“Shall we not have a wreck! I hope there’ll be one,” said Jamie.
“What is the law about wreckage, Menaida, old man?” asked Scantlebray, also coming to the window.
“The law is plain enough. No one has a right to goods come to land; he who finds may claim salvage—naught else; and any persons taking goods cast ashore, which are not legal wreck, may be punished.”
“And,” said Scantlebray, “what if certain persons give occasion to a ship being wrecked, and then plundering the wreck?”
“There the law is also plain. The invading and robbing of a vessel, either in distress or wrecked, and the putting forth of false lights in order to bring a vessel into danger, are capital felonies.”
Scantlebray went to the table, took up a napkin, twisted it and then flung it round his neck, and hung his head on one side.
“What—this, Menaida, old man?”
Uncle Zachie nodded.
“Come here, Jim, my boy, a word with you outside.” Scantlebray led Jamie into the road. “There’s been a shilling owing you for some time. We had roaring fun about it once. Here it is. Now listen to me. Go to Pentyre, you want to find gold-dust on the shore, don’t you?”
“Yes.”