In the meantime, old Sol Sludge, of Becky Sharpe's cove, which lies beyond Iron Head, had started for Ruddy Cove by the goat paths to tell Skipper John Matthews that he would take a berth in the schooner Rescue when she got back from the Labrador.
He had a candle-lantern to light the way. When he had crossed the Head and was bound down the valley to meet the Ruddy Cove road, he heard a cry for help. It came from the sea, with a soft southwest wind which had sprung up—a sharp "Help! Help!" ringing out of the darkness again and again. Old Sol listened stupidly, until, as from exhaustion, the cries turned hoarse and weak.
"Now, I wonder who's out there," the dull old fellow thought. "It sounded like a woman's voice. Sure, it may be the spirit o' Mary Rutt. She was drowned off Iron Head."
Nevertheless, he made haste to Ruddy Cove—all the haste his old legs and dim sight would permit—and told the folk that he had heard the cry of a spirit drift in from the sea off Iron Head. But nobody believed that.
Who was in the water off Iron Head? was the question that passed from cottage to cottage. Was it Billy Topsail? No; for Billy told the folk in person that he had come in from the grounds at twilight. Was it Josiah Seaworthy? No; for Josiah's wife said that he had gone by way of Crooked Tickle to Burnt Harbour.
Who was it? Had Eli Zitt's little partner got back from Fortune Harbour? When Eli Zitt heard of that cry for help he knew that Bobby's punt had been overturned on one of the Iron Head rocks. Like a woman's voice? That surely was Bobby's—that clear, full voice. So he called for a crew to man the skiff, and in five minutes he was ready to push off.
Old Bruce jumped aboard.
"Get out with you!" said Bill Watt, aiming a kick at him by the light of the lantern.
"Sc-ctt!" cried old Tom Topsail.