Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1914-06-05
A Hard Pull

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On the end of Long Wharf sat
Captain Holcombe, Nate Ryder, Peter
Simpson and Little Abner. The
wharf, gray and shaky with age,
stretched out from the grassy bank,
over the pebble beach, out into the
blue tide, like long arm of the small
town, ready to grasp from the broad
waterway whatever of life and indus,
try came within its reach. 1t caught
but little nowadays. Now and then
an occasional coaster took on load
Of ice or fish or lumber. Between
times Beachport went to sleep and
dreamed of her former prosperity
Captain Holcombes weather-beat,
en- face had smiled through long life
voyage. 1t was crossed and recrossed
by bad-weather marks of contrary
ga. S, but certain humorous lines
spoke of northwest breezes and fair
winds. Nate and Pete were big
bronzed young men, mates on coast.
ing schooners, taking an idle day or
two between trips. AS for Little Abb
ner, he was little only in name. His
appellation had stuck to him in spite
of increasing inches, and only strang-
ers saw any humor in the situation.
1t was still afternoon. The only
sounds which broke the quiet were
the swash of the lazy waves against
the rotting wharf, and now and then
the insistent call of the August in
sect.
"The Byron P. Thorne will have a
good chance out tonight" remarked
Peter, languidly letting his eyes wan
der over the bay to the horizon-line.
Captain Holcombe remarked Dir.
ty to the suth'rd."
Guess it's only LOOM"
"Well," returned the captain, "meb-
be it is and mebbe it amt. If it was
anything else in question you might
calculate. But fog! Scott! There
amt anything uncertainer in this
world of uncertainties. A cyclones
steady-going compared to a fog. You
think you are in for it, and-whiff the
skys clear as bell, Again, and you
won't see the bowsprit from midships
for a week Of days"
"That's so" asserted Nate.
Speaking of fog" went on the old
man, makes me think of the summer
of 60. 1 never see anything like
that before or since"
"Where was you?" asked Peter,
Little Abner, who was fishing, edged
nearer and kept one ear turned to-
ward the captain.
"Off East Point, whaling. l ship
ped that year as mate in the Ellen
Mary, but before I was through the
voyage II be blowed if wasn't every
| thing, from cabin-boy to captain. What
with being sick and getting hurt, we
had so many laid up that we all had
to turn to and get the days work done
somehow. First the captain he sailed
in with a spell of ailing, then Big Jim
broke his leg falling off the foreyards.
l was ships doctor!" and Captain Hol-
combe chuckled.
know anything about doctoring?"
asked Peter. The captains blue eyes
! twinkled beneath their shaggy brows.
"Well, perhaps not just according
to the medical idea. My sister she
married a man who was studying to
be doctor. He give it up before the
| first year was out, and went into the
! canning business, but it kind of gave
us a feeling of belonging to the pro-
fession. That's why they hit on me to
fix Big Jim's leg. l must say l was
staggered for bit. I'd never seen a
| broken leg, much less meddled with
| one. But common sense helps you
along all right if only you don't hinder
| 1t, and l argued it out in my mind
that what that leg wanted was a
chance to mend itself. l made it fast
to bit of broken oar, lashed it well
with rope yarn, and wrapped it up in
rest of the business"
Want he lame?" asked Pete.
"Well, not to speak of. 1t put his
steering tackle bit out of gear and
he couldn't point according to com
pass. But nothing to hurt. The boys
called me Doc after that, and my
work was cut out for me the rest oi
| lie NOydSe. ueNeI SGe any LuluS
like it. Seemed as if we had Jonah
on board Bad luck with whales, too
They was as scarce as barnacles or
the topmast.
Then the fog shut down, and fol
three mortal weeks we much as evel
knew where we was. Fog! 1t was
soup! We ate it and drank 1t, and II
got into our heads until We couldn'
think clear. We was soaked from
stem to stern, and the men was fail
crazy. There amt nothing lonesomel
than fog. Mon says Angus McDon
aid He was big, red-haired Scotty
Mon, I'd gle good bit O. siller tt
hae ane O. ma gran'feyther's sermons
alang!' 'Why?' says l. They're thu
driest things l ken,' says he.
Then Galley Joe's finger had tt
come off, and ] was the one to do II