Bahama Bill, Mate of the Wrecking Sloop Sea-Horse

by T. Jenkins Hains

Bahama Bill, the wrecker, had reached the yacht and had started to work her seams about three strakes below the water-line. It was his business to drag out the oakum and spread the seam, leaving nothing but a bare thread to keep the water from coming into the hull.

It was an old game, but new to the vicinity and victims. When the vessel filled and sank, which she would surely do if not docked at once, the wreckers would be on hand to claim their salvage. As this would amount to about one-third the value of the yacht, it would be worth while. Even if the marks of bar and hook were discovered, no one, unless an expert in the methods of the reefers, would suspect what had caused the trouble. No one could possibly give any testimony of any value against the wreckers.

They would board her boldly at just the right moment, and, knowing her condition, would have no rivals on hand. Her salvage would ease the pain of the insults they had received at the hands of her owner. He wouldn't drink with them—what? He would wish he had drunk many bottles before they were through with him, the rich bum. Who was he to put on airs to them?

The giant black diver had raked the seam and then swung his weight upon the bar. The two-inch planking of the small vessel gave to his tremendous strength. His head, a foot beneath the surface, kept him out of sight while he worked, but he had to raise it clear every little while to breathe. At these times he turned his eyes upward and tried to pierce the gloom, letting just his nose come out, and drawing breath ready for instant disappearance should any one be looking over the side.

It was desperate work, toiling there in the tideway, and, in spite of his power, he found that he must rest after the first seam had been raked to the bends. He jammed the bar fast in a seam and clung to it, lying at full-length and letting his body float with the current.

The night was quite still and very dark. The bank of cloud in the north told of a heavy wind approaching, the uncomfortable norther which sweeps at periods over the reef during the winter months. The water, however, was always warm; the close proximity of the Gulf Stream kept it near the temperature of eighty all through the year. While he rested, he was aware of a movement in the sea near him, and he sniffed the air uneasily. The smell of a shark was plain in his nostrils.

To lie quietly in the sea at night with a shark in the vicinity was to invite almost certain destruction. To thresh about aimlessly would surely attract attention from the deck above, and bring death in the shape of a rifle-bullet, or, worse yet, a boat, which would catch him before he could gain the Sea-Horse. He left the bar in the Sayonara's side, and, grasping the hook, swam strongly to the bobstay.

Silently the mighty black hauled himself clear of the water, just as a long shadow, darker than the surrounding sea passed beneath him, leaving a long line of fire to mark its passage. He had cleared with about a second to spare. The sea-monster passed on down the tide toward the open ocean, but Bahama Bill waited before slipping back again to his task.

In a short time he worked the next seam; then, taking the thin cotton line he had fast about him as a belt, he unwound it, pulled the last of the calking oakum out, and replaced it quickly with the line the entire length of the destroyed seam, leaving the ends clear to be jerked forth at a moment's notice. It would at once let a stream of water into the hull of the yacht which would test her pumps to their fullest capacity, and where he had worked there was hardly a trace of violence. A few augur-holes would have accomplished the end more readily, but they would remain as telltale evidence. The starting of a seam and butts could not be proven against such careful work.

At the right minute the wreckers would pull the cord, and then it would be—stand by the pumps or run her ashore. All they would have to do now would be to follow her about the reef until she arrived at a spot conveniently far from a tugboat or dry dock, follow her like a shark until, wounded and unable to keep the sea, they would fall upon her the instant her crew and owner would leave her, or call for help.