"Ah, I don't know, mate. We're a tidy way off-shore, you know. There's a lifeboat down at Ramsgate, but that's — what? — more'n twenty miles off. They got an old steam-tug — the Liverpool — over at Harwich — and that's twenty mile off, too. Only chaps as might see us is them in the Sunk, and there's no bounds how long it'd take them to pass a signal to shore."
"You seem to know the place pretty well."
"Should do, mate. I live just over there." He waved a hand to the south-west. "Down Whitstable way, there. Ever been there?"
"No. That's where the oysters come from, isn't it?"
"Ah, that's right. I started on one of the oyster yawls when I was a lad, years ago. I'm in hopes I'll very soon be back on the beach there."
"At Whitstable? How?"
"Ain't you never heard of the salvage smacks ? Well round these parts salvage from wrecks is a reg'lar thing in the winter for the fishermen. Can't catch fish in this sort of weather, see. So the fellers from down our way, and the Essex men from Rowhedge up the Colne River, there, they hang about to see what they can snap up."
"At sea in this weather in those little smacks? Pretty dangerous, isn't it?"
"Dangerous? You don't know what you're on about. My old mates in the salvage smacks, they know these parts like the backs of their hands. They keep in under the lee o' the big banks, in the sheltered water, see. They can jill about for a week if they have to. Only when you git a gale o' wind from the nor'-east, you don't have to wait that long for a wreck, gen'ly. 'Course, the old job ain't what it was. These old lifeboats what they're setting up all over the place, they're the ruin of it. The old smacksmen don't half carry on about 'em."
"These salvagers must be wonderfully brave chaps to risk so much just to help other people," said Jim seriously. He flushed with annoyance when Jordan burst into peals of harsh uncontrollable laughter.
"Caw!" he spluttered at length. "Beggared if you ain't got a lot to learn. Help other people, eh ? That's a good 'un! I wisht old Dukey could have heard that one. See, matey, they sorter help theirselves at the same time, you might say." He was silent for a while, scanning the western horizon keenly. "I lay you any money, matey, there's half a dozen of them over there just out of sight, what have seen these masts from their mast-heads. Only they're waiting, see. They won't turn up today." With a swing of his arm he sent the empty bottle spinning into the sea. "What time's high-water tonight?" he asked.
"Just after ten o'clock," said Jim sullenly.
"Go on, now. You don't want to bite things like that," said Jordan genially. " 'Twas only a bit o' my fun, you know. Ten o'clock, eh ? Well, more'n likely that'll roll her over, and you and me'll see our old shipmates again. But if it don't, I shall be surprised if we don't see some of me old mates from Whitstable tomorrow morning. In the meantime," he stretched contentedly, then stood up and looked down cheerfully at Jim; "in the meantime, cocky, you keep your eyes open up here while I have a bit of a scout round below."
Jim leant over to watch him descend. The sea had calmed still further, and the swell was going down. Only a foot or two of broken water now surrounded the ship, and bare sand showed fifty yards away to leeward. The man had reached the desolation of the deck now, and began to make his way aft to where, a few hours before, those other little black figures had been mercilessly licked off the face of the earth.
Chapter VIII
"No, Mister Brass-bounder," thought Jordan, as his sea-boots met the deck, "you ain't the sort I can trust. I'll have a go at this lark on me own." He whistled tunelessly as he made his way aft, and caught himself muttering gleefully again and again: "Ernie, you poor ole swab, you're made for life! You done the last day's work you'll ever do, mate." If ever a man was on the threshold of a fortune, Ernie Jordan was that man. A whole wreck, a whole 3,000-tonner to yourself! It was the sort of golden dream that generations of seamen had dreamt — an impossible Ali Baba's cave. He could still hardly believe his luck — it was not the sort he was used to. Seven hundred and fifty passengers, all cleared out quickly! If they hadn't left something worth-while behind it would be pretty hard luck: they had to have a start in Australia — how else could they do that but by taking their sovereigns with them? But they might have given them to the Old Man to look after — there was a big safe in his cabin.
" 'Arf a minute, then, Ernie," he muttered, and retraced his steps for'ard. He poked about in the carpenter's workshop, and came out carrying a heavy hammer and a cold chisel. He ducked into the silent, wrecked foc's'le where the water still stood inches deep and rummaged round to find the best and strongest kit-bag. This time the scene did not depress him at all, for he was in a fury of trembling haste to collect his fortune from aft. Yet swiftly as he worked, his mind raced far ahead. A little snug old cottage, somewhere in the woods over Tyler Hill way, where you needn't even smell the sea, let alone see it. You would just lean all day against its white gate, feeling the warm sun on you, and watching the smoke drift up from your cigar. And the pick of the girls for miles around! "You'll be a catch — that's what you'll be, matey," he cackled.
As he entered the doorway under the poop, he glanced backwards up at the foretop, to see whether he was being observed. But the young brassbounder and the tarpaulin showed only as a small shapeless lump. "Not a bad idea, him having a drop o' skimmish. I lay that'll keep him quiet for a bit. Ain't used to it."
The Captain's cabin, when he reached it, was as much of a shambles as the foc's'le; it had been completely under water at high tide, and the terrible pounding of the after-end of the ship had shaken all the drawers from the fine cabin furniture and scattered their contents into the shallow dirty lake which still covered the deck. The furniture would be a prize for the smacksmen when they came, but Jordan was after something which made pieces of wood seem like chicken-feed.
"There she stands, then," he breathed, looking at the solid modern safe against the bulkhead. "Now I wonder where the silly old swab kept his key ? Might have been in his desk — still, take me a week to find it in all that old clobber on the deck. Most likely had it round his neck. Right, then; if I can't fetch the back off of that, my name ain't Ernie Jordan." He was a massively powerful man, and it took him only one well-timed heave to crash the safe face-downwards on to the deck. He ran his fingers thoughtfully along the edge of the safe's back to find the line of the weld, and soon the cabin rang to the mighty blows of the hammer on the chisel. "Funny thing," the thought went through his mind as he grunted and grimaced with the effort; "these clever chaps with their fancy locks — they never think of some strong ignorant beggar like me having a go at the back."
It was hard, monotonous work, but the thought of the wealth inside drove him on, so that his great arms and shoulders worked like a machine. Time was against him, for soon the inevitable tide would be slopping around him, and when that was gone and the morning came, there might be a hundred men swarming over the wreck. With every blow, the chisel bit a fraction farther into the welded seam. At the end of two hours and a half, when he was sweating, and deafened by the noise, one corner of the back of the safe had been cut from the sides. Roused now to a fever-pitch of excitement, he dashed for'ard again, to return with a thick crow-bar. "Now, matey," he said to the safe as he drove the thin end into the cut, "we'll very soon see what you've got in you." Levering upwards, he prised a triangular flap of the metal up and back, up and back, until his hand and his whole arm could reach inside the safe, and gather all its contents. He was trembling all over as he rummaged round, drew out one package after another and placed them on the desk-top. "Now, then!" he said with a deep breath, and wrenched off the hasp of the larger of the two cash-boxes.