She was softly crying to herself, and apparently much shaken. She clung to my hand as though fearful of losing her guide. We walked on in the rapidly gathering dusk, and she became gradually more quiet and assured, so that she soon began to talk freely of her adventure. It seemed that she had only just found the creek, and though, as she said, it seemed to run in the wrong direction entirely, she had reasoned that if followed down it would finally bring her home. She had just about determined to go into the water and wade down the stream itself if the tangled growth became too thick on the banks, as it seemed quite likely would happen soon, and as, indeed, was the case a little way on. I fancied the distress of mind and body that this would have caused in the darkness now fast coming on, and my heart grew soft and tender. I told her then of the way I came to find the route she had most probably taken, the incident of the red blossoms, and all the course of reasoning by which I was led in the search.
She then took out of her dress the bunch of blossoms, and said, “Then it is to these flowers I owe this meeting?”
“Yes,” said I, “to the gathering of those red blossoms. Don’t you think I have earned them as a reward?”
Without a word she handed me the bunch, glowing red as the sunset tints which yet marked the sky.
Somehow I felt, as we stumbled along the darkening way, her hand clasped in mine as it rested on my arm, that our hearts had come nearer together than I had ever dared before to hope might be the case, and my own heart was filled with a wild, new-born hope. She seemed to be mine as I lifted her over the fallen logs, and helped her past the rocks and obstacles. It very quickly grew quite dark, and it was no easy matter under such circumstances to keep the right course, so that we could not talk even if either of us had felt a desire to do so. In silence we struggled along, until finally we came out into the open. The sea with its wonderful self-light was plainly visible before us, and the ceaseless murmur of the surf as it came to our ears was a most welcome sound. A bright fire built by her father to guide us shone like a beacon before us, reddening the palm-trees near the house. Soon we could see him standing near it on the watch. And in a few minutes she was clasped in his arms.
CHAPTER XVI.
A BAD PORT.
WHEN the lifting-frame was complete, there was no reason why it should not at once be floated out and secured in place at the sunken hulk as soon as possible, and as the weather was very fine at that particular time, and the water clear, we concluded to do it immediately. We took both boats, Mr. Millward and Alice in his boat, and I alone in the “Mohawk.” With a line from the floating frame to each boat we towed it along so easily and rapidly that in a couple of hours we were over the wreck. We anchored the two boats one at the bow and one at the stern of the galleon, and pulling the floating frame between the two, fastened it safely by a line at each end to the boat anchors. The next task was to get some heavy rocks with which to sink it, and attach them to the frame in such manner that when the latter was down in position to engage the wreck bow and stern, the rocks could be released to permit the frame to rise by its own power of flotation. It would then, we thought, be secure against displacement, as there was evidently very little, if any, movement of the water at the depth the galleon lay. Leaving the frame attached to the anchor-lines we went to the north cape with the boats, and loaded on twelve stones of considerable weight, which we carried out and secured to the frame by slip-knots in such manner that by a pull from above on a rope each might be released.
When the stones were attached we found that ten of them were just enough to sink the frame slowly. By means of a couple of ropes, one at each end of the frame, paid out from the two boats by Mr. Millward and me, we guided the contrivance in its descent until it landed exactly in place. Alice Millward with the water-glass watched the frame, and indicated to us how to manipulate the ropes. Thus she would call out, “Slowly, Mr. Morgan, a little more forward; a little more aft, father; now you are going right,” until it was in proper position. We then pulled the ropes attached to the stones, releasing the slip-knots two at a time to keep the balance properly, and when relieved of this weight the frame floated up, enclosing and grasping the wreck at each end. This part of the work was therefore successfully and easily completed.
The frame was in position, and it now only remained to attach the calabashes, one cage of them at a time, and we hoped the galleon would be lifted. In preparation for this work,—which we would not be ready to undertake for some time, or until all the calabashes were caged and fitted with attaching ropes,—we had, before sinking the frame-work, passed over the spar that connected the two triangles the bight of an endless rope, for use as a down-haul with which the calabash cages might be pulled down. This endless down-haul line we proposed to hitch to a buoy when we left, so that it might be supported within reach until wanted.
Being very anxious to test the working of my plan for pulling down and attaching the calabashes, I had brought along a single cage of them for the purpose of trying the experiment of pulling it down and attaching it to the longitudinal spar. This scheme was a very simple one, and I sincerely hoped it would prove successful, as it had given me considerable study in its contrivance, and was, I thought, the best and easiest way to accomplish the result. The following description will make it clear. To the cage holding the calabashes was attached a rope four feet long. On the free end of this attaching rope was a hook made of a stout forked branch. Secured to the endless down-haul rope was a similar hook. By catching these hooks together, the cage could be pulled down until the two hooks passed under the spar and came up on the other side. Now by crossing the down-haul rope the hook on the attaching rope, I thought, could be made to hook over that part of its own rope which was on the other side of the spar. Then by reversing the pull on the down-haul its hook would be released and the calabash cage be left attached to the spar by the stout rope passing around the spar and hooked to itself.