Bindloss Harold
The Secret of the Reef

Aynsley shouted to the skipper, who was anxiously watching the shore.

“There’s not much room! I’ll let her shoot well ahead before I fill on her. See the boys are handy with the fore-sheets!”

As he pulled the helm down, Hartley gave an order, and the schooner, coming round, drove forward, head to wind, with canvas banging. It was a bold but delicate maneuver, for Aynsley had to trust that her momentum would carry her through the dangerous passage against the tide. If it failed to do so, and she lost her speed before he could cant her on to a new tack, there was no way of saving her from the rocks. The skipper stood with set lips amidship just clear of the jerking foresail-boom; the crew forward, the slack of the fore-sheets in their hands; and Clay, leaning on the rail aft, watched his son. Aynsley’s pose was alert but easy; he looked keen but confident with his hands clenched upon the wheel.

“Lee sheets!” he cried, pulling the wheel over sharply.

Her head swung slowly round, and the shaking canvas filled; she gathered way, and when her deck slanted the boulders were sliding past abeam. Coming round again, she left them astern, and drove forward swiftly into clear and sheltered water. Ten minutes afterward they ran the headsails down, and Aynsley ran her gently on to the beach. There she would have to stop until Engineer Saltom finished his repairs.

CHAPTER XXVII – ON THE BEACH

Late on a gloomy evening Jimmy and his friends sat down for a few minutes’ rest on the beach of a lonely island on the northern coast. With the help of Jaques they had fitted out the sloop, and had sailed much earlier in the year than was prudent, fearing that Clay might arrive ahead of them. The voyage proved trying, for they spent days hove to while the sloop was blown to leeward by bitter gales, and they were now and then forced to run off their course for shelter. Still, they stubbornly fought their way north. The strong breeze that Clay’s schooner-yacht had met badly buffeted the smaller boat. In driving her to windward through a steep head-sea the heavy strain upon the shrouds started a leak under her channel plates, and after a long spell of steady pumping the men reluctantly decided to seek a sheltered harbor, where the damage could be repaired.

This had not proved a difficult task, for some caulking was all that was required, but in order to reach the leak they had to lay her on the beach, and Jimmy thought it a desirable opportunity for filling up the water-breakers. Taking them ashore in the dory, they carried the small craft up; and after getting the water they set out for a walk across the island, because the sloop would not float until nearly high tide. The island was barren except for a few clumps of stunted trees, but they enjoyed the ramble, and were now feeling tired by the unusual exercise, as well as hungry, because they had not troubled about taking any lunch.

Picking a sheltered spot, Bethune lighted his pipe and languidly looked about. Dingy clouds were driving across the island, and the leaden water broke with an angry splash among the stones. There had been a light breeze from seaward when they went ashore, but it had changed, and now blew moderately fresh off the land. It was very cold, with a rawness that penetrated. Bethune shivered.

“We ought to be getting on board,” he said; “but I wish we had a paid crew to carry down the breakers and row us off. And I’d enjoy my supper better if I didn’t have to cook it myself. It’s curious how luxurious tastes stick to you.”

“If you’d been a lobster fisher, you wouldn’t have had any,” Moran remarked.

“I expect that’s true,” Bethune laughed. “No doubt it depends on the way one is brought up; but you don’t often surprise us with these reflections. Anyway, I can’t help thinking of our opponent sitting at the saloon table on board his yacht with a smart steward waiting to bring him what he wants, while we squat over our tin plates in the cubby-hole with our knees against the centerboard trunk and our heads among the beams. It’s a painful contrast.”

“The sooner you finish moralizing and make a move, the sooner we’ll get supper,” Jimmy reminded him.

“I wish it was Hank’s turn, only that one doesn’t have much pleasure in eating the stuff he cooks. Still, it will be a comfort to work with the stove upright, and not to have to hold the things on. That’s why I was waiting until the tide lifted her.”

“She’s afloat now,” said Moran.

Bethune, looking up, saw that this was correct, for the sloop’s mast began to move across the rocks in the background. Then there was a rattle of chain, and she drifted faster.

“Taking up the slack of her cable,” said Jimmy. “We’d better get on board. I didn’t give her much scope because I wanted to keep her off the stones.”

“Wait until I’ve smoked my pipe out,” Bethune said lazily; and they sat still for a few minutes.

The sloop brought up, sheering to and fro in the eddying gusts. When Moran turned to look at her he jumped up with an exclamation.

“She’s off again!”

They watched her mast, and saw a gap open between it and a boulder. It was obvious that she was moving out to sea.

“The wind has changed since we left!” exclaimed Jimmy. “When she swung, she got a turn of her cable round the anchor-fluke and pulled it up.”

“We’d better run for the dory!” Bethune cried, setting off along the shore.

“No use!” Jimmy called after him. “There isn’t time.” He jerked off his heavy sea-boots as he added: “She’s dragging her cable along the bottom now, but it won’t check her long.”

The others saw that he was right. The water got deeper suddenly below the half-tide line, and when the boat had picked up her anchor her progress would be rapid.

“It’s too cold for swimming, and you can’t catch her!” Bethune expostulated breathlessly.

“I must do the best I can,” said Jimmy, flinging off his jacket and plunging into the water.

They left him and ran along the beach, stumbling among the stones. It was some distance to the dory, and darkness was coming on. The Cetacea would drift to leeward fast, and they feared that she would be out of sight before they could begin the chase, but they might be in time to pick up their exhausted comrade. There was no doubt that he soon would become exhausted, because the water was icy cold, and a short, troubled swell worked into the bay. Besides this, the horror of their position lent them speed. It looked as if they would be left without food or shelter from the inclement weather on the desolate island. They had not even a line to catch fish with, and Bethune remembered that he had only three or four loose matches in his pocket.

He fell into a hollow between two boulders, hurting his leg, but was up again in a moment, making the best speed he could, with Moran clattering among the rocks a yard or two behind. Fortunately, the tide was almost up to the dory when they reached her. Thrusting her off they jumped on board and rowed with savage determination, pulling an oar each. The light craft lifted her bows and leaped forward in time to their powerful strokes, but a steeper swell was working in against the wind as the tide rose, and the long undulations checked her. Though the air was keen, the sweat dripped from the men as they rowed with throbbing hearts and labored breath, turning their heads for a glance forward every now and then.

They could not see their comrade, but that was hardly to be expected: a man’s head is a small object to distinguish at a distance in broken water. TheCetacea, however, was still visible, and she did not seem to be much farther offshore. It was possible that Jimmy had got on board, and that they might overtake her before she felt the full force of the wind. The hope put fresh heart into them, and they strained every muscle to drive the dory faster across the irregular heave.

When Jimmy plunged into the icy water he gasped as it closed about him. The cold took away his breath and paralyzed his limbs, and he let his feet fall with an unreasoning desire to scramble out again. This, however, lasted only for a moment; before he could touch bottom he overcame the impulse, and, throwing his left hand forward, struck out vigorously. His was not a complex character, and his normal frame of mind was practical rather than imaginative, but he had been endowed with certain Spartan virtues. Moreover, he had learned in the sailing ships that what is needful must be done, no matter how the flesh may shrink.

Now, though he could not think collectively, he knew that it was his business to overtake the sloop. He could swim better than either of his comrades, and he set about his task with the unreflecting stubbornness that generally characterized him when an effort must be made. His mind was fixed on his object, and not on the risk he ran.

After the first half-minute the shock began to pass, and he suffered less, but he dully realized that he was making very poor progress. His clothing hampered him, the swell flung him back, the only thing in his favor was that the ripples the wind made ran behind him instead of splashing in his face. He swam with a powerful overhand stroke, but he knew that theCetacea would drift at double his speed unless he could catch her while she was still in shallow water. When he swung up with the swell she was clearly in sight, but he could not judge whether he was gaining. She was still an alarming distance off, and moving away, but he hoped that the cable might check her, as it trailed along the uneven bottom.

But as the moments passed Jimmy began to despair of reaching her. The cold was sapping his vitality, his legs were getting cramped, and his breath was failing; but he turned upon his breast and swam on. He must hold out until his strength was spent; besides, he could not make the beach if he turned back. For a while he could not see the boat: his eyes were full of water, for the swell, which was getting steeper, occasionally broke over his head. Indeed, he hardly cared to look and contemplate the distance still to be covered. At last, however, when he stopped for a moment and raised his head, hope crept into his heart. The Cetacea was much nearer than he had expected. He must make a last, determined effort.

She had swung round, beam to wind, when he feebly clutched her rail amidships. For a few moments he held on; he had now to solve the difficulty of getting on board. As she drifted, his body trailed out away from her, and he could not get his knees against the planking. Even if he were able to do so, he had not the strength to lift himself on deck; and there was no rope hanging over that he could seize. Then he thought of the wire bobstay that ran down from the end of the bowsprit and was fastened to the stem near the waterline. He must try to reach it and climb on that way. He cautiously moved his hands along the rail; for if they slipped off, he might not be able to get hold again.

Foot by foot he worked forward, and, stopping for some moments, tried to get up by the shrouds. He slipped back with only three fingers on the rail, and the risk he had run of letting go altogether unnerved him. He waited until he recovered, and then dragged himself forward, moving one hand over the other a few inches at a time. This was more difficult now, because as the boat’s sheerline rose sharply at the bows he was higher out of the water and there was a greater weight on his arms; but at last he clutched the bowsprit and hung on by it, splashing feebly as he felt for the wire stay with his feet. Now that he was almost in safety, terror seized him. He found the wire, slid his foot along it, and lifting himself to the bowsprit fell forward, limp and inert, on deck. He lay there for a minute, and then with an effort roused himself, realizing that if he remained much longer he would perish of exhaustion and cold.

Staggering aft, he entered the cabin, and pulled off his clothes. There was no liquor on board, but he found some garments which were not very damp, and after trying to rub himself he put them on and munched a ship’s biscuit while he did so. Feeling somewhat better after this, he went up on deck, for he must get in the cable and hoist some canvas, in order to gain control of the boat, which was fast driving out to sea. When he seized the chain he realized how greatly the swim had exhausted him. It was a heavy cable, but he had often hauled a long scope of it in when the anchor was holding and he had the boat’s resistance to overcome. Now, however, he was beaten when he had laboriously pulled up a fathom or two. Trying again, he raised a few feet, and then had hard work to secure the chain round the bits.

He sat down to rest a minute, and looked about for the dory. He made her out indistinctly, but she seemed a long distance off, and as the breeze was freshening he did not know whether she could overtake the sloop. By setting some canvas he could pick her up, and the foresail would not be hard to hoist; but the Cetacea would not sail to windward with the heavy cable hanging from her bows. Jimmy remembered that there was a good length of it below; indeed, there might be scope enough to allow him to drop several fathoms on the bottom. The weight of this would act as a drag, and might, perhaps, bring her up. It depended on the depth of water.

He let the chain run, and watched it anxiously as it rattled out of the pipe. For a time it showed no sign of stopping, and then he felt a thrill as the harsh clanking slackened. The lower end had found bottom; but the vessel would soon lift a fathom or two, and he could not tell whether she would stop. The links ran slowly forward in a slanting line, and Jimmy saw by the absence of any splashing at the bows that she was still adrift. Then the rattle of the cable recommenced, which showed at least that there was more below, and she slowly stopped. In a few moments he felt her tug and strain, and white ripples broke angrily against the planking. She had either stopped or was drifting very slowly. Standing up on the cabin top, he waved his jacket that his comrades in the dory might see he was on board, and then went below out of the bitter wind. He could do no more.

It was some time later when the dory struck the side, and Moran clambered on board and entered the cabin. Jimmy could not see his face, but his gruff voice had an unusual tone.

“That was a mighty good swim, partner,” he said. “I was scared you wouldn’t make it.”

“So was I,” smiled Jimmy. “I was too dead beat to heave the cable when I got on board.”

“Of course,” Moran agreed sympathetically. “Now you lie off and leave things to us.”

Then Bethune came down and let his hand rest for a moment on Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Thanks, old man! Neither Hank nor I could have reached her.”

They were none of them sentimentalists, and Jimmy felt that enough had been said.

“I’m a bit worried about my thick jacket and sea-boots,” he replied. “You see, I’ll need them.”

“That’s so,” said Moran. “As soon as we’ve got sail on her, we’ll pull back and look.”

Jimmy protested. They were tired and hungry, and it would be a hard row to the beach against the rising breeze, but Moran laughed, and Bethune told him to sit still when he would have gone up to help them. He lighted the stove, and when they called him the reefed mainsail was banging overhead, and Bethune was in the dory, while Moran, kneeling under the jib, freed a coil of chain from the fluke of the anchor.

“I guess that’s what made the trouble,” he said. “We won’t be long, and when you have made two or three tacks you can show a light.”

He jumped into the dory, and it disappeared into the dark, while Jimmy drove the sloop ahead, close-hauled, until he dimly made out the boulders on a point. Then he came round and stretched along-shore on the other tack, until he left the helm for a few moments and lighted a lantern. Soon after he had done so he heard a shout and when he hove the boat to there was a splash of oars. Then the dory emerged from the gloom and Moran, seizing the rail, threw a jacket and pair of long boots on deck.

“Got them all right. They were a fathom from the tide; the beach is pretty steep.”

“I must have had the sense to throw them well back, though I can’t remember it,” Jimmy answered with a laugh.

“We’re going to have a better supper than I thought we would get not long ago,” Bethune remarked as he lifted the dory in; and Jimmy gave the helm to Moran and went below to help in preparing the meal.

CHAPTER XXVIII – A TRUCE

When Jimmy sighted the island where the wreck lay, there was a ghostly white glimmer among the mist that hung heavily along the shore. Most of the land was hidden, but the bank of vapor had a solidity and sharpness of outline that indicated the existence of something behind it. The wind was light, but it freshened as they crept on under easy sail, and the fog rolling back from the water revealed a broad and roughly level streak that glittered in the morning light. Nearer at hand two tall detached masses shone a cold gray-white on a strip of indigo sea. Then the vapor dropped again like a curtain as the breeze died away.

“Ice!” commented Moran. “Guess we’ve got here too soon.”

“It seemed to be banked up north of the point,” Bethune remarked. “I imagine we’ll be pretty safe in the bight unless some of that thin, cutting stuff is drifting about.”

Jimmy hove the boat to and lighted his pipe.

“The matter needs thinking over, and we’ll wait a bit for a better view,” he said. “It doesn’t look as if we could get to work just yet, and if any big floes drove across the banks at high-water, we’d be awkwardly placed in the bight. On the other hand, the ice will probably hang about until a strong breeze breaks it up, and I don’t want to keep the sea in wild weather while it’s in the neighborhood. The fog comes down thick and the nights are still dark.”

The others agreed to this and were afterward moodily silent. Whichever course they took there would be delay. It had been a relief to find that they had reached the island first, but they had no doubt that Clay was not far behind them. All they had gained by an earlier start might be sacrificed unless they could finish their task before he arrived.

The fog held all day and grew thicker when darkness fell; but the red dawn brought a clearer air with signs of a change, and Jimmy steered shoreward, sweeping the beach with his glasses as they approached the channel through the sands. That end of the island was free of ice, and after consulting together they decided to enter the bight. They thought they would be safer there, and they wanted to feel that the voyage was finished and they were ready to get to work. During the afternoon it began to blow strongly off the shore. The sloop lay in smooth water close to the beach, but when night fell the surf was roaring on the sands and they could hear the crash of rending ice. At times the din was awe-striking, but it died away again, and although they kept anchor watch in turns no floe appeared to trouble them. At dawn the greater part of the ice had gone, and they could see white patches shining far out at sea, but it was blowing much too hard for them to think of leaving shelter.

They waited two days, anxiously watching for a trail of smoke, but nothing broke the skyline, and at last the breeze fell. It was a flat calm when they towed the Cetacea out on a gray morning, but the swell ran steep and a thin drizzle obscured the sea. The sloop plunged wildly over the long undulations, jerking back the dory in spite of her crew’s toil at the oars, and it was nearly noon when they picked up their cross-bearings and anchored by the wreck. Nobody suggested getting dinner and Jimmy went down as soon as he could put on the diving dress. He found the wreck, which freed him of a keen anxiety, but he had to come up without entering the hold. She had moved a short distance since he last saw her, and now lay almost on her beam-ends with her upper works badly shattered. The gap they had previously crept through was closed by broken beams. Jimmy supposed that heavy ice, floating deep in the water, had ground across her higher part as it drove out to sea.

Moran went down next, and reported on his return that an entrance might be made, with some trouble. Bethune went armed with a crowbar. By nightfall they had wrenched away several obstructing timbers and discovered that there was a good deal of sand to be moved. They ate a hearty supper and went to sleep. The work was the same the next day, but although they began as soon as it was light they realized by noon that the most they could hope for was to clear the way for an entrance on the morrow. All felt the effects of their labors and of breathing the compressed air, and when it was Jimmy’s turn to go down toward evening, he leaned on the coaming, reluctant to put on the dress.

“I’ll be ready when I’ve finished this pipe,” he said. “You’d better screw up that pump-gland in the meanwhile. I didn’t get as much air as I wanted last time.”

Moran set about it, and, though time was precious, Jimmy did not try to hurry him, but stood listlessly looking out to sea. A fine rain was falling, there was very little wind, and belts of fog streaked the dim gray water between him and the horizon. He was watching one belt when it seemed to open and a blurred shape crept out. Jimmy dropped his pipe and scrambled to the cabin top. He could distinguish a patch of white hull and a tall mast. As he called to the others a short funnel appeared, and a trail of smoke lay dark along the edge of the fog.

“We don’t need the glasses to tell whose boat that is,” he said harshly.

They knew her at the first glance and their faces hardened.

“Clay’s lost no time,” Bethune remarked. “Well, I suppose it means a fight, and we’ll gain nothing by running away now, but we may as well stop diving until we find out whether it’s worth while to go on.”

After securing the pumps and gear they waited, watching the yacht’s approach. She came straight on at moderate speed, and stopped three or four hundred yards away. They saw the anchor splash and heard a rattle of chain, but after that there was no sign of activity on board the vessel.

“It’s my opinion Clay knows who we are,” Moran said.

“You can take that for granted,” Bethune replied. “We’ll hear from him before long, but he doesn’t mean to show any eagerness in sending a boat off. As time’s getting on, I think we’ll have supper.”

As they finished the meal a smart gig, pulled by uniformed seamen, approached the sloop, and when she stopped alongside the helmsman handed Jimmy two notes.

Opening them in the cabin, he showed his companions two sheets of fine paper bearing an embossed flag and the vessel’s name. One note stated that Mr. Clay requested their company at supper on board his yacht, and the other, which was longer, was from Aynsley. He said that although he was not sure they had much cause to remember him with gratitude, he would be glad to see them, and hoped they would not refuse his father’s invitation.

“Do you think Clay made him write this?” Jimmy asked.

“No,” said Bethune. “On the whole, I imagine it was sent without Clay’s knowledge. Of course, Aynsley had some reason for writing, but while I can’t tell what it is, he’s not in the plot.”

“Anyway, I’m not going; I’ve no wish to sit at that man’s table.”

Bethune grinned as he indicated his pilot jacket, which was shrunk and stained by salt-water, and his old sea-boots.

“Our get-up’s hardly smart enough for a yacht’s saloon; and I’ve a notion that it might be wiser to stay where we are. Still, we’ll have to see him before long, and you’d better write a civil refusal; though I’m afraid we can’t match his decorative stationery.”

Jimmy tore a leaf out of his notebook and scribbled a few moments with a pencil. Then he read to his comrades:

“Mr. Farquhar and his friends regret their inability to leave their boat, but would esteem Mr. Clay’s company if he cares to visit them.”

“Bully!” exclaimed Bethune. “You’ve sealed it with a thumb-mark, and – well, we haven’t an envelope.”

When the gig’s crew rowed away with the note the three men gathered together in the little cabin.

“Will he come, do you think?” Moran asked.

“Oh, yes; but he’ll take his time, and get his supper first comfortably,” Bethune replied. “I’m rather anxious about the thing, because if he doesn’t come we can look out for trouble.”

“If that’s what he wants, he’ll get it,” Moran drawled, from his corner on a locker.

Jimmy sat smoking in thoughtful silence. He had learned that Clay was cunning and unscrupulous; and, if worse came to worse, they were cut off from any outside help by leagues of lonely sea. Their enemy had a strong crew who were, no doubt, well paid and ready to do his bidding; for Jimmy knew that Clay would not have sailed on such an errand with men he could not trust. The sloop’s party would be hopelessly outmatched if he used force; and it would be difficult to obtain redress afterward, because they were only three in number, and all interested in the undertaking, while Clay would have many witnesses, who could claim to be independent. The situation needed careful handling, and Jimmy was glad that Bethune was on board. For all that, if things came to the worst, Clay should not find them easy victims.

Presently he went out to look at the weather. The rain had stopped and low mist hung about, but a half-moon was rising in a patch of clear sky. The swell heaved, long and smooth, about the sloop, which swung up and down with a regular motion. Jimmy could see the yacht’s anchor light not far away and the yellow blink from her saloon windows, but he could hear nothing that suggested preparations for sending off a boat. As it was cold in the cockpit, he returned to the cabin, where the others had lighted the lamp, and none of them said much for the next hour. They could hear the loose halyards slap the mast and the water splash about beneath the floorings, and the soft lapping of the tide along the planking.

Moran suddenly raised his hand, and, after their long wait in suspense, it was a relief to hear the measured splash of oars.

“That means he’s willing to make terms,” Bethune said.

Five minutes later the yacht’s boat ran alongside and Clay climbed on board.

“You can take a run ashore, boys, and come off when we signal,” he said to his crew, and then turned to Jimmy. “I’ve come for a talk.”

“Will you come below,” said Jimmy, moving back the scuttle-slide. “Be careful how you get down: there’s not much room.”

Clay bumped his head before he found a place on a locker, where he sat silent for a moment, looking about. The light of the bulkhead lamp revealed the rough discomfort of the narrow cabin. Condensed moisture glistened on the low roof-beams; the floorings were damp and littered with coils of rope. The end of a torn sail projected from the forecastle door, and damp blankets were loosely spread on the lockers to dry in the warmth of the rusty stove. All this indicated stern, utilitarian economy, and the men’s ragged, work-stained clothes were in keeping with it; but Clay noticed that their expression was resolute.

In the meanwhile they were studying him, and it struck them that he looked ill. His face was flabby and there were heavy pouches under his eyes.

“So my invitation didn’t bring you off!” he said. “Were you afraid I might carry you out to sea?”

“Not exactly,” Bethune replied. “One would not suspect you of so crude a plan. Can’t you take it that we were afraid of a change of wind? You see, it’s a rather exposed position.”

“That’s so,” Clay agreed; “you have no steam to help you ride out a breeze. But we’ll get down to business. I made you an offer of five thousand dollars to give me the first chance of cleaning up this wreck. I’ll now go a thousand dollars better.”

“Is that your limit?”

“It is; you’ll save time by realizing it. I’ve bid up to the last cent I think worth while.”

“Suppose we decline?”

“You would be foolish. You have no claim on the wreck; in a sense, I have, and if we can’t come to some understanding I begin work at once. My yacht can hang on through a gale of wind and with our outfit we can get something done in pretty bad weather. You have a small sailing-boat and poor, cheap gear. As soon as a breeze gets up you’ll have to quit.”

“I imagine you haven’t yet mentioned all your advantages over us,” Bethune suggested.

Clay looked at him keenly and then smiled. “That’s so. I’m trying to be polite.”

“In fact, you’re keeping your strongest arguments in reserve. Unless we agree to your proposition, there’s not much chance of our recovering anything from the wreck?”

“You’re pretty near the mark,” Clay answered, smiling confidently.

“The odds seem against us. Perhaps I’d better be candid. The truth is, we have already recovered something of importance.”

Clay’s expression became intent.

“Then you’re smarter than I thought and you played your hand well the last time I met you. However, it will probably save us all trouble if we put our cards on the table. What have you got?”

Bethune took out his notebook.

“To begin with, two bags of gold; the weight and marks, so far as we could make the latter out – ”

“Shucks!” interrupted Clay. “They don’t count. You can keep your share of their salvage. Come to the point.”

“One iron-clamped, sealed case. The stencil marks, although partly obliterated, appear to be D.O.C. in a circle; the impress on the seals to attached tracing. Contents” – Bethune paused and looked steadily at Clay – “I dare say you know what these are?”

“Do you?” Clay asked sharply.

“We opened the case.”

There was silence for a few moments and all were very still. Clay’s voice was not so steady when he spoke again.

“Where is the case?”

“Not here,” said Bethune dryly. “If we don’t turn up to claim it within a fixed time, or if any attempt is made to obtain possession of it in our absence it will be handed to the underwriters.”

“You seem to have taken precautions,” Clay remarked.

“We did the best we could,” Bethune admitted with a modest air.