er one another in a wild rush into
the stern to save the boat from being dragged sheer under water.

"That settles them!" Charley remarked, though he was anxiously
studying the behavior of the _Mary Rebecca_, which was being driven
under far more canvas than she was rightly able to carry.

"Next stop is Antioch!" announced the cheerful sailor, after the
manner of a railway conductor. "And next comes Merryweather!"

"Come here, quick," Charley said to me.

I crawled across the deck and stood upright beside him in the shelter
of the sheet steel.

"Feel in my inside pocket," he commanded, "and get my notebook. That's
right. Tear out a blank page and write what I tell you."

And this is what I wrote:

Telephone to Merryweather, to the sheriff, the
constable, or the judge. Tell them we are coming and
to turn out the town. Arm everybody. Have them down on
the wharf to meet us or we are gone gooses.

"Now make it good and fast to that marlinspike, and stand by to toss
it ashore."

I did as he directed. By then we were close to Antioch. The wind was
shouting through our rigging, the _Mary Rebecca_ was half over on her
side and rushing ahead like an ocean greyhound. The seafaring folk of
Antioch had seen us breaking out topsail and staysail, a most reckless
performance in such weather, and had hurried to the wharf-ends in
little groups to find out what was the matter.

Straight down the water front we boomed, Charley edging in till a man
could almost leap ashore. When he gave the signal I tossed the
marlinspike. It struck the planking of the wharf a resounding smash,
bounced along fifteen or twenty feet, and was pounced upon by the
amazed onlookers.

It all happened in a flash, for the next minute Antioch was behind and
we were heeling it up the San Joaquin toward Merryweather, six miles
away. The river straightened out here into its general easterly
course, and we squared away before the wind, wing-and-wing once more,
the foresail bellying out to starboard.

Ole Ericsen seemed sunk into a state of stolid despair. Charley and
the two sailors were looking hopeful, as they had good reason to be.
Merryweather was a coal-mining town, and, it being Sunday, it was
reasonable to expect the men to be in town. Further, the coal-miners
had never lost any love for the Greek fishermen, and were pretty
certain to render us hearty assistance.

We strained our eyes for a glimpse of the town, and the fir