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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Now, maybe you'll believe I know what I'm talking about. We were asleep and Mascola's beat us to it. It won't take him long to fish them out with an outfit like that. He's got our boats on the outside now, taking what's left." Gregory saw that she was right. Mascola's boats were crowded closely about the Albatross and his own fleet was completely fenced off. "What did I tell you?
Then ensued a long period of stormy weather. Owing to new and inexperienced crews and the increasing interference of Mascola's men, a number of Gregory's vessels were wrecked on the island shores and salvaged with great difficulty and expense.
Peters nodded and drew up a chair close to Rock's side. "This one's about the fishing-boats," he said in a low voice. "They got into a scrap with the American boats off Northwest Harbor. Bandrist says that Gregory's fleet won out. Mascola's lay in at the harbor. The Florence burned up and a lot of his other boats are pretty well shot. He couldn't stop the other fellows at all and they loaded up."
Knives flashed in the sullen glare from the burning Florence. Pistol shots echoed above the tumult and the air was filled with flying splinters. Slowly and inexorably Mascola's fleet was ground back. An alien craft, reaching the clear space to the rear of the battle line, turned hastily about and fled down the narrow channel leading to the sea. Another followed. Still another.
The Richard dipped with a swerve which threw him violently against the coaming. As he felt the heavy hull sinking down into the water he saw that the Fuor d'Italia had ceased to plane and was settling sluggishly. A snarl of disappointment burst from Mascola's lips as he saw the Richard did not flash across his bow.
Joe Blagg was among the last of Mascola's men to come for his money. And though he said nothing when he signed the pay-roll, Blagg nursed a grouch against his employer. Mascola had cursed him out that morning and no livin' dago could do that. He'd get square, or his name wasn't Joe Blagg. The bartender shoved a black bottle toward him as he pocketed his money. "Boss's treat," he announced.
"I want to tell the boys to keep as close in as they can so Mascola's boats will have to skirt the reef to get by." When they arrived at the indicated spot and the V broadened according to orders, the lights of the alien fleet could be discerned moving toward them. "Here they come," announced Dickie Lang. "Looks as if they were going to try to crowd in from the north side." Gregory smiled.
In all probability it was his boat. And if so, where was he going to get the money to pay for it? He walked to the wharf and with narrowing eyes watched the stranger's approach. Something wrong somewhere, he reasoned. He had ordered a speed-boat. One that would beat Mascola's. A craft with real lines and bird-like grace like the Fuor d'Italia.
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