The Secret of the Reef

“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?”