Frontin smiled thinly.
“An Indian report of the wreck drew us there—some hunters had seen it from the cliffs, or thought they had. Saint-Castin was taken very ill and had to stay aboard our ship. I climbed down to the place from the cliffs, but would not do it again for a thousand pieces of eight. The poor baron was too ill to understand anything about it, and I most certainly did not tell him the truth, so there you are. As for any one else having found the wreck, that is impossible. No English settlements are close by, the wreck is invisible from the sea, and boats cannot come near the place in Summer because of the whirlpools. In Winter, I believe there is sufficient shore ice for us to land a mile or so from the spot and make our way to it easily. Many ships come with supplies from England for the various settlements during the Winter, and we shall have no trouble exchanging this craft of ours for a better ship. We shall not be disturbed at the work, as the English settlers stay close at home in the Winter, except the hunters who seek caribou inland.”
Vanderberg looked doubtfully at Crawford.
“You are content?”
“Me—content?” Crawford laughed slightly. “My dear cap’n, I have little interest in this wreck, I assure you. If there is any gold, which I strongly doubt, a bit of it may be of assistance to me.”
“The devil! If you’ve so cursed little interest, why are you with us?”
“Because you are heading north. Two points of the compass draw me; one is north, the other is west. If I had a ship of my own, I would head it for Hudson’s Bay; if I were ashore with an open trail, I would head into the west. Since I must temporize with destiny, I am here.”
“Sink me if I can understand you!” growled Vanderberg, but Frontin uttered a low laugh.
“Perhaps you will understand him too well one of these days, my cap’n!”
“What do you mean by that?” said the badgered Dutchman, glaring.