"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 marlin-spike, 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.
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