Kitabı oku: «The Secret of the Reef», sayfa 3
“A breeze!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps we’d better get back while we can. There won’t be much water up the channel at lowest ebb.”
Bethune nodded agreement as a puff of cold air struck his face, and while they shortened in the cable small white ripples splashed against the bows. These grew larger and angrier as they ran the mainsail up; and, getting the anchor, they bore away for the bight with the swell crisping and frothing astern. Before they ran in behind the sheltering sands it was blowing hard, and they spent the rest of the day lounging on the cabin lockers, while the sloop strained at her cable and the halyards beat upon the mast.
CHAPTER V – AN INTERRUPTION
For three days a bitter gale raged about the island, blowing clouds of sand and fine shingle along the beach and piling the big Pacific combers upon the shoals. The air was filled with the saltness of the spray, and even below deck the men’s ears rang with the clamor of the sea. Then the wind fell, and when the swell went down they set to work again and found their task grow less troublesome. They learned the pressure best suited to the very moderate depth, their lungs got accustomed to the extra labor, and none of them now hesitated about entering the gloomy hold. Though they were interrupted now and then by the rising sea, they steadily removed the sand. Their greatest difficulty was the shortness of the time one could remain below. There was no sign of the bulkhead yet, and a gale from the eastward might wash back the sediment they had laboriously dug out. If this happened, they must try to break an opening through the side of the hull; and none of them was anxious to do that, because the timbers of a wooden ship are closely spaced and thick.
For a while nothing but the weather disturbed them; and then, one calm day when trails of mist moved slowly across the water, Jimmy saw a streak of smoke on a patch of clear horizon.
“Somebody farther to the east than he ought to be,” he said, leaning on the pump-crank; and then he fixed his eyes on the spot where the bubbles broke the surface. Though he had grown used to the work, the bubbles had still a curious fascination. It was difficult to turn his glance from them as they traced a milky line across the green water or stopped and widened into a frothy patch. So long as they did either, all was well with the man below.
An hour later, when the mist closed in again, Jimmy lay smoking on the deck. He had gone down and stayed longer than usual, and he felt tired and somewhat moody. Of late he had been troubled by a bad headache, which he supposed was the result of diving, and during the last few days he had found the sand unusually hard. The lower layers had been consolidated into a cement-like mass by the action of wave and tide. Moreover, the work was arduous even when they were not down at the wreck. It was no light task to tow the sloop out against the swell in the calms; and when the sea rose suddenly, as it often did, they were forced, if the tide was low, to thrash her out for an offing and face the gale until there was water enough to take them up the channel. Indeed, at times they dare not attempt the entrance, and lay to under storm canvas to wait for better weather. Then they sat at the wheel in turn while the hard-pressed craft labored among the frothing combers, and afterward lay, wedged into place with wet sails and gear, on the cabin lockers, while the erratic motion rendered sleep or any occupation impossible. The Cetacea was small enough to drift to leeward fast, and it sometimes took them hours to drive her back to the island against the still heavy sea when the wind began to lighten. It was a wearing life, and Jimmy felt his nerves getting raw.
Bethune had gone below and Jimmy was turning the crank of the pump when a dull, throbbing sound came out of the mist. Moran looked up sharply.
“That blame steamboat is coming here!” he cried, diving into the cabin to get their glasses.
The measured thud of engines was plainly distinguishable with the roar of water flung off the bows. Jimmy supposed the clank of the pump had prevented their hearing it before.
“She’s pretty close! Keep turning, but bring him up; you have the line!” Moran exclaimed.
Bethune answered the signal; but as the bubbles drew near the sloop, the steamer appeared in an opening in the mist. Her white hull and small, cream funnel proclaimed her an auxiliary yacht.
“There’s wind enough to move us, and we have to light out of this as quick as we can,” Moran said, signaling again to Bethune.
When the copper helmet came into sight, they dragged Bethune on deck and then set to work to shorten cable. The yacht was now plainly visible about a mile off, and seemed to be moving slowly, which suggested that soundings were being taken preparatory to anchoring; but the sloop would not readily be seen against the land. There was, however, a quantity of heavy chain to get in before they hoisted sail, and Jimmy in haste slipped the breast rope that held them to the wreck. For convenience in picking it up, they had attached its outer end to a big keg buoy.
Getting under way, they headed for the bight, and presently saw a white gig following them.
“They won’t stay long,” said Bethune. “Want fresh water, or, perhaps, a walk ashore; but it’s a pity we have no time to land and hide the pumps. The best thing we can do is to meet the party at the water’s edge. It’s lucky the big net is lying there.”
Pulling ashore in the dory, they waited for the yacht’s boat, which carried two uniformed seamen and a young man smartly dressed in blue serge with bronze buttons, and pipeclayed shoes. He had a good-humored look, and greeted them affably, glancing at the net.
“Glad to find somebody here; you’re fishing, I suppose?” he said. “You’ll know where there’s water, and ours is getting short. The engineer has had some trouble with salting boilers and won’t give us any. I’ll take some fish, if you can spare it.”
Bethune laughed.
“You can have all we’ve got,” he said. “Any we keep we’ll have to eat, and we’re getting pretty tired of the diet. There’s a good spring behind the ridge; we’ll show you where it is.”
The man beckoned the seamen, who shouldered two brass-hooped breakers, and the party set off up the beach. When they reached the spring the seamen returned with the breakers to empty them into the boat, using her as a tank to carry the water off, and Jimmy took the yachtsman into a hut they had roughly built of stones between two big rocks. Here they sometimes lived when wind or fog stopped their work. He gave them some cigars and told them that the yacht was returning from a trip to the North, where they had explored several of the glaciers. He was a bit of a naturalist and interested in birds, and that was why he had come ashore; but the desolate appearance of the island had deterred his friends, who were playing cards.
“Have you noticed any of the rarer sea-birds here?” he asked.
“There are a number of nests some distance off,” Bethune answered. “I don’t know what kind they are, but after making two or three attempts to eat them, I can’t recommend the eggs.”
The yachtsman laughed.
“You may have made omelettes of specimens collectors would give a good deal for. Anyway, I’d be glad if you would show me the place. As we must take off as much water as she’ll carry, the boys will be busy for some time.”
“I’ll go with you in a minute,” Bethune said, giving Jimmy a warning look. “Have you the ball of fine seizing?” he asked his comrade. “There are some hooks to be whipped on to the new line.”
Jimmy, understanding that Bethune wanted a word with him in private, went out, and Bethune followed.
“Well?” Jimmy queried.
“What do you think of the weather?”
Jimmy looked round carefully. The sky was clear overhead except for thin, streaky clouds, and the mist was moving, sliding in filmy trails along the shore.
“It won’t be so thick presently, and we may have a breeze.”
“That’s my opinion. Has it struck you that it will be after half-ebb when our yachting friend leaves? Besides, it would look inhospitable and perhaps suspicious if we didn’t take him off to supper.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Jimmy. “The wreck will be showing, the pumps are on board, and it’s unfortunate we forgot to move our buoy.”
“Sure! There’s no reason for supposing the man’s a fool, and I’ve no doubt he’ll draw conclusions if he sees the diving truck and the buoy. It’s certain that somebody on board the steamer has heard about the wreck; and any mention of our doings in the southern ports would lead to the sending up of a proper salvage gang. We might finish before they arrived; but I’m doubtful.”
“You’re right,” said Jimmy. “What’s to be done?”
“The best plan would be for you and Hank to get the pumps ashore while there’s fog enough to hide you. Then you can slip the buoy and leave it among the boulders abreast of the wreck. I’ll keep our friend away from the water; but the high ground where the nests are looks down on the beach and you’ll have the steamer not far outshore of you.”
Turning at a footstep, Jimmy saw the stranger leave the hut.
“My partner will take you to the nests,” he said. “I have something to do on board.”
Beckoning Moran, Jimmy turned away, and as the two went down to the beach he explained his object to the fisherman. Moran agreed that if news of their doings leaked out, they might as well give up the search. They must, however, be careful, because there was a chance of their being seen by anybody with good glasses on board the yacht, which had moved close in to shorten the journey for the boat. Now and then they could see her white hull plainly, but it grew dim and faded into the mist again.
Boarding the sloop, they dismantled the pumps, and then found that with these, the lead weights, and the diving helmet, the small dory had a heavy load. The tide was, however, falling, and for some distance it carried them down a smooth channel between banks of uncovered sand. They had no trouble here, but when they reached open water they found a confused swell running against them. The fog had again thickened and they could see only the gray slopes of water that moved out of the haze. It was hard work rowing, and care was needed when an undulation curled and broke into a ridge of foam. If that happened before they could avoid it, the dory might be overturned; and the water was icy cold. They toiled across a broad shallow, sounding with the oars, until they lost touch of the bottom and pulled by guess for a spot where landing was safe.
Soon it seemed that they had gone astray, for they could see nothing of the beach and a harsh rattle broke out close ahead. Moran stopped rowing.
“Tide has run us well offshore,” he said. “The yacht skipper’s shortening cable or going to break out his anchor. Guess he’s swung into shoaler water than he figured on.”
While they waited and the tide carried them along, the rattle of the windlass grew louder; and when it stopped, a dim, white shape crept out of the fog. It increased in size and distinctness; they could see the sweeping curve of bow, the trickle of the stream along the waterline, and the low deckhouse above the rail. There was no avoiding the yacht by rowing away without being seen, but the dory was very small and low in the water.
“They’ve hove her short and found another fathom, and I expect they’re satisfied,” Jimmy said; “but they’ll keep good anchor watch. The best thing we can do is to lie down in the bottom.”
They got down on the wet floorings, and Jimmy looked over the gunwale. They were close to the yacht, and he could make out a figure or two in front of the house. As they drifted on, the figures grew plainer, and it seemed impossible that they could escape being seen. For all that, nobody hailed them, though they were near enough to hear voices and the notes of a piano. The vessel’s tall, white side seemed right above them, but they were abreast of the funnel now, and the ash hoist began to clatter; Jimmy saw the dust and steam rise as the furnace clinkers struck the sea. Still, they were drifting aft, a gray blotch on the water, and were almost level with her stern when Jimmy saw a man leaning on the rail. By the way his head was turned he was looking toward the dory, and for several anxious moments Jimmy expected his hail. It did not come; the graceful incurving of the white hull ended in the sweep of counter above the tip of a propeller blade, and the dory drifted on into the mist astern.
“Now we’ll have her round!” Moran exclaimed, with relief in his voice. “I guess you’ve got to pull.”
It was difficult to prevent her heavy load from swamping her as they approached the beach; but they ran her in safely, and, after carrying up their cargo, set off for the wreck. Their buoy was visible some distance off, for the mist was now moving out to sea; and their chief trouble was to get the awkward iron keg ashore. They had hardly done so when the steamer showed up plainly through a rift in the fog and a draught of cold air struck Jimmy’s face.
“It’s coming!” he cried. “We’ve no time to lose in getting back!”
The tide was beginning to ripple as they pulled off the beach, and the yacht was plainly disclosed, shining like ivory on the clear, green water. It did not matter now that they could be seen; their one concern was to get home before the freshening wind raised the sea. In a short time the spray was flying about the dory and frothing ridges ran up astern of her. These got steeper as they reached the shoals, and the men had hard work to hold her straight with the oars as she surged forward, uplifted, on a rush of foam. They had no time to look about, but they heard the steamer whistle to recall her boat, and presently a gasoline launch raced by, rolling wildly, through deeper water.
As they entered the channel into the bight, they met the launch coming out more slowly with the boat in tow, and somebody on board her waved his hand. Then she disappeared beyond a projecting bank, and Jimmy and Moran rowed on to the sloop.
“They were only just in time,” Bethune said as they got on board. “I suppose you saw our friend go; but if they don’t tow her carefully, it won’t be fresh water when it gets into their tank.” He paused with a laugh and showed them some silver coins. “Anyhow, we have earned something this afternoon. The fellow insisted on paying for the fish, and I thought I’d better let him.”
“It was wise,” agreed Jimmy. “Moran and I have done our share, so it’s up to you to get supper.”
While they ate it, they heard the rattle of a windlass; and, looking out through the scuttle, they saw the yacht steam away to sea.
CHAPTER VI – BLOWN OFF
Though it was nearly eleven o’clock at night, the light had not quite gone and the sea glimmered about the sloop as she rose and fell at her moorings by the wreck. To the north the sky was barred with streaks of ragged cloud and the edge of the sea-plain was harshly clear; to the east the horizon was hidden by a cold, blue haze, and the tide was near the lowest of its ebb. An angry white surf broke along the uncovered shoals with a tremulous roar, and the swell, though smooth as oil on its surface, was high and steep. No breath of wind touched the water, but Jimmy agreed with Moran that there was plenty on the way.
A light burned in the low-roofed cabin where the men waited for the meal which Bethune was cooking. They felt languid as well as tired and hungry, for supper had been long deferred to enable them to continue diving, and they had been under water much oftener than was good for them during the day. The bulkhead they strove to clear of sand was still inaccessible, and, as bad weather had frequently hindered work, they felt compelled to make good use of every favorable minute. This was why they had held on to the wreck, instead of entering the bight before the falling tide rendered its approach dangerous. Moreover, their provisions were running low, and Bethune was experimenting with some damaged flour which had lain forgotten in a flooded locker for several days while they rode out a gale. The bannocks he turned in the frying-pan had a sour, unappetizing smell.
“They may taste better than they promise,” he said encouragingly. “If the sky had looked as bad at half-tide as it does now, I’d have made you take her in. We won’t get much done to-morrow.”
Moran stretched himself out listlessly on the port locker.
“We ought to tie two reefs in the mainsail handy, but I feel played out, and the breeze may not come before morning. It strikes me the most important thing is the question of grub. We can’t hang on much longer if that flour’s too bad to eat. I can’t see how it went so moldy in a day or two. You can leave a flour-bag in the water for quite a while and then find the stuff all right except for an inch on the outside.”
“That’s so,” Jimmy put in. “My notion is that the flour was bad when we got it. The ship-chandler fellow had a greedy eye. But when you deal with the man who finds the money you can’t be particular.”
“He’s pretty safe,” grumbled Bethune. “With a bond on the boat for his loan and a big profit on everything he supplied, the only risk he runs is of our losing her – though I’ll admit that nearly happened once or twice. However, you can try the flour.”
Taking the frying-pan off the stove, he served out a thick, greasy bannock and a very small piece of pork to each of his companions. The food was too hot to eat, and Jimmy, breaking his with his knife, waited with some anxiety while it cooled. If they could use the flour, it would enable them to remain a week or two longer at the wreck; and he believed it would not take many days to reach the strong-room. Failing this, it looked as if he must return to his toil at the sawmill and the dreary life in the cheap hotels.
He believed that he had learned on board the sailing ships not to be dainty, but he sniffed at the food with repugnance and then resolutely cut off a piece. When he had eaten a bite of it he threw down his knife.
“It’s rank!” he exclaimed.
Moran, reaching up through the scuttle, threw his bannock overboard.
“Very well!” said Bethune. “That shortens our stay. Perhaps we had better get the pumps down into the cockpit when you have finished the pork and tea.”
They did so, grumbling, and then lay on the lockers, smoking and disinclined for sleep. There was a tension in the air, and something ominous in the roar of the surf, which seemed to grow louder and more insistent.
“Whether we’ll find the gold or not is doubtful; the only thing certain is that we’ll have an opportunity for doing a lot of work,” Bethune observed after a while. “In a way, Hank’s more to be pitied than either of us. He hadn’t the option of taking things easily when he came out West.”
“The big lobsters were most killed off; you couldn’t make your grub with the traps,” Moran explained. “Then I got some little books showing it was easy to get rich by fishing in British Columbia. Wish I had the liars who wrote them out in a half-swamped dory picking up a trawl.”
“I don’t see that I had much more option than he had,” Jimmy objected.
“You could have stayed on board the liner, wearing smart uniforms and faring sumptuously, with a Chinese steward to look after you, if you’d exercised a little tact and shown a proper respect for authority. When the skipper disapproved of a man with heart trouble steering his ship, as he had every right to do, you should have agreed with him.”
“I’m glad I didn’t,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “Anyhow, you’re no better off, even if you practise what you preach.”
“That would be too much to expect; but then I admit that I am a fool,” Bethune laughed. “If I doubted it, the number of times it has been delicately pointed out would have convinced me. After all, it’s easy to conform outwardly, which is all that is required, and you can do what you like in private. A concession to popular opinion here and there doesn’t cost one much.”
“If you mean I ought to have got the quartermaster sacked after he’d prevented a ton of cargo from dropping on my head, I’d rather starve.”
“There’s a risk of your doing so if you persist in your foolishness. If you had stopped to reason, you would have seen it was your duty to agree with your skipper. Misguided pity is a dangerous thing.”
“Moralizing of this kind makes my headache worse!” said Jimmy disgustedly. “Drop it and light your pipe!”
“Let him alone; he has to talk,” Moran interposed. “It doesn’t matter so long as you don’t worry about what he means.”
“Well,” drawled Bethune, “I’ll conclude. Which of you is going to wash up?”
Moran picked up the dirty plates and thrust them into a locker.
“I’m played out and homesick! Wish I was back East, where I did my fishing in the natural way – on top of the water! But it’s a sure thing none of us will be down at the wreck to-morrow.”
There was silence except for the rumble of the surf and the occasional rap of a halyard against the mast. The sound became more frequent as Jimmy got drowsy, but he was used to the approach of bad weather. Stretched out comfortably on the locker, he soon fell asleep; and it was as dark as it ever is in the North in summer when he was rudely awakened by a terrific jar. The sloop seemed to be rearing upright, and Moran’s hoarse shouts were all but drowned by the rattle of chain on deck.
Scrambling out quickly, Jimmy saw the fisherman stooping forward where the cable crossed the bits, and a narrow stretch of smoking sea ahead. Individual combers emerged from it, and the sloop alternately reeled over them with a white surge boiling at her bows and plunged into the hollows. Jimmy, however, wasted no time in looking about; they had hung on to their moorings longer than was prudent, and prompt action was needed.
With Bethune’s assistance he close-reefed the mainsail and got the shortened canvas up; then all three were needed to break out the anchor, and Jimmy crouched in the water that swept the forward deck as he stowed it while his comrades hoisted a storm-jib. After that she drove away before the sea, and the men anxiously watched for the entrance to the channel. Though dawn had not broken, it was by no means dark, and they could see the streaky backs of the rollers that ran up the shoals, and beyond them a broad, white band of surf. Presently a break opened up, but it was narrow and crooked, and it seemed impossible that the sloop could get through. When they had run on for a minute or two longer, Moran stood up on deck to command a better view.
“We’d have about two feet under her at the bend, and if she didn’t luff up handy she’d sure go ashore,” he said. “Seems to me the chances are too blamed steep.”
They might reach shelter by taking the risk, and to refuse it meant a struggle with the sea; but Jimmy reluctantly agreed with Moran.
“Yes,” he said; “we had better stand off. Look out while I jibe her round.”
She swung on before the sea as he put up his helm, followed close by a comber that reared its crest astern, her boom flung on end with the patch of wet mainsail swelling like a balloon. Moran and Bethune were desperately busy with the sheet, for safety depended on their speed. Jimmy moved his wheel another spoke, and sail and heavy spar swung over, while the Cetacea, coming round, buried her lee deck in the sea. With a wild plunge she shook off the water, and, while Bethune and his comrade flattened in the sheets, drove out to windward away from the dangerous shoal. Since they could not reach the bight, she would be safer in open water.
When dawn broke, ominously red, the Cetacea was hove to with a small trysail set, rising and falling with a drunken stagger, as the long, white seas rolled up on her weather bow. Though she shipped no heavy water, she was drifting fast to leeward: the island had faded to a gray streak on the horizon. It would be a day’s work to beat back again, even if the wind abated, and it showed no sign of doing so. By noon the land was out of sight, and the sea had grown heavier. For an hour or two there was misty sunshine, and the oncoming walls of water glistened luminously blue beneath their incandescent crests. Some of them curled dangerously, and the trysail flapped, half empty, when the Cetacea sank into the trough. She lay there a few moments while her crew watched the comber that rose ahead. With slanted mast and rag of drenched sail she looked uncomfortably small; but somehow she staggered up the slope before the roller broke. Jimmy could not tell how far he helped her with the helm, but the sweat of nervous strain dripped from his face as he turned his wheel. Now and then she was a few seconds slow in responding to it, and when her bows swung clear her after-half was buried in a rush of spouting foam. It sluiced off, however, and the sharp swoop into the trough was repeated as comber after comber swept upon them.
When Moran relieved him, Jimmy felt worn out. He had had only an hour or two’s sleep after a day of exhausting work; his breakfast had consisted of a morsel of stale, cold fish, hurriedly torn with his fingers from the lump in the pan; and they had had no opportunity for cooking dinner.
“I’ll try to make some coffee,” he said, as he went below.
It was difficult to light the stove. The cabin trickled with moisture like a dripping-well. Grate and wood were wet; and when at last the fire began to crackle, Jimmy had to kneel on a locker as he held the kettle on, in order to keep his feet out of the water which washed up from the bilge. There seemed to be a good deal of it.
“Can’t you start the pump?” he called to Bethune.
“I might. I don’t know that it would do much good. The suction’s uncovered, and the delivery under water half the time.”
“Then come in and cook, while I get at it!”
“Oh, I’ll try!” Bethune answered morosely; and Jimmy resumed his watch on the kettle and left his companion alone.
He knew the curious slackness which sometimes seizes men exposed to the fury of the sea. It differs from fatigue in being moral rather than physical, and it is distinct from fear; its victim is overwhelmed by a sense of the futility of anything that he can do. Determined effort is its best cure, and Jimmy smiled as he heard the clatter of the pump. He thought Bethune would feel better presently.
He made the coffee, found a few of the tough cakes Moran called biscuits, and recklessly opened a can of meat. After the meal, which they all found a luxurious change from fish, Jimmy lay down, wet through as he was, on a locker, and, wedging himself fast with parts of the dismantled diving pump, sank into broken sleep.
It was midnight when he went up again to take the helm. There was no moon, and gray scud obscured the sea. Foam-tipped ridges came rolling out of it, and the Cetacea labored heavily. Jimmy watched Moran pump a while before he went below, and then he pulled himself together to keep his dreary watch. The slow whitening of the east brought no change. Dawn came, and throughout another wearing day they still lay hove to. The sloop did not give them much trouble, and they could easily pump out all the water she shipped; but toward evening they began to feel anxious. The gale had increased. They must already have made a good deal of leeway and they might be drifting near the land; if so, she would not carry enough sail to drive her clear, and there would soon be an end of her if she were blown ashore.
Jimmy was on deck at dawn the next morning, but saw nothing except a narrow circle of foaming sea and the flying scud that dimmed the horizon. Toward noon, however, it began to clear, and, getting out the glasses, he waited eagerly during an hour or two of fitful sunshine. The wind seemed to be falling, and the haze had thinned. Slowly it blew away, and a high, gray mass rose into view, four or five miles off. Moran called out as he saw it, but Jimmy quietly studied the land through his glasses.
“The head, sure enough!” he said. “If it had kept thick, we’d have been ashore and breaking up long before dark. Now we have to decide what it’s best to do. She might stand a three-reefed mainsail.”
“It would take us a week to beat back to the island, and we wouldn’t have many provisions left when we got there,” Bethune pointed out. “I don’t feel keen on facing the long thrash to windward.”
“She wouldn’t be long making Comox with this breeze over her quarter,” Moran suggested. “We might get somebody to grubstake us at one of the stores.”
“Considering that there’s a bond on her, it isn’t likely,” Jimmy replied.
They let her drift while they looked gloomily to windward, where the island lay. It would need a stern effort to reach it unless the wind should change; a long stretch of foaming sea which the sloop must be driven across close-hauled divided the men from the wreck. They were all worn out and depressed; and neither of Moran’s comrades protested when he got up abruptly and slacked off the mainsheet.
“I guess we’ll go where there’s something to eat,” he said. “You can square off for the straits while I loose the mainsail.”
Jimmy put up his helm with a keen sense of relief, and the Cetacea swung away swiftly for the south with the sea behind her. It was nervous work steering, and Jimmy advised Moran to leave the mainsail furled; but the worst of the strain had passed, and rest and shelter lay ahead.
