“And how long are we to keep up this racket?” I asked. “We're simply pumping up the lagoon. Captain Trent himself said she had settled down and was full forward.”
“Did he?” said Nares, with a significant dryness. And almost as he spoke the pumps sucked, and sucked again, and the men threw down their bars. “There, what do you make of that?” he asked. “Now, I'll tell, Mr. Dodd,” he went on, lowering his voice, but not shifting from his easy attitude against the rail, “this ship is as sound as the Norah Creina. I had a guess of it before we came aboard, and now I know.”
“It's not possible!” I cried. “What do you make of Trent?”
“I don't make anything of Trent; I don't know whether he's a liar or only an old wife; I simply tell you what's the fact,” said Nares. “And I'll tell you something more,” he added: “I've taken the ground myself in deep-water vessels; I know what I'm saying; and I say that, when she first struck and before she bedded down, seven or eight hours' work would have got this hooker off, and there's no man that ever went two years to sea but must have known it.”
I could only utter an exclamation.
Nares raised his finger warningly. “Don't let them get hold of it,” said he. “Think what you like, but say nothing.”
I glanced round; the dusk was melting into early night; the twinkle of a lantern marked the schooner's position in the distance; and our men, free from further labour, stood grouped together in the waist, their faces illuminated by their glowing pipes.
“Why didn't Trent get her off?” inquired the captain. “Why did he want to buy her back in 'Frisco for these fabulous sums, when he might have sailed her into the bay himself?”
