Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

The light which flamed about her, showing up her rig and lines, was

weirdly unreal and more than ever did she seem like a ghost ship.

The thick curtain of the mist caught up the flare of the torches and

reflected it upon her from the skies, and she was limned in fantastic

fashion from truck to water-line. Shadows of men in the tenders were

thrown against the fog-screen in grotesque outline, and a spirit crew

appeared to be toiling in the top-hamper of the old schooner.

Captain Mayo ordered his men to hold water and the tender drifted close

to the flotilla. He spied a yacht skipper whom he had known when both

were in the coasting trade.

"What's the idea, Duncan?"

His acquaintance grinned. "Serenade for old Epps Candage's girl--handed

to her over his head." He pointed upward.

Projecting over the schooner's rail was the convulsed countenance of

Captain Candage. Choler seemed to be consuming him. The freakish light

painted everything with patterns in arabesque; the captain's face looked

like the countenance of a gargoyle.

Mayo, observing with the natural prejudice of a "native," detected

mockery in the affair. He had just been present at one exhibition of the

convivial humor of larking yachtsmen.

"What's the special excuse for it?" he asked, sourly.

"According to the story, Epps has brought her with him on this trip to

break up a courting match."

"Well, does that have anything to do with this performance?"

"Oh, it's only a little spree," confessed the other. "It was planned out

on our yacht. Old Epps made himself a mucker to-day by sassing some of

the gents of the fleet, and the boys are handing him a little something.

That's all! It's only fun!"

"According to my notion it's the kind of fun that hurts when a girl is

concerned, Duncan."

"Just as serious as ever, eh? Well, my notion is that a little

good-natured fun never hurts a pretty girl--and they say this one is

some looker! Oh, hold on a minute, Boyd!" The master of the Olenia had

turned away and was about to give an order to his oarsmen. "You ought to

stop long enough to hear that new song one of the gents on the Sunbeam

has composed for the occasion. It's a corker. I heard 'em rehearsing it

on our yacht."

In spite of his impatient resentment on behalf of the daughter of Epps

Candage, Captain Mayo remained. Just then the accredited minstrel of

the yachtsmen stood up, balancing himself in a tender. He was clearly

revealed by the lights, and was magnified by the aureole of tinted fog

which surrounded him. He sang, in waltz time, in a fine tenor: "Our Polly O,

O'er the sea you go;

Fairer than sunbeam, lovely as moon-gleam,

All of us love thee so!

While the breezes blow

To waft thee, Polly O,

We will be true to thee,

Crossing the blue to thee,

Polly--Polly!

Dear little Polly,

Polly--O-O-O!"