The Secret of the Reef

A few minutes later the yacht swung off her course to the east, and they set the foresail and two jibs. At midnight, when it was blowing hard, the engines stopped, and they hoisted the reefed mainsail. Aynsley was surprised to see Clay on deck, but he did not speak to him, for Clay’s manner indicated that he was in a dangerous mood.

When day broke the schooner was sailing fast, close-hauled, with her lee channels in the water and the white seas breaking over her weather bow. Aynsley found his father sitting at the foot of the mainmast, which was the only dry spot. It looked as if he had been on deck since midnight.

“She’s getting along fast, but Hartley thinks she’s carrying more sail than is prudent,” Aynsley remarked. “There’s a big strain on the weather rigging, and I imagine it would be safer to heave her to and shorten sail.”

“Let her go,” said Clay. “The fellow who designed her specified the best Oregon sticks for masts, and I remember paying high for them. Now they’ve got to stand up to it.”

“Very well,” Aynsley acquiesced; but when the breeze still freshened he stayed on deck, watching the growing list of the vessel as, hard pressed by the canvas and half buried in foam, she plunged furiously through the breaking seas.

During the morning the wind veered to the east, breaking the schooner off her course, so that they were forced to make long tacks, and it was late when a great range of forest-shrouded hills rose up ahead. Rocky points and small islands broke the line of beach, and as they closed with it Aynsley climbed the fore rigging with his glasses. There was a gap in the belt of surf three or four miles off, which he knew was the spot he sought, and coming down, he had a consultation with the skipper before he explained the situation to Clay.

“So far as we can calculate from the tables, the tide had been ebbing for about two hours,” he said. “That means the stream will be setting strongly out of the inlet, and we’ll have the wind against us going in. I know the place pretty well, because I once sheltered there, but Hartley wasn’t with me then, and after looking at the chart he’s a bit nervous about trying it on the ebb.”

“How long would you have to wait for water on the flood?”

“About nine hours. You see there’s a rocky patch in the entrance, and not much room to tack. Then Saltom wants to put her on the beach, and we’d have to wait until near high-water unless we go in at once. Still, it’s a very awkward place.”

“Take her in and chance it!”

As she drew nearer, Aynsley stood in the rigging, studying the shore through his glasses. He could see by the wet belt above the fringe of surf that the water had fallen; and the inlet had a forbidding look. On the starboard side of its mouth the tops of massive boulders showed through the leaping foam; to port there was a rocky shoal; and beyond these dangers a deep, narrow channel ran inland between the hills. The wind blew straight down it, lashing the water white.

“We’ll want speed; you’d better give her the whole mainsail,” he advised the skipper when he came down.

For a few minutes the crew were busy shaking out the reef, and then as the yacht buried her lee bulwarks Aynsley took the wheel. The sea was smoother close in along the land, but she was hard pressed by her large spread of sail, and the water that leaped in across her bows flowed ankle-deep across the steeply slanted deck. The tall masts bent to leeward, the weather shrouds hummed, and her crew stood with bent legs at their stations on the inclined wet planking, ready to seize the sheets. Forward, a dripping seaman swung the lead in the midst of the spray cloud that whirled about her rigging, and his voice came faintly aft through the roar of parted water.

“Seven fathom!” He missed a cast, and his next cry was sharper. “Shoaling, sir! And a quarter six!”

There was silence for a few moments while he gathered up his line, and the yacht raced in toward the beach.

“By the deep, four!” he called.

“Ready about!” shouted Aynsley, pulling at his wheel. “Helm’s a-lee!”

There was a furious thrashing of canvas as she rose to an even keel, while rocks and pines closed in on one another as her bows swung round. Then she started on the opposite tack, heading for the entrance, with the boulders not far to leeward and the tide on her weather bow. It carried her back, the trailing screw hampered her, and when a wild gust hove her down until the sea boiled level with her rail Clay, holding on by a shroud, glanced sharply at his son.

Aynsley was gazing fixedly ahead, his face set but cool, though the foam that surged among the boulders seemed rushing toward them. Clay was not much of a seaman but he could see that they were gaining little; but he had confidence in his son. The leadsman had found bottom at three fathoms and still Aynsley did not bring her round. There was a slack along that shore, and he meant to make the most of it, though it looked as if she must strike in the next few moments.

She swayed upright suddenly, swung, and drove away on the other tack toward a confused white seething, where stream and shore-running sea met upon the shoal. They were close upon it when she came round again; and five minutes later she was racing back, with the ominous white patch on her lee bow, but not far enough for her to clear it. On the opposite side a tongue of beach ran out, narrowing the entrance. It looked impossible for them to get in, and during the few moments while she sped toward the rocks Clay was conscious of a new respect for his son.

Aynsley had shown himself no fool in business, he was a social favorite, and now he was altogether admirable as he stood, composed but strung up, at the yacht’s helm. His finely proportioned figure was tense, his wet face was resolute, and there was a keen sparkle in his eyes. The boy was showing fine nerve and judgment. Clay was proud of him. This strengthened his determination to safeguard his son’s career. Aynsley must bear an honored name; it was unthinkable that reproach should follow him on account of his father’s misdoings.

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.