VIII. A RUN FOR LAND
"SINKING!" exclaimed Wilbur.
Moran was already on her feet. "We'll have to beach her," she cried,"and we're six miles out. Up y'r jib, mate!" The two set the jib,flying-jib, and staysails.
The fore and main sails were already drawing, and under all the spreadof her canvas the "Bertha" raced back toward the shore.
But by the time she was within the head of the bay her stern had settledto such an extent that the forefoot was clear of the water, the bowspritpointing high into the heavens. Moran was at the wheel, her scowlthicker than ever, her eyes measuring the stretch of water that laybetween the schooner and the shore.
"She'll never make it in God's world," she muttered as she listened tothe wash of the water in the cabin under her feet. In the hold, emptybarrels were afloat, knocking hollowly against each other. "We're in abad way, mate."
"If it comes to that," returned Wilbur, surprised to see her thus easilydowncast, who was usually so indomitable--"if it comes to that, we canswim for it--a couple of planks--"
"Swim?" she echoed; "I'm not thinking of that; of course we could swim."
"What then?"
"The sharks!"
Wilbur's teeth clicked sharply together. He could think of nothing tosay.
As the water gained between decks the schooner's speed dwindled, andat the same time as she approached the shore the wind, shut off by theland, fell away. By this time the ocean was not four inches below thestern-rail. Two miles away was the nearest sand-spit. Wilbur broke outa distress signal on the foremast, in the hope that Charlie and thedeserters might send off the dory to their assistance. But the deserterswere nowhere in sight.
"What became of the junk?" he demanded suddenly of Moran. She motionedto the westward with her head. "Still lying out-side."
Twenty minutes passed. Once only Moran spoke.
"When she begins to go," she said, "she'll go with a rush. Jump prettywide, or you'll get caught in the suction."
The two had given up all hope. Moran held grimly to the wheel as a merematter of form. Wilbur stood at her side, his clinched fists thrustinto his pockets. The eyes of both were fixed on the yellow line of thedistant beach. By and by Moran turned to him with an odd smile.
"We're a strange pair to die together," she said. Wilbur met her eyesan instant, but finding no reply, put his chin in the air as though hewould have told her she might well say that.
"A strange pair to die together," Moran repeated; "but we can do thatbetter than we could have"--she looked away from him--"could have LIVEDtogether," she finished, and smiled again.
"And yet," said Wilbur, "these last few weeks here on board theschooner, we have been through a good deal--together. I don't know," hewent on clumsily, "I don't know when I've been--when I've had--I've beenhappier than these last weeks. It is queer, isn't it? I know, of course,what you'll say. I've said it to myself often of late. I belong to thecity and to my life there, and you--you belong to the ocean. I neverknew a girl like you--never knew a girl COULD be like you. You don'tknow how extraordinary it all seems to me. You swear like a man, and youdress like a man, and I don't suppose you've ever been associated withother women; and you're strong--I know you are as strong as I am. Youhave no idea how different you are to the kind of girl I've known.Imagine my kind of girl standing up before Hoang and those cutthroatbeach-combers with their knives and hatchets. Maybe it's because you areso unlike my kind of girl that--that things are as they are with me. Idon't know. It's a queer situation. A month or so ago I was at a tea inSan Francisco, and now I'm aboard a shark-fishing schooner sinking inMagdalena Bay; and I'm with a girl that--that--that I--well, I'm withyou, and, well, you know how it is--I might as well say it--I love youmore than I imagined I ever could love a girl."
Moran's frown came back to her forehead.
"I don't like that kind of talk," she said; "I am not used to it, andI don't know how to take it. Believe me," she said with a half laugh,"it's all wasted. I never could love a man. I'm not made for men."
"No," said Wilbur, "nor for other women either."
"Nor for other women either."
Wilbur fell silent. In that instant he had a distinct vision of Moran'slife and character, shunning men and shunned of women, a strange, lonelycreature, solitary as the ocean whereon she lived, beautiful after herfashion; as yet without sex, proud, untamed, splendid in her savage,primal independence--a thing untouched and unsullied by civilization.She seemed to him some Bradamante, some mythical Brunhilde, someValkyrie of the legends, born out of season, lost and unfamiliar in thisend-of-the-century time. Her purity was the purity of primeval glaciers.He could easily see how to such a girl the love of a man would appearonly in the light of a humiliation--a degradation. And yet she COULDlove, else how had HE been able to love her? Wilbur found himself--evenat that moment--wondering how the thing could be done--wondering tojust what note the untouched cords would vibrate. Just how she shouldbe awakened one morning to find that she--Moran, sea-rover, virginunconquered, without law, without land, without sex--was, after all, awoman.
"By God, mate!" she exclaimed of a sudden. "The barrels are keeping usup--the empty barrels in the hold. Hoh! we'll make land yet."
It was true. The empty hogsheads, destined for the storage of oil, hadbeen forced up by the influx of the water to the roof of the hold, andwere acting as so many buoys--the schooner could sink no lower. An hourlater, the quarterdeck all awash, her bow thrown high into the air,listing horribly to starboard, the "Bertha Millner" took ground on theshore of Magdalena Bay at about the turn of the tide.
Moran swung herself over the side, hip deep in the water, and, wadingashore with a line, made fast to the huge skull of a whale half buriedin the sand at that point.
Wilbur followed. The schooner had grounded upon the southern horn of thebay and lay easily on a spit of sand. They could not examine the natureof the leak until low water the next morning.
"Well, here we are," said Moran, her thumbs in her belt. "What next? Wemay be here for two days, we MAY be here for two years. It all dependsupon how bad a hole she has. Have we 'put in for repairs,' or havewe been cast away? Can't tell till to-morrow morning. Meanwhile, I'mhungry."
Half of the stores of the schooner were water-soaked, but uponexamination Wilbur found that enough remained intact to put them beyondall fear for the present.
"There's plenty of water up the creek," he said, "and we can snare allthe quail we want; and then there's the fish and abalone. Even if thestores were gone we could make out very well."
The schooner's cabin was full of water and Wilbur's hammock was gone,so the pair decided to camp on shore. In that torrid weather to sleep inthe open air was a luxury.
In great good spirits the two sat down to their first meal on land.Moran cooked a supper that, barring the absence of coffee, wasdelicious. The whiskey was had from aboard, and they pledged each other,standing up, in something over two stiff fingers.
"Moran," said Wilbur, "you ought to have been born a man."
"At all events, mate," she said--"at all events, I'm not a girl."
"NO!" exclaimed Wilbur, as he filled his pipe. "NO, you're just Moran,Moran of the 'Lady Letty.'"
"And I'll stay that, too," she said decisively.
Never had an evening been more beautiful in Wilbur's eyes. There was nota breath of air. The stillness was so profound that the faint murmur ofthe blood behind the ear-drums became an oppression. The ocean tiptoedtoward the land with tiny rustling steps. The west was one giganticstained window, the ocean floor a solid shimmer of opalescence. Behindthem, sullen purples marked the horizon, hooded with mountain crests,and after a long while the moon shrugged a gleaming shoulder into view.
Wilbur, dressed in Chinese jeans and blouse, with Chinese wicker sandalson his bare feet, sat with his back against the whale's skull, smokingquietly. For a long time there was no conversation; then at last:
"No," said Moran in a low voice. "This is the life I'm made for. In sixyears
I've not spent three consecutive weeks on land. Now that Eilert"(she always spoke of her father by his first name), "now that Eilertis dead, I've not a tie, not a relative, not even a friend, and I don'twish it."
"But the loneliness of the life, the solitude," said Wilbur, "that'swhat I don't understand. Did it ever occur to you that the besthappiness is the happiness that one shares?"
Moran clasped a knee in both hands and looked out to sea. She never worea hat, and the red light of the afterglow was turning her rye-hued hairto saffron.
"Hoh!" she exclaimed, her heavy voice pitched even lower than usual."Who could understand or share any of my pleasures, or be happy when I'mhappy? And, besides, I'm happiest when I'm alone--I don't want any one."
"But," hesitated Wilbur, "one is not always alone. After all, you're agirl, and men, sailormen especially, are beasts when it's a question ofa woman--an unprotected woman."
"I'm stronger than most men," said Moran simply. "If you, for instance,had been like some men, I should have fought you. It wouldn't have beenthe first time," she added, smoothing one huge braid between her palms.
Wilbur looked at her with intent curiosity--noted again, as if for thefirst time, the rough, blue overalls thrust into the shoes; the coarseflannel shirt open at the throat; the belt with its sheath-knife; herarms big and white and tattooed in sailor fashion; her thick, muscularneck; her red face, with its pale blue eyes and almost massive jaw; andher hair, her heavy, yellow, fragrant hair, that lay over her shoulderand breast, coiling and looping in her lap.
"No," he said, with a long breath, "I don't make it out. I knew you wereout of my experience, but I begin to think now that you are out of evenmy imagination. You are right, you SHOULD keep to yourself. You shouldbe alone--your mate isn't made yet. You are splendid just as you are,"while under his breath he added, his teeth clinching, "and God! but Ilove you."
It was growing late, the stars were all out, the moon riding high. Moranyawned:
"Mate, I think I'll turn in. We'll have to be at that schooner early inthe morning, and I make no doubt she'll give us plenty to do." Wilburhesitated to reply, waiting to take his cue from what next she shouldsay. "It's hot enough to sleep where we are," she added, "without goingaboard the 'Bertha,' though we might have a couple of blankets off tolie on. This sand's as hard as a plank."
Without answering, Wilbur showed her a couple of blanket-rolls he hadbrought off while he was unloading part of the stores that afternoon.They took one apiece and spread them on the sand by the bleached whale'sskull. Moran pulled off her boots and stretched herself upon her blanketwith absolute unconcern, her hands clasped under her head. Wilbur rolledup his coat for a pillow and settled himself for the night with anassumed self-possession. There was a long silence. Moran yawned again.
"I pulled the heel off my boot this morning," she said lazily, "and I'vebeen limping all day."
"I noticed it," answered Wilbur. "Kitchell had a new pair aboardsomewhere, if they're not spoiled by the water now."
"Yes?" she said indifferently; "we'll look them up in the morning."
Again there was silence.
"I wonder," she began again, staring up into the dark, "if Charlie tookthat frying-pan off with him when he went?"
"I don't know. He probably did."
"It was the only thing we had to cook abalones in. Make me think to lookinto the galley to-morrow....This ground's as hard as nails, for allyour blankets....Well, good-night, mate; I'm going to sleep."
"Good-night, Moran."
Three hours later Wilbur, who had not closed his eyes, sat up and lookedat Moran, sleeping quietly, her head in a pale glory of hair; looked ather, and then around him at the silent, deserted land.
"I don't know," he said to himself. "Am I a right-minded man and athoroughbred, or a mush-head, or merely a prudent, sensible sort of chapthat values his skin and bones? I'd be glad to put a name to myself."Then, more earnestly he added: "Do I love her too much, or not enough,or love her the wrong way, or how?" He leaned toward her, so close thathe could catch the savor of her breath and the smell of her neck, warmwith sleep. The sleeve of the coarse blue shirt was drawn up, and itseemed to him as if her bare arm, flung out at full length, had somesweet aroma of its own. Wilbur drew softly back.
"No," he said to himself decisively; "no, I guess I am a thoroughbredafter all." It was only then that he went to sleep.
When he awoke the sea was pink with the sunrise, and one of the bayheads was all distorted and stratified by a mirage. It was hot already.Moran was sitting a few paces from him, braiding her hair.
"Hello, Moran!" he said, rousing up; "how long have you been up?"
"Since before sunrise," she said; "I've had a bath in the cove where thecreek runs down. I saw a jack-rabbit."
"Seen anything of Charlie and the others?"
"They've camped on the other side of the bay. But look yonder," sheadded.
The junk had come in overnight, and was about a mile and a half fromshore.
"The deuce!" exclaimed Wilbur. "What are they after?"
"Fresh water, I guess," said Moran, knotting the end of a braid. "We'dbetter have breakfast in a hurry, and turn to on the 'Bertha.' The tideis going out fast."
While they breakfasted they kept an eye on the schooner, watching hersides and flanks as the water fell slowly away.
"Don't see anything very bad yet," said Wilbur.
"It's somewhere in her stern," remarked Moran.
In an hour's time the "Bertha Millner" was high and dry, and they couldexamine her at their leisure. It was Moran who found the leak.
"Pshaw!" she exclaimed, with a half-laugh, "we can stick that up in halfan hour."
A single plank had started away from the stern-post; that was all.Otherwise the schooner was as sound as the day she left San Francisco.Moran and Wilbur had the damage repaired by noon, nailing the plank intoits place and caulking the seams with lamp-wick. Nor could their mostcareful search discover any further injury.
"We're ready to go," said Moran, "so soon as she'll float. We can digaway around the bows here, make fast a line to that rock out yonder, andwarp her off at next high tide. Hello! who's this?"
It was Charlie. While the two had been at work, he had come around theshore unobserved, and now stood at some little distance, smiling at themcalmly.
"Well, what do you want?" cried Moran angrily. "If you had your rights,my friend, you'd be keelhauled."
"I tink um velly hot day."
"You didn't come here to say that. What do you want?"
"I come hab talkee-talk."
"We don't want to have any talkee-talk with such vermin as you. Getout!"
Charlie sat down on the beach and wiped his forehead.
"I come buy one-piecee bacon. China boy no hab got."
"We aren't selling bacon to deserters," cried Moran; "and I'll tell youthis, you filthy little monkey: Mr. Wilbur and I are going home--backto 'Frisco--this afternoon; and we're going to leave you and the rest ofyour vipers to rot on this beach, or to be murdered by beach-combers,"and she pointed out toward the junk. Charlie did not even follow thedirection of her gesture, and from this very indifference Wilburguessed that it was precisely because of the beach-combers that theMachiavellian Chinaman had wished to treat with his old officers.
"No hab got bacon?" he queried, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.
"Plenty; but not for you."
Charlie took a buckskin bag from his blouse and counted out a handful ofsilver and gold.
"I buy um nisi two-piecee tobacco."
"Look here," said Wilbur deliberately; "don't you try to flim-flam us,Charlie. We know you too well. You don't want bacon and you don't wanttobacco."
"China boy heap plenty much sick. Two boy velly sick. I tink um diepretty soon to-molla. You catch um slop-chest; you gib me five, sevenliver pill. Sabe?"
"I'll tell you what you want," cried Moran, aiming a forefinger athim, pistol fashion; "you've got a blue funk because those Kai-ginghbeach-combers
have come into the bay, and you're more frightened of themthan you are of the schooner; and now you want us to take you home."
"How muchee?"
"A thousand dollars."
Wilbur looked at her in surprise. He had expected a refusal.
"You no hab got liver pill?" inquired Charlie blandly.
Moran turned her back on him. She and Wilbur conferred in a low voice.
"We'd better take them back, if we decently can," said Moran. "Theschooner is known, of course, in 'Frisco. She went out with Kitchell anda crew of coolies, and she comes back with you and I aboard, and if wetell the truth about it, it will sound like a lie, and we'll have no endof trouble. Then again, can just you and I work the 'Bertha' intoport? In these kind of airs it's plain work, but suppose we have dirtyweather? I'm not so sure."
"I gib you ten dollah fo' ten liver pill," said Charlie.
"Will you give us a thousand dollars to set you down in San Francisco?"
Charlie rose. "I go back. I tell um China boy what you say 'bout liverpill. Bime-by I come back."
"That means he'll take our offer back to his friends," said Wilbur, ina low voice. "You best hurry chop-chop," he called after Charlie; "we gohome pretty soon!"
"He knows very well we can't get away before high tide to-morrow," saidMoran. "He'll take his time."
Later on in the afternoon Moran and Wilbur saw a small boat put off fromthe junk and make a landing by the creek. The beach-combers weretaking on water. The boat made three trips before evening, but thebeach-combers made no show of molesting the undefended schooner, or inany way interfering with Charlie's camp on the other side of the bay.
"No!" exclaimed Moran between her teeth, as she and Wilbur were cookingsupper; "no, they don't need to; they've got about a hundred and fiftythousand dollars of loot on board--OUR loot, too! Good God! it goesagainst the grain!"
The moon rose considerably earlier that night, and by twelve o'clock thebay was flooded with its electrical whiteness. Wilbur and Moran couldplainly make out the junk tied up to the kelp off-shore. But toward oneo'clock Wilbur was awakened by Moran shaking his arm.
"There's something wrong out there," she whispered; "something wrongwith the junk. Hear 'em squealing? Look! look! look!" she cried of asudden; "it's their turn now!"
Wilbur could see the crank junk, with its staring red eyes, high sternand prow, as distinctly as though at noonday. As he watched, it seemedas if a great wave caught her suddenly underfoot. She heaved up bodilyout of the water, dropped again with a splash, rose again, and againfell back into her own ripples, that, widening from her sides, brokecrisply on the sand at Wilbur's feet.
Then the commotion ceased abruptly. The bay was quiet again. An hourpassed, then two. The moon began to set. Moran and Wilbur, wearied ofwatching, had turned in again, when they were startled to wakefulness bythe creak of oarlocks and the sound of a boat grounding in the sand.
The coolies--the deserters from the "Bertha Millner"--were there.Charlie came forward.
"Ge' lup! Ge' lup!" he said. "Junk all smash! Kai-gingh come ashore. Itink him want catch um schooner."