Next morning, an hour after sunrise, through the blaze of light
striking the Pacific across the far-off Californlan coast, San Juan
showed like a flake of spar on the horizon to southward.
The sea all there is of an impossible blueness, the Pacific blue
deepened by the _Kuro Shiwo_ current, that mysterious river of the sea
which floods up the coast of Japan, crosses the Pacific towards Alaska,
and sweeps down the West American seaboard to fan out and lose itself
away down somewhere off Chile.
Harman judged the island to be twenty miles away, and as they were
making six and a half knots, he reckoned to hit it in three hours if
the wind held.
They went down and had breakfast, and after the meal Ginnell, going to
the locker where he had stowed the wrecking tools, fetched them out and
laid them on deck. There were two crow-bars and a jemmy, not to
mention a flogging hammer, a rip saw, some monstrous big chisels and a
shipwright's mallet. They looked like a collection of burglar's
implements from the land of Brobdingnag.
"There you are," said Ginnell. "You never know what you may want on a
job like this, with bulkheads, maybe, to be cut through and chests
broke open; get a spare sail, Misther Harman, and rowl the lot up in it
so's they'll be aisier for thransport."
He was excited, and the Irish in him came out when he was like that;
also, as the most knowledgeable man in the business, he was taking the
lead. You never could have fancied from his cheerful manner and his
appearance of boss that Blood was the real master of the situation, or
that Blood, only a few days ago, had nearly pounded the life out of
him, captured his revolver, and taken possession of the _Heart of
Ireland_.
The schooner carried a whale-boat, and this was now got in readiness
for lowering, with provisions and water for the landing-party, and when
that was done the island, now only four miles distant, showed up fine,
a sheer splinter of volcanic rock standing up from the sea and creamed
about with foam.
Not a sign of a wreck was to be seen, though Ginnell's glasses were
powerful enough to show up every detail from the rock fissures to the
roosting gulls.
Gloom fell upon the party, with the exception of Harman.
"It'll be on the other side if it's there at all," said he. "She'd
have been coming up from the s'uthard, and if the gale was behind her
it would have taken her right on to the rocks; she couldn't be on this
side, anyhow, because why?--there's nuthin' to hold her. It's a mile
deep water off them cliffs, but on the other side it shoals gradual
from tide marks to ten fathoms water, which holds for a quarter of a
mile--keep her as she is, you could scrape them cliffs with a
battleship without danger of groundin'."
After a minute or two, he took the wheel himself and steered her whilst
the fellows stood by the halyards ready to let go at a moment's notice.
It was an impressive place, this north side of the island of San Juan;
the heavy swell came up smacking right on to the sheer cliff wall,
jetting green water and foam yards high to the snore and boom of caves
and cut outs in the rock. Gulls haunted the place. The black petrel,
the Western gull and the black-footed albatross all were to be found
here; long lines of white gulls marked the cliff edges, and far above,
in the dazzling azure of the sky, a Farallone cormorant circled like
the spirit of the place, challenging the newcomers with its cry.
Harman shifted his helm, and the _Heart of Ireland_ with main boom
swinging to port came gliding past the western rocks and opening the
sea to southward where, far on the horizon, lovely in the morning light
like vast ships under press of sail, the San Lucas Islands lay remote
in the morning splendour.
Away to port the line of the Californian coast showed beyond the heave
of the sea from Point Arguello to Point Conception, and to starboard
and west of the San Lucas's a dot in the sun-dazzle marked the peaks of
the island of San Nicolas.
Then, as the _Heart of Ireland_ came around and the full view of the
south of San Juan burst upon them, the wreck piled on the rocks came in
sight, and, anchored quarter of a mile off the shore--a Chinese junk!
"Well, I'm damned," said Harman.
Ginnell, seizing his glasses, rushed forward and looked through them at
the wreck.
"It's swarmin' with chows," cried he, coming aft. "They seem to have
only just landed, be the look of them. Keep her as she goes and be
ready with the anchor there forrard; we'll scupper them yet. Mr.
Harman, be plazed to fetch up that linth of lead pipe you'll find on
the cabin flure be the door. Capt'in, will you see with Charlie here
to the boat while I get the anchor ready for droppin'; them coolies is
all thumbs."
He went forward, and the _Heart of Ireland_, with the wind spilling out
of her mainsail, came along over the heaving blue swell, satin-smooth
here in the shelter of the island.
Truly the _Yan-Shan_, late _Robert Bullmer_, had made a masterpiece of
her last business; she had come stem on, lifted by the piling sea, and
had hit the rocks, smashing every bow-plate from the keel to within a
yard or two of the gunnel, then a wave had taken her under the stern
and lifted her and flung her broadside on just as she now lay, pinned
to her position by the rock horns that had gored her side, and showing
a space of her rust-red bottom to the sun.
The water was squattering among the rocks right up to her, the
phosphor-bronze propeller showed a single blade cocked crookedly at the
end of the broken screw shaft; rudder there was none, the funnel was
gone, spar deck and bridge were in wrack and ruin, whilst the cowl of a
bent ventilator turned seaward seemed contemplating with a languid air
the beauty of the morning and the view of the far distant San Lucas
Islands.
The _Heart of Ireland_ picked up a berth inside the junk, and as the
rasp and rattle of the anchor chain came back in faint echoes from the
cliff, a gong on the junk woke to life and began to snarl and roar its
warning to the fellows on the wreck.
"Down with the boat," cried Ginnell. With the "linth of lead pipe," a
most formidable weapon, sticking from his pocket, he ran to help with
the falls; the whaleboat smacked the water, the crew tumbled in, and,
with Ginnell in the bow, it started for the shore.
The gong had done its work. The fellows who had been crawling like
ants over the dead body of the _Yan-Shan_ came slithering down on
ropes, appeared running and stumbling over the rocks abaft the stern,
some hauling along sacks of loot, others brandishing sticks or bits of
timber, and all shouting and clamouring with a noise like gulls whose
nests are being raided.
There was a small scrap of shingly beach off which the Chinamen's scow
was lying anchored with a stone and with a China boy for anchor watch.
The whale-boat passed the scow, dashed nose end up the shelving beach,
and the next moment Ginnell and his linth of lead pipe was amongst the
Chinamen, whilst Blood, following him, was firing his revolver over
their heads. Harman, with a crowbar carried at the level, was aiming
straight at the belly of the biggest of the foe, when they parted right
and left, dropping everything, beaten before they were touched, and
making for the water over the rocks.
Swimming like rats, they made for the scow, scrambled on board her,
howked up the anchor stone and shot out the oars.
"They're off for the junk," cried Ginnell. "Faith, that was a clane
bit of work; look at thim rowin' as if the divil was after thim."
They were, literally, and now on board the junk they were hauling the
boat in, shaking out the lateen sail and dragging up the anchor as
though a hundred pair of hands were at work instead of twenty.
Then, as the huge sail bellied gently to the wind and the junk broke
the violet breeze shadow beyond the calm of the sheltered water, a
voice came over the sea, a voice like the clamour of a hundred gulls,
thin, rending, fierce as the sound of tearing calico.
"Shout away, me boys," said Ginnell. "You've got the shout and we've
got the boodle, and good day to ye."