Part 21 (1/2)

Whitney imagined it to be a perch, a spar built into a pile of stones for a beacon. He did not expect to find anything of interest there, but the pole had been raised by human hands, and made a landmark in the storm-swept waste. It brought him into touch with his fellow men in a spot where the strife of wind and sea was daunting. As they got nearer, however, he saw that he had been mistaken. The pole was too thick for a perch, and the black ma.s.s below did not consist of stones.

Jagged timbers stuck out from the sand like the ribs of a skeleton, but in one place they were clothed with planks and supported a mast.

It was obviously a wreck they were approaching.

They stopped to lee of the vessel, and Whitney was glad to get his breath as he studied her. She appeared to have been a schooner of about two hundred tons, but her after part and mainmast were gone.

The fore end, however, had escaped destruction, and although the foremast slanted ominously and the topmast and yards had fallen, it still defied the storms. Standing beneath the swell of the bows, the men were out of the wind and could make their voices heard.

”Now I see why I didn't notice a perch on the chart, though I once saw the spar as we came down this side of the Firth,” Whitney said. ”It's curious they didn't mark the wreck.”

”She wasn't here when the last survey was made. A coaster loaded with coal. Somebody tried to get her cargo out, but I understand had to give it up.”

Whitney had got his breath, but was silent for a time. He had camped in the silent Canadian forests and by frozen lakes on the vast snowy plains, but he did not think he ever had seen anything so savage and desolate as this strip of surf-beaten sand with the wreck in its midst. Men had hewn her timbers with skilful toil; but the sea had shattered them, and now seemed to challenge all attempts to dispute its power. Whitney was not unduly imaginative, but he felt depressed and somewhat daunted. It was an eerie spot to linger in at midnight in a gale of wind.

”The fo'castle doesn't seem broken up. Can we get on board?” he said.

”We'll try,” Andrew replied.

Climbing up by the fragments of planking attached to a rib, they reached a strip of deck. It sloped sharply, but Andrew, grasping the ragged bulwark, looked up.

”The iron forestay's holding the mast, and there's a couple of blocks slung round the top,” he said. ”If it wasn't blowing quite so hard, I'd go up for them.” Then he caught a thin rope that ran down from the blocks. ”Good signal-halyard; I'd like to take it back, but I didn't bring my knife.”

Whitney felt amused. Andrew could seldom resist the temptation of picking up anything that might be of use on board his yacht. Indeed, her forecastle was c.u.mbered with what Whitney called truck.

They moved forward a few paces and stopped by two curved beams that rose above a black hole.

”The remains of the fo'castle hatch. I wonder what it's like below,”

Andrew said.

Kneeling on the wet deck, he struck a match, which blew out; but the next burned for a moment or two, and Whitney saw the light flicker on dripping planks and bulging beams. It was obvious that the water flowed into the vessel and he wondered at Andrew's curiosity. The dark hole did not look inviting and he was anxious to return to the yacht in good time. Still, it was bitterly cold standing in the wind.

”We'll go and see, but I'll let you drop down first,” he said.

Andrew seized the carline-beam and vanished through the gap. There was a splash below, and he called to Whitney to be careful how he came down. As this was impossible, Whitney let go the beam and, touching the vessel's keelson with his foot, fell against her planking. It jarred him, but he got up and Andrew struck another match and stooping down picked something out of the water that lay among the timbers.

”A bit of candle!” he exclaimed. ”It's going to burn.”

It did so after he had sc.r.a.ped off some smoldering wick and stuck it on a ma.s.sive oak knee. The wrecked bulwarks broke the wind, for only draughts came down, and the light spread about the forecastle. There was some sand in the vessel's bottom, and the floor and ceilings had gone. Nothing remained but the heavy timbers and the planks bolted fast to them. A few shrimps sped up and down a pool and a small crab that made a crackling noise crawled into a corner. Andrew examined the beams and knees with interest.

”These old vessels were very well built,” he said. ”They used picked material, cutting out the sapwood and seeing that the grain followed the curve where there was any shape. She broke up aft in pounding with the coal on board, but now that it's gone, this part of her may stand a long time. Good, salted oak will last for many years under water.”

”How did they get the coal away?” Whitney asked.

”They didn't get much. I wasn't here when they tried to salve it, but I believe they used carts.”

”Then you can reach land at low water?”

”They must have been able to reach it then, though I'm not sure you could do so now, because the channels are continually changing. It's possible they had to drive through water that may have got deeper since; and the tide would not allow them much time for work. I dare say that stopped the undertaking; and haulage would be expensive, because it's two or three miles from the beach.”

”How long is it since they let up?”