Harold Bindloss - The Secret of the Reef

“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.