Jimmy had to kneel on a locker as he held the kettle on, in order to keep his feet out of the water which washed up from the bilge. There seemed to be a good deal of it.
“Can’t you start the pump?” he called to Bethune.
“I might. I don’t know that it would do much good. The suction’s uncovered, and the delivery under water half the time.”
“Then come in and cook, while I get at it!”
“Oh, I’ll try!” Bethune answered morosely; and Jimmy resumed his watch on the kettle and left his companion alone.
He knew the curious slackness which sometimes seizes men exposed to the fury of the sea. It differs from fatigue in being moral rather than physical, and it is distinct from fear; its victim is overwhelmed by a sense of the futility of anything that he can do. Determined effort is its best cure, and Jimmy smiled as he heard the clatter of the pump. He thought Bethune would feel better presently.
He made the coffee, found a few of the tough cakes Moran called biscuits, and recklessly opened a can of meat. After the meal, which they all found a luxurious change from fish, Jimmy lay down, wet through as he was, on a locker, and, wedging himself fast with parts of the dismantled diving pump, sank into broken sleep.
It was midnight when he went up again to take the helm. There was no moon, and gray scud obscured the sea. Foam-tipped ridges came rolling out of it, and the Cetacea labored heavily. Jimmy watched Moran pump a while before he went below, and then he pulled himself together to keep his dreary watch. The slow whitening of the east brought no change. Dawn came, and throughout another wearing day they still lay hove to. The sloop did not give them much trouble, and they could easily pump out all the water she shipped; but toward evening they began to feel anxious. The gale had increased. They must already have made a good deal of leeway and they might be drifting near the land; if so, she would not carry enough sail to drive her clear, and there would soon be an end of her if she were blown ashore.
Jimmy was on deck at dawn the next morning, but saw nothing except a narrow circle of foaming sea and the flying scud that dimmed the horizon. Toward noon, however, it began to clear, and, getting out the glasses, he waited eagerly during an hour or two of fitful sunshine. The wind seemed to be falling, and the haze had thinned. Slowly it blew away, and a high, gray mass rose into view, four or five miles off. Moran called out as he saw it, but Jimmy quietly studied the land through his glasses.
“The head, sure enough!” he said. “If it had kept thick, we’d have been ashore and breaking up long before dark. Now we have to decide what it’s best to do. She might stand a three-reefed mainsail.”
“It would take us a week to beat back to the island, and we wouldn’t have many provisions left when we got there,” Bethune pointed out. “I don’t feel keen on facing the long thrash to windward.”
“She wouldn’t be long making Comox with this breeze over her quarter,” Moran suggested. “We might get somebody to grubstake us at one of the stores.”
“Considering that there’s a bond on her, it isn’t likely,” Jimmy replied.
They let her drift while they looked gloomily to windward, where the island lay. It would need a stern effort to reach it unless the wind should change; a long stretch of foaming sea which the sloop must be driven across close-hauled divided the men from the wreck. They were all worn out and depressed; and neither of Moran’s comrades protested when he got up abruptly and slacked off the mainsheet.
“I guess we’ll go where there’s something to eat,” he said. “You can square off for the straits while I loose the mainsail.”
Jimmy put up his helm with a keen sense of relief, and the Cetacea swung away swiftly for the south with the sea behind her. It was nervous work steering, and Jimmy advised Moran to leave the mainsail furled; but the worst of the strain had passed, and rest and shelter lay ahead.
CHAPTER VII—GRUBSTAKED
A light wind faintly ruffled the landlocked water when the Cetacea crept up to her anchorage off a small lumber port on the eastern coast of Vancouver Island. A great boom of logs was moored near the wharf, and stacks of freshly cut lumber and ugly sawdust heaps rose along the beach. Behind these were tall iron chimney-stacks, clusters of wooden houses, and rows of fire-blackened stumps; then steep, pine-clad hillsides shut the hollow in. Though there were one or two steamers at anchor, and signs of activity in the streets, the place had a raw, unfinished look; but the Cetacea’s crew were glad to reach it. Cramped by their narrow quarters on board, it was a relief to roam at large; and the resinous smell that hung about the port was pleasant after the stinging saltness of the spray.
But they had come there on business, and Bethune presently stopped a man they met.
“Which is the best and biggest general store in the town?” he asked.
“Jefferson’s; three blocks farther on. He’s been here since the mills were started.”
“Is it necessary to go to the best store?” Jimmy inquired as they went on.
Bethune laughed.
“Oh, no! Now that we’ve found out which it is, we can try somewhere else. I’ve a suspicion that our business won’t have much attraction for a prosperous dealer who can choose his customers. It’s the struggling man who’s readiest to take a risk.”
“We’ll leave it to you,” Jimmy said confidently. Bethune had arranged their commercial transactions with tact and shrewdness, and they had discovered that it was far from easy to obtain supplies without paying cash for them.
After strolling through the town, they entered a small, wooden store, which had an inscription, “T. Jaques: Shipping Supplied,” and found its proprietor leaning idly on the counter. He was a young man with an alert manner, but, although he was smartly dressed, Bethune, studying him, imagined that he had not yet achieved prosperity. Indeed, he thought he saw signs of care in the man’s keen face.
Taking out his notebook, he enumerated the supplies they wanted, and examined samples. The provisions were good; the store was neatly kept and fairly well stocked; but Jimmy, leaning on the counter and looking about, thought the goods had been arranged with some skill to make the biggest show possible, which implied that the dealer had not much of a reserve. Then, while the man talked to Bethune, Jimmy noticed a woman approach the glass door at the back and stop a moment as if she were interested in the proceedings. All this suggested that his comrade had offered their custom at the right place. The provisions would not be a large item, but they needed ropes, chain, and marine supplies, which would cost a good deal more.
“I can send the small stores off whenever you want, but I can’t give you the other truck until the Vancouver boat comes in, and that won’t be for four days,” Jaques said. He looked rather eager as he added: “I guess you can wait?”
“Oh, yes. I expect it will be a week before we get off.”
“Then, I’ll wire the order. You’ll pay on delivery?”
“That,” answered Bethune, smiling, “is a point we must talk about. I think I could give you ten dollars down.”
The dealer’s face fell and he looked thoughtful.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d certainly like this order. What’s your proposition?”
“I don’t know that I have one ready. Perhaps I’d better tell you how we stand and leave you to suggest a way out of the difficulty.”
“Come into the back store and take a smoke,” invited Jaques; and they followed him into an apartment which seemed to serve as warehouse, general living room, and kitchen. A young woman was busy at the stove, and after looking up with a smile of welcome she went on with her cooking; but Jimmy felt that she had given him and his comrades a keen scrutiny.