Grahame smiled.
"I understand that Walthew might have enjoyed all the comforts your civilization has to offer, but he preferred the sea. Perhaps I'm prejudiced, but I don't blame him. There's a charm in freedom and the wide horizon."
"Yes," she agreed thoughtfully, looking across the blue water; "I suppose that's true. If a man has the courage to break away, he can follow his bent. It's different with women. We're securely fenced in; our corral walls are high."
"They keep trouble out. Hardship and danger aren't pleasant things, and after a time the romance of the free-lance's life wears off. One sometimes looks longingly at the sheltered nooks that men with settled habits occupy."
"And yet you follow your star!"
"Star's too idealistic; my bent is better. What's born in one must have its way. This is perhaps most convenient when it's an inherited genius for making money."
"It's useful to oneself and others," Evelyn agreed. "But do these talents run in the blood?"
"It seems so," Grahame answered, and was quiet for a time, languidly watching the girl and wondering how far his statement was true.
It might be argued that the strongest family strains must be weakened by marriage, and their salient characteristics disappear in a few generations, but he felt strangely akin to the mosstroopers of his name who scourged the Scottish Border long ago. Their restlessness and lust of adventure were his. This, however, was not a matter of much consequence. Chance had thrown him into the company of a pretty and intelligent girl, and he must try to entertain her.
"You're fond of the sea and adventurous, or you wouldn't have driven that little sloop so far out under full sail," he said.
"Oh," she admitted, smiling, "that was partly because I wanted to show my skill and was ashamed to turn back when the breeze freshened."
Grahame laughed. He liked her frankness.
"After all," he said, "it's a feeling that drives a good many of us on. A weakness, perhaps, but it may be better than excessive caution."
"A matter of opinion. Of course, if you determine never to do anything foolish, you're apt to do nothing at all. But I'm afraid I can't throw much light upon these subjects.... Here comes our tea."
It was drinkable, but Evelyn thought the biscuit could undoubtedly have been better. For all that, she enjoyed the meal, and when it was over Macallister appeared with the mended gaff.
"I'm thinking yon will never bend or jamb," he said, indicating the beautifully finished pieces of brass-work.
Evelyn thanked him, and soon afterward Grahame helped her into the boat and hoisted the reefed sail. The wind was still fresh, but the sloop ran shoreward safely, with the sparkling seas ranging up on her quarter, and Grahame admired the grace of the neat, blue-clad figure at the helm. The rushing breeze and the flying spray had brought a fine color into the girl's face and a brightness to her eyes.
As they neared the beach, a gasolene launch came plunging out to meet them, and Evelyn laughed as she turned to Grahame.
"I've been missed at last," she said. "That's my father coming to look for me."
The launch swung round close alongside and Grahame recognized that he was being subjected to a keen scrutiny by a man on board. The broken water, however, made explanations impossible, and the launch followed the sloop to the inlet, where Evelyn neatly brought the craft up to the landing. On getting ashore, she spoke to Cliffe, and he thanked Grahame and invited him to the hotel. Grahame politely declined, but agreed to borrow the launch to take him on board.
As he was leaving, Evelyn held out her hand.
"It was fortunate that my difficulties began when I was near your boat, and I don't altogether regret them. I have spent a pleasant afternoon," she said.
Grahame bowed and turned away; but somewhat to his surprise, he found his thoughts return to his guest as the launch carried him back to the steamer. The girl was cultured and intelligent, perhaps a little romantic, and unspoiled by luxury; but this was nothing to him. There were times when he felt lonely and outcast from his kind, for until he met Walthew his comrades had generally been rough and broken men. Some years ago he had been a favorite with well-bred women; but he never met them on terms of friendship now. He was poor, and would no doubt remain so, since he had not the gift of making money; but an untrammeled, wandering life had its advantages.
With a smile at his brief relapse into sentiment, he resolved to forget Miss Cliffe; but he found it strangely difficult to occupy his mind with calculations about stores for the coming voyage.
Evelyn related her adventure to her mother, who listened with strong disapproval. Mrs. Cliffe was a thin, keen-eyed woman, with social ambitions and some skill in realizing them.
"If you hadn't been so rash as to go out alone, thiswouldn't have happened," she remarked. "You must really be more careful."
"I couldn't prevent the gaff's jambing," Evelyn replied.
"That is not what I meant. After all, nobody in the hotel knows much about the matter, and there is, of course, no need to do more than bow to the men if you meet them at the landing, though it would be better to avoid this, if possible. A small favor of the kind they did you does not justify their claiming your acquaintance."
"Father wanted to bring one of them here."
"Your father is a man of business, and has very little discretion in social matters," Mrs. Cliffe replied. "If Reggie cannot go with you, take the hotel boatman when you next go sailing."
Evelyn did not answer, but she disagreed with the views her mother had expressed, and she resolved to leave Reggie ashore. For one thing, he was not of much use in a boat. Yet it was curious that she had once been pleased to take him out.
The sea breeze had fallen, and the air was hot and still. A full moon rested low in the eastern sky, and against its light the tops of the royal palms cut in feathery silhouette. Evelyn was sitting in the hotel garden with Reginald Gore. A dusky rose arbor hid them from the veranda, where a number of the guests had gathered, but Evelyn imagined that one or two of the women knew where she was and envied her. This once would have afforded her some satisfaction, but it did not matter now, and although the spot seemed made for confidential talk, she listened quietly to the rollers breaking on the beach. The roar of the surf had a disturbing effect; she felt that it called, urging her to follow her star and launch out on the deep. Her companion was silent, and she wondered what he was thinking about, or if, as seemed more likely, his mind was vacant. She found him irritating to-night.
Gore was the finished product of a luxurious age: well-bred, well-taught, and tastefully dressed. His father had made a fortune out of railroad stock, and although Reginald had not the ability to increase it, he spent it with prudence. He had a good figure, and a pleasant face, but Evelyn suspected that his highest ambition was to lounge through life gracefully.
Evelyn knew her mother's plans regarding him, and had, to some extent, fallen in with them. Reggie had much that she valued to offer, but she now and then found him tiresome. He stood for the luxurious, but, in a sense, artificial life, with which she was growing dissatisfied. She felt that she wanted stirring, and must get into touch with the real things.
"You're not talkative," she remarked, watching the lights of theEnchantressthat swung and blinked with the tossing swell.
"No," he agreed good-humoredly. "Doesn't seem to be much to talk about."
There was silence for a few moments; then Evelyn put into words a train of thoughts that was forming indistinctly in her mind.
"You have never done anything very strenuous in life. You have had all the pleasure money can provide one. Are you content?"
"On the whole, yes. Aren't you?"
"No," said Evelyn thoughtfully. "I believe I haven't really been content for a long time, but I didn't know it. The mind can be doped, but the effect wears off and you feel rather startled when you come to yourself."
Gore nodded.
"I know! Doesn't last, but it's disturbing. When I feel like that, I take a soothing drink."
Evelyn laughed, for his answer was characteristic. He understood, to some extent, but she did not expect him to sympathize with the restlessness that had seized her. Reggie would never do anything rash or unconventional. Hitherto she had approved his caution. She had enjoyed the comfortable security of her station, had shared her mother's ambitions, and looked upon marriage as a means of rising in the social scale. Her adventurous temperament had found some scope in exciting sports and in an occasional flirtation that she did not carry far; but she was now beginning to feel that life had strange and wonderful things to offer those who had the courage to seize them. She had never experienced passion—perhaps because her training had taught her to dread it; but her imagination was now awake.
Her visit to theEnchantresshad perhaps had something to do with these disturbing feelings, but not, she argued, because she was sentimentally attracted by her rescuer. It was the mystery in which Grahame's plans were wrapped that was interesting. He was obviously the leader of the party and about to engage in some rash adventure on seas the buccaneers had sailed. This, of course, was nothing to her; but thinking of him led her to wonder whether she might not miss much by clinging too cautiously to what she knew was safe.
With a soft laugh she turned to Gore.
"Tell me about the dance they're getting up. I hear you are one of the stewards," she said.
It was a congenial topic, and as she listened to her companion's talk Evelyn felt that she was being drawn back to secure, familiar ground.
Cliffe, in the meanwhile, had come out in search of her and, seeing how she was engaged, had strolled into the hotel bar. A tall, big-boned man, dressed in blue serge with brass buttons on his jacket, was talking at large, and Cliffe, stopping to listen, thought the tales he told with dry Scottish humor were good.
"You are the engineer who mended the gaff of my daughter's boat," Cliffe said. "I must thank you for that; it was a first-rate job."
"It might have been worse," Macallister modestly replied. "Are ye a mechanic then?"
"No; but I know good work when I see it."
"I'm thinking that's a gift, though ye may not use it much. It's no' good work the world's looking for."
"True," agreed Cliffe; "perhaps we're too keen on what will pay."
"Ye mean what will pay the first user. An honest job is bound to pay somebody in the end."
"Well, I guess that's so. You're a philosopher."
Macallister grinned.
"I have been called worse names, and maybe with some cause. Consistency gets monotonous. It's better to be a bit of everything, as the humor takes ye."
"What kind of engines has your boat?" Cliffe asked. He was more at home when talking practical matters.
"As fine a set o' triples as I've clapped my eyes upon, though they have been shamefully neglectit."
"And what speed can you get out of her?"
"A matter o' coal," Macallister answered with a twinkle. "A seven-knot bat will suit our purse best."
Cliffe saw that further questions on this point would be injudicious, but the man interested him, and he noted the flag on his buttons.
"Well," he said, "theEnchantressmust be a change from the liners you have sailed in."
"I find that. But there's aye some compensation. I have tools a man can work with, and oil that will keep her running smooth. Ye'll maybe ken there's a difference in engine stores."
"I've heard my manufacturing friends say something of the kind."
Cliffe ordered refreshment, and quietly studied his companion. The man had not the reserve he associated with the Scot, but a dash and a reckless humor, which are, nevertheless, essentially Scottish too. Cliffe wondered curiously what enterprise he and his companions were engaged upon, but he did not think Macallister would tell him. If the others were like this fellow, he imagined that they would carry out their plans, for he read resolution as well as daring in the Scot's character; besides, he had been favorably impressed by Grahame.
After some further talk, Macallister left, and Cliffe joined his wife and daughter.
The next morning, Evelyn, getting up before most of the other guests, went out on the balcony in front of her room and looked across the bay. The sun was not yet hot, and a fresh breeze flecked the blue water with feathery streaks of white, while the wet beach glistened dazzlingly. There was a refreshing, salty smell, and for a few minutes the girl enjoyed the grateful coolness; then she felt that something was missing from the scene, and noticed that theEnchantresshad vanished. The adventurers had sailed in the night. On the whole she was conscious of relief. They had gone and she could now get rid of the restlessness that their presence had caused. After all, there was peril in the longing for change; it was wiser to be satisfied with the security and solid comfort which surrounded her.
Looking down at a footstep, she saw Gore strolling about the lawn, faultlessly dressed in light flannel, witha Panama hat. There was not a crease in his clothes that was out of place; the color scheme was excellent—even his necktie was exactly the right shade. He stood for all her mother had taught her to value: wealth, leisure, and cultivated taste. Reggie was a man of her own kind; she had nothing in common with the bronzed, tar-stained Grahame, whose hawk-like look had for the moment stirred her imagination.
"You look like the morning," Gore called up to her. "Won't you come down and walk to the beach? The sun and breeze are delightful, and we'll have them all to ourselves."
Evelyn noticed the hint of intimacy, but it did not jar upon her mood, and she smiled as she answered that she would join him.
A few minutes later, they walked along the hard, white sand, breathing the keen freshness of the spray.
"What made you get up so soon?" Evelyn asked.
"It's not hard to guess. I was waiting for my opportunity. You're in the habit of rising in good time."
"Well," she said with a bantering air, "I think waiting for opportunities is a habit of yours. Of course, you have some excuse for this."
Gore looked puzzled for a moment and then laughed.
"I see what you mean. As a rule, the opportunities come to me."
"Don't they? I wonder whether you're much happier than the men who have to make, or look for, them."
"I can't say, because I haven't tried that plan. I can't see why I should look for anything, when I don't have to. Anyway, I guess I'm a pretty cheerful person and easy to get on with. It's the strivers who'realways getting after something out of reach that give you jars."
"You're certainly not a striver," Evelyn agreed. "However, you seem to have all a man could want."
"Not quite," he answered. "I'll confess that I'm not satisfied yet, but I try to make the most of the good things that come along—and I'm glad I got up early. It's a glorious morning!"
Evelyn understood. Reggie was not precipitate and feared a rebuff. She believed that she could have him when she liked, but he would look for some tactful sign of her approval before venturing too far. The trouble was that she did not know if she wanted him.
She changed the subject, and they paced the beach, engaged in good-humored banter, until the breakfast gong called them back to the hotel.
In the afternoon, however, Evelyn's mood changed again. The breeze died away and it was very hot. Everybody was languid, and she found her friends dull. Although Gore tried to be amusing, his conversation was unsatisfactory; and the girls about the hotel seemed more frivolous and shallow than usual. None of these people ever did anything really worth while! Evelyn did not know what she wished to do, but she felt that the life she led was unbearably stale.
When dark fell and the deep rumble of the surf filled the air, she sat with her father in a quiet corner of the garden.
"Didn't you say you might make a short business trip to the West Indies?" she asked him.
"Yes; I may have to spend a week in Havana."
"Then I wish you would take me."
"It might be arranged," said Cliffe. He seldomrefused her anything. "Your mother wouldn't come, but she has plenty of engagements at home. Why do you want to go?"
Evelyn found this hard to answer, but she tried to formulate her thoughts.
"Cuba is, of course, a new country to me, and I suppose we all feel a mysterious attraction toward what is strange. Had you never a longing for something different, something out of the usual run?"
"I had when I was young."
"But you don't feel it now?"
"One learns to keep such fancies in their place when business demands it," Cliffe answered with a dry smile. "I can remember times when I wanted to go off camping in the Canadian Rockies and join a canoe trip on Labrador rivers. Now and then in the hot weather the traffic in the markets and the dusty offices make me tired. I'll confess that I've felt the snow-peaks and the rapids call."
"We went to Banff once," said Evelyn. "It was very nice."
"But not the real thing! You saw the high peaks from the hotel garden and the passes from an observation car. Then we made one or two excursions with pack-horses, guides, and people like ourselves, where it was quite safe to go. That was as much as your mother could stand for. She'd no sympathy with my hankering after the lone trail."
Evelyn could see his face in the moonlight, and she gave him a quick look. Her father, it seemed, had feelings she had never suspected in him.
"But if you like the mountains, couldn't you enjoy them now?"
"No," he said, rather grimly. "The grip of my business grows tighter all the time. It costs a good deal to live as we do, and I must keep to the beaten tracks that lead to places where money is made."
"I sometimes think we are too extravagant and perhaps more ostentatious than we need be," Evelyn said in a diffident tone.
"We do what our friends expect and your mother has been accustomed to. Then it's my pleasure to give my daughter every advantage I can and, when the time for her to leave us comes, to see she starts fair."
Evelyn was silent for a few moments, feeling touched. She had formed a new conception of her father, who, she had thought, loved the making of money for its own sake. Now it was rather startling to find that in order to give her mother and herself all they could desire, he had held one side of his nature in subjection and cheerfully borne a life of monotonous toil.
"I don't want to leave you," she said in a gentle voice.
He looked at her keenly, and she saw that her mother had been speaking to him about Gore.
"Well," he responded, "I want to keep you as long as possible, but when you want to go I must face my loss and make the best of it. In the meanwhile, we'll go to Cuba if your mother consents."
Evelyn put her hand affectionately on his arm.
"Whatever happens," she said softly, "you won't fail me. I'm often frivolous and selfish, but it's nice to know I have somebody I can trust."
There had been wind, but it had fallen toward evening, and theEnchantressrolled in a flat calm when her engines stopped. As she swung with the smooth undulations, blocks clattered, booms groaned, and the water in her bilges swirled noisily to and fro. It was difficult to move about the slanted deck, and two dark-skinned, barefooted seamen were seated forward with their backs against the rail. A comrade below was watching the engine fires and, with the exception of her Spanish helmsman, this was all the paid crew theEnchantresscarried.
She drifted east with the Gulf Stream. Around her there hung a muggy atmosphere pervaded with a curious, hothouse smell. Grahame stood in the channels, heaving the lead. He found deep water, but white patches on the northern horizon, where the expanse of sea was broken by spouts of foam, marked a chain of reefs and keys that rose a foot or two above the surface. A larger streak of white was fading into the haze astern, but Grahame had carefully taken its compass bearings, because dusk, which comes suddenly in the Bahama Channel, was not far away. He dropped the lead on deck, and joined Macallister, who stood in the engine-room doorway rubbing his hands with cotton waste.
"No sign o' that steamboat yet?" the Scot asked.
"It's hazy to the east," said Grahame. "We mightn't see her until she's close if they're not making much smoke. Still, she ought to have turned up last night."
"She'll come. A tornado wouldna' stop her skipper when he had freight to collect; but ye were wise in no' paying it in advance."
"You haven't seen the fellow."
"I've seen his employers," Macallister replied with a chuckle. "Weel I ken what sort o' man would suit them. Gang canny when ye meet him, and see ye get the goods before ye sign the bill o' lading."
"I mean to take precautions. No first-class firm would touch our business."
"Verra true. And when ye find men who're no' particular about one thing, ye cannot expect them to be fastidious about another. When I deal wi' yon kind, I keep my een open."
"Where's Walthew?"
Macallister grinned.
"Asleep below, wi' his hair full o' coal-dust, looking more like a nigger than the son o' a rich American. Human nature's a verra curious thing, but if he can stand another month, I'll hae hope o' him."
"I think the lad's right. He wants to run his life on his own lines, and he is willing to pay for testing them by experience."
Grahame, glancing forward, suddenly became intent, for in one spot a dingy smear thickened the haze. It slowly grew more distinct, and he gave a seaman a quick order before he turned to his companion.
"That must be theMiranda. You can start your mill as soon as we have launched the dinghy."
By the time the boat was in the water the steamer had crept out of the mist. She came on fast: a small, two-masted vessel, with a white wave beneath her full bows and a cloud of brown smoke trailing across the sea astern. She was light, floating high above the water, which washed up and down her wet side as she rolled. A few heads projected over the iron bulwark near the break of the forecastle, and two men in duck stood on the bridge. Studying them through the glasses, Grahame saw they had an unkempt appearance, and he was not prepossessed in favor of the one whom he took to be the captain.
He rang the telegraph, and when the engines stopped he jumped into the dinghy with Walthew and one of the seamen. Five minutes later, they ceased rowing close to the steamer's side, which towered high above them, red with rust along the water-line. The black paint was scarred and peeling higher up, the white deckhouses and boats had grown dingy, and there was about her a poverty-stricken look. The boat swung sharply up and down a few lengths away, for the sea broke about the descending rows of iron plates as the vessel rolled.
"Enchantress, ahoy!" shouted one of the men on her bridge. "This is theMiranda. S'pose you're ready for us?"
"We've been ready for you since last night," Grahame replied.
"Then you might have got your gig over. We can't dump the stuff into that cockleshell."
"You can't," Grahame agreed. "The gig's hardly big enough either, and I won't risk her alongside in the swell that's running."
"Then what do you expect me to do? Wait until it's smooth?"
"No," said Grahame; "we'll have wind soon. You'll have to take her in behind the reef, as your owners arranged. It's not far off and you'll find good anchorage in six fathoms."
"And lose a day! What do you think your few cases are worth to us?"
"The freight agreed upon," Grahame answered coolly. "You can't collect it until you hand our cargo over. I'll take you in behind the reef and bring you out in three or four hours. There'll be a good moon."
The skipper seemed to consult with the man beside him, and then waved his hand.
"All right! Go ahead with your steamer and show us the way."
"I'd better come on board," Grahame answered. "It's an awkward place to get into, but I know it well."
A colored seaman threw them down a rope ladder, and, pulling in cautiously, Grahame waited until the rolling hull steadied, when he jumped. Walthew followed, and in a few moments they stood on theMiranda'sdeck. Walthew had been wakened when the boat was launched, and he had not had much time to dress, but he wore a fairly clean duck jacket over his coaly shirt. His bare feet were thrust into greasy slippers, and smears of oil darkened the hollows round his eyes.
One or two slouching deckhands watched the new arrivals with dull curiosity, and a few more were busy forward opening the hatch. Grahame thought the vessel a rather unfavorable specimen of the small, cheaply run tramp, but when he reached the hatch the skippercame up. He was a little man with a bluff manner, a hard face, and cunning eyes.
"They'll have the cover off in a minute and you can see your stuff," he said, and called to a man with a lantern: "Stand by with the light!"
When the tarpaulin was rolled back, Grahame went down with a mate and counted the wooden cases pointed out to him. After this, he examined their marks and numbers and, going up, declared himself satisfied.
"Now," said the skipper, "you can take us in; the sooner the better, because it will be dark before long. Would you like a drink before you start?"
Grahame said that he would wait until he had finished his work. He followed the skipper to the bridge, and rang the telegraph.
TheMirandawent ahead, her propeller hurling up the foam as it flapped round with half the blades out of the water, while theEnchantresscrept slowly up her froth-streaked wake. Grahame, standing at the wheel-house door, was glad that Walthew had come with him, although this reduced his vessel's crew. Macallister, however, was capable of managing his engines without assistance, for a time, and could be trusted to take charge of theEnchantressif necessary, for Grahame did not think the hands would give him trouble. One was a Canary Spaniard, whom they had picked up at Matanzas, a very simple and, Grahame thought, honest fellow; the other three were stupid but apparently good-humored half-breeds. Grahame would have preferred white seamen but for the danger of their getting into trouble in parts where wine was cheap and perhaps betraying the object of the voyagein drunken boasts. His business would not bear talking about—and that was why he distrusted theMiranda'scaptain.
The moon rose before the short twilight had changed to dark, and the steamer moved on across the dimly glittering sea, until a long white line grew plainer ahead. As they drew near, the line could be seen to waver, gaining breadth and distinctness and then fading, while a dull roar which had a regular beat in it mingled with the thud of the engines. Though theMirandarolled and plunged, the surface of the water was smooth as oil, and in the deep calm the clamor of the surf had an ominous sound. Then another white patch appeared to starboard, and a few moments later, a third to port.
The captain was pacing up and down his bridge.
"It's a puzzling light," he said, stopping near Grahame with a frown. "I suppose you do know the place?"
"Oh, yes," said Grahame carelessly. "We made a rough survey and took soundings. But slow her down and use your lead if you like."
"That's what I mean to do," the captain replied.
He rang the telegraph, and when the beat of engines slackened a man stood on a footboard outside the bridge, where a broad canvas belt was fastened round his waist. Whirling the heavy plummet round his head, he let it shoot forward to the break of the forecastle, and steadied the line a moment when it ran vertically up and down.
"By the deep, eight!" he called.
"Starboard!" said Grahame, and there was silence except for the rumble of the surf, while the quartermaster turned his wheel in the glass-fronted house.
In a few minutes the lead plunged down again.
"By the mark, seven!" was announced.
The captain gave Grahame a quick glance, and then looked ahead, where there was something to occupy him, for at regular intervals the sea was torn apart and a spout of foam and a cloud of spray shot up. Moreover, the vessel was heading directly toward the dangerous spot. It was not needful for Grahame to take her so close as he meant to do, but he had reasons for letting the nearness of the reef appeal to the captain's imagination.
"And a quarter six!" the leadsman called.
The captain grasped the telegraph.
"If you mean to go any closer, I'll stop her and back out!" he said. "Then you can tranship your goods outside or I'll take them on, as you like."
"We can let her come round now," Grahame answered, and beckoned to the quartermaster. "Starboard. Steady at that!"
TheMirandaswung until the frothy confusion on the reef, where the swell broke in cascades of phosphorescent flame, bore abeam, and then a similar troubled patch grew plain on the opposite bow. There was, however, a smooth, dark strip between, and she followed it, shouldering off a spangled wash, with the propeller beating slow. Ahead, a low, hazy blur rose out of the sea, and when Grahame spoke to the captain the windlass began to clank and indistinct figures became busy on the forecastle. Then a gray strip of sand came into sight, and Grahame nodded to the anxious captain.
"You can let go here, but don't give her much cable."
The anchor splashed from the bows, there was a roar of running chain, the throb of the screw slowly turning astern, and a screaming of startled birds. She brought up, the noise died away, and the silence was emphasized by the clamor of the surf on the opposite shore of the key. The captain looked about with a frown, for the desolation of the spot and the nearness of the reefs had their effect on him.
"Hail them to get your gig over at once, and then we'll have a drink," he said.
Macallister answered Grahame's shout, for theEnchantresshad anchored close astern, and the boat was hanging from her davits when he followed the captain into his room. The vessels rolled lazily and the swell broke with a languid splash upon the beach, for the bight was sheltered by the reefs. The small room was lighted by an oil lamp and was very hot. A pilot coat, damp with salt, and a suit of oilskins swung to and fro across the bulkhead, and a pair of knee-boots stood in a corner. Two or three bad photographic portraits were tacked against the teakwood paneling, but except for these, all that the room contained suggested stern utility.
Unlocking a cupboard, the captain took a bottle and some glasses from a rack, and Walthew coughed as he tasted the fiery spirit.
"That's powerful stuff, but the flavor's good," he said with an attempt at politeness.
A big, greasy man who the captain informed the others was Mr. James, his chief engineer, came in. He sat down with his feet on the locker, and helped himself liberally to the spirits. In the meanwhile the captain put an inkstand on the small folding table.
"You have the bill of lading; endorse it that you've got delivery, and I'll give you a receipt for the freight."
Grahame glanced at Walthew, who sat nearest the door, and the lad looked out.
"The gig's alongside, ready for the cases," he said.
"We'll heave them up as soon as we've finished this business," the captain replied.
Grahame wrote a check and put it on the table with some American paper currency.
"Your owners have satisfied themselves that this will be met; I thought I'd better keep the other amount separate."
"That's all right," the captain returned; "but you're a hundred dollars short."
"I guess you're mistaken," Walthew said. "We've paid the freight, and a bonus to yourself, as we promised because it was an awkward job. What else do you want?"
"A bonus for the engineer," the greasy mechanic answered with a grin.
"Precisely," said the captain.
"Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," Grahame said, and Walthew picked up the check, which still lay on the table.
There was silence for a few moments while theMiranda'sofficers looked hard at their visitors. Grahame's face was impassive, but there was a gleam of amusement in Walthew's eyes.
"Now, you listen to me," said the captain. "Mr. James is entitled to his share, and he means to get it. You don't suppose he'd take a hand in a risky job like this entirely for the benefit of the owners?"
"Mr. James," said Walthew, "runs no risk that Ican see. However, if you think he has a right to something, you can divide with him."
"No, sir! What you have given me is mine. But there's another point you've overlooked. The crew expect a few dollars, and it might be wise to satisfy them."
Grahame smiled.
"They certainly struck me as a hard crowd; but seamen don't rob cargo-shippers nowadays. Then it's difficult to imagine that you told them what's in the cases. In fact, the way they obeyed your mate suggested that there's not much liking between men and officers on board this packet. If there was any trouble, I don't know that they'd take your side."
The captain frowned; and James drained his glass again and then struck the table.
"Think something of yourselves, I reckon, but we've come out on top with smarter folks than you. Put down your money like gentlemen, and say no more."
"It's good advice," the captain added meaningly.
"Guess we disagree," Walthew said, putting the check into his pocket. "You haven't got your freight payment yet."
"Do you think you can keep that check?"
"Well," said Walthew coolly, "we could cable the bank to stop payment from the nearest port. For that matter, I'm not certain that you could take it back."
"We're willing to try," the big engineer scowled.
"And you don't get the goods until we're satisfied," the captain added.
"May I ask what you would do with the cases? They're consigned to us, and you'd have some trouble in passing them through a foreign customs house.They open things and inspect the contents when the duty's high."
"We could dump them overboard. Better do the fair thing by us and get delivery."
"I don't think we're unfair," Walthew replied. "We engaged with your owners to pay a stipulated freight, and added a bonus for the skipper. Now we put down the money and want our goods."
"The winch that heaves them up doesn't start without my order," James said with an ugly laugh.
Grahame turned to the captain with a gesture of weariness.
"We don't seem to get much farther! I suspect you've forgotten something. How much a day does it cost you to run this ship?"
"What has that got to do with it?" the captain asked curtly.
"Well," said Grahame coolly, "there's a risk of your stopping here for some time. It's an awkward place to get out of unless you know it well; particularly when it's blowing fresh. The Northers hardly reach so far, but they unsettle the weather, and when the wind's from seaward a strong eddy stream runs through the bight. Perhaps you may have noticed that the glass is falling fast."
The captain looked disturbed; but he was not to be beaten so easily.
"You don't get back on board your boat until you've taken us out!" he threatened.
"I can take you out to-night, but if you miss your chance and have to wait we can afford it best. Our expenses aren't heavy, but you'll have to account to your owners for the delay that won't cost us much.Besides, you'd be forced to keep steam up in case she dragged; it's bad holding ground."
There was silence for a few moments, and then the captain made a sign of surly acquiescence.
"Very well; we won't argue about the bonus. Give me the check."
"I think we'll wait until the cases are transhipped," Walthew said with a smile.
"Give them steam for the winch, Mr. James," the captain ordered; and the engineer slouched away.
The winch began to rattle and an hour or two later Grahame went up to the bridge while the anchor was broken out. When the men were stowing it the engines throbbed and theMirandaturned her head toward open water. In another half hour the propeller stopped and the captain turned to his guests with a grin as theEnchantress'sgig came alongside.
"I expect the dagoes you're shipping those rifles for will find you hard to beat," he said.
There was not a ripple on the sea when theEnchantress, steaming slowly, closed with the coast. The glittering water broke with a drowsy murmur at her bows and turned from silver to a deep blue in the shadow of the hull; her wake was marked by silky whirls on the back of the swell. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, the sea flung back a dazzling light, and Grahame's eyes ached as he searched the approaching land with his glasses.
Far back, blue mountains loomed through haze and the foreground was blurred and dim. One could not tell where the low expanse began or ended, though a broad, dark fringe, which Grahame knew was forest, conveyed some idea of distance. In one or two spots, a streak of white indicated surf upon a point, but the picture was flooded with a glare in which separate objects lost distinctness. Blue and gray and silver melted into one another without form or salient line.
Grahame put down the glasses and turned to the seaman near him. Miguel was getting old, but his tall figure was strong, and he stood, finely posed, with a brown hand on the wheel. His face was rugged, but he had clear, blue eyes that met one with a curious child-like gaze. He was barefooted and his thin cotton trousers and canvas jacket were spotlessly clean, though Grahame imagined he had made the latter out of a piece of old awning they had meant to throw away.
"You come from the Canaries, don't you, Miguel?" Grahame asked in Castilian. "It is not so hot there."
"From San Sebastian, señor, where the trade-breeze blows and the date-palms grow. My house stands among the tuna-figs beside the mule-track to the mountains."
"Then you have a house? Who takes care of it while you are away?"
"My señora. She packs the tomatoes they send to England. It is hard work and one earns a peseta a day."
"Then why did you leave her?" Grahame asked, for he knew that a peseta, which is equal to about twenty cents, will not buy much of the coarse maize-flour the Canary peasants live upon.
"There came a great tempest, and when my three boats were wrecked something must be done. My sons were drawn for the navy; they had no money to send. For years, señor, I was captain of a schooner fishingbacalaoon the African coast, and when I came home to catch tunny for the Italian factory things went very well. Then the gale swept down from the peaks one night and in the morning the boats were matchwood on the reef."
"Ah!" said Grahame. He could sympathize, for he too had faced what at the time had seemed to be overwhelming disaster. "So you sailed to look for better fortune somewhere else? You hope to go back to San Sebastian some day?"
"If my saint is kind. But perhaps it is well that he is a very great angel, for fortune is not always found when one looks for it at sea."
There was no irony in Miguel's answer; his manner was quietly dignified. Indeed, though he had been taught nothing except rudimentary seamanship, he had the bearing of a fine gentleman.
"Wages are good in English and American ships," Grahame resumed, feeling that he was guilty of impertinence. "Sometimes you are able to send the señora a few dollars?"
"I send all but a little to buy clothes when I go where it is cold, and my señora buries the money to buy another boat if it is permitted that I return. Once or twice a year comes a letter, written by the priest, and I keep it until I find a man who can read it to me."
Grahame was touched. There was something pathetic in the thought of this untaught exile's patiently carrying the precious letters until he met somebody who could read his language.
"Well," he said, "if things go well with us, you will get a bonus besides your wages, which should make it easier for you to go home. But you understand there is danger in what we may have to do."
Miguel smiled.
"Señor, there is always danger on the sea."
Grahame turned and saw Walthew standing in the engine-room door. He wore dirty overalls and a singlet torn open at the neck, there was a smear of oil across his face, and his hands were black and scarred.
"What on earth have you been doing?" Grahame asked.
"Lying on my back for two hours, trying to put a new packing in the gland of a pump."
"Well, who would have predicted a year ago that you would be amusing yourself this way now!"
Walthew laughed.
"Do you know where we are?" he asked.
"I imagine we're not far off the creek; in fact, we might risk making the signal smoke. It will be dark enough to head inshore in a few hours."
"Then we'll get to work with the fires," said Walthew, promptly disappearing below.
Soon afterward, a dense black cloud rose from the funnel and, trailing away behind theEnchantress, spread across the sky. Grahame knew that it might be seen by unfriendly watchers, but other steamers sometimes passed the point for which he was steering. After a while he signaled for less steam, and only a faint, widening ripple marked theEnchantress'spassage through the water as she closed obliquely with the land. It was still blurred, and in an hour Grahame stopped the engines and took a cast of the lead. Dark would come before long, when, if they had reached the right spot, signals would be made. In the meanwhile it would be imprudent to venture nearer.
Walthew and one of the seamen set out a meal on deck and when it was eaten they lounged on the stern grating, smoking and waiting. There was dangerous work before them; and, to make things worse, it must be done in the dark, because the moon now shone in the daytime. It was very hot, and a steamy, spicy smell drifted off the coast, which grew less distinct as the darkness settled down. A faint rumble of surf reached them from an unseen beach, rising and falling with arhythm in it. The black smoke had been stopped and thin gray vapor rose straight up from the funnel. The quietness and the suspense began to react upon the men's nerves; they felt impatient and highly strung, but they talked as carelessly as they could.
Then in the quietness the roar of the sea on sandy shoals reached them ominously clear. Grahame glanced shoreward, but could see nothing, for the sun had gone and a thin mist was spreading across the low littoral.
"We're drifting inshore," he said. "As soon as I get four fathoms we'll steam out. Try a cast of the lead."
Walthew swung the plummet and they heard it strike the sea.
"Half a fathom to the good," he called as he coiled up the wet line. Then he stopped, looking toward the land. "What's that?" he said. "Yonder, abreast of the mast?"
A twinkling light appeared in the mist and grew brighter.
"A fire, I think," Grahame answered quietly. "Still, one's not enough."
A second light began to glimmer, and soon another farther on.
Macallister chuckled.
"Ye're a navigator. Our friends are ready. I've seen many a worse landfall made by highly-trained gentlemen with a big mail company's buttons."
"A lucky shot; but you had better stand by below. Start her easy."
He blew three blasts on the whistle, and the fires went out while theEnchantressmoved slowly shoreward through the gloom. Miguel held the wheel and Grahame stood near by, watching the half-breed who swung the lead. Presently another light twinkled, and, listening hard, Grahame heard the splash of paddles. Stopping the engines, he waited until a low, gray object crept out of the mist and slid toward the steamer's side. Ropes were thrown and when the canoe was made fast the first of the men who came up ceremoniously saluted Grahame.
"You bring the goods all right?" he asked.
"They're ready. If it makes no difference, I'd rather wait until to-morrow before delivering them. I understand the beach is mostly mangrove swamp, and it's a dark night to take the steamer up the creek."
"To-morrow she be seen; the coast is watch by spy," said the other in his quaint English; then indicated his companion. "Dese man he takes her anywhere."
Grahame hesitated.
Secrecy was essential, and if he waited for daylight and was seen by watchers who had noticed the smoke in the afternoon he might not have an opportunity for landing another cargo. For all that, knowing nothing about his pilot's skill, he imagined he ran some risk of grounding if he took the steamer in. Risks, however, could not be avoided.
"Very well," he decided. "Send him to the wheel."
He kept the lead going as theEnchantresscrept forward, and was relieved to find that the water got no shallower. It looked as if the pilot were following a channel, for the wash of the sea on hidden shoals began to rise from both sides. Except for this and the measured throb of the engines, there was deep silence, but after a while the vessel, which had been rollinggently, grew steady, and Grahame thought he could hear the water she threw off splash upon a beach. He looked about eagerly, but there was nothing to be seen. This creeping past invisible dangers was daunting, but he felt comforted as he glanced at the motionless, dark figure at the helm. The fellow showed no hesitation; it was obvious that he knew his business.
Through the darkness low trees loomed up ahead, and shortly afterward another clump abeam. Mist clung about them, there was not much space between, and the absence of any gurgle at the bows indicated that theEnchantresswas steaming up the inlet with the tide. The lead showed sufficient water, but Grahame had misgivings, for the creek seemed to be getting narrower. It was, however, too late to turn back; he must go on and trust to luck.
Some time later a light appeared among the trees, and the pilot ordered the engines to be stopped. Then he pulled the helm over and waved his hand as theEnchantressswung inshore.
"La ancla!" he cried. "Let her go!"
There was a splash and a sharp rattle of chain, and when theEnchantressstopped the beat of paddles came out of the gloom. Then the cargo-lamp was lighted and in a few minutes a group of men climbed on board. Some were dusky half-breeds, but two or three seemed to be of pure Spanish extraction. Grahame took these below, where they carefully examined the cases. When they were satisfied they followed him to the deck-cabin, and Walthew brought them some wine. One man gave Grahame a check on an American bank, and shortly afterward the work of getting up the cargo began.
Everybody became suddenly busy. Shadowy figures dragged the cases about the shallow hold and fixed the slings. Dark-skinned men, dripping with perspiration, slackened guys and swung the derrick-boom while canoes crept into the light of the cargo-lamp and vanished, loaded, into the dark. The stir lasted for some time, and then, after the cases had all been hoisted over the side, the white men among the shore party shook hands with their hosts.
"It is all right," said the spokesman. "We are ready for the next lot when you get back."
"I suppose your man will be here in the morning to take us out?" Grahame asked, because he had been told that it was too late to leave the creek that tide.
"If nothing is happen, he certainly come."
The visitors got on board their canoe, and it slid off into the mist. When the splash of paddles died away, an oppressive silence settled down on the vessel, and the darkness seemed very thick, for the big cargo-lamp had been put out. After the keen activity a reaction had set in: the men were tired and felt the heat.
"It's lonesome," Macallister remarked, and sniffed disgustedly. "Like a hothouse in a botanic garden when they've full steam on, with a dash o' Glasgow sewer thrown in. In fact, ye might call the atmosphere a wee bit high."
"I don't suppose you found it very fresh in West Africa," Walthew replied.
"I did not. That's maybe the reason the ague grips me noo and then. Ye'll learn something about handling engines when it takes me bad. This is a verra insidious smell."
"The mosquitos are worse," Grahame said. "I wonder whether there are many of them about? Anyway, I'd like a warp taken out and made fast to the trees. There's not much room to swing, and though the flood generally runs harder than the ebb in these places, one can't count on that."
Walthew got into the boat with Miguel and one of the crew, and came back half an hour later, smeared with mire and wet to the waist.
"We've made the rope fast, but this creek has no beach," he said. "The trees grow out of the water, and you slip off their roots into holes filled with slime. Couldn't feel any bottom in one or two, and I was mighty glad I caught a branch. In fact, we've had a rather harrowing experience."
"Get your wet clothes off and take some quinine before you go to sleep," Grahame advised; and when Walthew left him he watched the men heave the warp tight.
Soon afterward the crew went below, except for one who kept anchor-watch. The ebb tide was running strong, and Grahame was not quite satisfied about the way the vessel was moored. It was, however, impossible to make her more secure in the dark, and, getting sleepy presently, he left his seat on the stern grating and went to his berth.
Grahame was awakened by a crash. Springing half asleep from his berth, he scrambled out on deck. Thick darkness enveloped the steamer and at first he could see nothing. Then as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he made out indistinct black trees in the mist. They were sliding past and he knew the warp had broken and theEnchantresswould swing inshore before her cable brought her up. This must be prevented, if possible, for the creek was narrow and shoal.
Jumping on the stern grating he gave his orders, and they were obeyed. He saw Macallister, in pajamas, dive into the engine-room, and the screw began to throb; then barefooted men sprang into the boat alongside, and a heavy rope ran out across the rail. There was nothing more to be done for a few moments and, lashing the wheel, Grahame hurriedly lighted a pyrotechnic flare. The strong blue radiance drove back the gloom, and the water glittered among cakes of floating scum. Then the bright beam picked out the boat, with Walthew toiling, half-naked, at an oar, and Miguel's tall figure bending to and fro as he sculled astern. Another man was rowing forward, and his tense pose told of determined effort, but he vanished as the light moved on.
The rope the crew were taking out fixed Grahame's attention. It crawled through the water in heavy coils, like a snake, holding the boat back while the stream swept her sideways. He did not think she could reach the opposite bank, though theEnchantresswas sheering that way to help her. Then the light forced up a patch of greasy mud in which crawling things wriggled, and, passing on, picked out foul, dark caves among the mangrove roots. After that, it touched the rows of slender trunks and was lost in impenetrable gloom.
A few moments later the flare, burning low, scorched Grahame's fingers and he flung it over the rail. It fell with a hiss into the creek and bewildering darkness shut down. There was now no guide but the strain on the helm, and Grahame began to be afraid of breaking out the anchor. For a time the splash of oars continued, telling of the tense struggle that went on in the gloom, but it stopped suddenly and he knew the men were beaten. Ringing off the engines, he ran forward with a deckhand to drop the kedge anchor. It was heavy, an arm was foul of something, and they could not drag it clear, until a dim object appeared close by.
"Heave!" cried a breathless voice. "Handy, noo! Away she goes!"
There was a splash and a rattle as the chain ran out, a thud as the returning boat came alongside, and then the vessel quivered, listed down on one side, and became motionless.
"I'm thinking she's hard and fast, but we'll try to shake her off," Macallister said and vanished, and soon the engines began to turn.
TheEnchantresstrembled, straining hard and rattling, but when somebody lighted the cargo-lamp, which still hung from a boom, it could not be seen that she moved. The light showed a narrow stretch of water, sliding past, blotched with foul brown foam. Then it fell upon the boat's crew, who had come on board, and Grahame saw that Walthew was gasping for breath. His flushed face was wet and drawn with effort, and his bare arms and neck were marked by small red spots.
"Sorry we couldn't manage to reach the bank," he panted. "Warp kept getting across her and the stream was running fast. But I'd better help Mack."
"Sit still a minute," Grahame said. "What are those marks on your neck?"
"Mosquito bites, I guess. Hadn't time to swat the brutes; they were pretty fierce."
The deck was now slanting steeply, and Grahame, looking over the rail, saw a wet strip a foot broad between the dry planks and the water.
"You can tell Mack to shut off steam," he said. "She's here until next tide and I'm not certain we can float her then."
The engines stopped, there was by contrast a curious stillness, and the men went below; but Grahame spent some time studying a chart of the coast and a nautical almanac before he went to sleep.
When the cases had been safely landed, the little group of Spaniards and half-breeds separated, some following the coastline going south, others finding a narrow path that led through the jungle beyond the mangrove-trees. Bio, the peon pilot, lingered behind.There was no moon, but the night was not really dark, for the sky was jeweled with stars which covered the earth with a soft, mystic radiance.
When the footsteps of the others had died away and the night was quiet, Bio started slowly down the jungle path. It opened out into a flat stretch of sandy land and then was lost in a plantation of coffee-trees. Beyond the coffee plantation was an uncultivated space known to the natives asLa colina del sol(The Hill of the Sun) because of the many broad rocks upon which the sun beat down in all its intensity. Here and there a wild date-palm grew, and an occasional clump of bananas; but except for that the hill was covered with low shrubbery and a blanket of trailing vines, which now were wet with the dew.
Bio went directly to one of the rocks and stood upon it looking upward at the stars. The warmth that still remained in the rock was pleasant to his damp, bare feet. The air about him was filled with the soft flutter of moths and other honey-seekers; the heavy perfume of a white jasmine came to him, mingled with the sweet odor of the night-blooming cereus. At his side an insect chirped, and above him a whistling frog gave answer.
These wild night sounds found quick response in Bio's Indian blood. With an odd little smile of content, he stretched out on the rock to listen—and to sleep. At high tide he would have to return to take the boat out of Mangrove Creek; what better place to wait thanLa colina del sol?
He awakened shortly after daybreak, very hungry; but he knew where he could get a pleasant breakfast before returning to the boat. With a comfortableyawn and stretch, he left the rock and pattered off down the hill to a path that led to the main road. A half mile down this stood a little adobe house owned by a Spaniard who was suspected of sympathizing with the revolutionists although he had many friends among therurales.
When Bio reached the house he gave his customary signal—a stick drawn harshly across the iron gratings at the window; and the door was soon opened by Filodomo himself. A hasty conversation followed, and Bio went back to the kitchen while Filodomo aroused his daughter. And when the black-eyed Rosita came tripping out, with the flush of sleep still on her, Bio all but forgot theyanquiseñores and their boat which waited in Mangrove Creek.
He was enjoying his breakfast so much, indeed, that he did not hear Filodomo talking loudly in the front room. Rosita was more alert. She paused a moment to listen, and then the laughter in her eyes changed to quick alarm.
"Los rurales!" she whispered.
Bio was on his feet instantly. Theruraleshad several counts against him, and he knew what his life would be worth if he were caught. Rosita, too, seemed to know. She led him quickly to the low window and pointed to a narrow path that led through a field of cane. Bio lost no time. As he disappeared among the green stalks, the girl gave a sigh of relief; and then hurried into the front room to put theruralesoff his path.
Bio made his way quickly but cautiously through the cane-field, meaning to double back toLa colina del sol; but as he left the cane and rounded a giganticcalabash-tree he ran directly into the arms of two youngrurales.
"Not so fast, my friend," said one of them, grabbing him.
"Bio!" exclaimed the other.
And Bio knew there was no hope of escape. Theruraleswere only too eager for the credit of capturing him and taking him to headquarters.
Four days later he found himself in a military camp and was led at once to the officer in charge. During all the questions of theruraleshe had maintained a sullen silence; but now he was forced to speak.
"We are told that the revolutionists are getting rifles from a little boat that lands them at impossible places," the officer said. "Only a pilot with your knowledge of the coast could bring in such a boat. Tell us what you know!"
Bio did not answer.
The officer leaned forward threateningly.
"We have enough charges against you to warrant our shooting you on the spot," he said. "You will never see another sunrise, unless you tell us—and tell us quickly, and truthfully!"
A gleam of hope crept into Bio's eyes.
"And if I tell you—all?"
"Then, if I believe you, you will be set at liberty."
There was a sneer in the conditional clause that made Bio's blood run cold for an instant; but it seemed his only chance of escape, and he began haltingly but in a tone that they could not doubt was the truth.
"I left the boat far up in Mangrove Creek," he ended. "I think theyanquiseñores cannot take her out."
"Tell Morales to have the mules ready at once!" the officer ordered. "The quickest road?" he asked Bio.
The pilot answered without faltering. The road he told them was twice as far as overLa colina del soland through the jungle path.
The officer consulted a few moments with theruraleswho had brought Bio in, and then gave his decision.
"My men will not need you. You will be held in camp for one day and then set at liberty. I am a man of my word!"
Bio could hardly believe his good luck, although he frowned anxiously at that one day's detention. Silently he followed his guards; but, as he expected, he found them very lax after the first hour or two. Long before midnight he was snaking his way noiselessly through the underbrush that surrounded the camp.
And in the meantime theruraleswere riding furiously along the road that led to Mangrove Creek.