The attorney and Carew left the court, the former volubly indignant at the miscarriage of justice, the latter moody and thoughtful.
"And now," cried the Hollander, "here we are at the best café in Rotterdam. Come in, and let us wash out the taste of crime with some beer."
They sat down at one of the little round tables, and two tall glasses foaming at the brim were placed before them.
"They have all the English papers here," said the advocate. "I will ask the waiter to bring you one."
Carew looked round the room, and suddenly his face paled, for he saw sitting at a table at some distance off a fellow-countryman, whom he recognised as a tobacconist in Fleet Street, a man who, no doubt, knew Carew's name and profession well, for the solicitor had often made purchases at his shop.
Carew did not lose his presence of mind. The man was reading theTimes, and had, in all probability, not yet observed him.
"Mynheer Hoogendyk," he said, "I am sorry that I must leave you now. I hope you will excuse me. I have an engagement, and in your agreeable company I had forgotten all about it."
"You flatter me, sir," replied the advocate with a bow. "I trust that you will honour me by dining with me to-morrow at eight, your English hour, I believe, for that repast. My wife speaks English well, and will be delighted to see you."
"I accept your invitation with the greatest pleasure, mynheer."
Then they rose to go, and Carew contrived to keep his lively companion between him and the man from Fleet Street as they walked out of the café.
The solicitor felt ill at ease until he had left behind this bright and crowded portion of the city, and was once again in the region of the gloomy and malodorous slums where the yacht was lying.
He saw how necessary it was that he should leave Rotterdam the next day if possible. It was no place for him. His recognition by some one or other must occur sooner or later if he stayed here. So, having dined in a dingy little hostelry on the quay opposite to the yacht, he visited some of the least-frequented streets, and purchased the few necessaries for the cruise which he had not already procured. He cameacross a fisherman on the canal who was willing to sell him a small, clumsy boat which could serve him as dinghy. After some bargaining in pantomime—for neither understood the other's tongue—Carew secured this for the sum of three pounds.
Passing an apothecary's shop, it occurred to him that it would be well to take some of the more necessary medicines with him, seeing that he might be some months at sea without calling at any port. He entered the shop and proceeded to draw up a list of his requirements, to which, as an afterthought, he added some drugs in less common use.
"These last are poisons," said the chemist in broken English. "I cannot supply you with these unless you are a doctor."
Carew, with bold invention, explained that he was the captain of a vessel, and as such was the ship's doctor, and had a right to any drugs he might choose to ask for; and he produced his Admiralty warrant in proof of his statement.
The man was puzzled, perused the warrant without understanding it, and at last, reluctantly waiving his scruples, gave the solicitor all that he required.
His vessel was now completely fitted out; nothing was wanting but a crew, and here a difficulty presented itself. He felt that it was highly important that no one in Rotterdam should know that he was sailing for BuenosAyres, else the report that so small a yacht was about to undertake so long a voyage would spread rapidly, and would soon appear in the English papers. He wished it to be supposed that he was merely taking a few weeks' cruise in Dutch waters.
But then, how would his men take it were he only to divulge his destination to them when they were well out at sea? The probability was that they would refuse to obey his orders, and insist upon returning. Professional sailors are not fond of ocean voyages in tiny craft.
Evidently his only plan was to prowl about the docks that night, select with care three likely-looking men for his purpose,—men without wives or ties of any sort,—bring them on board the yacht, offer them good pay, and at the last moment tell them where he was bound for. Then, if they still consented to accompany him, he would sail away at once, allowing them no opportunity of gossiping with their friends on shore. Willem, he knew, was not the man for him. The honest Dutchman must be discharged at once on some pretext or other.
Carew sat on deck, pipe in mouth, meditating on these matters. He was alone on the yacht, for Willem had gone off on leave for a few hours to visit some of his relatives.
The sun was setting into a bank of rosy vapour that promised a continuance of fine weather. The hot day was closing with asultry eve. On that quiet canal, and on the narrow quay beneath the lofty houses, there was no sound or sign of life. It was almost as if he were in the midst of some dead and long since deserted city.
But of a sudden the peacefulness of that mediæval scene was rudely disturbed. First was heard a confused noise in the distance, as of angry human voices and the trampling of many wooden shoes. Louder, nearer was the sound, and then Carew perceived a man rush out upon the quay from a narrow alley, some hundred yards away, that led towards the principal docks. The man, who seemed frantic with terror, stood still for one brief moment, looked quickly around him, as if uncertain whither to hurry next: whether to plunge into the canal, or run along the quay to left or right.
Then arose a loud yell of many voices behind him, as of hounds that at last have caught a view of the hunted creature; and the man, hearing it, darted off again at full speed along the canal bank in the direction of the yacht.
Immediately afterwards there poured out of the alley a crowd of nearly a hundred men, women, and children, mostly of the lowest orders; denizens of the slums, though some were of a more respectable class; a crowd of Hollanders who had lost all their native phlegm for the nonce; a crowd gesticulating, howling, execrating, thirsting for the blood of the manthey were pursuing; mad and fierce as a mob of Paris in revolutionary days when an aristocrat was scented by the sovereign people.
The wretched man was hatless; his coat and half his shirt had been torn from his back; the blood was trickling down his face from the wounds on his head where the stones that had been hurled at him had hit.
On he came, running wildly before them, his face livid, his mouth open, his teeth set, eyes starting from his head with mortal terror, panting as if his heart must burst, ready to fall with exhaustion, but still hurrying on for his dear life's sake.
When he was close to the yacht his strength failed him; he stretched out his arms wildly, and staggered. With a yell of triumph the cruel crowd was on him. A man struck him over the head with a stick. Then, with one last despairing effort, he threw himself from the quay on to the yacht's deck, and fell a helpless mass at Carew's feet, clutching him by the legs, as if to implore his protection, but unable to speak or move.
His pursuers stood on the quay above, muttering angrily to each other, but hesitated a moment or so before they ventured to board the yacht, each waiting for someone else to lead the way.
Those few moments saved the hunted man.
"Below there!" cried Carew, pointing to the cabin. "Quick, man, or you will be lost."
Seeing that the poor wretch was too exhausted to rise by himself, he seized him by the arm, thrust him down the cabin hatchway, closed the cover over him, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. It was all done in a few seconds, and then the solicitor turned round and stood calmly facing the mob.
The people had not realised at first that Carew was about to rob them of their victim. Now that they did so, a howl of rage burst from them, and some shouted to him, what were evidently commands to give the man up to them, and menaces of what they would do if he refused, though he could not understand the words.
One man began to clamber down to the yacht; but Carew seized his leg and threw him on the quay again, not over-gently. "Silence!" the solicitor called out, leaping back on the hatchway; and the Dutchmen, impressed by the Englishman's resolute bearing, paused and listened to what he had to say.
"Does anyone here understand English?" he asked.
As might be expected from a crowd in a Dutch city, several men cried out, "Yes, Englishman; yes, we know English."
"Then, what is all this disturbance about? Are you all mad?"
"We want dat man," replied a surly voice.
"You can't have him."
"Den ve vill take him."
"Oh, will you?" Carew drew from his pocket Allen's revolver, which he always carried about with him now. "Look you here, my friends; I don't want a row, but if any man tries to come on board my vessel without my permission I will shoot him."
They were awed by the quiet determination of his manner, and felt that he would carry out his words.
"Does you know who you has down dere below?" asked the man who had spoken before.
"I don't know, and I don't care; but he is not going to be murdered by you cowards on board my vessel. If he has committed some crime, call the police. I will deliver him over to them only."
The passions of the mob had now cooled down considerably, and the men began to light their pipes, and looked once more the staid Dutchmen they naturally were.
At this juncture five or six of the sturdy Rotterdam police arrived on the spot, and commenced to disperse the crowd so effectually that in a few minutes not a soul was left on the quay.
One of the policemen, who understood a little English, came on board the yacht and inquired from Carew how the disturbance had commenced.
Carew told him all that had occurred.
"I should like to see the man," said the officer.
They entered the cabin, and there, sitting in the corner of the bunk, trembling, haggard, his face still quite white, save where it was smeared with blood, was the French sailor who had that day been tried for murder on the high seas, and been acquitted.
"I thought so," said the policeman. "It is the accused, Baptiste Liais. His case caused great excitement. The people are very bitter against him, for they all believe he was guilty. He is not safe in Rotterdam. We must find a way of getting him out of the country."
"You can leave him here for the present," said Carew. "I will see that the poor wretch is safe for the night."
"It is very generous of you, sir," exclaimed the astonished policeman; "but I think it is very unwise of you"—
"I am not afraid of him," interrupted Carew, in peremptory tones. "Leave him with me."
The officer shrugged his shoulders. He had always been taught to believe that Englishmen were eccentric creatures; so he went away and told his comrades that the owner of the yacht was a splendid specimen of the mad island race, and Carew and the Frenchman were left alone in the cabin facing one another.
For some few moments Carew sat on the opposite bunk, watching the sailor's face musingly. Then, rising, he addressed him in French. "I will fetch you a glass of rum. It will do you good."
"I thank you much, sir," said the man, in the same language; "I should like it, for I still feel very faint."
He drank a rather large dose of the spirit, and under its influence the colour quickly returned to his cheek, and the scared look left his face.
"You can now go into the forecastle and wash yourself," said Carew. "You will find a jersey and a coat hanging up there; put them on." These had belonged to the drowned sailor, Jim.
When the Frenchman returned to the cabin cleansed of bloodstains and decently clothed, the solicitor was surprised to see what a respectable-looking fellow he was. He might well have been a gentleman from his appearance, and his hands, though brown androughened by work, were small and finely shaped.
"How do you feel now?"
"Thanks to you, sir, I am now quite myself again."
After a pause, Carew said, with a smile, "I never before saw such abject terror in a man's face as there was in yours when you were running down the quay."
"That bloodthirstycanaillewas enough to inspire terror. Ah, if I could but get hold of that man who hit me with the stick! It was horrible, to run down all those streets for life with that yelping pack after me. I had no chance with them, though I am a good runner; for so soon as the brutes wearied and lagged behind, fresh ones joined the crowd at every corner. Ah, monsieur, I think you would have exhibited as much terror yourself."
"Not quite as much, I think," said Carew quietly.
"Perhaps not, monsieur. I am brave enough in some ways—braver, perhaps, than you would be; but I have not that animal contempt for death that my comrade, El Toro, for instance, possesses. Delicate fibres suffer the most."
"Then you are hardly a fit person to be a ringleader of mutineers. Murderers should have no nerves."
Baptiste Liais was a very calm person when he was not in fear, and he had now entirelyrecovered his self-possession. He shrugged his shoulders, and replied carelessly, "There are assassins and assassins, monsieur. There is courage and courage. There is the blind bravery of the soldier, who, shrinking not from bloodshed, risks his life in battle; and there is the cool nerve of the educated man, who, in cold blood, removes with poison those who stand in his way. I suppose you allow that this last is also a species of courage?"
"Is that your sort of courage?"
The Frenchman shook his head in a deprecatory way, and exclaimed, in tones of playful remonstrance, as if he were only rebutting a charge of one of those offences which are tolerated, and even fashionable, "But, monsieur, monsieur! you speak of me as if I had been proved to be an assassin. You forget that I was acquitted."
"You say that you are innocent?"
"Certainly. I am sure that I am a very inoffensive fellow." The man spoke with the quiet ease of one gentleman to another. It was plain that he had been used to decent society at some period of his life.
"Were you never on board theVrouw Elisa?"
"I had never heard of the vessel till they arrested me here."
"And your companions, the two Spaniards?"
"As innocent as I am myself—no more, noless. But I see that you have some of that excellent English tobacco on the table. Permit me to make myself a cigarette."
"You are a cool fellow, Baptiste Liais. I can see that you are a man of education. You were not always a common sailor?"
"Your perception flatters me. You have divined the truth," said the Frenchman, bowing. "I am a gentleman by birth and education. My family is one of the most ancient and respected of the Provençal aristocracy. I need not tell you that the name I now go by is an assumed one. And I—well I, to be candid, am the scapegrace of the family."
He rolled himself up a cigarette, lit it, and, looking up, his eyes met those of Carew in the frankest way possible. And yet the solicitor had no doubt in his own mind that the man had committed the crimes imputed to him; and the Frenchman, on his part, did not imagine for a moment that Carew believed in his innocence.
"I suppose you will now look out for another ship?" the solicitor said.
"How can I do so in Rotterdam? My face is known here. I am execrated—hunted down. No captain would ship me, no crew serve with me."
"Won't your consul assist you?"
"I don't think so," replied the Frenchman drily.
Neither spoke for some time; then Carew said, "I realise your position, and am sorry for you. Now supposing I were to ship you on board my yacht, I imagine that it would be a matter of indifference to you to what part of the world we sailed?"
The Frenchman looked curiously and keenly at Carew out of the corners of his eyes. "I don't care a rap where I go to so long as I get out of this detestable Rotterdam," he replied.
"And your friends—would they come too?"
"Gladly. I will answer for them."
"What sort of men are they?"
"The little one, a Galician from Ferrol, is not at all a bad fellow, and he is an excellent sailor; but the big Basque is a savage brute—one of such is enough on a vessel. However, he can't do much harm by himself, unless he makes the rest of your crew discontented. Are they Englishmen?"
"I am alone. I have discharged my crew; and there would only be you three and myself on board."
"That would be a sufficient number to navigate this little ship. Do you really mean that you wish us to come with you?"
"I do," replied Carew, after a slight hesitation; and the Frenchman eyed him with a not unnatural astonishment.
The solicitor had rapidly surveyed thesituation in all its bearings, and he had decided that it was his wisest and safest plan to engage these ruffians as his crew. Morally weak, acutely fearful of disgrace, and cowardly of conscience as he was, Carew had plenty of physical courage. He was not the least daunted by the idea of venturing across the wide ocean on a small yacht accompanied by these murderers.
Here was a crew ready to sail with him at a moment's notice and ask no questions. He felt that he ran but very little risk, after all; for these ruffians would gain nothing by murdering him. Piracy, in the old sense of the term, is almost impossible in these days. These men by themselves could do nothing with the yacht; they could not take her into any civilised port and dispose of her; neither of them could impersonate an English barrister. The seizure of theVrouw Elisawas a very different matter; for the mutineers then knew that there was a revolutionary party ready to purchase the vessel they had stolen.
Again, he would make them acquainted with the fact that he was taking no money with him on the yacht; and he would promise to pay them, on their arrival at Buenos Ayres, a considerably larger sum than sailors ever receive for such a voyage. Under these circumstances, it could not possibly be to theirinterest to do away with him. On the contrary, it would be to their manifest advantage to serve him faithfully. Unless the men were absolute idiots, they would see all this; and he knew that the Frenchman, at least, was far too intelligent a man to commit a senseless crime that could do him no good.
So argued the solicitor; and there was yet another more subtle motive that urged him to engage these three men in preference to honest sailors—a motive of which he himself was only dimly conscious. When a man has a sentimental objection to being a villain, and yet is one, and has no intention of reforming, he likes his surroundings not to be of a sort to reproach him and remind him of his crimes. It is painful to him to associate with good men. He prefers to be in the company of the bad; in their presence he does not feel the shame of his wickedness. So this man, with his strangely complex mind and conflicting instincts, was glad to take unto himself men worse even than himself as his companions across the ocean.
"And to what port did you say you were sailing?" asked the Frenchman.
"I will not tell you that until we are out at sea."
"Oh, very well," said the man, again casting a keen glance at Carew's face, and smiling, as one who should say, "Have you too yoursecret—have you too committed a crime? If so, there should at once be an agreeable bond of sympathy between us."
"How soon do you sail, sir?" he asked.
"If you are all on board to-night we will sail at daybreak. I am ready for sea. You need not trouble about getting an outfit, for I have plenty of clothes in the yacht for the lot of you." Carew was thinking of the effects of Allen and his man Jim.
"Oh, that is excellent!" cried the Frenchman. "And, excuse me, sir; what pay will you give us?—not that I wish to chaffer with one who has come to my rescue in so generous a manner."
"And I do not wish to stint you," replied Carew. "You, as mate, shall have seven pounds a month; your comrades five pounds a month each."
"That will do very well; but I should like you not to let the others know that I am receiving a higher pay than they. They might be jealous—not to say dangerous," said the cunning fellow. "Ha! what is that?" The Frenchman started, gripped Carew by the arm, and his cheeks again became white with fear.
There was a sound of footsteps on the deck, and the next moment the tub-shaped Willem entered the cabin. When he saw who was sitting opposite to his master he stood stockstill, his jaw dropped, and an expression of extreme astonishment, which amounted to horror, settled on his stupid, honest face.
"What is the matter with you, Willem?" asked Carew, knowing well what was about to happen. "This is the mate I have engaged for the yacht."
"Dat—dat man!" cried the Dutchman, finding his voice with difficulty. "You know who dat man is?"
"I do. He has just left the court-house. He was unjustly accused of murder, and has been found innocent."
"Vat—you take dat man for mate! Oh, den I go—I go at vonce! I not stay on board vid dat man."
The usually stolid Dutchman trembled with excitement, and his broad face was scarlet with indignation. After a few minutes, finding that Carew was obdurate and would insist on engaging the most loathed man in all Rotterdam as mate, Willem rolled up his scanty luggage into a bundle, demanded and received the few guilders that were owing to him, and hurried on shore, grumbling uncouth Dutch oaths to himself as he went.
Then the Frenchman, who had been observing the scene with a cynical smile, laughed bitterly.
"Had I been the fiend himself that fat idiot could not have been much more terrified atthe sight of me. Ah, how they love me—these worthy people of Rotterdam!"
For a moment there was a troubled look upon Carew's face. With his usual inconsistency he half regretted, when it was too late, that honest Willem had left him. It seemed to him that he had now broken the last tie between himself and the world of law-abiding men. He felt a vague sense of something lost to him for ever; as if his guardian angel, despairing of him, had forsaken him. But he quickly shook off the feeling as a foolish fancy, and turned his attention to the business he had on hand.
"Now, Baptiste," he said, "we must find your two comrades. Do you know where they are?"
"I think I can find them. Anticipating a separation, we arranged a rendezvous. But I dare not walk through the streets to look for them; I should be recognised and murdered."
"Nonsense! we will soon disguise you. Shave off your moustache and put on a suit of clothes that I will lend you, and your own mother would not know you."
The Frenchman obeyed these instructions, and was so satisfied with the change effected in his appearance by a hairless lip and a suit of poor Allen's clothes that he no longer hesitated to go forth in search of his two shipmates.
Left alone, Carew pondered, with satisfaction, on his day's doings. All was going on well so far. "Lucky it is for me," he thought, "that there is an Admiralty warrant on the yacht. Provided with that useful document, I sail under the blue ensign of Her Majesty's fleet, and can do pretty well what I like. No authorities in any port will trouble me in the least. I can avoid the formality of taking my crew before the consul to sign articles, and I will dispense with a bill of health from this port. I may get quarantine for a few days in consequence of this last omission; but what is that to the peril of informing our consul here of my destination? And, by the bye, I am engaged to dine with Mynheer Hoogendyk to-morrow. I am afraid I shall keep him waiting, and over the spoiling dinner his cook will lose her temper; for by that time I ought to be well out in the North Sea."
After about an hour's absence the Frenchman returned, accompanied by the two Spaniards. They entered the cabin, the little Galician all smiles, the big Basque awkward, vainly attempting not to scowl; but, do all he could, he still looked the brutal ruffian he was.
"I have been very lucky," said Liais. "I soon found our lost lambs."
"Have you explained my proposal to them?" Carew asked.
"I have, and they are quite content with thepay you offer. They don't care a straw where you take them to, so long as it is not to a Spanish port. It seems that the lads are somewhat weary of their native land, and they tell me that they have some officious acquaintances among the Spanish police whom they would prefer not to meet."
"I understand. I shall not call at any Spanish port; so they may set their minds at ease. And now I will inscribe your names in this book, if you please." He took Allen's diary out of the drawer. "First of all, there is Baptiste Liais, mate."
"No; put me down plain Baptiste. My name is so well known now that I should like to leave half of it out."
"Very well," said Carew, as he wrote. "And who is this big fellow?"
"His name is Juan Silvas. But he, too, would rather be called by any other name, after the unpleasant publicity of the trial. His nickname among us is El Toro—the bull—because of his goggle eyes, his bull-like features and strength, and his blind, bovine rage. Put him down as Juan Toro."
"Good; it is done. And what is the other man's name?"
"José Rodez, known among his intimates as El Chico, or the little one."
"Then, following your system, I will inscribe him as José Chico. Will that do?"
"One name is as good as another," replied the Frenchman; "but oh,mon capitaine, this has been a somewhat trying day for us, and we are all very hungry."
"There is plenty of food on board. I will show you where to find it. Give the lads some supper; then turn in, all of you. The tide is early, and we sail at daybreak."
The next morning, just as the first slight murmuring sound arose from the big city, telling that the giant was awaking to its restless life, the canal lock was opened, and the yacht shot out into the tideway.
Carew, who had taken mental notes of the navigation when sailing up the Maas, refused the assistance of a pilot, and took his vessel safely down the rapid river, across the shoals that encumber the estuary, and out into the open sea. The weather was splendid, and the wind favoured him, as it blew freshly from the south-east.
Then Carew's pulse quickened; a wild exultation thrilled him, as the yacht, leaning well over to the steady wind, all her canvas set, rushed with pleasant sound through the smooth water. At that moment he felt happy, even proud of himself. He was safe at last, free from all anxiety. How Fortune had befriended him! That fatal superstition in luck that comes to the criminal and the gambler possessed him. Whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad.
"Baptiste," he said, "I have heard it is a custom of Spain for the captain of a vessel, as soon as she is well outside the harbour, to call all hands aft and serve round grog, so that they can drink to the prosperity of the voyage. Fetch up some rum, and give each a glass."
The Frenchman obeyed the order. Carew was steering at the time, and the men stood round him, glasses in hand, awaiting the toast. Then the captain raised his glass in his disengaged hand, and called out in French—
"Comrades, here's to a prosperous voyage—to Buenos Ayres!"
When the men heard their destination they seemed dumb with surprise for a moment; then they raised a joyful shout. The prospect was evidently an agreeable one to them.
"To Buenos Ayres," said the Frenchman, bowing to Carew with a knowing smile, "the land where there is no extradition."
It was mid-ocean, and no land was in sight. The glassily smooth surface of the sea was not broken by the faintest ripple, but it rose and fell slowly with the long, rhythmical swell of the Atlantic. Gentle now was the massive heaving of the giant's bosom, showing that he was slumbering only, and that the strong, fierce life was there, ready to be awakened at any moment to its energy of cruel destruction.
Though the swell must have been of considerable height, yet so gentle was the undulation that no motion whatever would have been perceptible to one on the deck of a vessel, unless he had observed how the horizon was withdrawn from his sight at regular intervals by the intervening hills of water, as the vessel softly glided down the easy slopes into the broad valleys between. The wind was quite still. The sky above was clear and of a deeper blue than is known in northern climes; but on the eastern horizon lay a long, low bank of very dark cloud, seeming almost black in contrast to the elsewhere dazzling glare.
The sea, to one looking across it, would have appeared of a beautiful indigo tint; but if one gazed straight down into the water, it seemed opaque in the purple blackness of its profundity, as if the perpetual night that reigned in the mysterious depths below were sending its shadow upwards to the surface. Yet so perfectly translucent was that ink-like water that any bright object, such as a plate, thrown into it would remain distinctly visible as it slowly descended—yes, even till it was so far down that it seemed no larger than a small coin.
The yachtPetrellay becalmed on the tropical sea. All her canvas had been lowered, and she floated idly, while the fierce, vertical sun was blistering the paint on her sides, and the melting pitch oozed from the seams of her decks.
For thirteen days she had been drifting thus on a windless ocean, her crew languid and irritable from the stifling heat, which it is impossible to mitigate on a small craft, waiting for the breeze that never came.
For thirteen days of unbearable calm, broken only by occasional brief squalls, accompanied by torrential downpour of rain, and thunder and lightning of appalling grandeur—squalls which raised the flagging hopes of the men for a space, and to which they hastily hoisted their canvas, that they might be carried out of this dismal tract of the ocean; but after they had been driven on their way a mile or two only,the wind would suddenly drop again, the dark clouds would clear away, and the sun would blaze down fiercer than ever out of the implacable sky.
ThePetrelhad reached the region of the equatorial calms, the sultry Doldrums dreaded by the sailor, that broad belt of sluggish sea that divides the tract of the north-east trade wind from that of the south-east. Here the aërial currents neutralise each other and are at rest—a desolate, rainy ocean that lies under an almost stagnant atmosphere of steaming heat, where vessels have lain becalmed for wearisome week after week; even, in many cases, until the supply of fresh water had been exhausted and the men perished of thirst. And yet to the northward and to the southward the fresh trade winds blow perpetually in one direction, across vast stretches of ever-tossing waves.
The voyage of thePetrelhad been a very prosperous one up to this point. She had met with fair winds for the most part until she reached the limits of the north-east trades, which, blowing right aft, had carried her on her way at the rate of nearly two hundred miles a day. Carew had sighted Madeira and the westernmost islands of the Cape Verde archipelago; but as the yacht was well provided with provisions, he had not called at any port. After having been a little over a month at sea, he had entered the calm region about theequator, and here, as I have said, scarcely any progress was made for a fortnight.
By this time the crew had settled down to the regular routine of ship-life, and Carew was, on the whole, well satisfied with the men. The savagery of the big Basque would occasionally assert itself, and he was ever ready to pick a quarrel with his mates. The only one on board whom El Toro respected and feared was Carew himself; for he felt that the Englishman combined a physical courage, at least equal to his own, with a superior education; and the man who possesses these two qualities can always master a merely brute nature. El Toro did not conceal his contempt for Baptiste, who excelled him in mental ability alone; and again, he could not converse ten minutes with the little Galician without an altercation arising; for the latter, who had all the pluck of his big comrade, was fond of wagging his sharp tongue, and could not refrain from malicious banter, despite the long sheath-knife which was always so ready to the Basque's right hand.
Carew, who had quickly gauged the character of his companions, took El Toro on his own watch, leaving El Chico to the French mate. Thus, as watch and watch was observed in the regular ship fashion—that is, one watch relieving the other every four hours—the cantankerous Basque had but few opportunities of associating with the other men.
But during the fortnight of calm the discipline of the yacht had been relaxed. As there was no need for it, the usual watches had not been set; and, after they had completed the small amount of necessary work each day, the men were allowed to employ the rest of the time much as they liked. A prolonged calm on the line is trying even to the most amiable tempers; so that it is not to be wondered at that, on one occasion, El Toro, being modest as to his own powers of repartee, preferred to reply to a chaffing remark of El Chico's with a practical retort in the shape of a vicious stab, which might easily have diminished the ship's company by one had not the quick-eyed little man, leaping nimbly backwards, escaped with a slight scratch on his arm.
For this offence Carew, knowing his man and how best to punish him, informed the Basque that a fine of a fortnight's pay had been entered against his name in the log-book.
It was nearly midday, and the heat of the still, moist air was intense. The French mate lay reclined under an awning on the after-deck, rolling up cigarette after cigarette, and smoking them with half-shut eyes as he dreamily meditated.
In the bows, under an awning extemporised out of an old sail, were squatting the two Spaniards, playing atmontewith a very dirty pack of cards. Now and then would be heardthe sonorous oaths of the Basque, as he savagely reviled his bad luck, or the triumphant chuckle of El Chico, whom fortune was favouring. These two had been gambling almost incessantly during the calm, for the money they were to receive from Carew on their arrival at Buenos Ayres. The Galician had already succeeded in winning El Toro's pay for many weeks in advance. Neither of the men could read or write, but they kept a tally of their debts of honour—over which there was much wrangling—by cutting notches on a beam in the forecastle.
A few minutes before noon Carew came on deck, sextant in hand, and the mate rose to his feet lazily. Carew's face was now bronzed by the tropical sun, and was fuller than it had been two months back. The haggard expression, the restless anxiety of his eye, had gone. He looked like a man with the easiest of consciences.
He glanced at the two card-players forward. "Have you taken the precaution I ordered?" he asked the mate.
"I have, captain; here they are," and Baptiste produced two formidable knives from his pocket.
Since the incident I have mentioned, Carew had instituted a rule, to the effect that the men should not play at cards or dice unless they had previously delivered their weapons to one of the two officers.
El Chico overheard the mate's reply. "Ah,captain," he cried, "you'll have to hand both knives over to me at the end of this game. I shall have won everything El Toro possesses in the world if my luck holds as it is doing now."
"Caramba!it is too much; a plague on the cards!" cried the Basque furiously, hurling the pack across the deck. "I'll have no more of them. If I have no knife, I have these hands," and he opened them out with a gesture of rage in front of the Galician. "I could circle your little neck with these, and throttle you in half a minute, El Chico."
El Chico said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders with a provoking coolness.
"El Toro, come aft," cried Carew, who had acquired enough Spanish to give his orders in that tongue; "come aft, and set up that mizzen rigging; it's as slack as possible."
The wild beast acknowledged its master and proceeded to obey his orders in a surly fashion, even as Caliban might have reluctantly carried out some behest of the superior intelligence that had enslaved him.
"This calm seems as if it would never end," said Carew to the mate. "It looks black yonder. Another squall, I suppose. Just enough to entice us to hoist our sails, and then to die away again."
"I don't see anything like the trade-wind sky about," said Baptiste, who had sailed the tropical seas before.
Carew took his midday observation of the sun; then, lowering his sextant, called out, "Make it eight bells, Baptiste," and went below to work out his position.
He found that thePetrelhad only travelled five miles in the last twenty-four hours. He was seventy miles north of the equator, and his longitude by dead-reckoning (he had, as has been explained, no chronometer on board) was about 30° west, so that he was distant some five hundred miles from Cape St. Roque, the most easterly point of the New World.
Soon after noon the dark bank of cloud rose rapidly from the horizon and overspread the whole heavens; the rain began to pour down as it only can in these equatorial regions, and a fresh breeze from the south-east cooled the heated atmosphere.
The sails were hoisted, and the yacht ran some two or three miles; then the hopeless calm fell again, and there was not a cloud to be seen in the blue vault above. The sails flapped to and fro with a loud noise as the vessel rolled in the swell which the breeze had left behind it.
"Oh, this accursed calm!" cried Carew impatiently; "down with all your canvas again."
The men obeyed, grumbling at their ill-luck, and then resumed their game ofmonte.
In the afternoon the heat became moreoppressive than ever, and it was impossible to stay below; so all hands remained under the awnings on deck.
The mate, after pondering for some while, said to Carew, "We shall run short of water if this continues much longer."
"I have thought of that. We must serve out a smaller allowance."
"Buenos Ayres is a long way off yet, captain. Would it not be well to put into some Brazilian port for water and vegetables? This heat is very trying on a small vessel like this. We shall have illness on board if we are not careful."
"I do not wish to break the voyage anywhere, unless it is absolutely necessary," Carew replied.
"I know these countries," Baptiste continued; "and there is one very good reason why you should call at some port on the way."
"What is it?"
"You have no bill of health with you. Now in Buenos Ayres the authorities are very afraid of yellow fever, and if you arrive there with no papers to show where you are from, they will take it for granted that you have come from some infected port, and that you have probably lost some hands on the voyage and wish to conceal it. They would, therefore, put you in quarantine for who knows how long. Theymight, under the suspicious circumstances, refuse even to give you pratique at all, and send you off to sea again."
"How will calling at a Brazilian port remedy that?"
"Because in Brazil they are not afraid of yellow fever, as they always have it there. At Rio they won't trouble you at all, and your consul will give you a clean bill of health for Buenos Ayres. Then, being satisfied that you have had no illness on board, the Buenos Ayres people will grant you pratique after, let us say, a quarantine of four days, even if yellow fever were raging at Rio."
"A queer plan to avoid quarantine for Yellow Jack by calling at the headquarters of the fever!" said Carew; "but I see that you are right. I will put into Rio."
After a pause the Frenchman said thoughtfully, "I shall be sorry to leave this vessel, sir. I suppose you still think of selling her in the River Plate. I should like to continue the cruise for another year."
"So should I, but I can't afford it. Yachting is an expensive amusement."
"Oh, I don't know that. A cruise may be made to pay its way even in these days, especially if one carries a warrant from the Admiralty of one's country like you do. The authorities are always civil to one who sails under the Government blue ensign, and nevertrouble him with the tedious formalities the common merchantman is subjected to."
"I don't know what you mean," said Carew. "There is no money to be made now by legitimate trade at sea. Besides, a yacht is not allowed to trade at all."
"I said nothing about legitimate trade," said the Frenchman quietly, as he rolled himself another cigarette.
The eyes of the two men met, and they understood each other.
The mate had never let drop so broad a hint before; but he knew that he was safe in doing so. There had existed for some time a sort of freemasonry of crime between himself and Carew. They had been thrown altogether upon each other's society of late. Both were educated men, and gentlemen by birth; both were shrewd readers of character; and it is so far easier for the bad than for the good man to recognise a kindred nature.
Carew did not exactly entertain a liking for his mate, but he found his companionship far pleasanter than that of any other man could have been. The Frenchman's tolerant way of looking at crime was peculiarly gratifying to the ex-solicitor. It acted as a most soothing salve to his conscience.
He liked to hear the man's cynical talk—the superficial philosophy with which he defended crime as being the least hypocritical way ofobeying nature's law of the struggle for existence. The very presence of this villain seemed to exert a strange, magnetic influence on Carew's pliable soul, lulling it into a fool's paradise.
Such an affinity for evil between two men who are much together will soon destroy any conscience that either of them may happen to possess.
So Carew, having become accustomed to an atmosphere of crime, no longer shrank from the thought of it, and, with an amused smile, replied to the mate's remark, "What piece of villainy are you going to suggest now, Baptiste?"
"I don't think you ought to use that word villainy," protested the Frenchman, with an air of comic indignation. "As a matter of fact, I was not at that moment thinking of any one particular 'piece of villainy,' but vaguely of a great number of feasible schemes I know of for transferring the wickedly-earned riches of others into our own deserving pockets."
"This is highly interesting," said Carew, in a bantering tone. "Explain one of these notable schemes of yours, Baptiste."
But the Frenchman did not reply. He looked round the horizon with a puzzled expression, and, putting his hand to his ear, appeared to be listening intently.
"Hark, captain! What is that?" he cried.
Carew listened, and heard a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder.
"Thunder out of a cloudless sky! That is strange."
"That is no thunder, captain," said Baptiste, with a scared look, "but what it is I know not."
The sound became louder. It did not seem to be approaching from any direction, but to be everywhere—around, below, above—filling all space. Then it swelled to a great roar, as of the rolling of thousands of drums. The air trembled at the sound, and the surface of the sea no longer reflected the blue sky above, but, appearing like a mirror over which one has breathed, vibrated into myriads of wrinkles and gyrating rings. Soon the water began to be greatly disturbed, and raved and foamed about the vessel as if she were floating in a boiling caldron. Then occurred an appalling prodigy. First, louder than loudest thunder, was heard a deafening explosion, and immediately the sea leapt up, not in waves, but in steep pyramids of water, piling itself up in domes, as if somemighty force were thrusting it up from below. The yacht pitched wildly into the confused whirl till she was nigh to break up with the violence of the shocks, and the water poured over her decks in masses, threatening to swamp her. Hollow whirlpools opened out suddenly in front of her, seeking to engulf her: a fearful spectacle to behold, which might make even the bravest men go mad with fright. Then came another explosion, and the superstitious Spaniards, holding on to the rigging for dear life, shrieked with abject terror as they saw the limpid sea suddenly thicken and change its colour to a dark, sulphurous yellow. There was an odour of sulphur in the air, and the sun was shining through a sickly yellow haze.
The crew, who would have done their duty with cool courage in a hurricane, were completely unnerved by this alarming portent. The two men forward thought that the fiend himself had opened hell under them to swallow up their sinful souls; they prayed and blasphemed in turns. The French mate, white to his lips and trembling, clutched the rigging, with his eyes closed. Carew alone, though his cheeks were pale, was calm. Holding on to the bulwark to prevent himself from being thrown overboard by the violent leaping of the yacht, he looked around him with a resolute expression. He would fight bravely for his life, but he had no fear of death.
In the midst of this turmoil a strong wind suddenly arose.
"Hoist the foresail!" he shouted; but none of the terrified men obeyed the order. "Cowardly idiots!" he cried, and scrambling forward as well as he could to the mast, he seized the fore-halyards and set the sail. Then he returned to the tiller, after having been nearly washed overboard by a sea on the way, and steered the vessel dead before the wind.
In ten minutes he had sailed, not without danger, outside the circle of raging water; and looking back he saw that the disturbance had already commenced to subside, and the loud roaring had lessened to a distant moaning.
"Locos!" he cried; "madmen, cowards, hoist the mainsail! Are you women to be so scared by a slightterremoto?"
"I didn't know that there were earthquakes in mid-ocean," said El Toro, who was the first to recover somewhat from his fright. "But, captain, you are a curious one. I knew you feared no man; but,caramba!it seems you don't fear the devil himself."
"Up mainsail," cried Carew again, "and don't jabber, thou great coward! Hurry up. We have a fair wind."
The mate was now himself again. "Aha! theterremotohas brought us luck," he cried. "Look yonder, captain," and he pointed to the east, where the sky had become suddenly coveredwith small fleecy clouds. "I know that sign—that is the trade wind."
They put all sail on the vessel, and were soon bowling along before the ever-freshening wind. They had left behind them the dreary region of the Doldrums, with its stifling heat, and the air above the dancing waves was cool and bracing.
The mate, who was steering, began to chaff his companions. "Say, El Toro, you thought the authorities below had sent for you when you felt that trembling of the sea."
"Trembling?" replied the Basque gruffly. "There was more trembling of thee than of the sea itself, thou white-gilled Frenchman."
"So there was," drawled the sarcastic El Chico. "But let us remember that our mate is a man of education—of soul. His nerves are in harmony with Nature. When Nature is merry he is merry; when Nature trembles; he trembles. But that is poetical sympathy, not fear, my friend El Toro."
And so these three reviled each other's cowardice, until Carew, fearing bloodshed, called out, "Now, then, stop that discussion, or all of you bring me your knives here."
Then this amiable crew smoked and sulked in silence for a while.
Shortly afterwards, Carew was below studying a chart of the South Atlantic. To him came down the mate, who looked over his shoulder and asked, "How far are we now from Rio, sir?"
"About sixteen hundred miles," was the reply. "That means a run of nine or ten days at the outside with this wind."
"You are a man of great nerve," said the mate, filled with a genuine admiration. "I thought the bravest man would have lost his head in that horrid earthquake."
Carew laughed. "Mine was only the courage of science at the best, Baptiste. You see, the phenomenon did not take me by surprise. I half expected something of the sort."
"Indeed!"
"Oh, it is very simple. See here,"—he pointed to the chart,—"read that." The words, "Volcanic region of the Atlantic," were printed across a large tract of ocean in the vicinity of the equator. "Now, if you will turn over the pages of theSouth Atlantic Pilot Directory, you will read that this part of the Atlantic is peculiarly subject to volcanic disturbance; so much so, that mariners are in this book warned on the subject. There are no soundings hereabouts with two thousand fathoms of line, and yet the disturbance is transmitted upwards through all those miles of water; so you can imagine the violent forces that are at work below us. It is rare that a vessel crosses this strange corner of the sea without experiencing some manifestation or other of this nature. Sometimes it may be only a discoloration of the water that is noticed; sometimes a shockis felt as if the vessel had struck a rock, or she shivers till the masts are like to be thrown out of her. It is a region terrible to superstitious sailors; but I believe it is rare that a vessel has sustained any serious damage from these convulsions."
"Even if I had known all that I should have lost my nerve; for, say what you like, captain, our danger was a very real one. Theterremotohas done one good thing, anyhow: it has inspired El Chico and El Toro with an immense respect for your courage. We won't tell them that you were forewarned by the pilot book. You can do what you like with those men after this, Captain Allen. For the future they are your obedient slaves."
The brave trade wind blew without intermission for ten days, and then Carew, being in the latitude of Rio de Janeiro, steered due west for the land, which, according to his dead-reckoning, was not two hundred miles distant. It was night, and the wind having fallen light, the yacht made little progress. At midnight Carew came on deck to relieve the mate.
"Look over there," said Baptiste, pointing across the vessel's bows to the westward. "Those are the lights of Rio."
"What! so soon?" cried Carew; and turning his eyes in the indicated direction he perceived, not indeed the gleam of a lighthouse or otherordinary sign of approaching land, but an appearance as of a stormy dawn. High above the horizon hung masses of clouds whose lower surface was of a faint red, as if they were reflecting some immense conflagration too far away to be yet visible.
"You cannot distinguish any other city in the world from such a distance," said the mate. "When you are one hundred miles—yes, and more than that—away, you can tell the position of Rio de Janeiro by the glare that hangs over it at night. The gaslights there are innumerable. I have heard that it is the best lighted city in the world, and I believe it. At midnight the streets are illuminated as if for a fête; and, what is more, all the roads and paths that lead out into the country and up to the tops of the mountains are better lit than any of the streets in your London. Ah, the capital of the Brazils is a wonderful place!"
As Carew discovered later on, Baptiste had not exaggerated the facts.
At daybreak Carew was still on deck, being anxious to catch a first glimpse of the New World after so many weeks upon the desert seas.
When the sun rose the blue sky was cloudless, but the western horizon was obscured by a white fog, which, Baptiste said, nearly always hovered over this coast at early morning.
Of a sudden the upper portion of the mist lifted, and high above them there appeared,as if floating in mid-air, the summit of a huge mountain. It was of cubical shape, with perpendicular sides of bare, smooth stone, like the altar of some giant race—a marvellous sight to thus burst suddenly upon men who had for so long seen nothing but sky and water.
"That is the Gavia Mountain," cried Baptiste; "it lies to the left of the entrance of the Bay of Rio."
Then the morning breeze came down upon the land, and, as by enchantment, the mist vanished, and all the features of that wonderful coast were revealed to them.
Lofty mountains of the most fantastic forms rose sheer from the sea. Some were great pyramids or peaks of ruddy granite gleaming like molten gold in the sunshine; others, sloping more gently, were covered with great forests of tropical vegetation. Along the whole shore extended a white line of foam, where the Atlantic swell, piled up by the fresh trade winds, perpetually thundered at the base of the cliffs. In places the ravines terminated in beautiful bays, where on beaches of silver sand the cocoa-nut trees waved their rustling branches. The tropical seas wash no lovelier a land than this; and at that moment, with the sun still low in the east, there were a softness and translucency in the gorgeous colouring that gave an unreal and fairy-like aspect to the scene. Close under the conical mountain known asthe Sugar Loaf a gorge opened out, and through this was seen the vast expanse of the Bay of Rio, which the old navigators, in their admiration for its beauty, likened unto the gates of heaven.
The yacht crossed the tumbling waters on the bar, sailed through the majestic gates, and floated on the still, pale green water of the inland sea.
The Bay of Rio is considered to be the fairest of all the harbours of the earth, and one who has seen it can well believe that it is so. Imagine a vast lake, some eighty miles in circumference, surrounded by grand mountains, indented with many winding bays, and studded with islands of all sizes, on whose shores are many towns and villages, chief among which is the empire city of South America, the white Rio de Janeiro. A luxuriant vegetation comes down to the very edge of the water, even up to the streets of the city; the varied foliage of many species of palms, the luscious blades of the bananas, the spreading mangos, and bread-fruit trees giving a cool appearance to the torrid land.
About a mile from the city of Rio, at the entrance of the bay, is the fortified island of Villegagnon. The yacht was sailing close under its shore, the mate steering. Carew was gazing at the grand scenery around him with deep emotion. Under the influence of thislovely nature, his thoughts became tender and pure; his soul was strangely subdued, and his mind sank into a happy reverie, such as good men who feel secure in their innocence are supposed alone to enjoy.
The mate was watching Carew's face; then he said, in a casual manner—
"I know this port pretty well, Mr. Allen, though I have only been here once before; and, by the way, I was sailing then in an English barque. Let me see, what was the captain's name? Captain Grou—no, it was not that—Garou—Carou—oh yes, that was it—Captain Carou."
Carew started visibly and looked steadily into the mate's face, but he could read nothing in those impassive features. "It is but a coincidence," he said to himself. "It is impossible that Baptiste can have discovered my real name. There are many Carews in the world, after all." Nevertheless, the sound of the name he had put away from him for ever disturbed him greatly. He was awakened from his pleasant reverie, and the beautiful scenery had no more delights for him. All the evil things which he had done and had yet to do were unpleasantly brought to his mind. Now that he saw the great city before him, he shrank from the idea of mixing once more with his fellow-men. He wished he were out on the open sea again.
"Baptiste," he said, "I should like to bring up some way from the quays; it will be quieter."
"Certainly, captain. Let us bring up here under Villegagnon; it will be cooler and healthier than farther in. Look yonder at the merchantman anchorage. I see the yellow flag flying from at least a dozen foremasts. The yellow fever is evidently playing mischief at present."
Baptiste had not been unobservant of Carew's start and change of expression at the mention of his name. The wily Frenchman had a game to play: he had put down his first card with a result that satisfied him.
The anchor was let go under Villegagnon and the sails were stowed; then Baptiste, looking around him, happened to perceive a barque anchored about half a mile off. "Ho, El Toro," he cried; "look at that barque. Is she not the very sister to the oldVrouw Elisa?"
"Baptiste," said Carew sternly, "you told me that you had never been on board theVrouw Elisa."
The mate, not in the least disconcerted, laughed, and replied, "That does not prevent my knowing her by sight, surely, Captain Carou—I mean—how stupid of me!—Captain Allen."