Part 3 (1/2)
”And what had the carpenter to do with your being wrecked?”
”Nothing, so far as I can see; though I've thought about him now and then.”
Andrew paused for a moment, and Whitney, knowing his comrade, waited for him to go on.
”The ebb had been running for some time when I left Gibb's Hole, and a nasty surf broke on the sands. There was not wind enough to account for it, but everything was harshly clear and that's often threatening.
However, I set the big jib and topsail, because I wanted to clear the banks before the flood tide made. It runs from four to six knots an hour among the Solway shoals, and there's some risk of knocking the boat's bilges in if you get aground. The breeze fell light, and near dusk I came round and stood insh.o.r.e on the port tack, so that I could, if necessary, slip back into Rough Firth. The Scotch channel of the Solway is no place to run for on a dirty night.
”When I got down to Abbey Head the swell was growing steep and the sea looked ragged where it cut the horizon--which showed there was wind out there. The shooting-punt I was towing was a drag, and I didn't make much progress until a smart southwesterly breeze sprang up soon after dark. I could just lay my course down the coast, and I hung on to big jib and topsail while I could. With two or three hours of that wind I'd be able to run in behind the Ross, which you see ahead. Then the breeze freshened suddenly and she listed over until most of her lee deck was in the water. For a time after that I had my hands full.”
”So I imagine,” Whitney remarked. ”I've seen a big jib give two men trouble when they had to take it in, and you were alone and had the topsail up. I'm not surprised that you got wrecked.”
”I wasn't wrecked just then. In fact, I made her snug, with two reefs in the mainsail, and I lighted the compa.s.s binnacle. The trouble was that the wind was drawing ahead and the night had turned very dark. I couldn't get a glimpse of the coast, and it wouldn't have been wise to run back yet. There's a light on Hestan Island, but I wouldn't have found water enough across the sands in Rough Firth. She'd have gone down at her anchor if I'd brought up to wait.
”Well, I ate some sandwiches I had ready, and stood on. She was plunging wildly and putting her storm-jib into the sea that was getting up; but she was an able boat, and the punt towed pretty well when I'd made an extra rope fast to her.”
”You wouldn't find that easy,” Whitney suggested, as he pictured the lonely man's struggle to haul up the heavy craft while the yacht on which he must relinquish control rolled with thras.h.i.+ng canvas athwart the combers.
”I let the _Arrow_ come up and dropped the peak. The worst was that I had to lean right out with both hands on the punt while I made the second rope fast, and I nearly went overboard when she lurched. I made it fast, but when we went on I got a shock, for the water was was.h.i.+ng up from under the c.o.c.kpit floor. You see, as she'd s.h.i.+pped two or three combers, I'd thought it was was.h.i.+ng down.”
”The floorings would be nearly two feet above her bottom planks,”
Whitney said.
”Yes. It meant she was leaking hard, and I'll admit that rather staggered me, because she'd always been a remarkably tight craft.
Well, I hove her to again, lighted the cabin lamp, and pulled up the floorings. This wasn't easy; they were closely fitted and the carpenter had nailed one or two of them down. I can't tell you why he did it, but I tore my hand before I got them loose. You can understand that I had to be quick. She wouldn't lie to well with n.o.body at the helm, and kept forging up head to wind and falling off again. The way she lurched about threw me against the lockers and once or twice I heard a sea come on board. There was too much water for me to find where it was coming in, and when I crawled out and tried the pump it wouldn't draw, so I went back and felt for the bottom of its pipe.
There was a suction-box at the end, and it seemed to be stuffed up with shavings. The carpenter must have thrown them under the floor.”
”Rather a curious place to put them!” Whitney commented. ”I suppose a shaving had stuck under a valve and stopped the pump. But, as you'd have a grid on the suction-box, how did they get in?”
”I've never found out, but I'd like to meet that carpenter,” Andrew replied grimly.
He felt for his pipe and lighted it, and Whitney had to prompt him before he resumed:
”Things didn't look hopeful. It was blowing hard; she was leaking fast, and I couldn't pump her out. I had to make the Ross while she kept afloat. I thought about cutting the punt adrift, but it seemed a waste, and afterward I was glad I didn't. As it was a dead beat to windward, speed was important, and the only thing was to keep her sailing hard and let the seas come on board. There was so much spray flying that I couldn't see the punt astern, but the drag on the tow-lines showed that she was there. Then the old boat began to get sluggish, and it made me savage. She'd brought me through many a stiff blow, and I was fond of her. The Ross light was getting brighter; but a sea that came over the coaming washed out the binnacle lamp when I was ready to make the Sound. If I'd been able to take the light's bearing and look at the chart, I might have sailed her in.
”Well, with the compa.s.s gone, I had to run for it blind, and she was so waterlogged that she would hardly steer. Then suddenly she stopped with a shock that threw me from the helm. What had happened was plain, and when the next sea washed over her I pulled up the punt, cut the lines, and fell into the well. She swung away on top of a comber, and I wondered where she'd take me; for there were crags about and the paddles had washed overboard. She was full and waterlogged, but I lay along the deck and she kept right side up until we came ash.o.r.e on a bank of s.h.i.+ngle. Rocks ran up behind it, and there was a gully I couldn't cross at the end of the cove. I pulled the punt up, and spent the night lying behind her out of the wind, when I wasn't tramping about the s.h.i.+ngle to keep myself warm. In the morning a coastguard showed me a way up the cliff; and when I came back there later there was no sign of the _Arrow_.”
Andrew stopped, and for some minutes the silence was broken by the rustle of the flapping topsail and the soft splash at the bows. It had grown dark and the sea was faintly phosph.o.r.escent: pale blue and green spangles glimmered down the wake. Ross Island had faded into the black head behind it, but a bright beam of light still glittered across the water.
”On the face of it, the reason you were wrecked is obvious,” Whitney said. ”The boat began to strain when she was pounding, overpressed with sail, through a steep head sea, and you couldn't pump her out.
Besides, as she'd just been hauled up for repairs, a b.u.t.t may have got started by the hammering or a seam have been left open.”
”The carpenter was a good workman,” Andrew replied quietly.
”He may have neglected something, for all that. Boats will leak when they're driven hard; pumps get out of order; and a stranger might nail down a floor board you kept loose. The curious point is that all these things should happen together.” Whitney paused and smiled. ”Of course, if you had some dangerous secret or were heir to a great estate that somebody else wanted, one might suggest a melodramatic explanation.”
”I've no secret anybody would give twopence for, and I inherit nothing except a very small annuity.”