'Pesar, d'asà no has de pasar.Chocolat, bollet, y got de quinset!'"
And although the glasses they had before them were not of "quinset," since the season for ices had not yet come, all the old women, to show their approval of the philosophy expounded, drank their lemon-water instead with gulps and gapes of satisfaction.TiaPicores, meanwhile, was getting angry at the steadfast balkiness of the two rivals. "Well, now, speak up, numskulls! Haven't you tongues in your heads? You're going to stick to it, I suppose. You think I am talking just to hear myself talk. Well, you're wrong. See here, Rosario, what have you got to say? You're the most to blame. Come now."
The poor little woman sat there with her head still lowered, playing in her embarrassment with the ends of her shawl. She muttered something or other about her husband, and then said slowly: "If she promises ... to keep him away!"
Dolores started like a shot.
"Keep him away! What do you take me for? A scarecrow, to keep people away from the house? That fine husband of yours, I'll have you know, is my husband's brother. You expect me to shut the door in his face and spit fire at him when he comes around? But, after all, what do I care?... I don't want to be quarreling all the time, and be made the talk of half Spain. All those stories about me and Tonet are lies of people who don't know how else to make trouble in a good family.... Tonet went with me before Pascualo and I were married. Well, was it wrong to marry his brother? Bosh! Was I the first to do a thing like that? Well, why else should people talk? No ... all I want is to be let alone, and not be plagued all the time. Keep Tonet away, no. I won't be mean to him. However, if I have seemed to be too intimate, I'll be more careful in the future, even though he's one of the family ... just so people will have no reason to say anything ...!"
TiaPicores beamed. "Now, that's the way to talk! Some heart in that girl after all, come now! Well, Rosario! Are you satisfied at last? There's a good girl! One smack, and bygones are bygones!"
Reluctantly, the women actually pushing the two heads toward each other, the girls kissed, but without rising from their chairs.TiaPicores, in the full flush of triumph, could not work her tongue fast enough. "The idea of two women fighting over a man, as if there were only one in the world! And that's just what the rascals want you to do, sillies. Every time you quarrel over a man his stock goes up, and he thinks he's got so much more hold on you. No, indeed, women have got to stand their ground, good and hard, the way I did. My husband? Why, if he ever went on a rampage, I brought him to order mighty quick, I did; and the first thing he knew he was for asking my pardon. Was there ever a man in the world worth getting jealous over? Not much! Why worry then? Do you ever know where your man is when he is away from home? Of course, you don't. Just take it for granted he is up to mischief, and then forget about it. The less you fret about them, the better they like you. I led my man a song and dance, I can tell you. 'What are you doing in my bed! No, sir, where you spent the summer you can spend the winter!' And out he'd go, in a hurry. No 'dear this,' and 'dear that,' with my man! And he followed me around like a dog. That's the way to keep them tamed!"
Dolores, reserved and on her dignity, kept biting her lip as though she were trying to repress a laugh that was tickling at her palate. Rosario did not agree withtiaPicores. No, she lived with her husband like a good wife, and she had a right to expect him to do as well by her. She didn't like quarreling and lying all the time. But the old woman did not let her talk. "All nonsense! Nonsense! Good wife, good husband! Such rot makes me sick! You've got to take men as God made them, haven't you, girls?" And the "girls" assented with approving nods of their aged heads. "Count the men, and you'll get the number of dogs there are in the world! Kick them, and they eat out of your hand! But if you want to keep your husband faithful to you, it's very easy. Just tie him to the foot of your bed, with your petticoat, and never let him out of the house.... So much for men!"
The teamster several times had looked in at the door. "What do you old hens think this wagon is, your private coach?" "What's the matter with you, codfish? What are you paid for?" roared the gentletiaPicores. But on seeing that her comrades were drawing out their "purses," she extended her brown arm over the table majestically. "Put those bags back where they belong! This is all mine, all mine! I'm celebrating to-day. We've put some sense into these girls' heads!" And lifting her skirt and petticoat, she unhooked her own bag from a belt she wore next to her skin. From it came a pair of scissors she used in opening fish with heavy scales; then a knife that was rusty with grime; finally a handful of coppers which she threw down on the table. She sat for some moments counting the sticky money over and over again. Then leaving a pile of coins on the bare marble, she went out of the shop to join her companions, who were already in the cart.
Rosario, carrying her empty baskets, was out on the sidewalk with Dolores. The two girls were looking at each other and did not know what to say.
"Come along with us, Rosario,"tiaPicores suggested. "We'll be a bit crowded, but we can get you home."
The girl refused, however. "Good-by, Rosario," said Dolores, smiling graciously. "You know, we are friends now." And she climbed in after her aunt. The wagon creaked under these two solid additions to its burden, but finally drove off with a music of squeaking joints and loose wheels. Rosario stood looking after it as if she were awakening from a dream. Could it all be true? Had she really made friends again with that hateful thing?
THE SMUGGLERS
It was deep night; but the beacon on the Cabo de San Antonio, winking with a blinding glare like the eye of a Cyclops, broke the foam curling under theGarbosa'sbow into spangles of colored radiance and sent a seething, restless, dancing pathway of fire out over the troubled waters. The adventurers were sailing close in shore before a faint land breeze. To starboard lowered the gigantic battlements of the Point, precipitous, weather-beaten, blackened by storm and sea. Inland against the starlit sky the somber Mongó reared its lofty head.
It had taken a whole day to cross the Gulf of Valencia; but now beyond the Cape the fair road to Algiers was opening, and theGarbosawould soon be out on the deep sea. Astern at the tiller, his eye studying the black outline of the promontory and checking up his bearings on the murky glass face of an old compass oftioMariano's, sat the Rector, anxiously consulting Tonet, the experienced hand on board, the only member of the crew who had been "across the way."
"Easy as could be. The Cape, and then Southeast, Southeast, without swerving. Set her right, and she'll get there by herself, if this wind holds!"
The Rector gave a pull at the tiller with both hands. TheGarbosa, groaning like an invalid turning over in bed, swung around to the course. The gentle swell that had been roiling her slightly from abeam she now caught full under the bow, and she began to pitch, setting the foam aboil. The light now came from dead astern, dousing its white sweep in the rippling wake of the vessel.
"And now for a bit of sleep!" Tonet stretched out on a coil of line at the foot of the mast and pulled a piece of canvas over him. His brother would steer till midnight, when it would be his turn till dawn.
The Rector was now the only one awake on board theGarbosa. The thrashing of the water forward was not loud enough to drown the snores from the crew sleeping almost at his feet. For the first time in his life, Pascualo was uneasy. He could draw a seine in a full gale. He had never thought once of danger in the worst of weather. But now, in his loneliness, he was filled with all manner of forebodings. How was this venture going to turn out? What a responsibility to be in charge of one's own enterprise! Would the old hulk hold together if a storm struck her? Supposing they were caught on the way back with a full load! And he sat on, listening to the agonized moans that came from theGarbosa'sjoints, as she took the seas, or looking up at the throats of the giant bellying canvas which, as it swayed to and fro, seemed to be scraping the sky with the point of the mast.
But the night wore on uneventfully, and the dawn came, with a flock of red clouds, and as hot as a mid-summer's morning. The sail now kept flapping like the wing of a great bird in lazy flight. The wind was coming in barely perceptible gusts that tickled the surface of the burnished, prostrate sea, as blue as a Venetian mirror. The mainland was completely down. Away off to port some pink blotches, hardly distinguishable from the mist of sunrise, vaguely dimmed the horizon line. "That's Ibiza off there!" Tonet called to his companions. Slowly theGarbosacrept along over the tranquil, circular immensity, beyond whose rim black lines could occasionally be seen—the smoke of distant steamers. A bare ripple under the vessel's bows marked her virtual immobility. The sail hung lifeless from the mast, sweeping back over the deck at times as a capricious zephyr headed the course. Looking down over the sides, the eye plunged deep into the blue waters, where the sky, the clouds and the boat were mirrored in bottomless mystery. Schools of fish darted by underneath, shining like bits of tin. Dolphins were playing about on the surface close at hand, showing their absurd muzzles and their black sides sprinkled with diamond dust. Flying fish, the butterflies of the sea, came up, flitted along for a distance, and then sank again into the depths. Strange beings of fantastic shapes and indescribable colors, some gayly striped like tigers, others in mournful black, some huge and chubby, others small and wiry, some with cavernous mouths and tiny bellies, others with enormous bodies and ridiculous little snouts, swarmed around the old boat, as though theGarbosawere one of those mythological craft that used to lead processionals of marine divinities.
Tonet and the two sailors were taking advantage of the calm to fish with hand lines. The "cat" was busy forward with the midday meal. The Rector was pacing the narrow deck astern, scanning the horizon and swearing for wind. TheGarbosawas eating her way slowly along, but to all appearances she might have been nailed to the surface of that placid sea. Now, in the distance, a schooner was visible, caught in the calm, her sails sagging, east-bound, for Malta or Suez, probably. Great steamers occasionally slipped past along the horizon line, their funnels smoking, their decks almost level with the water from the loads of Russian wheat they were carrying from the Black Sea to the Straits.
And the sun rose high in the heavens. The waters shone with a dazzling glare as though boiling from an infinite conflagration. The decks of theGarbosagrew hot, and her old timbers cracked stridently as they shrank. Captain and crew ate dinner under the shade of the sail, scooping with their spoons in the same spot, drinking deep draughts from the wine jug to cool their parched throats, their shirts open in front, sweating in streams, panting from the lifeless sultry calm, enviously watching the gulls that sailed by just above the water, as though afraid of the stifling muggy air on high. After their meal, the men walked about on deck for a time, lazily, and with heavy eyes, drunk with sunlight rather than with wine; then they went below, one after the other, throwing themselves flat on boards that were wet with bilge-water, and sagged under the slightest weight. So the afternoon, and another night went by.
At dawn the wind freshened, and theGarbosa, like an old war-horse touched with the spur, leapt forward, careering and dancing over the ruffled waters. About noon clouds of smoke began to rise along the horizon ahead, and gradually from the girdling sash of green sky, thick steel masts with battletops, the towers of forts, it seemed, came into view, and under them, floating castles painted white, spotted black with thousands of men, going this way and that through their own smoke, now forming in squares, now stringing out along the whole horizon—a flock of Leviathans, churning the water with invisible fins.
Algiers could not be far away! That was the French Mediterranean squadron, out for practice. God, what big boats people were making nowadays! The smallest of those monsters, the white cruiser, with all those flags and black balls, that kept going in and out among the other ships, signaling and directing the evolutions, would only have to graze theGarbosato reduce her to kindling wood! And those black pipes sticking out of the turrets! One sneeze from those snouts, and it would be all day with the Rector's outfit and part of to-morrow! The smugglers studied the fleet with the uneasy respect a pickpocket has for a squad of policemen marching by.
About three o'clock, a dark irregularity, something like the arched back of a whale, rose on the horizon ahead! Land! And Tonet, who remembered having seen it before, called it theCabo de la Mala Dona, the farthest outpost of the coast. Algiers was more to port! The breeze was freshening every moment. The swelling lateen sail, as the boat heeled, described a saucy curve on the tilted mast The prow went merrily up and down, throwing a lively spray from the chop. TheGarbosa, old horse, was smelling her oats, and bolting along the last lap to the stable, though every bone in her strained!
They were heading East-Southeast now; and by evening-fall, on the flanks of theMala Dona, indistinct still in the haze to starboard, could nevertheless be seen the rolling tops of hills, and white blotches that meant villages. Then, as the boat continued its rapid flight, these faded from view, but the coast itself was up, ahead. TheGarbosahugged the shore. With night, the saw-toothed crest of a ridge of mountains, climbed up against the sky; and the wind veered to southward, blowing off the land, warm, and fragrant with the perfume of an enchanted country. Low in the west hung the new moon, a real Oriental crescent, fine drawn with curving points—just as you saw it embroidered on the standards of the Prophet, or shining from the weathervanes of Mahometan minarets! That was what you called being in Africa! The beat of the surf was audible from theGarbosa'sdecks, and even calls from Moors ashore there in the fields. Clusters of lights could be made out along the coast—towns off there! Then, the sky above the end of the mountain chain to the Eastward began to grow ruddy; the sea broke inland in a capricious curve; and soon many, many lights began to glow. Algiers!
In three hours they were in the roadstead. Now there were lights, of varied grouping and intensity, everywhere, hundreds of them, winding along in a serpentine course to mark a seashore boulevard. TheGarbosa, luffing slightly, shot round a promontory, and the city itself, in all the splendor of a Levantine port, was before them.Cristo, never mindflor de mayoandalguilla! It was worth the trip to see just that! And folks bragged about the harbor at the Grao! The humble fishermen stood there mouths agape; with the exception of Tonet, of course, who had seen many better things in his trip around the world! The water of the great bay was absolutely calm. A red and green beacon marked the entrance to the basin. The city climbed a hill in the background, the houses shining white even in the dark, from the millions of lights that suggested a festival. What a waste of gas! Long snaky stripes of color came out over the surface of the water, flecked here with the harbor lights of a merchant vessel, there with the distinguishing marks of a man-o'-war. Off in this direction was the European city—the brightest section, the restaurants and bazaars all lighted up, while the black ant-like forms of people, and the canvas-tops of swiftly moving vehicles, could be seen on the streets. And what a strange mixture of sounds! Music from the cafés, trumpet calls from the barracks, talking and shouting from the boulevards, cries from boatmen on the water—the blended murmurings of a cosmopolitan city of trade, cheating all day long for the money it wastes in pleasure after sundown.
The Rector could not indulge in the ecstasies of wonderment too long. His mind went back to business. The men of the crew were gathering in the sail preparatory to lying to. Faithful totioMariano's instructions, Pascualo took a piece of tarred cable, set fire to it, and began to describe circles above his head, in series of threes, marked off by hiding the torch behind a piece of canvas which the "cat" held up in front of it. The signal was repeated many many times, the Rector meanwhile gazing steadily at the darkest part of the water-front. Tonet and the others stood around watching the operations curiously. Finally a red lantern gleamed on shore. The "market" had understood the message. They would soon be off with the cargo.
The Rector explained the fine points of all this signaling. It wasn't wise to take on a load inside the basin.TioMariano knew, from experience, that detectives were always on the watch there, ready to telegraph the name and description of any boat likely to be smuggling. These spies got a percentage on the profits of the confiscation. It was better to load up outside, and at night. By morning they would be off again, with absolutely no one the wiser. Then they could make Valencia without any trouble at all. For, who the devil would ever guess, at home, what they had on board? And the good-natured fisherman laughed at his own shrewdness, though, inside, he rather admired the wily uncle who had given him all this good advice.
And the Rector waited, his eyes anxiously fixed on the water in the direction from which the red light had shone. Tonet and the two sailors were sitting on the bow, their legs dangling over the water. They were hungrily studying the brilliantly lighted town. Rosario's husband had been stationed at Algiers once, and he had all sorts of stories to tell about his gay escapades about the city. He could even point the places out from the lights in front of them. They could actually hear the music from one of the cafés, where he had had such a time, such a time! The "cat" opened his mouth from ear to ear, and his eyes gleamed excitedly. He could almost see the wonderful dancing girl the great man was describing. That long straight avenue there, leading from the pier—all arches, and a light under each one, so that it looked like the nave of a church with candles—was theBoulevard de la République, where the really swell places were. Only officers from the navy went there—absinthe, mostly—with rich Moors—you ought to see the big turbans they wore—and Jew merchants, with silk tunics, dirty usually, but of fine colors. The streets leading off it also had arches and pretty shops. Over there was thePlaza del Caballowhere the principal mosque was—a big white building—and a lot of those Moor lunatics went there, all washed and barefoot, to pay respects to that fake of a Mahomet. You could even see the little tower of the place from the boat. Well, at certain times of the day, a fellow in a turban got up there and waved his arms and shouted like a crazy man. Andmadames, all along, well dressed, and waddling in little steps like ducks, with amersÃfor every compliment you dropped them! And soldiers, with date-palm hats, and trousers big enough for a whole family to get inside them; and lots of fine fellows from every country, who had gone there to get away from the police! A drinking place every two doors, with tables out on the sidewalks, and absinthe in big glassfuls!
Tonet had seen it all himself, and described everything with gestures or grimaces that vividly pictured each episode and kept his companions laughing noisily. And up there was the Moorish city. They remembered that alley just off the market at the Grao where you brushed the wall on each side with your elbows? Well, that was a mile wide compared to the holes those Moors crawled through, always uphill, the eaves coming almost together overhead, and a stream of slop running down over the steps in the pavement. You needed to have plenty of liquor aboard and your nostrils plugged before you walked in front of the shops up there, rotten filthy dens where those dark-skinned devils squatted smoking in the doorways, muttering God knows what in that lingo of theirs. But you could live like a king with those people, yes, sir, and for very little, provided of course you didn't mind seeing people eat with their fingers after rubbing them in the dirt! You got a whole meal for a couple of cents, a pair of red painted eggs like you saw at home at Easter, and tea in cups the size of egg-shells,—and you could go to sleep if you wanted to, on the couch of some Moorish café there, to the sound of a flute and the banging of tambourines.
And then the women! Little Moor girls, their cheeks all painted up, their finger-nails stained blue, and queer tattooing on their breasts and backs; and then black ones who worked asmasseusesin the baths; and the ladies, finally, with veils over their faces till all you could see was their nose and one eye, stumbling along in big fluffy trousers, wearing gold-cloth vests under their shawls, their arms like the show-window of a jewelry store, and all sorts of medals, coins, and half-moons, on their bosoms. "And what eyes! You never saw anything like it, boys! And the shapes they have. I remember once I ran into a big black one—rich, I guess—in a street in the upper part of town. Well, you know how I am—I simply couldn't help it! I just gave her a little pinch from behind. Well, sir, that woman squealed like a sick rat, and now from this direction and now from that a lot of big ugly devils came running with clubs the size of your arm. There was a fellow with me, and we took out our knives and held the gang off till the zouaves came. They put us in the coop for a couple of days, and then the consul got us out. You see," Tonet concluded, looking at his feet with an expression of weariness, "in those days I was rather wild!" But his companions were much impressed with the superiority of a man who had done all that. And they liked the story of the black girl best of all.
The Rector, who was still astern, gave a sudden cry. Some one from shore was coming aboard. And in fact a red light could be seen drawing nearer, and a curious chugging was audible, as if a dog were splashing his way toward the boat. It was the launch from the "market." A fine looking young man with a blond mustache and wearing a blue coat climbed up on deck. In thelingua francaof the African ports, a mixture of Italian, French, Greek and Catalan, he explained just what the situation was. He had received the letter ofmosiúMariano of Valencia, and had been expecting them the night before. He had understood their signal and brought the goods right off; for, even if the French usually winked at such things, it was just as well not to waste any time in getting through.
"All ready, boys," the Rector shouted to his men. "Load her on!"
The launch was piled high with bales, till barely a foot of smokestack was visible over the top. But one by one the heavy bundles began to come aboard, sewed up in waterproof burlap and exhaling a teasing fragrance. The two craft were lashed together so that the transfer was not difficult. As the packages vanished through the hatches of theGarbosa, the old boat got lower and lower in the water, groaning and creaking, meanwhile, like a long-suffering donkey complaining of its load.
The blond Algerian kept looking the vessel over, and his astonishment grew apace. Were they going to put to sea in a trap like that, loaded way down to the water line? The Rector replied with several knocks on his own strong breast to evidence an assurance that he really did not feel. Put it all on, put it all on! The way he figured, with the help of God and the Holy Christ of the Grao, every last bale would be on the shore at the Cabañal within forty-eight hours. The hold was soon full up. The remaining bundles were stowed on the old creaking deck, lashed down and propped with planks so as not to wash overboard. "Well, good luck, captain!" said the young man from the launch, and he shook the Rector's hand warmly.
The vessels were pushed apart, and the launch ran off. TheGarbosaspread her sail again, and catching the wind, came around. The lights of Algiers began now to come from the left, and soon they were fading visibly in the distance. Once under way again, the Rector felt a gripe at his heart. Heaven help them, and not send a storm! Fine weather now! But still it was a miracle the old sieve got along at all. Amidships the deck was almost level with the water, and the boat seemed down by the head, and did not take the sea well. Though there was scarcely any chop, the waves came over, forward, as though a storm were running. Tonet, however, with nothing in particular to lose on the venture, made fun of the old-tub—a torpedo-boat he called her, she sat so low in the water!
At dawn theMala Donawas just visible, as an indistinct silhouette, over the stern, and an hour later they were fairly to sea. Out on the Mediterranean once more, the Rector could hardly believe the cargo he had taken aboard so rapidly during the night could be real. But there the bales were! You could see them! The men, quite played out from the hard work of loading, were sleeping on them. Besides the oldGarbosawas crawling along like a mud-turtle from such a burden! But Pascualo liked the look of the weather. A smooth sea and a good breeze! If things held like that, the ramshackle old girl might last to Valencia—but no farther. It wasn't exactly fear. The Rector realized now the imprudence of starting an important venture in a rig like that. His poor old father had made fun of the sea, as he had; but that had not prevented him from being tossed out on the beach one day like a chunk of rotting garbage! But all that day and the following night the breeze continued fair and the sea calm.
But the morning dawned with a sky that was overcast, and the wind came hard in streaks and squalls that were gradually piling up a sea. The Cabo de San Antonio had just come into view, with the mists curling round it. Behind, the peak of the Mongó alone was visible, for the base of the mountain was cloaked in cloud. TheGarbosawas running with an alarming list to starboard, its bulging sail almost dipping into the water, as the vessel raced along. The frown of the weather was not at all to the liking of the captain, who, if he wanted to get his load ashore, would not be able to run in till nightfall anyhow.
Suddenly the Rector jumped to his feet and let the tiller go.Futro!There was no doubt about it. A sail had heaved in view out of the mists around the Cape. He knew that craft well. It was the cutter from Valencia on watch off the point. Some one had squealed at the Cabañal! The real object of theGarbosahad been not fishing, but something else! Tonet had also recognized the boat, and he looked at his brother anxiously.
There was still time! Out to sea with her! TheGarbosaswung round a little, heading Northeast, away from the Cape. The maneuver was all in her favor, as she now got the wind fairly over the stern quarter, and was eating into the sea like anything, taking every wave aboard over the bow. The cutter was surely after them, for she too came about and followed. A better and a lighter boat with more speed in her! But the Rector saw that the distance between them was considerable. He had a good start. He would run, run, run, damn it, clear to Marseilles if necessary—provided, that is, the old band-box didn't sink, cargo, crew, and all.
At noon theGarbosahad held her own. By that time they must surely have been as far up as Valencia. Suddenly the cutter changed her course, and turned shoreward, abandoning the chase. The sly devils! The Rector understood what they were up to. The weather had an ugly look. The cutter preferred to loaf along the coast, sure that sooner or later theGarbosawould try to get back home and land her booty.
"We'll go them one better," the Rector exclaimed, drawing a deep breath of relief. "We've got to find a place to crawl into, boys! We can't stay another night at sea in a mess of a boat like this. Off for the Columbretas! There's always a place there for an honest free-trader!"
At nine o'clock that night, taking her course from a lighthouse, and groaning and cracking as she bucked into a nasty sea, theGarbosashot into the Big Columbreta, an extinct volcanic crater, caved in, on one side, leaving a half-circle of steep, wave-eaten cliffs, within which the water is calm, unless the storm happens to be coming from the East. This island, uninhabited save by the keepers of the lighthouse, has not a trace of beach. The abrupt, precipitous walls of lava are too bare to feed a tree, so hot is the sun in summer, so heavy is the air with salt. At their base are piles of pebbles that the storm-surf has rolled on high, with a mixture of flotsam and jetsam and dead fish. Scattered around the larger islet lie the Little Columbretas,—the Foradada, piercing the surface of the water like the arch of a submarine temple, and a cluster of barren rocks, bald, sheer-faced, unapproachable, like the fingers of some prehistoric colossus buried there in the depths.
TheGarbosacame to anchor in the pool. No one seemed to notice her presence. The lighthouse people were accustomed to these visits of mysterious craft, which, for that matter, came to this solitary archipelago just because they did not want to be noticed. The sailors could see the lights in the buildings on shore and hear voices even, but they paid no more attention to them than to the gulls that darted rapidly by overhead on the blasts of the gale, wailing like infants in agony. Outside, and on the windward shore of the island, the sea was snarling angrily. As the waves rolled by the promontory they sent great smooth undulations back into the calm of the bay.
As soon as it was light, Pascualo went ashore, and up over a winding trail he found, he climbed the cliffs, to study the looks of things between the islet and the mainland, which still lay invisible in the storm. Not a sail in sight! But that did not reassure the Rector. The Columbretas were notorious as a refuge for smugglers in bad weather. He was sure his pursuers would follow him there. At the same time he was afraid to put to sea again in that leaky boat. Not afraid to die, but how about that load of tobacco, and the money he had put into it! Yes, but stay there, and have the government get it? Not much! To sea, then, even if the whole thing went to the bottom for the sharks to smoke! No coast guard was ever going to brag about getting rich on him!
After the meal at noon time, theGarbosaspread her sail, and left the sheltered anchorage as mysteriously as she had come. She said not even good-by to the lighthouse people who came out on the platform in front of the beacon to see her off.Diós, what a wind! First a slap here and then a slap there! TheGarbosaalmost stood on her stern end as she was lifted by the first wave, outside; but she staggered free and shoved her nose into the green of the trough that followed, as though she were headed for the depths through one of those gigantic eddies that blinked like treacherous eyes of the abyss. Then, crash! The next comber came full aboard, the water churning into a white roar or atomized in spray, and sweeping aft in cascades over the bales of tobacco, while the crew, soaked to the skin, held on for dear life. Tonet grew pale, and clenched his teeth. He didn't mind bad weather in the right boat; but it was fool business leaving shelter in that God-forsaken punt. But the Rector, pot-bellied numskull that he was, would not listen to reason! The driveling idiot seemed to grow fat on getting people into trouble! And in fact, Pascualo's moon-face was glowing in the excitement of this battle with the sea. At every buffet of the waves he smiled, a purple flush suffusing his features, as though he were rising from a holiday meal. His arms seemed part and parcel of the heavy tiller, and his legs might just as well have been nailed to the deck. As the oldGarbosaleapt and lunged, shrieking in every seam from stem to stern as though in panic-stricken agony, the Rector's spherical corpulence scarcely moved at all.
"What's the matter with you fellows?" And he would laugh with the loud bellow with which he applauded funny stories ashore—as soon as he saw the point in them. "Scared?Diós, why don't you wait till we get a breeze? Hardly enough air out this afternoon to catch your breath! Here she comes, here she comes! Brrrmm! Never touched the old girl! If that fellow had gotten us, good-night and good-morning! Anyhow, in the other world every day is Sunday, the parson says! Die young, and the lobsters eat you; die old, and it's the worms! What's the difference! Me for a short life and a gay one! And if need be, we can swim for it. Hey there, here she comes! Brrrrum! Tra, la, la! Missed again!..."
And the Rector talked on, expounding the sailor's philosophy of life he had learned offshore undertioBorrasca. But no one listened, except the "cat," who was on his first voyage, and stood clinging, palish-green with fright, to the mast, but with eyes and ears, nevertheless, for everything.
Night fell. TheGarbosawas hanging on under a close-reefed sail, driving head foremost into the pitchy dark. The lanterns had not been lighted, for the risk of being seen was worse, almost, than the danger of a collision. About nine o'clock, the Rector gave a frantic pull at the rudder. A light had appeared in the mist, close by off the port bow. It was a boat beating down in the opposite direction. Pascualo could not make out the lines of the craft as she sped past; but he knew it was the cutter, which had tired of loafing off the Cabañal, and was boldly running for the Columbretas to catch the smugglers in their refuge before the storm cleared. For the first time since leaving the pool that afternoon, the Rector let go the tiller for a second. "This, for a pleasant night!" laughed he, making a coarse but expressive gesture of contempt towards his vanishing enemy.
At one o'clock another light came up ahead. Rosario! Rosario! That's the beacon on the Church! Square off the Cabañal! And just the time to make a landing! But would the folks at home be on hand?
The Rector headed inshore, but then his astonishing good humor gave way to a thoughtful mood. He knew what that coast was like. If he tried to lie to in that blow, it would be all over in two hours. They would smash up, either on the Breakwater or on the bars in front of Nazaret. To run offshore was out of the question. TheGarbosawas getting loggier and loggier every moment. The water was already way up in the hold. She would break to pieces in the sea before morning. There was no other way out of it. Ashore she must go, and trust to luck! Driving as much before the breakers as before the gale, the vessel held straight on toward the beach still shrouded in gloom. Suddenly another light! And it flashed three times, and went out. Then, three times again! Tonet joined the Rector in a cry of joy.TioMariano was on watch ashore. It was the signal agreed upon. He had scratched three matches under cover of a shawl, which kept the light from being seen except from the sea.
It looked like madness, but the Rector had the reef cut out of the sail. TheGarbosaspurted like a race-horse, showing her keel, as she lunged through the waves, now forward and now astern. The boom of the surf ahead could now be heard above the howl of the gale. Finally, from the top of a comber, the beach came into view, the black profiles of the houses standing out against the sky. Then a sharp, snapping, crunching crash! The boat stopped short, grinding and groaning as though her timbers were being torn asunder. The wind caught the sail and the mast went overboard. A huge breaker burst over the stern, washing the men off their feet, and loosening the bales from their fastenings. TheGarbosahad struck bottom, but only a few yards from dry land. Out through the surf a swarm of dark figures streamed, splashing into the water and rushing at the boat. Men climbed up on board, and without saying a word to the Rector and his crew, who stood there still speechless from the shock, they began to pick up the bundles and pass them on from hand to hand.
"Tio, tio!" the Rector called, finally recovering his wits, and leaping into the water, which hardly passed his belt.
"Here I am," came the answer from the dark. "But shut up, for God's sake, and get to work!"
And it was a strange weird spectacle, indeed. Darkness, everywhere, and a sea bellowing in the gloom, the reeds and shore-grass bent low under the gale, the breakers tumbling in as though bent on swallowing up the land, while a legion of dark-skinned men, with their clothes off, tugged at great bales in the hold of the vessel that was rapidly going to pieces, or fished them out from the foaming waters and dragged them up on the beach, where they disappeared mysteriously, while, in the intervals between gusts of wind, the sound of creaking wagon wheels could be heard.
TioMariano was walking about from one point to another in his long-legged boots, calling off sharp, imperious orders, and flourishing a revolver in his hand. There was no danger from the revenue men. The guards had all been "greased," and were watching to give the alarm if their chief arrived. The gun was for those silent workmen handling the bales, a light-fingered crew, faithful disciples of the doctrine that to steal from a thief is a virtue. But none of them would sneak anything away in the confusion! By God, the first man who tried any tricks would get something!
By the time the Rector had recovered his composure after that nerve-racking day and that terrible landing through the surf, and after he had stopped nursing the bruises received from a fall as the vessel struck, the last wagon was driving off; and the long-shoremen had vanished silently in all directions, as though the beach had eaten them alive. Not a bundle had been lost. Even those caught in the hold of theGarbosahad been pried loose from the crushed timbers, now sunk deep in the sand. Tonet and the two sailors had salvaged the sail, and the few things of value left aboard, and were carrying their load off up the beach. The "cat," meanwhile, who had been washed overboard by the great wave that first swept the boat, had been revived.
"Oh,tio!" the Rector exclaimed, when at last he was alone with his uncle. "I can say that now, can't I! It was a tough job, but we pulled it off, didn't we? The Christ of the Grao stood by us fine! We'll figure up accounts by and by, eh? Now I'm going home to Dolores. And won't she be glad to see me!"
And the pair walked off toward the distant village with scarcely a glance at the poor vessel. The oldGarbosalay there grinding up and down, her nose in the sand, taking each breaker full over the stern, at each crash losing some shred of her entrails out into the night. And thus she died, like a worn-out horse, that labors on in the noblest of emprises without glory and without reward, and finally leaves its bones on the wayside to be picked white by buzzard and crow.
THE NAMING OF THE BOAT
Some days later,tioMariano handed Pascualo the tidy sum of twelve thousandreales, the captain's share in the proceeds of the venture. But money was the least of the Rector's earnings. He had established himself now solidly in his uncle's grace, for the old man, with very slight risk to his own hide, had cleaned up twice that amount. Besides, the moment the whole story had gone the rounds, Pascualo became the lion of the Valencian water-front. A stroke of genius, that break from the Columbretas in a full gale! The cutter put in there at the height of the storm—and that was no child's play either—but she had her trouble for her pains!
The Rector stood quite aghast at his own good fortune. Adding the profits on the "moonshine" to the pile of money that, dollar by dollar, he and Dolores had stowed away in the place they only knew, you got a figure with which any honest man could start "something." And this "something" must of course have to do with the sea; for Pascualo was not the man to sit around in an easy chair, like his uncle, and skin poor people on shore alive! Smuggling, meanwhile, as a regular thing, was out of the question. That's a thing a young fellow ought to do once, to get his hand in; just as he ought to gamble—for once—since fortune is likely to favor the beginner. But it doesn't pay to flout the devil, in the long run. For a man like the Rector, fishing was the only certain trade, but in his own boat, with nothing lost to outfitters, who sit quietly at home and skim the cream of every catch.
There were many sleepless nights for the sturdy sailor, who kept rolling over and over between the sheets and waking Dolores up to get her opinion on each new idea. At last he made up his mind. His capital must go into a boat, not an ordinary boat, you understand, but the very best, if that were possible, of all the craft that ever set sail from the beach in front of the ox-barn there. His day had come at last,rediel!No more deck-hand business for him, and no more of this going halves. He would own a vessel, and the pole he would plant in front of the house, to carry the nets when drying, would be the tallest in the neighborhood!
And that hull on the ways there, ladies and gentlemen, belongs to the Rector from the Cabañal! His wife, Dolores the beautiful, Dolores the charming, will still have a stall in the Fishmarket, for all her wealth; but she will be selling her own fish soon, her own, I'll have you know. And as the women on their way to thePescaderÃanow walked along the Gas House drain past the boat yard, with envious eyes they noticed the Rector always hanging around there chewing the end of a cigar, and supervising the carpenters as they sawed and hammered and planed away at the long yellow pitchy brand-new timbers, some of them straight, and strong, and thick, others of them light and curving—the keel, the ribs, the sheathing, of the projected boat! Now, not too fast, boys, not too fast! The Rector is taking his time at this job as at everything else. Go slow and then you'll be sure. No mistakes allowed! There's no hurry! The main thing is to see that this boat is the very best along the shore!
While Pascualo was putting body and soul into his new enterprise, Tonet, with his share in the booty—the Rector had done his best to make it as large as could be—was enjoying one of his seasons of prosperity. In the tumble-down shack where he lived with Rosario to the tune of quarrels, swear-words and cudgelings, not the slightest trace of abundance entered after the lucky trip "across the way." The poor woman was as usual up at sunrise to carry her baskets of fish to Valencia or even to Torrente or Betera, at times—always on foot—to save the price of a wagon. And when the weather was not right for fishing, she spent her days in her hovel, in company with her poverty and her despair. But Tonet, her Tonet, was handsomer than ever, in a new suit of clothes, with money in his pockets all the time, and a regular seat in the café, except when he was away, with some of the boys, at Valencia, going the rounds of the gambling joints, or spending gay nights in the Fishmarket section. Nevertheless, whenever he saw his uncle, and not to allow any of his claims on that worthy gentleman's pull to lapse, he would bring up the subject of the job on the harbor survey; for, chasing that position was his one serious occupation in times when he was out of money.
The fleeting prosperity that the African venture brought took him back to the joyous days of his marriage. With that happy virtue he had of taking no thought for the morrow, and with all that cynical gayety which endeared him so to women, he was not worried about what would happen when the wind-fall his brother had brought him should be exhausted. For that matter, his companions in roistering sometimes paid, and he had an occasional run of luck at cards. He would come home late at night to go to bed, scowling and cursing between his teeth. But woe to Rosario if she ventured any protest. For periods of two or three days, at times, he would not be seen there at all. Not so, however, in his brother's house. There he went frequently, loafing about the kitchen with Dolores, if the Rector was not at home, listening with bowed head and resigned humility, to the lectures she gave him on his scandalous conduct. When Pascualo happened in on one of these dressing-downs, he always seconded loyally the sound preaching of his wife. Yes, sir, Dolores was cross like that, because she was really fond of him! As a respectable woman, she couldn't afford to have a brother-in-law tearing around all the time and being the talk of the town. And the fat good-natured sailor's eyes would fill with tears,ira de diós, at what his Dolores was saying, a real woman, by God, as kind as a mother to that fool of a boy!
As his funds got lower, Tonet's attendance on his brother's household was still more assiduous. He was turning the motherly advice he got there to good account. And to avoid any chance of gossip, he showed himself day after day with the Rector up at the boat-yard, watching the progress of the big frame which was now receiving its planking and was gradually taking shape under the persistent efforts of hammer, ax and saw.
And summer was coming on. The stretch of seashore between the Gas House drain and the harbor, so solitary and deserted at other seasons of the year, was busily returning to life. The heat was beginning to drive the whole city to the water's side, where a veritable town of movable houses, like the temporary encampment of an army, was growing up. In a measured line along the sands ran the shacks of the vacationers, cheap structures with walls of painted canvas and roofs of cane, front doors labeled with fantastic names, and, to distinguish one camp from so many others like it, flag-staffs on the gables with banners of all colors, and above the flags, queer weathervanes—boats, dragons, dolls, gew-gaws of every shape and form. In a second line, farther from the shore, and speculating on the appetite that salt air awakens in dyspeptics, came the more pretentious and the more permanent structures of the restaurants and eating-places, with stairways and verandas, façades of ornate but inexpensive stucco, masking the frailty of such pomp under ostentatious names:The Paris Hotel and Restaurant,The Miramar,The Fonda del Buen Gusto; and between these pedants of summer-time gastronomy, the lunch-rooms of the natives, huts with roofs of matting, rickety tables with wine jugs in the center, and outdoor kitchens, dispensing shell-fish with vinegar dressing from Saint John's day till mid-September, under signs of delightfully capricious spelling:Salvaor and Neleta, wines, bears and likers.
Along the roads through this mushroom city, that vanished like a fog with the first gales of autumn, street and steam cars dashed full speed, whistling to scare you before they crushed you flat; ortartanascreaked along, their red curtains flapping like banners of pure joy; or crowds of people pressed their way, with the murmur of many, many voices. It was the humming of a bee-hive, varied with the calling of vendors, the thrumming of guitars, the nasal screaming of accordions, the clack-clack of castañets, the wailing of hand organs, all the kinds of noise that men with smoothed hair and soft white shirts can dance to, after internal baths with anything but water and preparatory to the return to town for a slashing or boxing fray with the first innocent policeman they come across.
The people of the sea, beyond the drain, watched the gathering of this annual invasion with interested eyes, but without taking part in all its jollity. Let them enjoy themselves—if they were willing to pay for it! All that merry-making was the source of the Cabañal's pin-money, for the other seasons of the year.
On the first of August the Rector's boat was, you might say, done. And what a beauty she was, come now, tell the truth and don't be envious! The proud owner spoke of his creation much as a grand-daddy sizes up a new baby in his son's family. "The timber? Well, did you ever see solider beams than hers! And look at the finish on that mast! Not a cross grain to it from deck to point! A bit thick amidships! But I wanted her like that—handles rough water better. But just take a peep at that bow of hers! Sharp enough to cut paper with! Black along the scuppers, but with a shine like the patent leather shoe of a Grandee of Spain; and the body of her, white, but smooth as an eel, and just as fast, by God, in the water!" The rigging, the fishing gear and other trappings, were not yet aboard. But the best tackle makers along shore were at work on them, and by the fifteenth, the whole trousseau would be ready, and, pretty as a bride on the way to church, would she take the water! All this and more, the Rector was saying one evening to the circle of neighbors who, as usual, were sitting around his door.
He had invited his mother and his sister Roseta to supper that night. Dolores was at his side. Some distance away, with his rope-seated chair tilted back against an olive tree, and looking up at the moon through the branches in the dreamy pose of a chromo troubadour, sat Tonet, picking at the strings of a mandolin. On the walk in front some fish were frying on a little earthen stove. A number of children, Pascualet among them, were chasing a dog about in the mud of the gutters. Groups were sitting in front of the other houses along the road, to get full benefit of the faint breeze that was blowing off the sea.Redeu!How people must have been stewing in Valencia that night!
SiñáTona was getting very old. She had "taken her jump," as she put it. From comely buxomness she had passed abruptly into old age, and the raw bluish light of the moon made evident that the hair on her head had thinned, leaving a scant network of taut gray locks over her sunburned scalp. The wrinkles now sank deep into her emaciated face while her cheeks hung loose and baggy, and her black eyes, once the talk of the whole shore, peered sad and faded from the folds of skin that drooped about them. Old long before her time, and from heartbreak, mostly, the spite and the worry that men had given her! And this she said with a nod in Tonet's direction, but with her thoughts, almost certainly, on the guardsman who had long before betrayed her. Besides, times had been getting harder and harder! What the tavern now brought in was nothing, practically. Roseta had had to go to work in the tobacco factory in town; and every morning, with her lunch-box on her arm, she went off along the highway to Valencia, joining the bands of pretty, bold-faced girls who marched with tapping heels and swishing skirts to sneeze all day in the snuff-laden air of the Old Customs House. And what a girl Roseta had grown to be! Roseta was just the name for her! When her mother, sometimes, looked at her out of the corners of her eyes, she seemed to see in her all the florid exuberance of the handsomesiñor Martines.
Even now, while complaining that her daughter would have to take the long walk on winter mornings, she could not help feasting her eyes on that head of tangled golden hair out there under the olive tree, those dreamy sea-green eyes, that white skin that neither sun nor wind could darken, flecked now by the shadows of the branches which the moon outlined in arabesques of light and shade on the girl's face. Roseta, with her air of a maiden who knows all there is to know, kept looking from Dolores to Tonet and from Tonet to Dolores. At the fulsome praises that Pascualo kept showering upon his brother—for drifting away from the waster's life he had been leading to spend more and more of his time in that house where he found a peaceful, homelike kindliness he had never known in his own—the young half-sister smiled sarcastically. Oh, these men, these men! Just as she and mama had always said! Either scamps like Tonet, or puddingheads, like the Rector. Men! She would have none of them! And the Cabañal could never make out why she refused every boy who proposed to her! She would never have one of the wretched animals kicking around between her feet. She had taken well to heart all the curses she had heard her mother heap on men in her bitterest moments of despair down there in the loneliness and gloom of the tavern-boat.
No one had spoken for some time. The fish continued sizzling in the frying-pan. Tonet was still picking disconnected chords from his mandolin. The band of youngsters playing in the street were staring up at the moon as though they had never seen it before, singing in cadenced monotone with silvery little voices:
La lluna, la prunaVestida de dol ...
"Eh, will you brats shut up!" Tonet protested, claiming that he had a headache. "You come and make us!" came the answering challenge:
Sa mare la crida;Son pare no vol ...
And the dog joined in this children's hymn of adoration to Diana's glory, with barks that filled the neighborhood with chills.
The Rector could think of nothing but the boat. Everything had been fixed for the fifteenth, even the matter of the curate, who would go and give her a dash of holy water in the middle of the afternoon. Everything, except one thing,futro!And that had occurred to him that very moment! Of course! She never had been named ...! Well, what shall we call her? This unexpected and exciting problem set the whole group a-talking. Even Tonet laid his mandolin down on the ground and seemed to be meditating deeply. He, at any rate, came out with the first suggestion: "Spit-Fire"! Now, what do you say to that!
The Rector's corpulent agreeableness saw nothing wrong with that name. Spit-Fire! What pride it would be for him to command a boat that, faithful to such a christening, would go saucily crashing through the storms with the untamed arrogance of a Portuguese! It was the women who objected. Spit-Fire! Nonsense! Who ever heard of a fish-boat spitting fire! That would make her the joke of all the Cabañal. No,siñáTona had the right idea—"Fleet-Foot," the name of old Pascualo's boat, the one he had died in, and that, later on, had been the home of all the family. But now it was the men's turn to shout something down. No, that would bring bad luck, as the fate ofFleet-Footherself had shown. Dolores had a good one. Why not "Rose of the Sea" ... a pretty name ... as pretty as she was, and in fine taste.... But the Rector observed that that name was on a boat already.... Too bad, too.... It was a beauty! Roseta, who had pouted in disdain at every suggestion thus far, finally came out with her own proposal. She had thought of it at home, the evening before, on looking at a picture that came in a package of tobacco from Gibraltar. She thought the name looked so pretty! It was printed in colors around the trademark on the box—a girl in dancing costume, with roses red as tomatoes on the little white skirt and a bunch of flowers in her hand, as bright and stiff as radishes!Flor de mayo!The boat should be called "Mayflower!"
Recristo!The Rector rubbed his hands in glee. Of course, just the thing, just the thing! Think a moment! "Flor de mayo"—the famous brand of Gibraltar! Well, the boat was built of tobacco, you might say. Most of the money in her had come from smuggling those very rolls that showed the gay dancer in the bright colors! Roseta was right!Flor de mayo! Flor de mayo!
The name pleased everybody, awakening in those sluggish imaginations a thrill of poetry and romance. They found something mysterious and attractive in the name, without suspecting the charm attached to it by that historic boat which carried the Puritans to the new world and marked the birth of the great republic of the West!... The Rector could not contain his joy. Roseta had the brains for you! Let's have dinner on that, ladies and gentlemen! And we'll have a real toast afterward ... toFlor de mayo!
The frying-pan was lifted from the stove and carried into the house, and the whole family rose to follow—significant happenings that did not escape the watchful eyes of little Pascualet. He deserted his orphéon of tiny choristers. The monotone ofla lluna la prunacame to an end, and peace settled over the moon-lit country-side.
It was not long before the whole Cabañal, with that gift for rapid perception of important things that little places have, was aware that the Rector's new boat was to be christenedFlor de mayo. And when, the evening before the blessing of the vessel, she was dragged down to the water's edge in front of thecasa del bòus, the beautiful mysterious name could be read on the inside of her stern sheets, painted in letters of fetching blue.
The next afternoon, the cabin section of the Cabañal was in festive mood. Occasions like that were few indeed! Standing god-father in the baptismal rites was "SeñorMarianoel Callao," no less a stingy old fat-purse, granted, but with enough heart in him to shell out a penny or two for a nephew like that on a day like that. Sweets a-plenty were to be passed around on the shore, with barrels of drinks. Barrels! Besides, that Rector boy knew how to do things well. He took the crew he had engaged for the first trip and went off to the church to escort don Santiago, the curate, to the beach. The priest welcomed him with one of those smiles he kept for his very best parishioners only. "What! Ready so soon? Well, son, won't you just run around and tell the sacristan to get the water and the hyssop ready! I'll just get into my cassock, and be with you in a jiffy...." "Not quite so fast, don Santiago!" observed the Rector. "Not quite so fast! You ought to see this is not an occasion for any cassock business, or stuff like that. Your cope, father, your cope, and the best you've got, see? You don't launch a boat like this every other day. Never mind about the money! I'll pay what's right!" The good priest smiled. "Very well ... the cope isn't just the thing, but cope it is, if you say so.... We're ready to accommodate good members of our flock, who know how to appreciate favors."
And they started back from the rectory, the sacristan in front with the hyssop and the holy vessel; then the curate surrounded by his guard of honor, the captain and his men. In one hand don Santiago was carrying his book of prayers, in the other the train of his old but sumptuous cope, to keep it out of the mud. The handsome robe was of a white somewhat yellowed with age; and the heavy gold borders had tarnished green, while the padding over the lining peeped through in places where the outer cloth had been worn thin.
Children came up in droves to press their sniffling noses on the good priest's hand, which at every step, almost, had to let the train fall into the muck. Women greeted smilingly from the sidewalks. The dear oldpae capellá! What a good-natured soul—never too harsh on penances, but able to see through you, just the same, if you tried to fool him. Don Santiago had the secret of adapting himself to the weaknesses of his flock. Many a time he would stop in the street to extend his blessings over the fish baskets of some woman of the market, or touch his fingers miraculously to a pair of short scales to charm it against any danger lest the inspectors of Valencia detect its fraudulent weights!
When the procession reached the shore, the bells began to ring, mingling their garrulous ding-dong in the gentle crunching of the surf. Late comers could be seen running along the sands to arrive in time for everything. There, on a stretch of beach that was quite free of boats, theMayflowerrose from the middle of a swarming crowd, her bright varnished sides gleaming white in the sunlight, her rakish mast, gracefully tilted forward, standing out against the blue, its peak adorned with the baptismal insignia of a new boat, sheaves of grass and bunches of cloth flowers, that would hang up there till the storm winds finally wrenched them loose.
The Rector and his party elbowed their way through the crowd pressing around the boat. At the stern were the two sponsors—siñáTona, godmother, in a new shawl and skirt; and "Señor" Mariano, god-father, in his tall hat and with his cane, in the very get-up that he wore at his talks with the Governor in town! The whole family offered a spectacle of gay and showy magnificence. Dolores had her pink dress on, and a new kerchief of flaming colors; while her fingers gleamed with every ring she owned. Tonet was strutting about on deck in his new suit, his shining silk cap pulled down over one ear, twirling his mustache in immense satisfaction that his conspicuous position enabled so many pretty girls to sate their eyes on him. On the ground, with Roseta, was his Rosario in the least shabby of her gowns, and sure not to make trouble with Dolores on such a solemn day. The Rector, for his part, had turned Englishman over night. He was sporting a blue woolsey suit that a friend of his, an engineer on a steamer, had brought on from Glasgow. On his vest shone a watch chain as big as one of the stays on his boat—and that was the real surprise he had saved for the celebration. He was sweating like a stoker in that garment that might have done very well in winter. He had taken upon himself the task of keeping order, shoving people back when they edged up too close to the priest and the baptismal party. "The idea, gentlemen.... That talking, there! Sh-h-h. This ceremony is not a thing to laugh about. The fun, later on ...!" And he set a good example by taking off his cap and putting on a long face, as the chaplain, sweating just as much under that stifling cope, was fumbling through his book to find the prayer beginningPropitiare Domini supplicationibus nostris et benedic navem istam....SiñáTona andtioMariano on either side of the curate stood with eyes nailed to the ground. The sacristan watched his master like a cat after a mouse, ready to sayamenon the slightest pretext. The multitude with heads bare was hushed and still, as though something extraordinary were about to happen.
Don Santiago knew his public. He read the simple prayer slowly and solemnly, making each syllable stand out, and introducing impressive pauses to take full advantage of the general silence. The Rector, quite beside himself with emotion and not knowing what he was doing, nodded assent to every word, as though taking those Latin phrases that were falling on hisMayflowerseriously to heart. What he really caught was all that aboutArcam Noe ambulantem in diluvio; and he straightened up to his full height in pride, at the vague feeling that his boat was being likened to that ancient craft, the most famous in Christian annals! So he was a real comrade now of that wicked old patriarch who invented wine and became the first and best sailor of his time, on earth!SiñáTona could stand the strain no longer. She crammed her handkerchief into both eyes to keep the tears from bursting out. When the prayer was over, the curate reached for the hyssop:Asperges... and he sprinkled a rain of water upon the boat's stern, and the spray dripped down in shining drops over the painted sides.Amen, said the sacristan; and don Santiago, with the Rector in front of him to clear the way, and followed by the sacristan, amening every word, started round the boat, showering Latin and holy water at every step.
Pascualo could not understand that the ceremonies were over. "See here, don Santiago! There's the rigging still to do, and the deck, and then down in the hold! There's a good fellow! It won't take you long ... and I'll do what's right, you know!" And the curate, smiling at the earnestness of the young man's plea, went up, finally, to the ladder that had been set up against theMayflower'sbilge, and began the ascent, catching the floundering cope underneath his feet on every rung. And the vestment of white and gold caught the afternoon sun and gleamed afar like the shell of a bright climbing scarab. But when he had blessed everything to the Rector's full content, he withdrew with his assistant, and the throng rushed for the boat like an army storming a wall.
They would give her the right send-off, that crowd of bedraggled loud-talking ragamuffins, the scrapings from the whole beach, already besieging the sponsors with their petulant whining: "Our candy now, and the almonds, the almonds!" "Señor" Mariano's face was beaming omnipotent over the vessel's side. "Candy, eh! It's candy you want!" He well knew what all the good things he had brought to eat had cost—one wholeonza—gold—to keep on good terms with nephew! And he bent over, and sunk his hands into the baskets between his legs. "Well, candy it is!" And he began to rain nuts and cinnamon lozenges, as hard as bullets, upon the heads of the clamoring mob, and the young ones, girls and boys, began to scramble on the sand, fighting for the goodies, dirty underskirts squirming about among trousers with huge rents that showed the bare scaly skins of the beach-combers underneath.
Tonet was uncorking bottles of gin and pointing them out to special friends with lavish and condescending urgency as if he were doing the honors himself. Liquor began to pass around by the jugful. Everybody was drinking—the beach guards, their guns on their shoulders, retired sea-captains from the village, men from other boats—barefoot, mostly, these, and dressed in yellow baize, like clowns—and tiny "cats," with knives of grotesque proportions thrust crosswise into the sashes about their ragged waists.
The real carousal was going on up on deck. The planking of theMayflowerwas beginning to clack like the polished floor of a ball-room, and the rich smell of a tavern was filling the atmosphere about the boat. Dolores, who could resist the call of all that gayety no longer, started to climb the ladder, kicking out at every rung at the crowd of pestering "cats" who gathered round for one look at the ankles of the pretty girl as she went higher. The Rector's wife knew that her real element was up there where there was so much man around, where her charms would be certain of voracious admiration as she stamped about on boards that belonged to her—every inch of them—and where the women down below, especially Rosario—she would be green with envy—could get a good look at her success.
Pascualo, meanwhile, was with his mother. On that solemn occasion, which meant so much to him, which he had looked forward to for so long, he felt a strange return of his affection for the poor old woman. He forgot his beautiful wife and even Pascualet—the rogue was as busy as could be with the cinnamon balls, up on deck—to give all his attention tosiñáTona.
"A full-fledged master, outfitter, owner of a boat—my own boat!" And he kissed and hugged the old mother who was weeping streams from her puffy eyes. Tona's thoughts indeed were running back over long, long years of widowhood and loneliness and ostracism and over the memory of that mad adventure with the guardsman, to a similar christening she had witnessed in her youth.TioPascualo rose before her memory, strong, young, handsome, as she had known him in the days of their courtship. And his departure from life became as bitterly sorrowful as if he had vanished but the day before. "My boy, my boy—fill meu, fill meu!" she sobbed, throwing her arms about the sturdy neck of the Rector, who at that moment seemed to be the resurrection of his father's very self.
And Pascualo, in truth, was the honor of the family, the boy whose hard work had redeemed her lost station, her lost importance, in that community. Her tears now were not of sorrow only but of remorse. She had never loved the boy enough, not half so much as he deserved. Her affection was overflowing now—she must make up for all the past. Then, she was afraid, yes, sir, afraid, that her Pascualet, her poor little Rector, would go the way his father went; and as the words hung tremulously upon her lips, she looked off toward the tavern-boat, just visible from theMayflower'ssplendid hull, in which that martyr of the sea had met his frightful end.
What a contrast between theMayflower, so new, and strong, and spick, and span, and that rotting hulk which, for lack of custom now, was daily growing blacker and more worm-eaten! The old woman seemed to vision in the future a day when theMayflowermight drift ashore, cracked and water-logged, just as oldFleet-Foothad come home with her husband's corpse in her hold. No, she could not be happy. All that roistering and carousing was a sin. It was making fun of the sea, that hypocrite with the smiling face out there, that purring cat that was meek enough for the moment, but that would show her claws when once theMayflowerwas in her power. Her boy! What a strong handsome boy—and she loved him as much as though he had just come back from a long voyage! But old Pascualo had been just as strong and handsome. And he made fun of the sea too! Now, she knew it, she was sure of it! The sea had a grudge against her family, and would swallow the new boat as it had wrecked the old.
"Bosh, mama, bosh!Recristo, the old lady will never get her hands on me! But anyhow, why go crying on a glad day like this? You're just getting religion, like most of the old ladies—your conscience is at you for having forgotten papa for so long, perhaps. But you can make that right by lighting a good fat candle to the old sailor, in case his soul is still in Purgatory. Come now, mama, brace up. No more prophesying! The sea is a good fine lover of mine. I won't listen to any gossip about her! She gets riled at times, but after all she gives poor folks like us a living. Here, Tonet! Give us a drink, a good big swig! Cheer the place up a bit. Let's give theMayflowera good old-fashioned send-off."
He took the beaker that was handed him and drank a deep draught. But his mother went on weeping, her eyes still gazing at the tavern-boat down the shore. The Rector showed some signs of irritation. "Still bawling, eh! And this is the time to talk of funerals! See, ma, you ought to have made me a bishop, then there'd be no cause for whining from the women folks. Honest, and work hard, say I, and trust to luck! That's the sailor's creed! The sea? The sea gives us everything. It raises us when we are little. And it feeds us when we're grown up. We're always asking something of the sea! Well, we have to take a storm now and then, along with the big runs. Besides, somebody's got to risk his skin, if folks are going to have fish to eat. That somebody is me. Out to sea I go, as I've always gone. And that's the end of that! And now, enough of this whimpering business, what do you say, ma? Here's toFlor de Mayo! Here's to 'Mayflower.'Cristo!another mug, boys, on me, on me! Drink her down, drink her down, till every mother's son of you is drunk. And I'll feel insulted if they don't come down and get you to-night because you can't walk home, and find you all rooting in the sand here like so many grunting hogs!"