It was an awful thought. In sudden and uncontrollable anger my cousin had attempted to stab me when we had our unfortunate quarrel aboard the sloop; but this crime was far greater than his former attempt. He had deliberately planned my death.
And if Ham Mayberry, or any of my other friends, took the pains to look at the Wavecrest’s mooring cable, they would know that the sloop had been cut adrift. The evidence lay in both pieces of the cable.
Perhaps, however, it would not be known—it might never be suspected, indeed—that I had been swept out to sea in the sloop. The mere fact that I had left my tender tied to the mooring buoy might not be understood. Beside, the tender might have been cut adrift, too. Or the gale might have done much havoc in Bolderhead Inlet. Other craft could easily have been strewn along the rocky shores, or carried—like the Wavecrest—out into the open sea.
The mystery of my disappearance might never be explained—until I returned home. And when would I get back? I did not like to think of this. I worried over the effect my disappearance would have upon my mother’s mind. And, while I was absent, Mr. Chester Downes would have full swing.
Worried as I was because of my situation, here in the seemingly empty Atlantic, my greatest anxiety was for my mother. More and more had I come to fear the evil machinations of Mr. Chester Downes. While I had been on hand to defend mother from her brother-in-law—and defend her from her own innocent belief in him, as well!—I was but mildly disturbed. If worse came to worse, I could always write to Lawyer Hounsditch whom I believed would never see my mother cheated.
But now—and God only knew for how long a time—it was beyond my power to do a single thing toward guarding my mother from Chester Downes. How I wish I had taken the old attorney of the Darringford Estate into my confidence before this time!
These were some of my sad thoughts following the discovery of the severed cable. I remained in a very, very low state of mind indeed during that forenoon. The gale did not abate; nothing but the boisterous sea and the overcast sky could I see about me. Not even a seabird came to the dead whale. I was alone—stark alone.
At mid-afternoon, however, I sighted something to the southward. I had climbed to the top of the whale for a better observation and against the horizon I beheld a long ribbon of smoke—just a faint streak against the lighter colored clouds. I knew that a steamer was there; but she was far, far away, and would never sight the whale, or my fluttering signal.
I thought of all manner of curious plans to attract attention to my plight from a long distance over the sea. Fire was my main thought. I knew that no vessel—scarcely a mail-carrying steamship—would pass a fire at sea without investigation. Had I been a modern Munchausen I might have found some way of drawing a wick through the whale and setting fire to its blubber!
As it was, had I been likely to run short of burning fluid I surely would have endeavored to “try out” some of the blubber. I knew that, before the day of mineral oil—kerosene—people used whale oil almost altogether for lamps. But I was fortunately well supplied with oil, water and food. I might ward off starvation for a month; but I was not at all sure that I wished to exist so long under the then prevailing conditions.