Cold as it was, Jimmy lay for a long time on the sloop's deck when he
had been stripped of the diving gear. How he had crawled out of the hole
and climbed the ladder was not clear to him; he thought that he must
have untangled the line as he fell and have been driven forward by an
overpowering longing for the upper air.
He found some trouble in explaining to Moran what had happened, for he
felt limp and shaky yet. And he shuddered at the thought of going down
again.
"When we once get the box out of the hold," he said, "there should be no
trouble in swinging it on board."
Moran smoked out a pipe before he took his turn. When the copper helmet
disappeared, Jimmy got a firm grip on the signal line; and while he
waited he looked about.
The days were rapidly shortening, and the light was growing dim. The
horizon seemed to be creeping in on them, obscured by smoky fog, which
stirred and wreathed about as the wind sprang up. Small ripples were
splashing round the sloop, and the swell was steeper.
"I hope Hank will manage to sling that box," Jimmy said to Bethune, who
nodded as he steadily turned the pump.
"We may get another turn or two, but that will be all. There's a breeze
behind the heave that's working in."
Neither of them said anything further, but waited with what patience
they could summon until Moran came up.
"I got the box out of the hold before I was beat; the next man shouldn't
have much trouble in hitching a sling round it," he said, and glanced
out to sea as he added significantly: "He'd better get through mighty
quick."
A gust of wind rent the fog, and a long, low mass, shining a dead, cold
white, appeared in the gap. Then, while the haze streamed back, another
pale streak showed up on the opposite bow.
"They're all around us!" Jimmy exclaimed hoarsely.
The men were not easily daunted, and they had borne enough in the North
to harden them, but the sight was strangely impressive, and their
courage sank. This was a peril with which none of them except Moran had
grappled; and he had no cause for thinking light of it. The pack-ice was
gathering round the island, hemming them in, and the sloop would be
crushed like an eggshell unless she could avoid its grip. Then, to make
things worse, a blast of bitter air whipped the men's anxious faces, and
the sea broke into short, angry ripples.
"We have got to quit," said Moran despondently. "But I surely want that
box."
"You shall have it, if I can get the sling on," Bethune replied. "Help
me on with the dress as quick as you can."
He flung a hasty glance about. A long raft of ice with ragged edges was
drifting nearer, and the fog, disturbed by the rising breeze, rolled
across the sea in woolly streamers.
"It looks as if I had to finish the job this time," he said with a harsh
laugh. "I no longer have the cheap hotel to fall back on."
When he had been down for some time, Jimmy, turning the pump in
obedience to the plucking of the signal line, began to wonder when he
would come up. Bethune seemed particular about his air supply, and Jimmy
surmised that he found it needful to move the case along the bottom to
get a clear lead for the lifting line because the _Cetacea_ had altered
her position. Moran put his hand on the crank when required, but at
other times he stood motionless, watching the ice with an imperturbable
brown face. Indeed, Jimmy, as a relief from the tension, began to
speculate about his comrade and wonder what he thought. Though they had
toiled hard and faced many perils together with mutual respect and
confidence, he felt that he knew very little about the man. Moran's
reserve and stolid serenity were baffling. When strenuous action was
required he could be relied upon, but even then he was seldom hurried,
and his movements somehow suggested that his splendid frame was endowed
with unreasoning, automatic powers. For all that, Jimmy knew that such a
conception of his friend was wrong. He had seen the cool judgment and
indomitable courage that controlled the man's strength in time of heavy
stress.
All this, however, was not of much consequence. Jimmy fixed his eyes
upon the frothing patch of bubbles that broke the troubled surface of
the swell. It was stationary, and Bethune had already stayed below an
unusual time. He was not in difficulties, because when Jimmy jerked the
line he got a reassuring signal in reply. It looked as if the man
expected to bring up the case.
In the meanwhile the ice was driving nearer, propelled by wind and tide,
and its low height suggested that it had formed in some shallow bight.
If this were so, it might not ground before reaching the sloop. Still,
its progress was not rapid, and Jimmy did not think there was any urgent
need to recall Bethune, particularly as he must finish his task or
abandon it.
At last the bubbles began to move back. It was difficult to follow them
because the swell was streaked with foam, but although they were
occasionally lost for a few moments, they reappeared. Then the top of
the ladder swung against the rail and soon the copper helmet rose out of
the sea. Bethune flung an arm on deck and grasped a cleat, but he seemed
to have some difficulty in getting any farther, and they dragged him on
board. His face was livid when they released him, and he lay back on the
skylight without speaking for some moments. Then he gasped painfully:
"The case is slung; I had to move it clear of her. Heave up!"
They sprang to the line he had brought and hauled it in; Jimmy trying to
control his fierce impatience. Care was needed lest the sling get loose
in dragging along the sand. At last the line ran perpendicularly down,
and they were encouraged by the weight they had to lift. Even Moran
showed excitement as a corner of the box broke the surface. Throwing
himself down, he swung it on board with a powerful heave. Then he and
Jimmy dropped down limply on the deck and gazed at their treasure. The
box was thick and bound with heavy iron, the wood waterlogged; but,
making allowances for that, it obviously contained a large quantity of
gold. Jimmy felt exultant, but after a time Bethune disturbed his
pleasant reflections.
"Look at the ice!" he exclaimed.
The floe was bearing down on them, and in the distance, half hidden by
the fog, a taller mass seemed to have stranded on the reef, for the
spray was leaping about it and there was a great splash as a heavy block
fell off. Moran glanced at the floe and ran forward. Jimmy joined him
and they hurriedly got the chain cable in; then, with Bethune's help,
they reefed the mainsail and stowed the folding ladder and pumps below,
but they had a struggle to lift the kedge anchor. It seemed to have
fouled some waterlogged timber below; but they would not sacrifice it by
slipping the warp, because they knew it might be a long time before they
could come back. When they finally broke it out Bethune had already
hoisted the mainsail. There was no time to lose, for the fog was getting
thicker in spite of the rising wind, and a glimmering mass of ice had
crept up threateningly close. Moreover, the light was going and the sea
getting up. Hurriedly setting a small jib, they stood out for open sea.
"Make the best offing you can," directed Jimmy, leaving Moran at the
helm. "I'll get the stove lighted, and after supper we'll open the
case."
It was nearly twenty-four hours since he had eaten anything and he was
beginning to feel faint from want of food. Indeed, he had some
difficulty in getting the fire to burn and was conscious of an annoying,
slack clumsiness. When the meal was ready he called Bethune down and
handed out Moran's share.
"I've been extravagant, but we have earned a feast to-night," he said
exultantly.
They ate hungrily while the water splashed beneath the floorings and the
lamp swung at erratic angles as the _Cetacea_ rolled; and Bethune made
no objection when Jimmy afterward lighted his pipe. The case lay against
the centerboard trunk, but they did not feel impatient to open it. This
was a pleasure that would lose nothing by being deferred; they were
satisfied to sit still in the warm cabin and gloat over their success.
"Strictly speaking, we have no right to break into the thing," Bethune
said; "and it might perhaps lay us open to suspicion; but I'm afraid I
can't keep my hands off until we get home. Get out the tools, Jimmy."
Jimmy did so, and then, opening the scuttle, called to Moran.
"We're going to look inside the box. Is it safe for you to come down?"
Moran seemed to make a negative sign, though Jimmy could hardly see him.
It had grown dark, and thick fog was driving past the boat, while the
spray that beat in through the weather shrouds indicated that she was
sailing hard. Dropping back below, Jimmy closed the scuttle and took up
a hammer. His fingers shook and he felt his nerves tingle as he drove a
wedge under the first band.
"I wish we'd cleaned out the strong-room; but we can come back, and we
have got enough to wipe off our debt and give us a luxurious winter," he
said happily. "It will be a change to put up at a good hotel--we might
even make a trip to California; and if Jaques can get somebody to run
the store we will bring him and his wife to town."
"It's not a very ambitious program," Bethune laughed. "I dare say we can
carry it out; though we don't know yet what our share will come to."
"I'll stand out for half," declared Jimmy with a determined air. "In
fact, we'll make a bargain before we deliver up the stuff."
Working eagerly, he soon started the band and inserted a chisel under a
board. In a few moments he prized it loose, and thick folds of rotten
canvas were exposed.
"There seems to be a lot of packing," Bethune remarked. "There's a seal
here we'll have to break; but we have smashed one already. Don't waste
time. Rip it open!"
Jimmy used his knife, and plunged his hand into the case. He was
surprised by the feel of its contents.
"It seems to be in small ingots," he said.
"That's curious, because there's no smelter in the country. Slash the
wrapping to bits and let's see it!"
Jimmy did so and then uttered an exclamation as he dropped the object he
took out. It was dark-colored, and fell with a dull thud.
"It's lead!" he cried.
Tilting the case in savage anger, Jimmy shook out a number of small gray
lumps. They scattered about the floorings, and when he gashed one with
his knife the metal cut soft and showed a silvery luster. He dropped the
knife and his face grew hard and white. There was tense silence for a
moment, and then Jimmy, rousing himself with an effort, flung the
scuttle back.
"Hank!" he called, and his voice was strangely hoarse.
It seemed that Moran recognized the urgent tone, for they felt by the
change of motion that he was altering the boat's course, but with
characteristic coolness he neglected no seamanlike precaution. Jimmy
heard the jib being hauled aback and the mainsheet got in, and she was
hove to, rising and falling with an easy lurch, when Moran dropped
through the scuttle. He stooped over the box, and after a time looked up
with a heavy frown.
"Some crook has worked off a low-down trick on us!" he said.
"On the underwriters first, but that's no matter," replied Bethune, who
was struggling against the shock. "Slit one of the bags, Jimmy, and
let's see if it's all the same."
Jimmy took the bag he had found in the wreck, and when he cut it open a
few coarse, yellow grains ran out.
"That looks all right, but there's not very much of it; and the bag Hank
brought up isn't large," he said gloomily.
"You want to sew it up before you lose the stuff," advised Moran,
sitting down on the box. "Now, if there's anything to be fixed, we had
better get it settled. She's carrying all the sail she wants and I can't
leave her long."
"Are we to go back?" Bethune asked. "We haven't emptied the strong-room,
and what we have left behind may be genuine."
"Can't do it," Moran said grimly. "The way the wind is, the drift ice
will be packed solid along the shore to-morrow."
They sat silent for a while. There was only one thing to be done, but
they shrank from indicating it and owning their defeat. At last Jimmy
made a gesture of resignation.
"Square away; our course is south," he said.
Moran nodded silently and went up through the scuttle, and Jimmy threw
himself down on the locker while Bethune lighted his pipe. Neither of
them spoke until they heard a rattle of blocks and the rush of water
along the lee side showed that the _Cetacea_ had swung round.
"Our plans for the winter won't materialize," Bethune said; "we'll be
glad to put up at a dollar hotel if we're lucky enough to get taken on
at a mill. However, we can talk about this to-morrow; I don't feel quite
up to it now."
After a curt sign of agreement, Jimmy pulled a damp sail over him and,
although he had not expected to do so, presently went to sleep.
When Moran wakened him to take his turn at the helm it was blowing hard
and bitterly cold. Settling himself as far as he could in the shelter of
the coaming, he began his dreary watch. Long, white-topped seas raced
after the sloop, ranging upon her weather quarter, while the spray she
flung aloft beat in heavy showers on Jimmy's slicker. He could scarcely
see her length ahead, and knew that he was running a serious risk if
there was ice about; but he thought she would not be much safer if he
hove her to, and, fixing his eyes on the compass, he let her go.
After exhausting toil and many hardships, their search had failed, and
he was too jaded and depressed to wonder whether it would ever be
resumed. They were going back bankrupt; he could not see how they were
even to retain possession of the sloop. At the best, they could make no
use of her until the spring. The outlook was black, and what intensified
the gloom was that Jimmy now recognized that since Bethune had first
broached the scheme he had been buoyed up by a faint but strongly
alluring hope. He had not allowed his mind to dwell on it, but it had
hovered in the background, beckoning him on. After all, there had been a
certain chance that their project would succeed, and in that case his
share of the salvage should have been sufficient to set him on his feet.
There were many openings in western Canada for a man with energy and
means enough to give him a start, and Jimmy did not see why he should
not prosper. Then when he had begun to make progress he might renew his
acquaintance with Ruth Osborne.
He had thought of her often, and looking back on their voyage, he
ventured to believe that he had to some extent won her favor. He
recollected trivial incidents, odd words and glances, which could not
have been altogether without their significance. Could he lift himself
nearer her social level, it was not impossible that he should gain her
love. The thought of this had driven him stubbornly on.
Now he had failed disastrously. He was going back a ruined man. The best
he could hope for was that by stern self-denial and rough work on the
wharves or in the sawmills, he might earn enough to discharge his debt
to the storekeeper who had trusted him. Beyond that there was nothing to
look forward to. He must try to forget Ruth.
Jimmy's heart sank as he sat shivering at the helm while the bitter
spray whirled about him and the sloop lurched on through the darkness,
chased by foaming seas.