THURSDAY morning, a day and a half before the hour set for the wedding, they lay at a wharf in Milwaukee River, ready to sail. The sky was heavy and a roaring wind blew from the lake. Half a dozen steamers and two schooners had made the harbor since daybreak, and each had a story of hard struggling with wind and sea, stories which spread rapidly along the river, causing more than one outbound captain to shake his head, and resolve to wait a few hours or a day longer.
Hunch had gone out to the life-saving station at the pier, and now at eight o’clock he stood looking at the tumbling white rollers that came on squarely be tween the piers and ran far up into the channel before they were spent. On the horizon a row of schooners, barges, and freighters were holding their noses against the sea, until it should be safe to run for the harbor. A little nearer a big whaleback was tossing and rolling badly. One of the crew men watched her through a glass. A few tugs hung about inside the basin, looking for a stray job at advanced rates.
Hunch, after looking it all over, chartered a tug, then returned to the schooner, where Bruce and Billy were waiting. He and Bruce had not been talkative of late.
“Get everything tight, Bruce,” he said, jumping down upon the deck. “We’re going out in half an hour.”
“How about it, Hunch? Can we make it, think?”
Hunch did not trouble to reply, and Bruce, as he worked along the deck, watched him nervously.
Before the tug appeared, Hunch went ashore and crossed the wharf to a saloon at the corner. He returned with a jug, which he put in his bunk where the bedding would protect it when the schooner got to pitching. He sometimes drank whisky to steady his nerves when fighting a heavy sea. In a few minutes the tug came alongside.
“Everything fast, Bruce?”
Brace grunted, and Billy lifted the lines off the snubbin’ posts and followed them aboard.
They went out in tow, on a long hawser and under bare poles. When they were half a mile beyond the piers, wrenching and slapping through the seas, and shipping a deck-load from every second wave, Bruce came groping back to Hunch, who had the wheel.
“How much farther are they going to take us, Hunch?” He had to shout to get his voice over the wind. “They’ll be sticking us for a big bill.”
“None o’ your business,” growled Hunch.
“I’d like to know why not. We’re going back on my account.”
“Shut up! I’m paying for this tow. Go up forward where you belong. Send Billy back.”
When Billy appeared, working along the rail and bracing his feet when a wave came over, he said, “Bring up that jug in my bunk.” Billy brought it up and lashed it to the rail within Hunch’s reach. Hunch began to drink.
After a time he shouted to Bruce, who, with Billy’s help, set to work on the sails. Both were cold from the duckings, and Bruce was in addition too excited to be of much use. Between them they bungled until Hunch lost his patience and, yelling to Bruce to take the wheel, he ran up the heaving deck and throwing his weight on the halyards, raised the foresail single-handed. Billy timidly watched him, expecting that he would reef heavily, but when he saw everything but the topsails go up flat, he looked around at the tug which was holding them up in the wind, then at Hunch who was making fast the mainsail peak; and then Billy, who was plucky enough on occasion, swallowed a lump in his throat, and turning forward, crossed himself hurriedly as he stood clinging to the weather-stays.
They cut loose from the tug and swung off a few points, the schooner shivering and straining as she caught the wind, then heeling over with a rush. Hunch went storming back to the wheel. Bruce was wiping his mouth on his sleeve, bracing the wheel with one knee. The cork was out of the jug, and a little whiskey slopped out at each lurch of the schooner. Hunch stood for a moment without support, swaying, then sprang on Bruce and threw him against the closed gangway, where he lay clutching at the cabin roof.
“You—you—” Hunch was for once too angry to swear. “Get below there!” he said finally, after he had steadied the schooner on her course. “Get below, quick!”
Bruce without looking around fumbled with the companion slide, and ducking down between two waves, pulled it shut after him. After he had disappeared, and the schooner was running more easily on the long northwest tack that was to take her to the Liddington harbor, Hunch slowly got his bearings, and for a long time he stood pouring out a flood of profanity. This outburst came too late for Bruce’s ears, but not too late to act as a safety-valve to Hunch’s temper. Then he took a drink.
He stood at the wheel all day and all night. At noon and at dusk he sent Billy below to get up a rough meal, which he ate with one hand, washing it down with the whiskey. At about nine o’clock, he called Billy back, and told him to turn in. And when the dawn broke, and the bleak sand hills of Michigan stretched out on the horizon, he was still at the wheel, but his eyes were dimmer and his knees were weaker. Hunch was drunk. He was quiet for the time, and he handled the schooner as she had never been handled before, but the fact remained. Bruce had not appeared at all. He was curled up in his bunk, waiting for the end, when the madman at the wheel should reach the sleepy stage.
Once or twice in the night, when the schooner was careering through some especially hard blow, Bruce cried a little, like a girl, at the thought of the wedding that might not be. He did not know that at this time it was the thought of two blue eyes smiling at him, and of two lips pressed to his cheek, that raised Hunch above the grasp of the whiskey.
The morning had gone before they were within reach of the Liddington harbor. They passed the breakwaters three times at noon and after, each time a mile nearer than before. The wind had swung around during the night closer to the south. Hunch was beating in from the northeast, evidently planning to get close enough to run in during a lull. The box of a lighthouse on the south breakwater grew larger. After a time, Billy, who was forward, could see three white figures on the other breakwater, waving their arms. He knew that they were members of the life-saving crew, warning them not to make the attempt.
Hunch took a look about the boat and up through the rigging. The schooner was badly wrenched and strained, but was apparently good for another effort. He looked over the long reach of breakers, sweeping up on a slant from the south. He took a drink and called to Billy.
“Come back here! Tell him to come up on deck.” His manner was heavy and surly.
Bruce came up with a white face and rings under his eyes.
“Sit down there,” growled Hunch, pointing to the low roof of the cabin. “You too,” to Billy.
When they were seated facing him, holding on to each other and to the gangway slide, Hunch said: “D’ y’ know where you’re goin’? You’re goin’ to my weddin’. Bruce, he gets er girl, I get’s er weddin’-un’erstan’? Sit up straight there—like er gen’leman. You think we’re goin’ to er weddin’? Mebbe we ain’t. Mebbe we’re goin’ to hell. Why don’t you laugh? This’s our weddin’ day.” His mood suddenly changed and he paid no attention to them, giving all his energy to the handling of the schooner. Then he motioned to Billy to go forward. For a long time there was silence, excepting that Hunch occasionally muttered, “We’ll get back. I tol’ her we’d get back.” Bruce sat terrified on the cabin, facing the stem, not seeing where the schooner was going. After a while he could stand it no longer. He looked over his shoulder. They were close to the breakwaters now, and a little to the south. The three life-saving men were running back along the breakwater, evidently in order to be ready at the station if the schooner should miss the channel. Then he heard Hunch say, “Turn round there!” Hunch had his revolver out and was pointing it at him with a grin. Bruce sat still, for Hunch was careless when he was drunk. Hunch kept it in his hand, and looked at Bruce from time to time with a cunning expression.
The schooner came bounding up from the south, running nearly before the wind. Hunch knew what to allow for wind, waves, and currents. Suddenly he shouted to Billy and jammed the wheel over hard. With Billy at the sheets, the bow came slowly about and headed direct for the lighthouse. Billy quaked. But as she ploughed forward she fell off to the leeward under the sweep of the waves, and slipped neatly between the breakwaters and into the more quiet water of the channel. The lee rail scraped a little, but nothing was started.
Bruce sat motionless on the cabin with a face like a sheet. But Hunch waved his revolver jovially at the life-savers on the dock, and all the while they were creeping up the channel he sang profane songs at the top of his voice, pausing now and then for a drink. When they were fast to the dock, he floundered ashore and stood laughing at Billy, who was still clinging to the weather-stays. Bruce stepped up to him.
“Say, Hunch, don’t you think you’d better quit drinking? The wedding’s tonight, you know.”
“What right you got talkin’ to me ‘bout——”
“You’re coming to the wedding, Hunch, ain’t you?”
“I ain’t goin’ to no wedding. Get out o’ here! Go on now.”
Bruce walked steadily and rapidly up the deck, and disappeared around the corner of a lumber-shed.
A few hours later Hunch came plunging out of a saloon, with two men who were afraid to decline his treats. It was dark, but when a certain carriage passed, he could see by the corner light that one of the occupants wore a white veil. So he went back into the saloon, and amused himself shooting patterns through the stove until he fell asleep over a box of sawdust. Then it was, and not before, that the discreet constable had him carted away to sober up at the county’s expense.