“Expected to find something easy, of course?  Perhaps it would have been if you fellows in the boat had held your tongues.  By any chance, do you know now who we are?”

He rolled his eyes toward Watkins, and then at Schmitt engaged in some job across the deck.

“Those two used to be on the Namur,” he said, his tone again sullen.  “Are you the fellers who locked us in between decks?”

“We are the ones, Jose.  You were up against fighting men when you came in over our rail.  What is it you see out there, Harwood?”

The seaman, who was standing with hollowed hands shading his eyes, staring forth into the swirling drapery of fog, turned at my call, and pointed excitedly.

“There’s a bark aground yonder, sir; and by God, it looks like the Namur!”

Even as I crossed the deck to his side, eagerly searching the direction indicated, the wreaths of obscuring mist seemed to divide, as though swept apart by some mighty hand, and there in the full glow of the sun, a picture in a frame, lay the wrecked vessel.  Others saw it as I did, and a chorus of voices gave vent to recognition.

“Damned if it ain’t the old hooker!”

“She got what was coming to her all right, mates.”

“Maybe that ain’t hell, bullies!  And she’s lousy with treasure!”

“Come here, Sam!  That’s the last of the Namur.”

CHAPTER XXXII

THE LAST OF THE NAMUR

Even from where we were, looking across that stretch of water, yet obscured by floating patches of mist, the vessel was plainly a total wreck, rapidly pounding to death on a sharp ledge of rock.  Both masts were down, and, lifted as the bow was, it was easy to perceive the deck was in splinters, where falling spars and topmasts had crashed their way through.  She must have struck the ledge at good speed, and with all sail set, for the canvas was overside, with much of the top-hamper, a horrible mess, tossed about in the breakers, broken ends of spars viciously pounding against the ship’s side.  The bows had caught, seemingly jammed in between rocks, the stern sunk deep, with cabin port holes barely above reach of the waves.  It seemed probable that any minute the whole helpless mass might slide backward into the water, and be swept away.  Not a living thing appeared on board, and, as the fog slowly drifted away, my eyes could discern no sign of any boat, no evidence of the crew, along the wide sweep of water.  Little, by little, as the vista widened, and we still remained, watching the miserable wreck as though fascinated, we were able to distinguish the dark line of coast to the westward, and to determine that the unfortunate Namur had struck at the extremity of a headland, whose rocky front had pushed its way far out to sea.  A voice not far distant aroused me.

“What was it you said Jack ’bout treasure on the old hooker?  Hell, if it’s there, why not get it afore it’s too late?”