole a swift glance at her, "'and forgot to read his letter, "'as he studied the fresh roundness and beauty of her face. "'He vaguely felt that there was a reserved manner between them. "'The letter is from Mrs. Malaby,' he said. "'Yes? That's interesting.' The girl's cool, level eyes met his, and he blushed again. "'She has a good heart,' he stumbled on, and always thinks of others. "'Yes, she has,' agreed the girl, without enthusiasm, and Code dropped the subject. "'How did your father happen to have this for me?' he asked, after a pause.  "'Elsa had it in mind to give you this packet, "'she says, before you left. "'But when you went so suddenly, she asked father to give it to you. "'She said she expected the Roseanne would catch the lass on the banks. "'At least this is the yarn dad told me.' "'She seems to know considerable about the banks and the ways of fishermen,' he said, with an unconscious ring of enthusiasm in his tone. "'Yes, you'd think she pulled her own Dory instead of being the richest woman in New Brunswick?' Code looked at his old sweetheart in amazement. He had never seen her so disagreeable. His eye fell upon her left hand. For a moment his mind did not register an impression. Then all of a sudden it flashed upon him that her ring was gone. "'Oh, that explains everything,' he said to himself. "'She has either lost it or quarreled with Nat, and it's no wonder she is unhappy.' Nelly was saying to herself, "'The letter must have been very personal, or he would have told me about it. He never acted like this before. There is something between them.' Suddenly a stern of them sounded the flap of sails, rattle of blocks, and shouted orders. They turned in time to see a schooner come up into the wind, all standing. She was clothed in canvas from head to foot, with a balloon jib and stacyl added, and made her position less than a hundred yards away. Schofield gazed at the schooner curiously. Then he leaned forward, his eyes alight. There were certain points about her that were familiar. With a fisherman's skill he had catalogued her every point. He looked at the trail-board along her bows, and where the name should have been, there was a blank, painted-out space. It was the mystery schooner. Once more all the fears that had assailed Codes' mind at her first appearance returned. He was certain that there was mischief in this, but he sat quiet as the vessel drifted down upon the anchored Roseanne. As he looked her over his eyes were drawn aloft to a series of wires strung between her top-mests. Other wires ran down the formus to a little cubby just after it. By the great squid they've got wireless, he said. This beats me. At fifty yards the familiar man with the enormous megaphone made his appearance. Ahoy there! he roared. Anyone aboard the Roseanne scene or heard anything of Captain Codes' go-field of the grand mignon schooner charming lass?  At your service, he shouted, I was picked up three days ago, adrift in my dory. What do you want with me? This sudden avowal created a half-panic aboard the mysterious schooner, and the man astern exchanged his megaphone for field-glasses. After a long scrutiny he went back to the megaphone. Congratulations, Captain! came the bellow. When are you going to rejoin the lass? As soon as the Roseanne catches her, replied Code, replied Code, and then, exasperated by the unexpected maneuvers of this remarkable vessel, he cried, Who are you, and what do you want that you chase me all over the sea? Instantly the man put down the megaphone and gave orders to the crew, and in five minutes she was on her way north into the very heart of the fleet. I don't know who she is, or why she is, or who is aboard her, he told Nellie, after recounting to her the previous visitation of the schooner. She reminds me of a nervous old hen keeping track of a straight chick. Pretty soon I won't be able to curse the weather without being afraid my guardian will hear me. I say guardian, and yet I don't know whether she is friendly or merely fixing up some calamity to break all at once. You know I have enemies, she may be working for them. The girl could offer no solution, nor could by Jonah Tanner, who had witnessed the incident from the folksle-head, where he was smoking and anticipating the wishes of the Cod beneath him. He had walked aft, and the three discussed the mystery, "'Ever see her before, Captain?' asked Cod. "'If there was any man who knew schooners that had fished the banks or the Bay of Fundy, it was by Jonah Tanner.' "'Don't calculate I ever did. I've never saw just that set to a foregap, nor just that cut of a jumbo-jib before.' Tanner watched the schooner as she scutted away. "'Mighty big hurry, I allow,' he remarked. "'But, Jiminy, doesn't she sail?' "'There ain't hardly an air of wind stirring, and yet look at her go. "'She's a mighty able vessel. "'It was about four o'clock the next afternoon that the Roseanne crept up in the middle of the fishing fleet. "'She had made a long berth overnight, dressed in excellent morning's catch, and knocked off half a day, because by Jonah did not feel it right to keep Cod longer away from his vessel. "'And Tanner managed the thing with a good eye to the dramatic. "'When he reached the rear guard of the fleet, he began to work his vessel gracefully in and out among the sloops and schooners.  "'Through the fleet they went, a fleet that was wearing crepe for him, and from every vessel received a volley of cheers. "'The charming lass greeted him with open arms. "'Pete Ellenwood swung him up from the transferring dory with a great bellow of delight, and he was passed along the line until battered, joyous, and radiant, he arrived exhausted by the wheel where he sat down. "'When they all had drunk to the reunion from a rare old bottle, heavily cobwebbed, Cod told his story. Then, while the men dressed down, he walked about, looking things over and counting the crew on his fingers. "'Pete,' he called suddenly, and the mate left the fish-pen. "'Where's Ari Duncan?' "'Well, Skipper, I didn't want to tell you for fear you had enough in your mind already, but Ari never came back the same day you was lost.' "'My God, another one! I wondered how many would get caught that day.' "'And that ain't all. He had your motor-dory with him, the one you caught us with out of Castalia. "'How did he have that? I gave orders. The motor-dories weren't to be used.' "'Well, Cookie and the boy, they was the only ones aboard, tell it this way. Ari, he struck a heavy school first time he let's his dory rod and go, and most of his fish topped forty pound. In an hour his dory was full, and it was a three-mile pull back. When he got in, he argued them others into giving him the motor-dory, because it holds so much more. They helped him swing it over, and that's the last they see of him. But if he had an engine, you'd think he could have made it back here, or run foul of somebody or something.' "'Yes, you would think so, but he didn't. The more peace to him,' was Ellen Woods' reply. "'The poor feller,' said Code. "'I'm sorry for his wife. Anything else happened while I was gone, Pete?' "'Now, let me think.' The mate scratched his head. "'Oh, yes. Curse me, I nearly forgot it. You know that queer schooner that chased us down one day and asked the fool questions about you?' "'Yes. I saw that same schooner again yesterday. She asked more full questions.' "'You did?' cried Ellen Woods in amazement. "'I didn't see her, but I heard her, and I got a message from her for you. It was night when they come up on us and hailed. They said they had news of you, and would we send a dory over? Would we? They was about six over in as many minutes. But they wouldn't let us aboard. No, sir, kept us off with polls and asked for me. When I got in close, they told me the Roseanne had found you, and handed me an envelope with a message inside of it. Just as I was going away, there came the most awful clicking and flash in the midships I ever saw. "'Wireless,' said Code. "'Well, I've heard of it, but I never see it before. And I come away as quick as I could.' And the message asked Code curiously. Pete laboriously unpinned a waistcoat pocket and produced an envelope which he handed to Code. It was sealed, and the skipper tore away the end. The mystery and interest of the thing played upon his mind until he was in a tremble of nervous excitement. At last he would know what the schooner was and why. Eagerly he opened the message. It was typewritten on absolutely plain paper and unsigned, further baffling his curiosity. After a moment he read, Captain Schofield, Yesterday at St. Andrew's suit was filed against you for murder in the first degree upon the person of Michael Burns, late of Freekirk Head, Grand Mignon Island. Plaintiff, Nathaniel Burns, son of the deceased. There is an order out for your arrest. This is a friendly warning and no more. You are now forearmed. End of Chapter 16. Recording by Roger Maline