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Updated: October 18, 2025
I saw that same schooner again yesterday. She asked more fool questions." "You did!" cried Ellinwood in amazement. "I didn't see her, but I heard her, an' I got a message from her for you. It was night when they come up on us an' hailed. "They said they had news of you, an' would we send a dory over. Would we? They was about six over in as many minutes. But they wouldn't let us aboard.
"Buckets this way!" he bellowed, in a tone that rose clearly above the roar and crackle of the fire. As the men reached him he handed out the implements from great stacks at his feet rubber buckets, wooden buckets, tin and iron buckets, new, old, rusty and galvanized. It was Pete Ellinwood, the fire marshal of the village and custodian of the apparatus.
By Heaven, I've reached the end of my patience!" If there was anything Pete Ellinwood loved it was a fight, and at this declaration of war he roared encouragement. "You'll do, skipper you'll do! Get after him! Climb his frame! Put him out of business. An' let me help you. That's all I want." "Everything in good time, Pete," grinned Code.
It was these boats that Ellinwood watched with the eye of a hawk, for back in Freekirk Head he knew that Bill Boughton stood ready to pay a bonus for the first cargo to reach port. Now was the time when the advance orders from the West Indies were coming up, and, because of the failure of the season on the island itself, these orders stood unfilled.
No wonder we can't catch 'em! Burns has got stays'l set, and I think Tanner has, too. Couldn't see Martin. Set stays'l, all hands!" Under the driving of Ellinwood the staysail was set, and from then on the Charming Lass sailed on her side. At every roll her sheerpoles were buried, and it seemed an open question whether she would ever come up or not.
Four men heaved on the windlass brakes, and the others got sail on her as fast as they could haul halyards. She started under jib, jumbo, fore and mains'l, with the wind a little on her port quarter and every fiber of her yearning to go. When the sails were apparently flat as boards Schofield made Ellinwood rig pulleys leading to the middle of the halyards so that the men could sway on them.
Jest a-playin'! Oh, she's a dog, skipper a dog, I tell ye! Drive her! She loves it!" "I'll drive her, Jimmie; don't you worry. Before I get through some fellers I know'll wish they'd never heard of driving." He motioned Pete Ellinwood aft with a free hand.
Under the vociferous bellow of Pete Ellinwood, the crew were working miracles in swiftness and organization. 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 astern. Even at the distance, it was plain that she was of schooner rig, and probably a fisherman.
"Why, what's the matter with your hands, Pete?" cried Code, pointing. Ellinwood had removed his nippers, and the skin of his fingers and palms was a queer white and beginning to shred off as if immersed long in hot water. "By the Great Seine!" rumbled the mate, looking at his hands in consternation. Code made a trumpet of his hands. "Here, cookee, roll up a tub of that bait lively.
He can handle a schooner as well as you, Burt, and better." "Yas," said the other contemptuously; "nobody's ever forgot the way he handled the old May Schofield. Better not play with fire, Bige, or you'll get your hands burned." Pete Ellinwood got upon his feet deliberately.
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