IN THE DARK
Whitney frowned as he looked about. He could see nothing except the
black line of the bank a few yards away and the beam from the
lighthouse on Southerness, though this had grown less distinct. There
was no fog, but the air was filled with an obscuring moisture that wet
his face and gathered upon the dinghy. Since the _Rowan's_ canvas had
been lowered she would be hard to see, and she lay at some distance
from the water. He could not remember how long it was since he had
seen the light, but it must have been some time, and he blamed himself
for not keeping an eye on it.
Still, he ought to find the gutter near which she lay, and he knew the
bearing of the Southerness light from there. He had guessed its
distance, and if he took a new bearing now, the angle between it and
the other would give him the length of the line he must follow to
reach the neighborhood of the yacht. Taking out a small compass, he
struck a match, but it went out. His hands were wet and the box was
damp. He tried two or three more with no better success, and when he
got the last to burn, the knife-blade he laid across the compass cast
a shadow on the card. This prevented his seeing the points; and
finding that he had no matches left, he paused to think.
If his friends had returned to the boat, they would certainly not have
put out the lamp, and it was disturbing to imagine their wandering
about the sands, particularly as Andrew might have to cross some
hollows up which the tide would shortly flow. Whitney shouted, but got
no answer, and after waiting a few minutes he began to row, because it
was plain that he must relight the lamp as soon as possible. He kept
out in the channel to get the help of the stream, which he thought was
running with him, but he did not seem to be making much progress, when
he passed a projecting tongue of sand. Stopping to get his breath, he
saw that the dinghy began to drift slowly back, and this disturbed
him. The tide had turned sooner than he expected.
Heading in toward the bank, he rowed savagely; but the flat-bottomed
craft did not pull well. Her main advantage was that she could be
folded up and stowed on deck. After a time bits of seaweed and flakes
of scum drifted up to meet him, and he could hear the water ripple
along the edge of the sand where the channel bent. The flood was
beginning to run and he had not covered much distance yet. Sweat
dripped from his face, his back ached and his hands blistered; but
this did not matter. Dick should be able to follow the channel down;
but Andrew was no doubt a long way from land, with his retreat to the
beach perhaps cut off. Moreover, Whitney saw that his own position was
not fortunate.
He had the dinghy, but her side was only a foot above the water and
the tide would presently sweep her up the Firth. He could not row
against it long, and the current would capsize or swamp the boat if
he struck a shoal. Still, it would be slack for about an hour and he
must make good use of the time. His arms got stiff, but he kept up the
pace and edged inshore until he touched bottom, when he made a deep
stroke. The temptation to turn round and look ahead was strong, but he
resisted it. He must not relax his efforts for a moment. He ought to
see the mouth of the gutter when he had gone far enough.
Unfortunately, however, the edge of the bank began to be indented by
shallow bays, and, as he must pull straight across in order not to
lose time, their ends were not always visible. It was unthinkable that
he should overshoot the gutter, but he imagined it was still some
distance off.
At last he saw a bold ridge of sand that looked like the place where
they had launched the dinghy, but on pulling close in, he could not
distinguish the mark she must have made as they dragged her down. He
rowed on for a hundred yards and stopped. There was no gutter, though
he believed he had come far enough. The sound of the surf was
ominously loud and a black-backed gull that fluttered overhead seemed
to mock him with its hoarse, croaking laugh.
Whitney felt unnerved; but he pulled himself together. His friends'
lives, and perhaps his own, depended on his keeping cool. He must have
passed the gutter, but he might see the _Rowan_ from the top of the
bank. Running aground, he pulled the dinghy out. There was no grapnel,
but she had a few fathoms of painter and he tied it to an oar, which
he drove into the sand. This ought to hold her if she floated before
he came back.
For a few minutes he walked rapidly away from the water, then turned
and ran along the flat, but could not see the yacht; and when he dared
stay no longer he came down to the channel. There was nothing that
looked like the mouth of the gutter and the dinghy was afloat. Pushing
off, he rowed a short distance and made another unsuccessful search.
Whitney was now getting desperate, but he tried to think calmly what
he should do. He could fold up the dinghy and carry her toward the
Southerness light, shouting as he went; but the others would be in
very grave danger if he missed them; besides, they would not both come
the same way. The plan would not serve; he must try again to find the
_Rowan_. Progress was difficult against the current; but he did his
best, and landing again, he dragged the dinghy up. She would not float
for some time because the bank was steep, but he dared not go far,
lest he should lose his way in coming back.
Striking shoreward, he plowed breathlessly through soft sand, but saw
nothing for some minutes. Then, when he was despairing, a black object
emerged from the gloom. It might be only a hummock; but after he had
gone a few yards, he knew it was the yacht and felt a thrill of relief
that was unnerving in its keenness. Still, he must brace himself and
decide between two courses. The dinghy might be needed to take his
comrades off, and there was a risk of her going adrift before he got
back; he ought not to lose a moment in returning to her. On the other
hand, Dick and Andrew must be in danger of being cut off by the
advancing tide and the lamp would show them where the boat lay; but it
might take some time to light. Hesitation would be fatal: he must do
one thing or the other at once.
Running to the yacht, he clambered on board and unfastened the lamp
from the stay, and then groped about the cabin for matches. At last he
found some and, shaking the lamp, heard the oil splash inside. The
wick did not ignite readily and he had to rub the charred edge off,
but by and by the flame began to spread and he scrambled on deck,
striking his head against the hatch. When he reached the bow, he found
himself shaking and scarcely able to tie the lamp to the stay, but he
jumped down on the sand and ran with all his speed toward the channel.
He could not see the dinghy and feared that she had gone, but he found
her safe, afloat and straining at the rope.
Jumping on board, he pulled along the edge of the bank until an eddy
swept him into the mouth of the gutter. This decided a point that he
was anxious about. The tide was flowing into the hollow from the
channel and not from its seaward end, which meant that there was less
danger that the others would be surrounded. The rising water carried
him close to the yacht, and when he got on board he sat down,
breathing hard and feeling conscious of keen nervous strain. He
shouted, but there was no answer; only the crying of wildfowl and the
ripple of the tide broke the silence. It was running fast up the
gutter, surging noisily over the uneven bottom and lapping the edge of
the sand, and Whitney soon heard a splash against the starboard plank.
He must now grapple with a fresh problem. The _Rowan_, drawing little
water when her centerboard was up, would shortly be afloat. Andrew had
not laid out an anchor, for it might be dangerous. If the anchor
failed to hold, she would sheer across the current before her keel
was quite off the bottom, and the leverage of the taut chain might
help the rush of water to press her down into the sand or roll her
over. One could take no chances with the Solway tide. Still, if left
unmoored, she would drive across the flats, away from his comrades.
Whitney could not determine what to do; and while he waited in
tormenting indecision, the boat rose upright and the water swirled
furiously round her bilge. Then his heart leaped as a cry came out of
the dark, and soon afterward two indistinct figures appeared at the
side of the gut.
"Be quick! She'll be off in a moment and the anchor's on board," he
shouted, pulling up the dinghy to row across.
"Stay where you are!" Andrew called. "We can wade it. In with you,
Dick!"
They were soon knee-deep and Whitney saw the current boil about their
legs when they stopped as the water got deeper, but Andrew encouraged
Dick, and they went on again and reached the yacht. Dick was panting,
but Andrew seemed quite cool.
"I don't know about the anchor yet; we'll wait," he said, and stood
watching the tide ripple past.
"It was lucky I met Andrew when I lost the channel," Dick said to
Whitney in a resentful tone. "You might have waited for me."
"Hold on, Dick," interrupted Andrew. "Perhaps you'd better go below
and change your clothes."
Dick left them; and soon afterward the boat began to move uneasily.
"The stream's getting slack; the water must be coming through from the
other end," Andrew said.
In another minute she slowly floated away and he threw the anchor off
the bow.
"She'll ride to it, but as we needn't make sail until the flats are
covered, we'll go down and get supper."
He changed his clothes while Whitney lighted the stove.
"How did the lamp go out?" he asked presently.
Whitney related his adventures, and Dick turned to him with a smile.
"Sorry I was huffed, but I dare say you can make allowance for my
feelings. They'd got rather harrowed while I wandered about in the
dark. You did the right thing, of course, in going back."
Dick made some coffee and when it was on the table Whitney was glad to
lean back on a locker and light his pipe. With two candle lamps
burning, the narrow cabin looked very snug and cheerful after the
desolate sands, and it was something to see Andrew sitting opposite,
safe but thoughtful.
"Did you trim the lamp properly?" Dick asked, puzzled.
"Of course," said Andrew, with a touch of dryness. "That's something I
don't often neglect. Mixed the oil myself--colza and a dash of
paraffin; and the lamp's the best I could get in Glasgow. Suppose you
bring it down."
Dick did so, and Andrew took off the oil-container, which was nearly
full, and examined the burner. There was nothing wrong, and Whitney
noted the good workmanship of the fittings.
"It couldn't go out," he said decidedly.
"That," Andrew replied, frowning, "is my opinion; but as I came down
to the gutter I saw only two rows of footsteps, and you made those in
coming and going back to the dinghy. I can't say there wasn't another
track, because the light was faint so far from the boat; but we might
look about the deck and cabin-top to see if anybody has been on
board."
"I'm afraid I mussed that all up with sand," Whitney pointed out.
"But who'd want to come on board?" Dick asked. "Theft could be the
only object, and we'll soon find out about that."
They looked round the cabin, but missed nothing.
"A thief wouldn't have put out the light, because he'd know that might
bring us back before he got away," Dick elucidated; then turned to
Whitney. "What do you think?"
"Well," said Whitney, smiling. "I've only one suggestion and it's
rather far-fetched. The thing might have been a plot to make us lose
the boat or, perhaps, make an end of us. If that's so, it nearly
succeeded."
"Rot!" exclaimed Andrew. "Nobody would be twopence the richer for
putting me out of the way."
"And I haven't an enemy in the world--unless it's myself," Dick
grinned. "I don't count the Kaiser, because the bad feeling's
patriotic; I've nothing personal against him."
Andrew made a sign of impatience, and Whitney, watching him closely,
thought he felt disturbed.
"Did you see anybody on the bank?"
"No," Whitney answered. "I saw a small sail; a lugsail, I think,
because it was long on the head. It looked very black."
"Tanned with blacklead and oil; one of the Annan whammel boats, most
likely. They drag a net for salmon, but wouldn't get any just now, as
the water's too smooth."
"Then why were they out?"
"After flounders, perhaps. But none of the Annan men would meddle with
our light. However, we'd better make a start if we mean to reach Rough
Firth this tide."
"Now and then I'm glad I'm not much of a seaman," Dick laughed. "As
I'd probably pull the wrong string, I'll stay below and smoke."
A cold east wind was blowing when Whitney went on deck, and after
hoisting sail they crept away against the tide. Whitney sounded with
the pole until he could no longer touch bottom, when Andrew seemed
satisfied. It was very dark, but two quivering beams pierced the
gloom.
"Get the topsail down," Andrew ordered after a while. "We'll find the
stream that fills Rough Firth in a few minutes and it will take us up
fast enough."
This proved correct, for shortly afterward the sea broke about them in
confused eddies, and the boat splashed and lurched as she crossed the
troubled space that divided the tides. Then she forged ahead very
fast, and blurred hills and shadowy cliffs soon loomed out. Whitney
used the sounding pole again, the cliffs grew plainer, and when the
land closed in on them, they dropped anchor. She brought up and, after
helping to stow the canvas, Whitney climbed into his folding cot.
For a time he did not sleep but lay thinking about the extinguished
light. It seemed impossible that the lamp should have gone out
accidentally, and he was not satisfied that the explanation he had
humorously offered was altogether absurd. His friends had had another
narrow escape not long before, and it might be significant that
although they were together on both occasions, Andrew had run the
greater risk. Whitney admitted that this might be coincidence and he
must not let his imagination run away with him. One must use sense and
not wrap up in romantic mystery a matter that might be perfectly
simple. For all that, he meant to seize any clue that chance might
offer him.
Next morning they landed and joined Murray at a village among the
hills. They spent the day upon the heather, working inland across
broad, grassy spaces and red moors where the sheep fled before them,
and then climbed a line of rugged hills. These were not high, but
Whitney found them romantically interesting as he scrambled among
black peat-hags where the wild cotton grew, up marshy ravines, and
past great granite boulders. Stopping now and then to get his breath,
he watched the line of small figures stretched out across the waste
and thought that nobody lurking among the stones and heather could
escape. Still, when the different detachments met upon a windy summit,
none of them had seen anything suspicious.
"We've drawn blank," Murray remarked, as they ate some sandwiches
behind a boulder.
"Yes," said Andrew. "If there is anything to be found out, I'd locate
it farther east."
Murray looked at him keenly for a moment and then answered:
"On the whole, I agree with you. It's my business, however, to search
where I am told."
They went downhill soon afterward, and the next day the _Rowan_ sailed
west along the coast, carrying Dick, who had reluctantly consented to
go with the others.