Billy Topsail & Company Part 31

It had already begun to blow. The wind was moaning aloft. The long-drawn melancholy penetrated to the cozy cabin. In the shelter of the cliff though she was, the schooner tossed in the spent seas that came swishing in from the open.

"Well," the skipper drawled, "I guess the wind won't take the hair off a body; an' I 'low we can make Conch afore the worst of it."

"I'm with the skipper," said Billy Topsail.

"Me, too," said Jimmie Grimm.

Bagg had nothing to say; he seldom had, poor fellow! in a gale of wind.

"I've a telegram to send," said Archie.

It was a message of apology. Archie went ash.o.r.e with a lighter heart to file it. What an unkindly suspicious fool he had been! he reflected, heartily ashamed of himself.

"Something for you, sir," said the agent.

Sir Archibald's telegram was put in the boy's hand; and when this had been read aboard the _Spot Cash_--and when the schooner had rounded Cape John and was taking full advantage of a sudden change of wind to the southwest--Archie and the skipper and the crew felt very well indeed, thank you!

It blew hard in the afternoon--harder than Bill o' Burnt Bay had surmised. The wind had a slap to it that troubled the little _Spot Cash_. Crested seas broke over her bows and swept her deck. She was smothered in white water half the time. The wind was rising, too. It was to be a big gale from the southeast. It was already half a gale.

There was wind enough for the _Spot Cash_. Much more would shake and drown her like a chip. Bill o' Burnt Bay, at the wheel, and the crew, forward and amidships, kept watch for the coast and the friendly landmarks of harbour. But what with wind and fog and rain it was a disheartening business.

When night gathered, the coast was not in sight. The _Spot Cash_ was tossing somewhere offsh.o.r.e in a rising gale and dared not venture in.

The wind continued in the southeast. The coast was a lee sh.o.r.e--all rocks and islands and cliffs. The _Spot Cash_ must beat out again to sea and wait for the morning. Any attempt to make a harbour of that harsh sh.o.r.e in the dark would spell destruction. But the sea was hardly more hospitable. The _Spot Cash_, reefed down almost to bare poles, and standing out as best she could, tossed and plunged in the big black seas, with good heart, to be sure, but, presently, with small hope. It seemed to Bill o' Burnt Bay that the little craft would be broken and swamped.

The boys came aft from forward and amidships. All at once Archie, who had been staring into the night ahead, started, turned and uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of dismay, which a gust of wind drove into the skipper's ear.

"What is it, b'y?" Skipper Bill roared.

"I forgot to insure her," shouted Archie.

Skipper Bill grinned.

"It's ruin if we wreck, Bill," Archie shouted again.

It looked to Bill o' Burnt Bay like wreck and death. If so, the ruin might take care of itself. It pleased him to know that Archie was still unconcerned about his life. He reflected that if the _Spot Cash_ should by any chance survive he would tell Sir Archibald that story.

But a great sea and a smothering blast of wind distracted him. The sea came clear over the bow and broke amidships; the wind fairly drove the breath back into the skipper's throat. There would be two more seas he knew: there were always three seas. The second would break in a moment; the third would swamp the schooner. He roared a warning to the boys and turned the wheel to meet the sea bow on. The big wave fell with a crash amidships; the schooner stopped and shivered while a torrent of water drove clear over the stern. Bill o' Burnt Bay saw the crest of the third sea grow white and tower in the night.

"Hang to her!" screamed Archie.

Skipper Bill smiled grimly as the sea came aboard. It broke and swept past. He expected no more; but more came--more and still more. The schooner was now tossing in a boiling pot from which the spray rose like steam. Bill caught the deep boom of breakers. The _Spot Cash_ was somewhere insh.o.r.e. The water was shallowing. She was fairly on the rocks. Again Bill shouted a warning to the boys to save themselves when she struck. He caught sight of a low cliff--a black shadow above a ma.s.s of moving, ghostly white. The schooner was lifted by a great sea and carried forward. Skipper Bill waited for the shock and thud of her striking. He glanced up at the spars--again screamed a warning--and stood rigid. On swept the schooner. She was a long time in the grip of that great wave.

Then she slipped softly out of the rough water into some placid place where the wind fluttered gently down from above.

There was a moment of silence and uttermost amazement. The wind had vanished; the roar of the sea was m.u.f.fled. The schooner advanced gently into the dark.

"The anchor!" the skipper gasped.

He sprang forward, stumbling; but it was too late: the bowsprit crumpled against a rock, there was a soft thud, a little shock, a sc.r.a.ping, and the _Spot Cash_ stopped dead.

"We're aground," said Bill.

"I wonders where?" said Jimmie Grimm.

"In harbour, anyhow," said Billy Topsail.

"And no insurance!" Archie added.

There was no levity in this. The boys were overawed. They had been afraid, every one of them; and the mystery of their escape and whereabouts oppressed them. But they got the anchor over the bow; and presently they had the cabin stove going and were drying off. n.o.body turned in; they waited anxiously for the first light of day to disclose their surroundings.

CHAPTER XXVIX

_In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction_

Aboard the _Black Eagle_, Skipper George Rumm and Tommy Bull, with the cook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk's careful selection, were engaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck the schooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortune to favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate had conceived and directed it. The _Black Eagle_ was to be loaded with salt-cod from the French Sh.o.r.e stages in haste and at any cost. She was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the remainder of her cargo were to be taken ash.o.r.e and stowed under tarpaulin: whereupon--with thick weather to corroborate a tale of wreck--the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water.

"'Tis but a matter o' clever management," Tom Tulk had said. "Choose your weather--that's all."

Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner's quarter boat with a circ.u.mstantial account of the disaster. The _Black Eagle_ was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped out her keel (it seemed), driven over the rock, filled and sunk. At Conch, by this time, the mail-boat would be due on the southward trip.

Skipper George and the clerk would proceed in grief and humiliation to St. John's to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cook and the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence with the old reprobate's schooner they would rescue fish and cargo from beneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island in the north. To exchange crews at Twillingate and run the cargo to St.

John's for quick sale was a small matter.

"Barrin' accident," Tom Tulk had said, "it can't fail."

There, indeed, was a cold, logical plan. "Barrin' accident," as Tom Tulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, it could not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent: that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing his schooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning?

They would say in St. John's merely that Skipper George had "done it at last." n.o.body would be surprised; everybody would say, "I told you so." And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load of fish who would suspect him? Was not Tom Tulk known to be an eccentric?

Was there any accounting for what Tom Tulk would do? Tom Tulk would say, "Mind your business!" and that would make an end of the questioning.

"Choose your weather, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk. "Let it be windy and thick."

With fog to hide the deed--with a gale to bear out the story and keep prying craft away--there would be small danger of detection. And what if folk did suspect? Let 'em prove it! _That's_ what the law demanded.

Let 'em _prove_ it!

When the _Black Eagle_ put back to Conch from following the little _Spot Cash_, it was evident that the opportunity had come. The weather was thick; there was a promise of wind in the air. Moreover, with Archie Armstrong on the coast in a temper, it was the part of wisdom to beware. Skipper George went gloomily to the cabin when the schooner rode once more at anchor. It was time, now; he knew it, the clerk knew it, the crew knew it. But Skipper George had no liking for the job; nor had the clerk, to tell the truth, nor had the cook, nor had the crew. Rascals are not made in a day; and it takes a long time to innure them against fear and self-reproach. But skipper and crew of the _Black Eagle_ were already committed. Their dealing for fish on the coast had been unpardonable. The skipper could not explain it in St. John's; nor could the clerk excuse it.

"We got t' go through with this, Tommy," said the gloomy skipper.

"Have a dram," the clerk replied. "I'm in sore need o' one meself."

It seemed the skipper was, too.