Into the Mess from Eastward

He rested for a time and then gave himself another hoist and was able
to get astride the bowsprit. He judged that they must be outside the
headland of Saturday Cove, because the breeze was stronger and the sea
gurgled and showed white threads of foam against the blunt bows. His
struggles had consumed more time than he had realized in the dazed
condition produced by his choking collar.

He heard the popping of a motor-boat's engine far astern, and was
cheered by the prompt conviction that pursuit was on. Therefore, he made
haste to get in touch with the Polly's master. He scrambled inboard
along the bowsprit and fumbled his way aft over the piles of lumber,
obliged to move slowly for fear of pitfalls, Once or twice he shouted,
but he received no answer, He perceived three dim figures on the
quarter-deck when he arrived there--three men. Captain Candage was
stamping to and fro.

"Who in the devil's name are you?" bawled the old skipper. "Get off'm
here! This ain't a passenger-bo't."

"I'll get off mighty sudden and be glad to," retorted Mayo.

"Well, I'll be hackmetacked!" exploded Mr. Speed shoving his face over
the wheel. "It's--"

"Shut up!" roared the master. "How comes it you're aboard here as a
stowaway?"

"Don't talk foolishness," snapped Captain Mayo "Your old martingale
spikes hooked me up. Heave to and let me off!"