“It’s not possible!” I cried. “What do you make of Trent?”
“I don’t make anything of Trent; I don’t know whether he’s a liar or only an old wife; I simply tell you what’s the fact,” said Nares. “And I’ll tell you something more,” he added: “I’ve taken the ground myself in deep-water vessels; I know what I’m saying; and I say that, when she first struck and before she bedded down, seven or eight hours’ work would have got this hooker off, and there’s no man that ever went two years to sea but must have known it.”
I could only utter an exclamation.
Nares raised his finger warningly. “Don’t let them get hold of it,” said he. “Think what you like, but say nothing.”
I glanced round; the dusk was melting into early night; the twinkle of a lantern marked the schooner’s position in the distance; and our men, free from further labour, stood grouped together in the waist, their faces illuminated by their glowing pipes.
“Why didn’t Trent get her off?” inquired the captain. “Why did he want to buy her back in ’Frisco for these fabulous sums, when he might have sailed her into the bay himself?”
“Perhaps he never knew her value until then,” I suggested.
“I wish we knew her value now,” exclaimed Nares. “However, I don’t want to depress you; I’m sorry for you, Mr. Dodd; I know how bothering it must be to you, and the best I can say’s this: I haven’t taken much time getting down, and now I’m here I mean to work this thing in proper style. I just want to put your mind at rest; you shall have no trouble with me.”
There was something trusty and friendly in his voice; and I found myself gripping hands with him, in that hard, short shake that means so much with English-speaking people.
“We’ll do, old fellow,” said he. “We’ve shaken down into pretty good friends, you and me; and you won’t find me working the business any the less hard for that. And now let’s scoot for supper.”