"Ahoy there, Elkanah!" hailed Zebedee cheerfully. "'Mornin', Mr. Ellery.

Been havin' officers' counsel, have you?"

"Good morning, Captain Mayo," said the minister.

"'Mornin', Zebedee," grunted Elkanah. "I have--hum--ha!--been discussing the regrettable affair of last night with Mr. Ellery. I have tried--hum--ha! to show him that respectable people of our society don't a.s.sociate with Come-Outers, and that for a Regular minister to go to their meetings is something neither the congregation nor the parish committee approves of. No--er--hum--ha! no!"

"And I explained to Captain Daniels," observed the minister, "that I went there for what seemed to me good reasons, and, as they did seem to me good at the time, I'm not ashamed of having gone. It was an honest mistake on my part and I may make more."

"But the society--" began Elkanah. Captain Zeb interrupted him.

"Don't worry about the society, Mr. Ellery," he said with emphasis. "Nor about the parish committee, either. Great fishhooks! the most of us are tickled to death over what you said to Eben Hammond. We think it's a mighty good joke. YOU didn't know, of course, and what you did was done innocent. He! he! he! Did you lay him out, hey?"

"Zebedee," began Captain Daniels, "I must say I can't see anything to laugh at."

"You never could, Elkanah. I remember that time when you and me and some of the fellers home from sea went out sailin' and the boom knocked you overboard with your Sunday clothes on. Lordy, how the rest of us did holler! but you never cracked a smile. If you'd seen yourself when we hauled you in! whiskers runnin' salt water; beaver hat lookin' like a drownded kitten--"

"There! There! Never mind that. I think you'll find a good many of the society feel as I do, shocked and--hum--ha!--sorry. I'm surprised they haven't been here to say so."

"I expected them," remarked the minister.

"So did I," chimed in Captain Zeb. "But I cal'late to know why they ain't been. They're all too busy crowin' over the way Nat Hammond fetched the packet home last night. WHAT? You ain't heard? Great fishhooks! it's the best thing ever--"

"I've heard about it," snapped Elkanah impatiently. "Mr. Ellery, I'm glad you realize that your action was a mistake and I will take pains to have that immejitly made plain to--"

"YOU ain't heard, Keziah, have you?" broke in Zebedee. "Nor you, Mr.

Ellery? Well, I must tell you. Here's where I gain a lap on Didama Rogers. Seems the Deborah S.--that's the packet's name, Mr. Ellery--she hauled out of Boston night afore last on the ebb, with a fair wind and sky clear as a bell. But they hadn't much more'n got outside of Minot's 'fore the fog shut down, thicker'n gruel for a sick rich man. The wind held till 'long toward mornin'; then she flattened to a dead calm. 'Bije Perry, the mate, he spun the yarn to me, and he said 'twas thick and flat as ever he see and kept gettin' no better fast.

"They drifted along till noon time and then they was somewheres out in the bay, but that's about all you could say. Zach, he was stewin' and sputterin' like a pair of fried eels, and Lafayette Gage and Emulous Peters--they're Denboro folks, Mr. Ellery, and about sixteen p'ints t'other side of no account--they was the only pa.s.sengers aboard except Nat Hammond, and they put in their time playin' high low jack in the cabin. The lookout was for'ard tootin' a tin horn and his bellerin'

was the most excitin' thing goin' on. After dinner--corned beef and cabbage--trust Zach for that, though it's next door to cannibalism to put cabbage in HIS mouth--after dinner all hands was on deck when Nat says: 'Hush!' he says. 'Don't I hear somethin'?'

"They listened, and then they all heard it--all 'cept Zach, who's deef in his larboard ear.

"'Stand by!' roars Nat. 'It's a squall, dead astern and comin' abilin'!

I'll take her, 'Bije. You look out for them tops'ls.'

"So Nat grabs the wheel and 'Bije tears for'ard and sends the two fo'mast hands aloft on the jump. Zach was skipper, but all he done was race around and holler and trip over his own feet. Oh, he's a prize sailor, he is! Don't talk to me about them Fosters! I--"

"n.o.body is talkin' about 'em but you, Zeb," observed Keziah drily. "Go on. How about the squall?"

"It hit 'em 'fore they got even one tops'l clewed down. That one, the foretops'l 'twas, split to rags. The main tops'l was set, and when the squall struck, the rotten old topmast went by the board 'Kerrash-o!'

'Course splinters flew like all possessed, and one of 'em, about a foot long, sailed past Nat's head, where he stood heavin' his whole weight on the wheel, and lit right on the binnacle, smashin' it to matches.

"They say Nat never paid the least attention, no more'n if the chunk of wood had been a June bug buzzin' past. He just held that wheel hard down and that saved the packet. She come around and put her nose dead in the wind just in time. As 'twas, 'Bije says there was a second when the water by her lee rail looked right underneath him as he hung onto the deck with finger nails and teeth.

"Well, there they was, afloat, but with their upper riggin' gone and the compa.s.s smashed flat. A howlin' no'thwester blowin' and fog thick as ever. Zach was a whimperin', fidgetin' old woman, Lafayette and Emulous was prayin' in the scuppers--and that ain't an exercise they're used to, neither--and even 'Bije was mighty shook up and worried--he says he was himself. But Nat Hammond was as cool and refreshin' as the bottom of my well up home.

"'Better clear away that mess aloft, hadn't you?' he says to the skipper.

"Zach said he guessed so; he wa'n't sure of nothin'. However, they cleared it away, and incidentally 'Bije yanked the prayer meetin' out of the scuppers and set 'em to work. Then Nat suggests gettin' the spare compa.s.s and, lo and behold you! there wa'n't any. Compa.s.ses cost money and money's made to keep, so Zach thinks.

"So there they was. Wind was fair, or ought to be, but 'twas blowin'

hard and so thick you couldn't hardly see the jib boom. Zach he wanted to anchor, then he didn't, then he did, and so on. n.o.body paid much attention to him.

"'What'll we do, Nat?' says 'Bije. He knew who was the real seaman aboard.

"'Keep her as she is, dead afore it, if you ask me, says Nat. 'Guess we'll hit the broadside of the cape somewheres if this gale holds.'

"So they kept her as she was. And it got to be night and they knew they'd ought to be 'most onto the edge of the flats off here, if their reck'nin' was nigh right. They hove the lead and got five fathom. No flats about that.

"Zach was for anchorin' again. 'What do you think, Nat?' asks 'Bije.

"'Anchor, of course, if you want to,' Nat says. 'You're runnin' this craft. I'm only pa.s.senger.'

"'But what do you THINK?' whines Zach. 'Can't you tell us what you do think?'

"'Well, if 'twas me, I wouldn't anchor till I had to. Prob'ly 'twill fair off to-morrow, but if it shouldn't, we might have to lay out here all day. Anyhow, we'd have to wait for a full tide.'

"'I'm afraid we're off the course,' says 'Bije, else we'd been acrost the bar by this time.'

"'Well,' Nat tells him, 'if we are off the course and too far insh.o.r.e, we would have made the bar--the Bayport bar--if not the Trumet one. And if we're off the course and too far out, we'd ought to have deeper water than five fathom, hadn't we? 'Course I'm not sure, but--What's that, lands-man?'

"'Three and a half, sir,' says the feller with the lead. That showed they was edgin' in somewheres. Nat he sniffed, for all the world like a dog catchin' a scent, so 'Bije declares.

"'I can smell home,' he says.

"Three fathom the lead give 'em, then two and a half, then a scant two.

They was drawin' six feet. Zach couldn't stand it.

"'I'm goin' to anchor,' he squeals, frantic. 'I believe we're plumb over to Wellmouth and drivin' right onto Horsefoot Shoal.'

"'It's either that or the bar,' chimes in 'Bije. 'And whichever 'tis, we can't anchor in the middle of it.'

"'But what'll we do?' shouts Zach. 'Can't n.o.body say somethin' to DO?'

"'Tell you I smell home,' says Nat, calm and chipper, 'and I'd know that smell if I met it in Jericho. Ha! there she deepens again. That was the bar and we're over it.'

"The wind had gone down to a stiff sailin' breeze, and the old Debby S.

slapped along afore it. Sometimes there was twelve foot under her keel and sometimes eight or nine. Once 'twas only seven and a half. Zach and 'Bije both looked at each other, but Nat only smiled.

"'Oh, you can laugh!' hollers Zach. ''Tain't your vessel you're runnin'

into danger. YOU aint paid out your good money--'

"Nat never answered; but he stopped smilin'.

"And all to once the water deepened. Hammond swung her up into the wind.

"'NOW you can anchor,' says he.