Billy Topsail & Company: A Story for Boys

“’Ear the wind!” said Bagg, with a little shiver.

It had begun to blow in earnest. The wind, falling over the cliff, played mournfully in the rigging. A gust of rain lashed the skylight. Swells from the open rocked the schooner.

“Blowin’ up,” said Billy Topsail.

“How long have you knowed Sir Archibald?” the skipper asked.

Archie laughed.

“Off an’ on for about sixteen years, I ’low?” said the skipper.

Archie nodded shortly.

“’Ark t’ the wind!” Bagg whispered.

“’Twill be all in a tumble off the cape,” said Jimmie Grimm.

“Know Sir Archibald well?” the skipper pursued.

Archie sat down in disgust.

“Pretty intimate, eh?” asked the skipper.

The boy laughed again; and then all at once–all in a flash–his ill-humour and suspicion vanished. His father not play fair? How preposterous the fancy had been! Of course, he was playing fair! But somebody wasn’t. And who wasn’t?

“It is queer,” said he. “What do you make of it, Bill?”

“I been thinkin’,” the skipper replied heavily.

“Have you fathomed it?”

“Well,” the skipper drawled, “I’ve thunk along far enough t’ want t’ look into it farder. I’d say,” he added, “t’ put back t’ Conch.”

“It’s going to blow, Skipper Bill.”

It had already begun to blow. The wind was moaning aloft. The long-drawn melancholy penetrated to the cozy cabin. In the shelter of the cliff though she was, the schooner tossed in the spent seas that came swishing in from the open.

“Well,” the skipper drawled, “I guess the wind won’t take the hair off a body; an’ I ’low we can make Conch afore the worst of it.”

“I’m with the skipper,” said Billy Topsail.

“Me, too,” said Jimmie Grimm.

Bagg had nothing to say; he seldom had, poor fellow! in a gale of wind.

“I’ve a telegram to send,” said Archie.

It was a message of apology. Archie went ashore with a lighter heart to file it. What an unkindly suspicious fool he had been! he reflected, heartily ashamed of himself.

“Something for you, sir,” said the agent.

Sir Archibald’s telegram was put in the boy’s hand; and when this had been read aboard the Spot Cash– and when the schooner had rounded Cape John and was taking full advantage of a sudden change of wind to the southwest–Archie and the skipper and the crew felt very well indeed, thank you!

It blew hard in the afternoon–harder than Bill o’ Burnt Bay had surmised. The wind had a slap to it that troubled the little Spot Cash. Crested seas broke over her bows and swept her deck. She was smothered in white water half the time. The wind was rising, too. It was to be a big gale from the southeast. It was already half a gale. There was wind enough for the Spot Cash. Much more would shake and drown her like a chip. Bill o’ Burnt Bay, at the wheel, and the crew, forward and amidships, kept watch for the coast and the friendly landmarks of harbour. But what with wind and fog and rain it was a disheartening business.

When night gathered, the coast was not in sight. The Spot Cash was tossing somewhere offshore in a rising gale and dared not venture in. The wind continued in the southeast. The coast was a lee shore–all rocks and islands and cliffs. The Spot Cash must beat out again to sea and wait for the morning. Any attempt to make a harbour of that harsh shore in the dark would spell destruction. But the sea was hardly more hospitable. The Spot Cash, reefed down almost to bare poles, and standing out as best she could, tossed and plunged in the big black seas, with good heart, to be sure, but, presently, with small hope. It seemed to Bill o’ Burnt Bay that the little craft would be broken and swamped.

The boys came aft from forward and amidships. All at once Archie, who had been staring into the night ahead, started, turned and uttered an ejaculation of dismay, which a gust of wind drove into the skipper’s ear.

“What is it, b’y?” Skipper Bill roared.

“I forgot to insure her,” shouted Archie.

Skipper Bill grinned.

“It’s ruin if we wreck, Bill,” Archie shouted again.

It looked to Bill o’ Burnt Bay like wreck and death. If so, the ruin might take care of itself. It pleased him to know that Archie was still unconcerned about his life. He reflected that if the Spot Cash should by any chance survive he would tell Sir Archibald that story. But a great sea and a smothering blast of wind distracted him. The sea came clear over the bow and broke amidships; the wind fairly drove the breath back into the skipper’s throat. There would be two more seas he knew: there were always three seas. The second would break in a moment; the third would swamp the schooner. He roared a warning to the boys and turned the wheel to meet the sea bow on. The big wave fell with a crash amidships; the schooner stopped and shivered while a torrent of water drove clear over the stern. Bill o’ Burnt Bay saw the crest of the third sea grow white and tower in the night.

“Hang to her!” screamed Archie.

Skipper Bill smiled grimly as the sea came aboard. It broke and swept past. He expected no more; but more came–more and still more. The schooner was now tossing in a boiling pot from which the spray rose like steam. Bill caught the deep boom of breakers. The Spot Cash was somewhere inshore. The water was shallowing. She was fairly on the rocks. Again Bill shouted a warning to the boys to save themselves when she struck. He caught sight of a low cliff–a black shadow above a mass of moving, ghostly white. The schooner was lifted by a great sea and carried forward. Skipper Bill waited for the shock and thud of her striking. He glanced up at the spars–again screamed a warning–and stood rigid. On swept the schooner. She was a long time in the grip of that great wave.

Then she slipped softly out of the rough water into some placid place where the wind fluttered gently down from above.

There was a moment of silence and uttermost amazement. The wind had vanished; the roar of the sea was muffled. The schooner advanced gently into the dark.

“The anchor!” the skipper gasped.

He sprang forward, stumbling; but it was too late: the bowsprit crumpled against a rock, there was a soft thud, a little shock, a scraping, and the Spot Cash stopped dead.

“We’re aground,” said Bill.

“I wonders where?” said Jimmie Grimm.

“In harbour, anyhow,” said Billy Topsail.

“And no insurance!” Archie added.

There was no levity in this. The boys were overawed. They had been afraid, every one of them; and the mystery of their escape and whereabouts oppressed them. But they got the anchor over the bow; and presently they had the cabin stove going and were drying off. Nobody turned in; they waited anxiously for the first light of day to disclose their surroundings.

CHAPTER XXVIX

In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the “Black Eagle” to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction

Aboard the Black Eagle, Skipper George Rumm and Tommy Bull, with the cook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk’s careful selection, were engaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck the schooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortune to favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate had conceived and directed it. The Black Eagle was to be loaded with salt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. She was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the remainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed under tarpaulin: whereupon–with thick weather to corroborate a tale of wreck–the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water.

“’Tis but a matter o’ clever management,” Tom Tulk had said. “Choose your weather–that’s all.”