Part 18

The day passed in preparations to put to sea again. The deck-tubs and hogsheads were stowed below and the tackle cleared away. By evening all was ready; they would be under way by daybreak the next morning. There was a possibility of their being forced to tow the schooner out by means of the dory, so light were the airs inside. Once beyond the heads, however, they were sure of a breeze.

About ten o'clock that night, the same uncanny trembling ran through the schooner again, and about half an hour later she lifted gently once or twice. But after that she was undisturbed.

Later on in the night--or rather early in the morning--Wilbur woke suddenly in his hammock without knowing why, and got up and stood listening. The “Bertha Millner” was absolutely quiet. The night was hot and still; the new moon, canted over like a sinking galleon, was low over the horizon. Wilbur listened intently, for now at last he heard something.

Between the schooner and the shore a gentle sound of splashing came to his ears, and an occasional crack as of oars in their locks. Was it possible that a boat was there between the schooner and the land? What boat, and manned by whom?

The creaking of oarlocks and the dip of paddles was unmistakable.

Suddenly Wilbur raised his voice in a great shout:

“Boat ahoy!”

There was no answer; the noise of oars grew fainter. Moran came running out of her cabin, swinging into her coat as she ran.

“What is it--what is it?”

“A boat, I think, right off the schooner here. Hark--there--did you hear the oars?”

“You're right; call the hands, get the dory over, we'll follow that boat right up. Hello, forward there, Charlie, all hands, tumble out!”

Then Wilbur and Moran caught themselves looking into each other's eyes. At once something--perhaps the latent silence of the schooner--told them there was to be no answer. The two ran for-ward: Moran swung herself into the fo'castle hatch, and without using the ladder dropped to the deck below. In an instant her voice came up the hatch:

“The bunks are empty--they're gone--abandoned us.” She came up the ladder again.

“Look,” said Wilbur, as she regained the deck. “The dory's gone; they've taken it. It was our only boat; we can't get ashore.”

“Cowardly, superstitious rats, I should have expected this. They would be chopped in bits before they would stay longer on board this boat--they and their-Feng shui.”

When morning came the deserters could be made out camped on the shore, near to the beached dory. What their intentions were could not be conjectured. Ridden with all manner of nameless Oriental superstitions, it was evident that the Chinamen preferred any hazard of fortune to remaining longer upon the schooner.

“Well, can we get along without them?” said Wilbur. “Can we two work the schooner back to port ourselves?”

“We'll try it on, anyhow, mate,” said Moran; “we might get her into San Diego, anyhow.”

The Chinamen had left plenty of provisions on board, and Moran cooked breakfast. Fortunately, by eight o'clock a very light westerly breeze came up. Moran and Wilbur cast off the gaskets and set the fore and main sails.

Wilbur was busy at the forward bitts preparing to cast loose from the kelp, and Moran had taken up her position at the wheel when suddenly she exclaimed:

“Sail ho!--and in God's name what kind of a sail do you call it?”

In fact a strange-looking craft had just made her appearance at the entrance of Magdalena Bay.

VII. BEACH-COMBERS

Wilbur returned aft and joined Moran on the quarterdeck. She was already studying the stranger through the glass.

“That's a new build of boat to me,” she muttered, giving Wilbur the glass. Wilbur looked long and carefully. The newcomer was of the size and much the same shape as a caravel of the fifteenth century--high as to bow and stern, and to all appearances as seaworthy as a soup-tureen. Never but in the old prints had Wilbur seen such an extraordinary boat. She carried a single mast, which listed forward; her lugsail was stretched upon dozens of bamboo yards; she drew hardly any water. Two enormous red eyes were painted upon either side of her high, blunt bow, while just abaft the waist projected an enormous oar, or sweep, full forty feet in length--longer, in fact, than the vessel herself. It acted partly as a propeller, partly as a rudder.

“They're heading for us,” commented Wilbur as Moran took the glass again.

“Right,” she answered; adding upon the moment: “Huh! more Chinamen; the thing is alive with coolies; she's a junk.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Wilbur, recollecting some talk of Charlie's he had overheard. “I know.”