Well, you see, son, Kitchell had explained to Wilbur, os-tensiblee we are after shark-liver oiland so we are; but also we are on any lay that turns up; ready for any game, from wrecking to barratry. Strike me, if I havent thought of scuttling the dough-dish for her insoorance. Theres regular trade, son, to be done in ships, and then theres pickins an pickins an pickins. Lord, the oceans rich with pickins. Do you know theres millions made out of the day-bree and refuse of a big city? How about an oceans day-bree, just chew on that notion a turn; an as fur a lookout, lemmee tell you, son, cast your eye out yon, and he swept the sea with a forearm; nothin, hey, so it looks, but lemmee tell you, son, there aint no manner of place on the ball of dirt where youre likely to run up afoul of so many thingsunexpected thingsas at sea. When youre clear o land lay to this here pree-cep, A million to one on the unexpected.
The next day fell almost dead calm. The hale, lusty-lunged norwester that had snorted them forth from the Golden Gate had lapsed to a zephyr, the schooner rolled lazily southward with the leisurely nonchalance of a grazing ox. At noon, just after dinner, a few cats-paws curdled the milky-blue whiteness of the glassy surface, and the water once more began to talk beneath the bow-sprit. It was very hot. The sun spun silently like a spinning brass discus over the mainmast. On the focsle head the Chinamen were asleep or smoking opium. It was Charlies watch. Kitchell dozed in his hammock in the shadow of the mainsheet. Wilbur was below tinkering with his paint-pot about the cabin. The stillness was profound. It was the stillness of the summer sea at high noon.
The lookout in the crows nest broke the quiet.
Hy-yah, hy-yah! he cried, leaning from the barrel and calling through an arched palm. Hy-yah, one two, plenty, many tortle, topside, wattah; hy-yah, all-same tortle.
Hello, hello! cried the Captain, rolling from his hammock. Turtle? Where-away?
I tink-um bout quallah mile, mebbee, four-piecee tortle all-same weatha bow.
Turtle, hey? Down yr wheel, Jim, haul yr jib to winward, he commanded the man at the wheel; then to the men forward: Get the dory overboard. Son, Charlie, and you, Wing, tumble in. Wake up now and see you stay so.
The dory was swung over the side, and the men dropped into her and took their places at the oars. Give way, cried the Captain, settling himself in the bow with the gaff in his hand. Hey, Jim! he shouted to the lookout far above, hey, lay our course for us. The lookout nodded, the oars fell, and the dory shot forward in the direction indicated by the lookout.
Kin you row, son? asked Kitchell, with sudden suspicion. Wilbur smiled.
You ask Charlie and Wing to ship their oars and give me a pair. The Captain complied, hesitating.
Now, what, he said grimly, now, what do you think youre going to do, sonny?
Im going to show you the Bob Cook stroke we used in our boat in 95, when we beat Harvard, answered Wilbur.
Kitchell gazed doubtfully at the first few strokes, then with growing interest watched the tremendous reach, the powerful knee-drive, the swing, the easy catch, and the perfect recover. The dory was cutting the water like a gasoline launch, and between strokes there was the least possible diminishing of the speed.
Im a bit out of form just now, remarked Wilbur, and Im used to the sliding seat; but I guess itll do. Kitchell glanced at the human machine that once was No. 5 in the Yale boat and then at the water hissing from the dorys bows. My Gawd! he said, under his breath. He spat over the bows and sucked the nicotine from his mustache, thoughtfully.
I ree-marked, he observed, as how you had brains, my son.
A few minutes later the Captain, who was standing in the dorys bow and alternately conning the oceans surface and looking back to the Chinaman standing on the schooners masthead, uttered an exclamation:
Steady, ship your oars, quiet now, quiet, you damn fools! Were right on emfour, by Gawd, an big as dinin tables!
The oars were shipped. The dorys speed dwindled. Out your paddles, sit on the gunl, and paddle ee-asy. The hands obeyed. The Captains voice dropped to a whisper. His back was toward them and he gestured with one free hand. Looking out over the water from his seat on the gunl, Wilbur could make out a round, greenish mass like a patch of floating seaweed, just under the surface, some sixty yards ahead.
Easy staboard, whispered the Captain under his elbow. Go ahead, port; e-e-easy all, steady, steady.
The affair began to assume the intensity of a little dramaa little drama of midocean. In spite of himself, Wilbur was excited. He even found occasion to observe that the life was not so bad, after all. This was as good fun as stalking deer. The dory moved forward by inches. Kitchells whisper was as faint as a dying infants: Steady all, s-stead-ee, sh-stead
He lunged forward sharply with the gaff, and shouted aloud: I got himgrab holt his tail flippers, you fool swabs; grab holt quickdont you leggogot him there, Charlie? If he gets away, you swine, Ill rip y open with the gaffheave nowheavetheretheresoh, stand clear his nippers. Strike me! hes a whacker. I thought he was going to get away. Saw me just as I swung the gaff, an ducked his nut.
Over the side, bundled without ceremony into the boat, clawing, thrashing, clattering, and blowing like the exhaust of a donkey-engine, tumbled the great green turtle, his wet, green shield of shell three feet from edge to edge, the gaff firmly transfixed in his body, just under the fore-flipper. From under his shell protruded his snake-like head and neck, withered like that of an old man. He was waving his head from side to side, the jaws snapping like a snapped silk handkerchief. Kitchell thrust him away with a paddle. The turtle craned his neck, and catching the bit of wood in his jaw, bit it in two in a single grip.
I tol you so, I tol you to stand clear his snapper. If that had been your shin now, eh? Hello, whats that?
Faintly across the water came a prolonged hallooing from the schooner. Kitchell stood up in the dory, shading his eyes with his hat.
Whats biting em now? he muttered, with the uneasiness of a captain away from his ship. Oughta left Charlie on boardor you, son. Whos doin that yellin, I cant make out.
Up in the crows nest, exclaimed Wilbur. Its Jim, see, hes waving his arms.
Well, whaduz he wave his dam fool arms for? growled Kitchell, angry because something was going forward he did not understand.
There, hes shouting again. ListenI cant make out what hes yelling.
Hell yell to a different pipe when I get my grip of him. Ill twist the head of that swab till hell have to walk backard to see where hes goin. Whaduz he wave his arms forwhaduz he yell like a dam philly-loo bird for? Whats him say, Charlie?
Jim heap sing, no can tell. Mebbeetinkum sing, come back chop-chop.
Well see. Oars out, men, give way. Now, son, put a little o that Yale stingo in the stroke.
In the crows nest Jim still yelled and waved like one distraught, while the dory returned at a smart clip toward the schooner. Kitchell lathered with fury.
Oh-h, he murmured softly through his gritted teeth. Jess lemmee lay mee two hands afoul of you wunst, you gibbering, yellow philly-loo bird, believe me, youll dance. Shut up! he roared; shut up, you crazy do-do, aint we coming fast as we can?