And on that basis the rank amateurs of Razee proceeded with all the grit
that was in them.
The men of Hue and Cry had plenty of muscle and little wit. They asked
no questions, they did not look forward gioomily to doubtful prospects.
The same philosophy, or lack of it, that had always made life full of
merry hope when their stomachs were filled, taking no thought of the
morrow, animated them now. Fate had given Mayo and his associate an
ideal crew for that parlous job. It was not a question of union hours
and stated wages; they worked all night just as cheerily as they worked
all day.
An epic of the sea was lived there on Razee Reef during the weeks that
followed.
The task which was wrought out would make a story in itself, far beyond
the confines of such a narrative as this must be.
Bitter toil of many days often proved to be a sad mistake, for the men
who wrought there had more courage in endeavor than good understanding
of methods.
Then, after disappointment, hope revived, for further effort avoided the
mistakes that had been so costly.
The brunt of the toil, the duty of being pioneer, fell on Mayo.
He donned a diving-suit and descended into the riven bowels of the wreck
and cleared the way for the others.
On deck they built sections of bulkhead, and he went down and groped in
the murky water, and spiked the braces and set those sections and calked
the spaces between bulkhead and hull.
There were storms that menaced their lighter and drove the little
schooner to sea in a welter of tempest.
There were calms that cheered them with promise of spring.
The schooner was the errand-boy that brought supplies and coal from the
main. But the men who went ashore refused to gossip on the water-front,
and the occasional craft that hove to in the vicinity of Razee were not
allowed to land inquisitive persons on the wreck.
After many weeks the bulkheads were set and the pumps were started.
There were three crews for these pumps, and their clanking never ceased,
day or night. There was less water in the fore part; her bow was propped
high on the ledges. The progress here was encouraging.
Aft, there were disasters. Three times the bulkhead crumpled under the
tremendous pressure of the sea, as soon as the pumps had relieved the
opposing pressure within the hull. Mayo, haggard, unkempt, unshorn, thin
with his vigils, stayed underwater in his diving-dress until he became
the wreck of a man. But at last they built a transverse section that
promised to hold. The pumps began to make gains on the water. As
the flood within was lowered and they could get at the bulkhead more
effectively from the inside, they kept adding to it and strengthening
it.