CHAPTER XVI--A GHOST OF THE PAST
It was the evening before Aynsley's departure, and he and Clay and theOsbornes were sitting on the veranda. Not a breath of wind was stirring,and the inlet stretched back, smooth as oil and shining in the eveninglight. The tops of the tall cedars were motionless; not a ripple brokeupon the beach; the only sound was the soft splash of water somewhereamong the trees.
The heat had been trying all day, and Aynsley glanced languidly at thefaint white line of snow that rose above the silver mist in the bluedistance.
"It would be cool up there, and that snow makes one long for the bracingNorth," he said. "This is one of the occasions when I don't appreciatebeing a mill owner. To-morrow I'll be busy with dusty books, in astifling office that rattles with the thumping of engines."
"It's good for a man to work," Miss Dexter remarked.
"No doubt, but it has its disadvantages now and then, as you would agreeif a crowd of savage strikers had chased you about your mill. Then, ifit weren't for my business ties, I'd send the captain word to get steamup on the yacht, and take you all to the land of mist and glaciers,where you can get fresh air to breathe."
"Wouldn't you miss the comforts, though I dare say you call themnecessities, that surround you here? One understands that people liveplainly in Alaska."
Miss Dexter indicated the beautifully made table which stood withinreach, set out with glasses and a big silver tankard holding icedliquor. Round this, choice fruit from California was laid on artisticplates.
"We could take some of them along; and we're not so luxurious as youthink," Aynsley replied. "In fact, I feel just now that I'd rather liveon canned goods and splash about in the icy water, like some fishermenwe met, than sit in my sweltering office, worrying over accounts andlabor troubles."
"Those fishermen seem to stick in your memory," Ruth interposed.
"Is it surprising? You must admit that they roused even your curiosity,and you hadn't my excuse because you hadn't seen them."
"What fishermen were they?" Clay asked.
Ruth wished she had not introduced the subject.
"Some men he met on an island in the North," she said with a laugh."Aynsley seems to have envied their simple life, and I dare say it wouldbe pleasant in this hot weather. Still, I can't imagine his seriouslypractising it; handling wet nets and nasty, slimy fish, for example."
"It wasn't the way they lived that impressed me," Aynsley explained. "Itwas the men. With one exception, they didn't match their job; and so faras I could see, they hadn't many nets. Then something one fellow saidsuggested that he didn't care whether they caught much fish or not."
"After all, they may have been amateur explorers like yourself, thoughthey weren't fortunate enough to own a big yacht. I don't suppose youwould have been interested if you had known all about them."
"Where was the island?" Clay broke in.
Aynsley imagined that Ruth was anxious to change the subject, and he waswilling to indulge her.
"I remember the latitude," he said carelessly, "but there are a lot ofislands up there, and I can't think of the longitude west."
Clay looked sharply at Osborne, and Ruth noticed that her father seemeddisturbed.
"I guess you could pick the place out on the chart?" Clay asked Aynsley.
"It's possible. I don't, however, carry charts about. They're bulkythings, and not much use except when you are at sea."
"I have one," said Osborne and Ruth felt anxious when he rang a bell.
She suspected that she had been injudicious in starting the topic, andshe would rather it were dropped, but she hesitated about giving Aynsleya warning glance. His father might surprise it, and she would have tooffer Aynsley an explanation afterward. Getting up, she made the bestexcuse that occurred to her and went into the house. She knew where thechart was kept, and thought that she might hide it. She was too late,however, because as she took it from a bookcase a servant opened thedoor.
"Mr. Osborne sent me for a large roll of thick paper on the top shelf,"the maid said.
As she had the chart in her hands, Ruth was forced to give it to thegirl, and when she returned to the veranda Aynsley pointed out theisland. Ruth saw her father's lips set tight.
"What kind of boat did the fellows have?" Clay asked.
"She was quite a smart sloop, but very small." Aynsley tried to lead hisfather away from the subject. "At least, that was the rig she'd beenintended for, by the position of the mast, but they'd divided the singleheadsail for handier working. After all, we're conservative in the West,for you'll still find people sticking to the old big jib, though it's anawkward sail in a breeze. They've done away with it on the Atlanticcoast, and I sometimes think we're not so much ahead of the folks downEast--"
"What was her name?" Clay interrupted him.
Aynsley saw no strong reason for refusing a reply, particularly as heknew that if he succeeded in putting off his father now, the informationwould be demanded later.
"She was called _Cetacea_."
Ruth unobtrusively studied the group. Miss Dexter was franklyuninterested; and Aynsley looked as if he did not know whether he haddone right or not. Osborne's face was firmly set and Clay had anominously intent and resolute expression. Ruth suspected that she haddone a dangerous thing in mentioning the matter, and she regretted herincautiousness; though she did not see where the danger lay. For allthat, she felt impelled to learn what she could.
"Was it the island where you were wrecked?" she asked Clay.
He looked at her rather hard, and then laughed.
"I think so, but the experience was unpleasant, and I don't feel temptedto recall the thing."
Afterward he talked amusingly about something else, and half an hour hadpassed when he got up.
"I expect it's cooler on the beach," he said. "Will any of you comealong?"
They sat still, except Osborne, who rose and followed him, and when theyreached a spot where the trees hid them from the house Clay stopped.
"I suppose what you heard was a bit of a shock," he remarked.
"It was a surprise. I don't think you were tactful in making so much ofthe affair."
"One has to take a risk, and if I'd waited until I had Aynsley alone andthen made him tell me what he knew, it might have looked significant. Ina general way, the thing you're willing to talk over in public isn't ofmuch account."
"There's truth in that," Osborne assented.
"I have no wish to set the boy thinking," Clay resumed. "I take it we'reboth anxious that our children should believe the best of us."
His glance was searching, and Osborne made a sign of agreement.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Trace the sloop. We don't want mysterious strangers prospecting roundthat reef. When I've found out all I can, the fellows will have to bebought or beaten off."
"Very well; I leave the thing to you."
"Rather out of your line now?" Clay suggested with an ironical smile."However, I will admit you deserve some sympathy."
"For that matter, we both need it. You're no better off than I am."
"I think I am," Clay replied. "My character is pretty well known and hasbeen attacked so often that nobody attaches much importance to a freshdisclosure; in fact, people seem to find something humorous in mysmartness. You're fixed differently; though you slipped up once, youafterward took a safe and steady course."
Osborne lighted a cigar to hide his feelings; for his companion's jibehad reached its mark. He had when poverty rendered the temptationstrong, engaged in an unlawful conspiracy with Clay, and the profit hemade by it had launched him on what he took care should be a respectablebusiness career. Now and then, perhaps, and particularly when he actedin concert with Clay, his dealings would hardly have passed a highstandard of ethics, but on the whole they could be defended, and heenjoyed a good name on the markets. Now a deed he heartily regretted,and would have undone had he been able, threatened to rise from thealmost forgotten past and torment him. Wo
rse than all, he might again beforced into a crooked path to cover up his fault.
"We won't gain anything by arguing who might suffer most," he said ascoolly as he could.
"No; I guess that's useless," Clay agreed. "Well, I must get on thosefellows' trail and see what I can do."
They strolled along the beach for a while, and then went back to theothers.
While Clay traced her movements as far as they could be learned, the_Cetacea_ was slowly working north. She met with light, baffling winds,and calms, and then was driven into a lonely inlet by a fresh gale. Hereshe was detained for some time, and adverse winds still dogged hercourse when she put to sea again, though they were no longer gentle, butbrought with them a piercing rawness from the Polar ice. Her crew grewanxious and moody as they stubbornly thrashed her to windward undershortened sail, for every day at sea increased the strain on theirfinances and the open-water season was short.
In the sharp cold of a blustering morning Jimmy got up from the lockerupon which he had spent a few hours in heavy sleep. His limbs feltstiff, his clothes were damp, and at his first move he bumped his headagainst a deck-beam. Sitting down with muttered grumbling, he pulled onhis soaked knee-boots and looked moodily about. Daylight was creepingthrough the cracked skylight, and showed that the underside of the deckwas dripping. Big drops chased one another along the slanted beams andfell with a splash into the lee bilge. Water oozed in through the seamson her hove-up weather side and washed about the lower part of theinclined floor, several inches deep. The wild plunging and the muffledroar outside the planking showed that she was sailing hard and the windwas fresh.
Jimmy grumbled at his comrades for not having pumped her out, and thenshivered as he jammed himself against the centerboard trunk and tried tolight the rusty stove. It was wet and would not draw and the smokepuffed out. He was choking and nearly blinded when he put the kettle onand went up on deck, somewhat short in temper. Moran was sittingstolidly at the helm, muffled in a wet slicker, with the spray blowingabout him; Bethune crouched in the shelter of the coaming, whilewhite-topped seas with gray sides tumbled about the boat. An angry redflush was spreading, rather high up, in the eastern sky.
"You made a lot of smoke," Bethune remarked.
"I did," said Jimmy. "If you'll get forward and swing the funnel-cowl,which you might have done earlier, you'll let some of it out. I'm gladit's your turn to cook, but you had better spend ten minutes at the pumpbefore you go."
Bethune, rising, stretched himself with an apologetic laugh.
"Oh, well," he said; "I was so cold I felt I didn't want to doanything."
"It's not an uncommon sensation," Jimmy replied. "The best way to getrid of it is to work. If you'll shift that cowl, I'll prime the pump."
Bethune shuffled forward, and, coming back, pumped for a few strokes.Then he stopped and leaned on the handle.
"You really think we'll raise the island to-day?" he asked.
"Yes. But it isn't easy to shoot the sun when you can hardly see it andhave a remarkably unsteady horizon. Then, though she has laid her coursefor the last two days, I haven't much confidence in the log we'retowing."
He indicated the wet line that ran over the stern and stretched back towhere a gleam of brass was visible in the hollow of a sea.
"What could you expect?" Bethune asked. "We got the thing for half itsproper price, and, to do it justice, it goes pretty well after a bath inoil, and when it stops it does so altogether. You know how to deal witha distance recorder that sticks and stays so, but one that sticks andgoes on again plays the devil."
"Talking's easier than pumping," Jimmy said suggestively.
"It is, but I feel like working off a few more remarks. They occurred tome while I sat behind the coaming, numbed right through, last night. Isuppose you have noticed how the poor but enterprising man is generallyhandicapped. He gets no encouragement in taking the hard and virtuouspath. It needs some nerve to make a start, and afterward, instead ofthings getting easier, you fall in with all kinds of obstacles youcouldn't reasonably expect. Even the elements conspire against you; it'salways windward work."
"I suppose this means you're sorry you came?"
"Not exactly; but I've begun to wonder what's the good of it all. Ihaven't slept in dry clothes for a fortnight. It's a week since any ofus had a decent meal; and my slicker has rubbed a nasty sore on mywrist. All the time I could have had three square meals a day, and spentmy leisure reading a dirty newspaper and watching them sweep up the deadflies in the hotel lounge. What I want to know is--whether anyambition's worth the price you have to pay for gratifying it?"
"I should say that depends on your temperament."
"Bethune does some fool-talking now and then," Moran commented from hispost at the helm. "When you go to sea for your living, you must expectto get up against all a man can stand for; and if you don't put up agood fight, she'll beat you. That's one reason you'd better get yourpumping done before she ships a comber."
With a gesture of acquiescence Bethune resumed his task, and presentlywent below while Jimmy took the helm. The breeze freshened during themorning, and the sea got heavier, but it dropped in the afternoon, whenthey ran into a fog belt, which Jimmy thought indicated land. As thedays were getting shorter, they set the topsail, and looked out eagerlyuntil a faint gray blur appeared amid the haze, perhaps a mile away.Closing with it, they made out the beach, which Jimmy searched with theglasses after consulting his notebook.
"Luff!" he called to Bethune. "Now steady at that; I've got my first twomarks." Then he motioned to Moran. "Clear your anchor!"
A few minutes afterward he completed his four-point bearing, and the_Cetacea_ stopped, head to wind, with a rattle of running chain. The seawas comparatively smooth in the lee of the land, and ran in a long swellthat broke into a curl of foam here and there. Bethune took up theglasses and turned them on the beach.
"It is some time since high-water, and we ought to see her soon," hesaid. "I'm trying to find the big boulder on the point." He paused andput down the glasses. "Do you see anything?"
"No," said Moran gruffly; "she should be showing."
"That's true," Bethune agreed. "The tallest timber used to be abovewater when the top of the boulder was just awash, and now its bottom's afoot from the tide."
Jimmy said nothing, but seizing the dory savagely, he threw her over therail and jumped into her with a coil of rope. Moran followed and lowereda bight of the rope while Jimmy rowed. Some minutes passed, but theyfelt nothing, and Bethune watched them from the sloop with an intentface. It looked as if the wreck had broken up and disappeared. Then asthe dory turned, taking a different track, the rope tightened and Moranlooked up.
"Got her now! She's moved, and there may not be much of her holdingtogether."
Jimmy stopped rowing, and there was silence for a moment or two. Itwould take time to unpack and fit the diving pumps, and sunset was near,but neither of them felt equal to bearing the strain of suspense untildaybreak.
"It may blow in the morning," Jimmy said.
"That's so," agreed Moran, pulling off his pilot coat. "I'm going down."
There was a raw wind, the tide ran strong, and the water was chilled bythe Polar ice; but Moran hurriedly stripped off his damp clothes andstood a moment, a finely poised figure that gleamed sharply whiteagainst gray rocks and slaty water. Then he plunged, and the otherswaited, watching the ripple of the tide when the sea closed over him.Some moments passed before his head broke the surface farther off thanthey expected. Jimmy pulled toward him, and after a scramble, whichnearly upset the craft, he got on board and struggled into his clothes.Then he spoke.
"She's there, but so far as I can see, she's canted well over with herbilge deep in the sand."
Jimmy and Bethune were filled with keen relief. They might haveincreased trouble in reaching the strong-room, but it was something toknow that the wreck had not gone to pieces in their absence.
Jimmy picked up the end of the rope and tied on a buoy. Then he pulledb
ack to the sloop, where Bethune cooked a somewhat extravagant supper.