Chapter 26

THE WRECK

The night was calm, but now and then a faint, hot wind blew from the shadowy coast, and rippling the water, brought a strange, sour smell. Lister did not know the smell; Brown knew and frowned, for he had been broken by the malaria that haunts West African river mouths. Heavy dew dripped from the awnings on _Terrier's_ bridge and in places trickled through the material, since canvas burns in the African sun. Brown searched the dark coast with his glasses, trying to find the marks he had noted on the chart. Lister leaned against the rails and mused about the voyage.

They had ridden out a winter's gale in the Bay of Biscay and for a night had lost the hulk and the men on board. Then they went into Vigo, where Lister's firemen wrecked a wine shop and it cost him much in bribes to save them from jail. He had another taste of their quality at Las Palmas, where they made trouble with the port guards and Brown brawled in the cheap wine shops behind the cathedral. In fact, it was some relief when the captain fell off the steam tram that runs between town and port, and a cut on his head stopped his adventures.

Then they steamed for fourteen-hundred miles before the Northeast Trades, with a misty blue sky overhead and long, white-topped seas rolling up astern. The Trade breeze was cool and bracing, but they lost it near the coast, and now the air was hot and strangely heavy. One felt languid and cheerfulness cost an effort. The men had begun to grumble and Lister was glad the voyage was nearly over and it was time to get to work.

Lightning flickered on the sea, touching the back of the smooth swell, and then for a few moments left all very dark. The moon was new, the sky was cloudy, and the swell ran high, for it rolled, unbroken and gathering momentum, from the Antarctic ice. When the lightning was bright, one saw a low cloud that looked like steam, with a white streak beneath that marked the impact of the big rollers on the sandy coast. The crash of breakers came out of the dark, like the rattle of a goods train crossing an iron bridge.

"Four fathoms at spring tides, and a shifting channel!" Brown remarked, quoting from a pilot-book. "The depth, however, varies with the wind, and a stranger must use caution when entering the lagoon." He stopped, and laughed as he resumed: "If this was a sober undertaking I'd steam off and wait for daylight."

"I reckon it would be prudent," said Lister dryly.

"We have nothing to do with prudence," Brown rejoined. "Our job's to work in a sun that knocks a white man down, and stew in the hot malaria damp the land breeze brings off at night. Cartwright's orders are to lose no time and I want to finish before the fever finishes me. Very well! When the moon is new, high-water's at twelve o'clock, and along this coast sunset's about six hours later. If we wait for noon-to-morrow, it will be four or five o'clock before we get on board the wreck--I understand the tide doesn't leave her until about four hours' ebb. If we push across the bar to-night, we'll see her at daybreak and can make our plans for getting to work."

Lister agreed. Expenses were heavy and it was important they should not lose a day. Moreover, Cartwright had hinted that he expected them to run risks, and Lister had promised Barbara to help him out. If Brown touched bottom steaming in, tug and barge would soon break up; but Lister was not going to be daunted.

"I'll go down and raise some extra steam," he said. "You'll need full pressure to shove her through the surf."

He was occupied for some time, but when a plume of steam blew from the escape-pipe he came up to the door and looked about. _Terrier's_ languid roll was getting sharper; mast and funnel swung into a wide sweep. Sometimes the dark hull lurched up high above the tug's stern, and sometimes sank in a hollow. The rollers had angry white tops, and a belt of filmy vapor that looked luminous closed the view ahead. Lister knew the vapor was phosphorescent spray, flung up by the turmoil on the bar, through which they must go. If the tug struck and stopped, the white seas would beat her down into the sand. In the meantime, she was using full steam, because, since tide and surf carried her on, one must have speed to steer.

The spray cloud got thick, and wavered with luminous tremblings when the long rollers broke. They came up, spangled with green and gold flashes, from astern, shook their fiery crests about the tug, and vanished ahead, but one heard them crash. Lister thought the tug throbbed to the savage concussion. He could not hear his engines; one heard nothing but the daunting uproar.

By and by he felt a shock; not a violent shock, but as if the boat had touched, and was pushing through, something soft. She slowed and Lister saw the black hulk swing up and ride forward on a giant roller's top. It looked as if she were coming on board the tug, and Lister jumped through and slammed the iron door. Brown would need him now.

He heard the roar of water on deck, there was a crash of broken glass, and a shower fell on his head. A cloud of steam and a loud hissing came from the stokehold, and he knew the sea that swept the tug had covered the gratings. If she stuck, the next sea would swamp her and drown the fires, but she had not altogether stopped. The propeller was beating hard and he opened the throttle wide. He felt her move and tremble, as if she struggled in the grip of the sand, and then lift buoyantly. The water that pressed her down had rolled off the deck and the oncoming comber had picked her up and was carrying her along.

Her progress was obvious. One felt the headlong rush, and Lister thought about a toboggan speeding down an icy slope. The roller would bear her on until it broke, but if she struck the sand she might not lift again. She did not strike; there was another wild leap forward, a savage plunge, and a comber crashed astern. It looked as if she had crossed the shoal and Lister let go the wheel and got his breath. He had used no effort, but he gasped and his hand shook.

The gong signaled _half-speed_, and when he slowed his engines the roar of escaping steam pierced the turmoil of the surf. This was significant, because he could not have heard the steam a few minutes earlier. _Terrier_ rolled, but the rolling was not violent and began to get easy. The gong signaled _stand by, stop_; he shut the valve and presently heard the anchor plunge and the rattle of running chain. Then _Terrier_ swung languidly and all was quiet but for the monotonous rumble in the background. Lister gave some orders and went to his room.

In the morning, he put a greasy jacket over his pajamas and went on deck. The land breeze had dropped and it was very calm. Vague trees loomed in the fog that hid the beach; there was a belt of dull, heaving water, and then the spray cloud closed the view. The air was heavy, the men on deck moved slackly, and Lister's skin was wet by sweat. He felt dull and shrank from effort, but when he saw Brown in a boat alongside he jumped on board.

The light was getting brighter and the wreck lay about a hundred yards off. The stump of her broken funnel, a bare iron mast, a smashed deckhouse, and a strip of slanted side rose from the languid swell. The rows of plates were red with rust and encrusted by shells. When the smooth undulations sank, long weed swung about in the sandy water. Lister thought the story of the wreck was, on the surface, plain. Steaming out with a heavy load, _Arcturus_ had struck the bar. The surf had beaten in her hatches, broken some plates, and afterwards washed her back across the sand. Then, while the captain tried to reach the beach, she had sunk in deeper water. The story was plausible, but, if Cartwright had found the proper clew, it did not account for all.

They rowed round _Arcturus_. She lay with a sharp list and her other side was under water. The tide was beginning to rise and when it crept up her slanted deck they pulled back to the tug.

"We'll moor the hulk alongside and rig the diving pumps. I think that's all to-day," Brown remarked. "When the sun is low I'll go to the factory up the creek and try to hire some native boys. On this coast, a white man who does heavy work soon gets fever."

In the afternoon they took two men and rowed up a muddy creek that flowed into the lagoon, but the factory was farther than they thought and when they landed dusk was falling. The white-washed wooden house stood near the bank, with a stockaded compound between it and the water. It was built on piles and at the top of the outside stairs a veranda ran along the front. The compound was tunneled by land-crabs' holes, and light mist crept about the giant cotton woods behind. There was no movement of air, a sickly smell rose from the creek, and all was very damp.

Lister and Brown went up the stairs and were received by a white man in a big damp room. A lamp hung from a beam and the light touched the patches of mildew on the discolored walls. There was not much furniture; a few canvas chairs, a desk and a table. Flies crawled about the table and hovered in a black swarm round the lamp. The room smelt of palm oil and river mud. The white man was young, but his face was haggard and he looked worn. His rather long hair was wet and his duck jacket was dirty. It was obvious that he did not bother about his clothes.

"Good of you to look me up! I expect you know I'm Montgomery; the house is Montgomery and Raeburn," he said. "However, to begin with, you had better have a drink. I'll call my boy."

A negro came in and got a bottle and some glasses. He was a strongly-built fellow with a blue stripe on his forehead, and muscular arms and chest, but his legs, which stuck out from short cotton trousers, were ridiculously thin. He beat up some frothy liquor in a jug and when he filled the big glasses Lister felt disturbed, for he knew Brown and had noted the quantity of gin the negro used. The captain, however, was cautious and they began to talk. Lister asked Montgomery if he carried on the factory alone.

"I'm doing so for a time. My clerk died two or three weeks since and I haven't got another yet."

"Fever?" said Brown.

"Common malaria. Perhaps this spot is worse than others, because, although we're beginning to kill mosquitos and poison the drains, we can't keep English boys. The last two didn't hold out six months."

Lister got thoughtful. He knew the African coast was unhealthy, but had not imagined it was as bad as this. He said nothing and Montgomery resumed: "I have been forced to lie up and am shaky yet. Malaria gets us all, but as a rule it gets strangers, particularly the young, soonest. Looks as if the microbe liked fresh blood."

"If I was an African merchant, I'd let an agent run my factories," Brown remarked.

Montgomery smiled. "Sometimes it's necessary for me to come out. This factory is perhaps our best, and when Nevis, our agent, died, I started by the first boat. Montgomery's is an old house, but since the big men combined and the Amalgamation built a factory on the next creek, we have had some trouble to pull along. Our capital is small and we can't use up-to-date methods. In fact, I imagine our situation is much like Cartwright's. When he bought the wreck he no doubt felt some strain. But won't you take another drink?"

Brown indicated his glass, which still held some liquor, and Lister refused politely. He noted that Montgomery knew their object and was surprised, since he thought Cartwright had not talked much about the undertaking. Then, although Montgomery was obviously ill, one felt he tried to paint the coast in the darkest colors.

"What do you think about our job?" Brown asked.

"I think it a rash experiment and imagine Cartwright agrees. All the same, the old fellow's a bold gambler and is perhaps willing to speculate on the chance of getting out of his embarrassments. However, this is his business and you'll, no doubt, get your wages, although you won't float the wreck."

"What do you reckon the obstacles?"

"Fever," said Montgomery dryly. "The salvage people lost some men. Surf will wash the sand about her, if the wind comes fresh from the south-east. Then the sharks may give you some trouble. They're nearly as numerous as they are at Lagos Roads." He paused and added carelessly: "I expect you know my father loaded _Arcturus_?"

"I heard something about it," Brown replied. "All the same, Cartwright sent us to lift her and we have got to try. Will you let me hire some of your factory boys?"

"Sorry, but they're Liberian Kroos, engaged on a twelve-months' contract to work in my compound, and I'm accountable for them to the Liberian government."

"Then what about boys from the bush?"

Montgomery smiled. "I can't recommend the bushmen. They're a turbulent lot, but you might send a present to the headman at the native town up river, and it's possible he'll let you go to see him. For all that, some caution's indicated. The fellow's a cunning old rascal."

Brown looked thoughtful, but began to talk about something else and by and by got up. Montgomery went with him and Lister to the steps and when they reached the compound they found the sailors bemused with gin under the veranda. Brown had some trouble to get the men on board, and when they awkwardly pulled away Lister was conscious of relief.

"I agree with the fellow. Caution _is_ indicated," Brown observed.