Читать книгу The Secret of the Reef - Harold Bindloss - Страница 8

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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.