“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “there’s something there right enough.” He danced the grappling up and down. “And it’s certainly not seaweed. Treasure trove, Evan, eh?”
“Try round a bit and see how big it is,” Evan suggested, now thoroughly interested.
Mr. Morgan “tried round.” Had he been by himself he would have dismissed the incident with a muttered imprecation at the loss of his hooks. But for the sake of the boy he wished to make it as much of an adventure as possible.
“Curious,” he therefore commented again. “I’m afraid we shall not be able to save our hooks. But let’s take bearings so that we may be able to ask about it ashore.” He looked round. “See, there’s a good nor’west bearing. That signal post on the railway is just in line with the west gable of the large white house on the hill. See it? Now for a cross bearing. Suppose we take that tall mill chimney, the tallest of that bunch. It’s just in line with the pier-head beacon. What about those?”
“Fine, I think. What can the thing be, dad?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps something drifted in from a wreck. We’ll ask Coastguard Manners. Now I’ll pull in the grappling, and then the line, and if the hooks go I can’t help it.”
The little anchor had been lying on the bottom while they talked. Mr. Morgan now seized the rope and began to pull. But he had not drawn in more than two feet when it tightened and remained immovable.
“By Jove! The grappling’s caught now!” he exclaimed. “A nuisance, that. We don’t want to lose our grappling.”
“Let’s pull up. Perhaps it will come clear.”
Evan put down the oars and joined his father in the stern. Both pulled steadily with all their strength. For a time nothing happened, then suddenly the rope began to yield. It did not come away clear, but gave slowly as if the object to which it was attached was lifting also.