Part 17

Slowly the schooner heaved up as though upon the crest of some huge wave, slowly it settled, and again gradually lifted till Wilbur had to catch at the rail to steady his footing. The quivering sensation increased so that their very teeth chattered with it. Below in the cabin they could hear small objects falling from the shelves and table. Then with a sudden drop the “Bertha” fell back to her keel again, the spilled oil spouting from her scuppers, the masts rocking, the water churning and splashing from her sides.

And that was all. There was no sound--nothing was in sight. There was only the frightened trembling of the little schooner and that long, slow heave and lift.

Morning came, and breakfast was had in silence and grim perplexity. It was too late to think of getting away, now that the rudder was disabled. The “Bertha Millner” must bide where she was.

“And a little more of this dancing,” exclaimed Moran, “and we'll have the planks springing off the stern-post.”

Charlie nodded solemnly. He said nothing--his gravity had returned. Now in the glare of the tropical day, with the “Bertha Millner” sitting the sea as placidly as a brooding gull, he was Talleyrand again.

“I tinkum yas,” he said vaguely.

“Well, I think we had better try and fix the rudder and put back to Frisco,” said Moran. “You're making no money this way. There are no shark to be caught. SOMETHING'S wrong. They're gone away somewhere. The crew are eating their heads off and not earning enough money to pay for their keep. What do you think?”

“I tinkum yas.”

“Then we'll go home. Is that it?”

“I tinkum yas--to-molla.”

“To-morrow?”

“Yas.”

“That's settled then,” persisted Moran, surprised at his ready acquiescence; “we start home to-morrow?” Charlie nodded.

“To-molla,” he said.

The rudder was not so badly damaged as they had at first supposed; the break was easily mended, but it was found necessary for one of the men to go over the side.

“Get over the side here, Jim,” commanded Moran. “Charlie, tell him what's wanted; we can't work the pintle in from the deck.”

But Charlie shook his head.

“Him no likee go; him plenty much flaid.”

Moran ripped out an oath.

“What do I care if he's afraid! I want him to shove the pintle into the lower gudgeon. My God,” she exclaimed, with immense contempt, “what carrion! I'd sooner work a boat with she-monkeys. Mr. Wilbur, I shall have to ask you to go over. I thought I was captain here, but it all depends on whether these rats are afraid or not.”

“Plenty many shark,” expostulated Charlie. “Him flaid shark come back, catchum chop-chop.”

“Stand by here with a couple of cutting-in spades,” cried Moran, “and fend off if you see any shark; now, then, are you ready, mate?”

Wilbur took his determination in both hands, threw off his coat and sandals, and went over the stern rail.

“Put your ear to the water,” called Moran from above; “sometimes you can hear their flukes.”

It took but a minute to adjust the pintle, and Wilbur regained the deck again, dripping and a little pale. He knew not what horrid form of death might have been lurking for him down below there underneath the kelp. As he started forward for dry clothes he was surprised to observe that Moran was smiling at him, holding out her hand.

“That was well done,” she said, “and thank you. I've seen older sailor-men than you who wouldn't have taken the risk.” Never before had she appeared more splendid in his eyes than at this moment. After changing his clothes in the fo'castle, he sat for a long time, his chin in his hands, very thoughtful. Then at length, as though voicing the conclusion of his reflections, said aloud, as he rose to his feet:

“But, of course, THAT is out of the question.”

He remembered that they were going home on the next day. Within a fortnight he would be in San Francisco again--a taxpayer, a police-protected citizen once more. It had been good fun, after all, this three weeks' life on the “Bertha Millner,” a strange episode cut out from the normal circle of his conventional life. He ran over the incidents of the cruise--Kitchell, the turtle hunt, the finding of the derelict, the dead captain, the squall, and the awful sight of the sinking bark, Moran at the wheel, the grewsome business of the shark-fishing, and last of all that inexplicable lifting and quivering of the schooner. He told himself that now he would probably never know the explanation of that mystery.