The movements of the brig which hung so close to shore, and which
prowled up and down so mysteriously, greatly interested Anthony
Stevens. Late in the day, after the episode of the wrecked long-boat,
he saw the vessel at anchor a few miles out and just to the south of
the shoals; a small boat had put out from her and was weaving in and
out slowly apparently searching for a channel to the inlet.
She was still there next morning, riding at anchor, and before noon
two boats had put away from her and engaged in the same weaving in and
out. At evening Anthony baked his bread on the coals and roasted a
fish; he ate his supper at the window and then tidily washed and put
away his gear. He read for an hour or two by candle-light; and about
ten o'clock, when he'd made up his mind for bed, he stepped out for a
breath of cool air. The night was quiet; the sky carried thousands of
stars; through a space between two dunes he could see the surf, thick
with phosphorus, breaking brilliantly on the sand. The moon was lifting
out of the sea--a great, yellow moon; he moved toward the beach;
for a time the light was hidden by a high dune; then the moon's rim
began to rise above it, enormous, like a wide eye searching the quiet
world. Higher and higher it lifted, the light bathing the sand-hills
mysteriously; half of it was now above the line of the dune, and
suddenly, against its shining face, Anthony saw a movement. There were
two figures,--men,--and they stood upon the top of the hill with the
half-moon behind them; their heads were together as though they were
conversing, and one of them lifted a hand and pointed out to sea.
At once Anthony was in motion; softly he stepped through the sand, and
climbed the side of the hill. The two men stood with their backs to
him, their eyes fixed upon the sea. There lay the brig in the track of
the moon; and it was at this they were pointing. When Anthony spoke
they turned; and he was amazed to see Tom Horn and Christopher Dent.
"We reached the town beyond at nightfall and crossed the bay in a
skiff," said Christopher. "We came to see you; we have a message."
Tom Horn was studying the brig once more.
"I know her well," he said. "She belongs to the Simpsons and has the
look of having been rigged by a landsman."
"She's been haunting the coast," said Anthony.
Tom Horn laughed, and he pointed away to the northeast.
"There are the shoals," he said. "There are the white ghosts. That's
why the brig's people are here. They know every set of teeth on the
coast." He looked at Anthony. "Have they been searching?"
"They have had boats out," said the young man.
Tom Horn nodded.
"Such as they take nothing for granted. No ship is to be seen broken on
the bars but they know what a great storm can do; they know how it can
rend its victim, and then cover it with the smothering sand."
Anthony frowned out at the brig, lying so peacefully in the white track
of the moon.
"They set out to find a wreck, then?" he said.
"A month ago," said Tom Horn. "They manned yonder vessel for no other
purpose than to pick and search along the coast. This shoal was one
they had well in the front of their minds. And the hulk they hope to
sight is that of the _Rufus Stevens_."
All three stood looking out at the vessel across the flattened line of
surf.
"What men are aboard her?" asked Anthony.
"Those whom you have in your mind," said the clerk. "They could be no
other."
Anthony continued to hold the brig with his eye; his mind was dark and
active, and anger was lifting in it.
"Mademoiselle desired that word be brought you," said Christopher to
the young man.
"Of this?" said Anthony, and he pointed to the vessel.
"Oh, no. She knows nothing of either the brig or her business," said
the little apothecary. "Her message is more urgent than that. It will
open your eyes," prophesied Christopher, confidently. He took a letter
from his pocket and gave it to Anthony. "But let us go where you can
read it quietly," said he. "And afterwards we can talk; for you'll
have many questions to ask, I know, and Tom Horn will have a deal of
answering to do to satisfy you."
So they descended the dune; a brace of candles were lighted in the
cabin, and the three sat down at the table. Anthony read mademoiselle's
letter; his muscles grew tight and his blood began to race; he read it
once more, then quietly placed it upon the table and, looking at Tom
Horn, said:
"Tell me what you have told her."
The clerk once more stated his beliefs, and his reasons for holding to
them; Christopher added those details which escaped the other; Anthony
listened, and his eyes glowed; a slow smile crept to the corners of his
mouth, but got no farther.
"Safe!" said he, when the man had done. "Safe, with the cargo unharmed;
lying quiet and waiting."
"Yes," said Tom Horn.
"And you can point the nose of a vessel toward this strange sea?"
"I would engage to put you alongside the ship itself," said Tom Horn.
Anthony's eyes narrowed. These were high words, and he was one to be
moved little by sounds, no matter how brave. But Tom Horn was peculiar.
Inside that odd exterior, a wisdom worked which was not common. Tom
Horn, alone, of all who felt the burrowing under Rufus Stevens' Sons,
had pointed out the runways of the rats. He had said strange things;
and facts had sprung up to bear him out. There was a long silence; and
then Anthony said:
"A vessel to make the search! How is one to be had?"
Thrilled, Christopher leaned across the table.
"Mademoiselle bade me say," said he, "that she'll be waiting and will
have a ship at her call."
Anthony looked at the little apothecary; then the smile crept forward
from the corners of his mouth, and his lips parted in a laugh.
"Mademoiselle grows better and better," he said. He turned a look upon
the broad face of his watch, which hung upon the wall. "I have bedding
enough for us all," he said. "So let's turn to it and get some sleep.
To-morrow we take the track back to the city."