From where the captain of the steamer had cited his position there was not a single sign of a lighthouse or a light. But, as the Miami crept on, far out of the regular ship's channel, as suddenly as though it had been just placed there, rose a spar, held in place with three wire stays. On the top was a little round platform, not more than a foot across, and spikes had been driven into the mast to act as a ladder by which to climb it. The Miami was almost on the tiny outcrop of rock before the mast was visible. It was painted a watery blue, which merged in with the color of both sea and sky, and was exceedingly difficult to see.
A boat's crew was sent ashore to demolish the mast and also to make a search for the light. To Eric, who went ashore with the men, it was quite an exciting hunt, "almost like looking for Captain Kidd's treasure," as he said afterwards to his chum, the young lieutenant of engineers. The quest was in vain, for though every inch of the islet was searched, there was no sign that the ground had been disturbed. So far as that went, there was very little ground to disturb, for the islet was little more than a coral rock, nearly covered at high tide. It was evident that the wreckers, when they were ready for their work, brought the light with them.
As the light for which the decoy was intended to be a substitute was quite a powerful light, with a regular occulting flash, the decoy itself must be powerful, and the Miami was anxious to trace it. If the native wreckers had such a lantern in their possession, probably they had some kind of clockwork and could alter the occultation of their decoy so that it would duplicate any one of several different lights on the coast.
It was not until some time afterwards that the Lighthouse Service learned that there actually had been such a light in the hands of the wreckers at one time. In a quarrel among themselves, however, over the division of the spoils of a small schooner which had run ashore, one of the disgruntled wreckers had thrown the lantern overboard in deep water.
"I hadn't supposed there was anything of that sort going on now, sir," said Eric to one of the junior lieutenants, discussing the question of the wreckers' lights.
"Nor had I," was the rejoinder. "The business of being a wrecker has changed a good deal. There's plenty of it, still, but it has become a recognized profession. A wrecker, now, has offices in a big seaport, with a fleet of ocean-going tugs and a big bank-roll. When a ship is reported ashore, either her owners pay him to float her, or he buys the wreck outright and takes his chances of being able to recover the purchase price. If luck is with him, he may get a good ship and cargo cheap, but if fortune frowns and a storm breaks her up before he can save the cargo, then he suffers a heavy loss. It's a good business, but a big gamble."
"I should think there was a lot of excitement in that business, yet!"
"Yes, there is. But it is organized now and wonderfully handled commercially. It's only in places like these outlying fringes of the Bahamas, that the native wrecker—the one who lives by robbery and loot—can still be found. In the old days, a decoy light was a regular thing. There were organizations that had offices in the cities, who used to make a business of this wrecking. Barnegat, New Jersey, was a famous point in the first part of last century. All the inhabitants were in league with the wreckers, there. Many and many a good vessel, in the early days of American shipping, was lured directly on to the treacherous beach, while the wreckers looted everything they could get, and plundered the passengers and crew. That's all done away with now. The United States coast is too thoroughly patrolled by the Coast Guard for any such business as that to flourish.
"I think the Wolf Rock story is perhaps the best example of the idea of deliberately wrecking vessels. You've heard of Wolf Rock?"
"Yes, sir," said the boy, "it's in the English Channel, off the coast of Devonshire."