Kitabı oku: «The Adventures of Captain Horn», sayfa 19

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE “ARATO”

The subject of the labors of an African Hercules, mythical as these labors might be, was so interesting to the four men who had been drinking and smoking in the tavern, that they determined to pursue it as far as their ignorance of the African’s language, and his ignorance of English and Spanish, would permit. In the first place, they made him sit down with them, and offered him something to drink. It was not whiskey, but Inkspot liked it very much, and felt all sorts of good effects from it. In fact, it gave him a power of expressing himself by gestures and single words in a manner wonderful. After a time, the men gave him something to eat, for they imagined he might be hungry, and this also helped him very much, and his heart went out to these new friends. Then he had a little more to drink, but only a little, for the horse-dealer and the thin-nosed man, who superintended the entertainment, were very sagacious, and did not want him to drink too much.

In the course of an hour, these four men, listening and watching keenly and earnestly, had become convinced that this black man had been on a ship which carried bags of gold similar to the rude prism possessed by the horse-dealer, that he had left that vessel for the purpose of obtaining refreshments on shore and had not been able to get back to it, thereby indicating that the vessel had not stopped long at the place where he had left it, and which place must have been, of course, Valparaiso. Moreover, they found out to their full satisfaction where that vessel was going to; for Maka had talked a great deal about Paris, which he pronounced in English fashion, where Cheditafa and Mok were, and the negroes had looked forward to this unknown spot as a heavenly port, and Inkspot could pronounce the word “Paris” almost as plainly as if it were a drink to which he was accustomed.

But where the vessel was loaded with the gold, they could not find out. No grimace that Inkspot could make, nor word that he could say, gave them an idea worth dwelling upon. He said some words which made them believe that the vessel had cleared from Acapulco, but it was foolish to suppose that any vessel had been loaded there with bags of gold carried on men’s shoulders. The ship most probably came from California, and had touched at the Mexican port. And she was now bound for Paris. That was natural enough. Paris was a very good place to which to take gold. Moreover, she had probably touched at some South American port, Callao perhaps, and this was the way the little pieces of gold had been brought into the country, the Californians probably having changed them for stores.

The words “Cap’ ‘Or,” often repeated by the negro, and always in a questioning tone, puzzled them very much. They gave up its solution, and went to work to try to make out the name of the vessel upon which the bags had been loaded. But here Inkspot could not help them. They could not make him understand what it was they wanted him to say. At last, the horse-dealer proposed to the others, who, he said, knew more about such things than he did, that they should repeat the name of every sailing-vessel on that coast of which they had ever heard — for Inkspot had made them understand that his ship had sails, and no steam. This they did, and presently one of the sailors mentioned the name Miranda, which belonged to a brig he knew of which plied on the coast. At this, Inkspot sprang to his feet and clapped his hands.

“Miran’a! Miran’a.’” he cried. And then followed the words, “Cap’ ‘Or! Cap’ ‘Or!” in eagerly excited tones.

Suddenly the thin-nosed man, whom the others called Cardatas, leaned forward.

“Cap’n Horn?” said he.

Inkspot clapped his hands again, and exclaimed:

“Ay, ay! Cap’ ‘Or! Cap’ ‘Or!”

He shouted the words so loudly that the barkeeper, at the other end of the room, called out gruffly that they’d better keep quiet, or they would have somebody coming in.

“There you have it!” exclaimed Cardatas, in Spanish. “It’s Cap’n Horn that the fool’s been trying to say. Cap’n Horn of the brig Miranda. We are getting on finely.”

“I have heard of a Cap’n Horn,” said one of the sailors. “He’s a Yankee skipper from California. He has sailed from this port, I know.”

“And he touched here three days ago, according to the negro,” said Cardatas, addressing the horse-dealer. “What do you say to that, Nunez? From what we know, I don’t think it will be hard to find out more.”

Nunez agreed with him, and thought it might pay to find out more. Soon after this, being informed that it was time to shut up the place, the four men went out, taking Inkspot with them. They would not neglect this poor fellow. They would give him a place to sleep, and in the morning he should have something to eat. It would be very unwise to let him go from them at present.

The next morning Inkspot strolled about the wharves of Valparaiso, in company with the two sailors, who never lost sight of him, and he had rather a pleasant time, for they gave him as much to eat and drink as was good for him, and made him understand as well as they could that it would not be long before they would help him to return to the brig Miranda commanded by Captain Horn.

In the meantime, the horse-dealer, Nunez, went to a newspaper office, and there procured a file of a Mexican paper, for the negro had convinced them that his vessel had sailed from Acapulco. Turning over the back numbers week after week, and week after week, Nunez searched in the maritime news for the information that the Miranda had cleared from a Mexican port. He had gone back so far that he had begun to consider it useless to make further search, when suddenly he caught the name Miranda. There it was. The brig Miranda had cleared from Acapulco September 16, bound for Rio Janeiro in ballast. Nunez counted the months on his fingers.

“Five months ago!” he said to himself. “That’s not this trip, surely. But I will talk to Cardatas about that.” And taking from his pocket a little note-book in which he recorded his benefactions in the line of horse trades, he carefully copied the paragraph concerning the Miranda.

When Nunez met Cardatas in the afternoon, the latter also had news. He had discovered that the arrival of the Miranda had not been registered, but he had been up and down the piers, asking questions, and he had found a mate of a British steamer, then discharging her cargo, who told him that the Miranda, commanded by Captain Horn, had anchored in the harbor three days back, during the night, and that early the next morning Captain Horn had sent him a letter which he wished posted, and that very soon afterwards the brig had put out to sea. Cardatas wished to know much more, but the mate, who had had but little conversation with Shirley, could only tell him that the brig was then bound from Acapulco to Rio Janeiro in ballast, which he thought rather odd, but all he could add was that he knew Captain Horn, and he was a good man, and that if he were sailing in ballast, he supposed he knew what he was about.

Nunez then showed Cardatas the note he had made, and remarked that, of course, it could not refer to the present voyage of the brig, for it could not take her five months to come from Acapulco to this port.

“No,” said the other, musing, “it oughtn’t to, but, on the other hand, it is not likely she is on her second voyage to Rio, and both times in ballast. That’s all stuff about ballast. No man would be such a fool as to sail pretty nigh all around this continent in ballast. He could find some cargo in Mexico that he could sell when he got to port. Besides, if that black fellow don’t lie, — and he don’t know enough to lie, — she’s bound for Paris. It’s more likely she means to touch at Rio and take over some cargo. But why, in the devil’s name, should she sail from Acapulco in ballast? It looks to me as if bags of gold might make very good ballast.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Nunez.

“And what’s more,” said the other, “I’ll bet she brought it down from California with her when she arrived at Acapulco. I don’t believe she originally cleared from there.”

“It looks that way,” said Nunez, “but how do you account for such a long voyage?”

“I’ve been talking to Sanchez about that Miranda,” said Cardatas. “He has heard that she is an old tub, and a poor sailer, and in that case five months is not such a very slow voyage. I have known of slower voyages than that.”

“And now what are you going to do about it?” asked Nunez.

“The first thing I want to do is to pump that black fellow a little more.”

“A good idea,” said Nunez, “and we’ll go and do it.”

Poor Inkspot was pumped for nearly an hour, but not much was got out of him. The only feature of his information that was worth anything was the idea that he managed to convey that ballast, consisting of stones and bags of sand, had been taken out of the brig and thrown away, and bags of gold put in their places. Where this transfer had taken place, the negro could not make his questioners understand, and he was at last remanded to the care of Sanchez and the other sailor.

“The black fellow can’t tell us much,” said Cardatas to Nunez, as they walked away together, “but he has stuck to his story well, and there can’t be any use of his lying about it. And there is another thing. What made the brig touch here just long enough to leave a letter, and that after a voyage of five months? That looks as if they were afraid some of their people would go on shore and talk.”

“In that case,” said Nunez, “I should say there is something shady about the business. Perhaps this captain has slipped away from his partners up there in California, or somebody who has been up to a trick has hired him to take the gold out of the country. If he does carry treasure, it isn’t a fair and square thing. If it had been fair, the gold would have been sent in the regular way, by a steamer. It’s no crime to send gold from California to France, or any other place.”

“I agree with you,” said Cardatas, as he lighted his twenty-seventh cigarette.

Nunez did not smoke, but he mused as he walked along.

“If she has gold on board,” said he, presently, “it must be a good deal.”

“Yes,” said the other. “They wouldn’t take so much trouble for a small lot. Of course, there can’t be enough of it to take the place of all the ballast, but it must weigh considerable.”

Here the two men were joined by an acquaintance, and their special conversation ceased. That night they met again.

“What are you going to do about this?” asked Nunez. “We can’t keep on supporting that negro.”

“What is to be done?” asked the other, his sharp eyes fixed upon his companion’s face.

“Would it pay to go over to Rio and meet that brig when she arrives there? If we could get on board and have a talk with her captain, he might be willing to act handsomely when he found out we know something about him and his ship. And if he won’t do that, we might give information, and have his vessel held until the authorities in California can be communicated with. Then I should say we ought to make something.”

“I don’t think much of that plan,” said Cardatas. “I don’t believe she’s going to touch at Rio. If she’s afraid to go into port here, why shouldn’t she be afraid to go into port there? No. It would be stupid for us to go to Rio and sit down and wait for her.”

“Then,” answered the other, a little angrily, “what can be done?”

“We can go after her,” said Cardatas.

The other sneered. “That would be more stupid than the other,” said he. “She left here four days ago, and we could never catch up with her, even if we could find such a pin-point of a vessel on the great Pacific.”

Cardatas laughed. “You don’t know much about navigation,” said he, “but that’s not to be expected. With a good sailing-vessel I could go after her, and overhaul her somewhere in the Straits of Magellan. With such a cargo, I am sure she would make for the Straits. That Captain Horn is said to be a good sailor, and the fact that he is in command of such a tub as the Miranda is a proof that there is something underhand about his business.”

“And if we should overhaul her?” said the other.

“Well,” was the reply, “we might take along a dozen good fellows, and as the Miranda has only three men on board, — I don’t count negroes worth anything, — I don’t see why we couldn’t induce the captain to talk reasonably to us. As for a vessel, there’s the Arato.”

“Your vessel?” said the other.

“Yes, I own a small share in her, and she’s here in port now, waiting for a cargo.”

“I forget what sort of a craft she is,” said Nunez.

“She’s a schooner,” said the other, “and she can sail two miles to the Miranda’s one in any kind of weather. If I had money enough, I could get the Arato, put a good crew on board, and be at sea and on the wake of that brig in twenty-four hours.”

“And how much money would be needed?” asked the other.

“That remains to be calculated,” replied Cardatas. Then the two went to work to calculate, and spent an hour or two at it.

When they parted, Nunez had not made up his mind that the plan of Cardatas was a good one, but he told him to go ahead and see what could be done about getting the Arato and a reliable crew, and that he would talk further to him about the matter.

That night Nunez took a train for Santiago, and on his arrival there, the next morning, he went straight to the shop of the jeweller of whom had been obtained the piece of gold in his possession. Here he made some cautious inquiries, and found the jeweller very ready to talk about the piece of gold that Nunez showed him. The jeweller said that he had had four pieces of the gold in his possession, and that he had bought them in Lima to use in his business. They had originally come from California, and were very fine gold. He had been a little curious about it on account of the shape of the pieces, and had been told that they had been brought into the country by an American sea-captain, who had seemed to have a good many of them. The jeweller thought it very likely that these pieces of gold passed for currency in California, for he had heard that at one time the people there had had to make their own currency, and that they often paid for merchandise in so many penny-weights and ounces of gold instead of using coin. The jeweller was himself very glad to do business in this way, for he liked the feel of a lump of gold.

After explaining that his reason for making these inquiries was his fear that the piece of gold he had accepted in trade because he also liked the feel of lumps of gold, might not be worth what he had given for it, Nunez thanked the jeweller, left him, and returned to Valparaiso. He went straight to his friend Cardatas, and said that he would furnish the capital to fit out the Arato for the projected trip.

It was not in twenty-four hours, but in forty-eight, that the schooner Arato cleared from Valparaiso for Callao in ballast. She had a good set of sails, and a crew of ten men besides the captain. She also had on board a passenger, Nunez by name, and a tall negro, who doubtless could turn his hand to some sort of work on board, and whom it would have been very indiscreet to leave behind.

Once outside the harbor, the Arato changed her mind about going to Callao, and sailed southward.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE COAST OF PATAGONIA

For about ten days after the brig Miranda left Valparaiso she had good winds and fair weather, and her progress was satisfactory to all on board, but at the end of that time she entered upon a season of head winds and bad weather. The vessel behaved very well in the stormy days that followed, but she made very little headway. Her course was now laid toward the Gulf of Penas, after reaching which she would sail along the protected waterways between the chain of islands which lie along the coast and the mainland, and which lead into the Straits of Magellan.

When the weather at last changed and the sea became smoother, it was found that the working and straining of the masts during the violent weather had opened some of the seams of the brig, and that she was taking in water. She was a good vessel, but she was an old one, and she had had a rough time of it. The captain thanked his stars that she had not begun to leak before the storm.

The short-handed crew went to work at the pumps, but, after two days’ hard labor, it was found that the water in the hold steadily gained upon the pumps, and there was no doubt that the Miranda was badly strained. According to a report from Burke, the water came in forward, aft, and midships. Matters were now getting very serious, and the captain and his two mates consulted together, while the three negroes pumped. It was plain to all of them that if the water kept on gaining, it would not be long before the brig must go to the bottom. To keep her afloat until they reached a port would be impossible. To reach the shore in the boats was quite possible, for they were not a hundred miles from land. But to carry their treasure to land in two small boats was a thing which need not even be considered.

All agreed that there was but one thing to be done. The brig must be headed to land, and if she could be kept afloat until she neared one of the great islands which lie along the Patagonian coast, she might be run into some bay or protected cove, where she could be beached, or where, if she should sink, it might be in water so shallow that all hope of getting at her treasure would not have to be abandoned. In any case, the sooner they got to the shore, the better for them. So the brig’s bow was turned eastward, and the pumps were worked harder than ever. There was a good wind, and, considering that the Miranda was steadily settling deeper and deeper, she made very fair progress, and in less than two days after she had changed her course, land was sighted. Not long after, Captain Horn began to hope that if the wind held, and the brig could keep above water for an hour or so, he could double a small headland which now showed itself plainly a couple of miles away, and might be able to beach his vessel.

What a dreary, depressing hope it was that now possessed the souls of Captain Horn, of Burke and Shirley, and of even the three negroes! After all the hardships, the labor, and the anxieties, after all the joy of success and escape from danger, after all happy chances which had come in various ways and from various directions, after the sweet delights of rest, after the super-exultation of anticipation which no one on board had been able to banish from his mind, there was nothing left to them now but the eager desire that their vessel might keep afloat until she could find some friendly sands on which she might be run, or some shallow water in which she might sink and rest there on the wild Patagonian coast, leaving them far from human beings of any kind, far from help, far, perhaps, from rescue and even safety.

To this one object each man gave his entire energy, his mind, and his body. Steadily went the pumps, steadily the captain kept his eyes fixed upon the approaching headland, and upon the waters beyond, and steadily, little by little, the Miranda sunk lower and lower into the sea.

At last the headland was reached, and on its ocean side the surf beat high. Keeping well away to avoid shoals or a bar, the Miranda passed the southern point of the headland, and slowly sailed into a little bay. To the left lay the rocky ridge which formed the headland, and less than half a mile away could be seen the shining sands of the smooth beach. Toward this beach the Miranda was now headed, every sail upon her set, and every nerve upon her strung to its tightest. They went in upon a flood-tide. If he had believed that the brig would float so long, Captain Horn would have waited an hour until the tide was high, so that he might run his vessel farther up upon the beach, but he could not wait, and with a strong west wind he steered straight for the sands.

There was a hissing under the bows, and a shock which ran through the vessel from stem to stern, and then grinding and grinding and grinding until all motion ceased, and a gentle surf began to curl itself against the stern of the brig.

Every halliard was let go, and down came every sail by the run, and then the brig Miranda ended this voyage, and all others, upon the shore of a desolate Patagonian island.

Between the vessel and dry land there was about a hundred feet of water, but this would be much less when the tide went out. Beyond the beach was a stretch of sandy hillocks, or dunes, and back of these was a mass of scrubby thicket, with here and there a low tree, and still farther back was seen the beginning of what might be a forest. It was a different coast from the desolate shores of Peru.

Burke came aft to the captain.

“Here we are, sir,” said he, “and what’s to happen next?”

“Happen!” exclaimed the captain. “We must not wait for things to happen! What we’ve got to do is to step around lively, and get the gold out of this brig before the wind changes and drives her out into deep water.”

Burke put his hands into his pockets. “Is there any good of it, captain?” said he. “Will we be any better off with the bags on that shore than we would be if they were sunk in this bay?”

“Good of it!” exclaimed the captain. “Don’t talk that way, Burke. If we can get it on shore, there is a chance for us. But if it goes to the bottom, out in deep water, there is none. There is no time to talk now. What we must do is to go to work.”

“Yes,” said Burke, “whatever happens, it is always work. But I’m in for it, as long as I hold together. But we’ve got to look out that some of those black fellows don’t drop over the bow, and give us the slip.”

“They’ll starve if they do,” said the captain, “for not a biscuit, or a drop of water, goes ashore until the gold is out of the hold.”

Burke shook his head. “We’ll do what we can, captain,” said he, “but that hold’s a regular fishpond, and we’ll have to dive for the bags.”

“All right,” said the captain, “dive let it be.”

The work of removing the gold began immediately. Tackle was rigged. The negroes went below to get out the bags, which were hauled up to the deck in a tub. When a moderate boat-load had been taken out, a boat was lowered and manned, and the bags passed down to it.

In the first boat the captain went ashore. He considered it wise to land the treasure as fast as it could be taken out of the hold, for no one could know at what time, whether on account of wind from shore or waves from the sea, the vessel might slip out into deep water. This was a slower method than if everybody had worked at getting the gold on deck, and then everybody had worked at getting it ashore, but it was a safer plan than the other, for if an accident should occur, if the brig should be driven off the sand, they would have whatever they had already landed. As this thought passed through the mind of the captain, he could not help a dismal smile.

“Have!” said he to himself. “It may be that we shall have it as that poor fellow had his bag of gold, when he lay down on his back to die there in the wild desert.”

But no one would have imagined that such an idea had come into the captain’s mind. He worked as earnestly, and as steadily, as if he had been landing an ordinary cargo at an ordinary dock.

The captain and the men in the boat carried the bags high up on the beach, out of any danger from tide or surf, and laid them in a line along the sand. The captain ordered this because it would be easier to handle them afterwards — if it should ever be necessary to handle them — than if they had been thrown into piles. If they should conclude to bury them, it would be easier and quicker to dig a trench along the line, and tumble them in, than to make the deep holes that would otherwise be necessary.

Until dark that day, and even after dark, they worked, stopping only for necessary eating and drinking. The line of bags upon the shore had grown into a double one, and it became necessary for the men, sometimes the white and sometimes the black, to stoop deeper and deeper into the water of the hold to reach the bags. But they worked on bravely. In the early dawn of the next morning they went to work again. Not a negro had given the ship the slip, nor were there any signs that one of them had thought of such a thing.

Backward and forward through the low surf went the boat, and longer and wider and higher grew the mass of bags upon the beach.

It was the third day after they had reached shore that the work was finished. Every dripping bag had been taken out of the hold, and the captain had counted them all as they had been put ashore, and verified the number by the record in his pocket-book.

When the lower tiers of bags had been reached, they had tried pumping out the water, but this was of little use. The brig had keeled over on her starboard side, and early in the morning of the third day, when the tide was running out, a hole had been cut in that side of the vessel, out of which a great portion of the water she contained had run. It would all come in again, and more of it, when the tide rose, but they were sure they could get through their work before that, and they were right. The bags now lay upon the beach in the shape of a long mound, not more than three feet high, and about four rows wide at the bottom and two at the top. The captain had superintended the arrangement of the bags, and had so shaped the mass that it somewhat resembled in form the dunes of sand which lay behind it. No matter what might be their next step, it would probably be advisable to conceal the bags, and the captain had thought that the best way to do this would be to throw sand over the long mound, in which work the prevailing western winds would be likely to assist, and thus make it look like a natural sand-hill. Burke and Shirley were in favor of burial, but the consideration of this matter was deferred, for there was more work to be done, which must be attended to immediately.

Now provisions, water, and everything else that might be of value was taken out of the brig and carried to shore. Two tents were constructed out of sails and spars, and the little party established themselves upon the beach. What would be their next work they knew not, but they must first rest from their long season of heavy labor. The last days had been harder even than the days of storm and the days of pumping. They had eaten hurriedly and slept but little. Regular watches and irregular watches had been kept — watches against storm, which might sweep the brig with all on board out to sea, watches against desertion, watches against they knew not what. As chief watcher, the captain had scarcely slept at all.

It had been dreary work, unrelieved by hope, uncheered by prospect of success; for not one of them, from the captain down, had any definite idea as to what was to be done after they had rested enough to act.

But they rested, and they went so far as to fill their pipes and stretch themselves upon the sand. When night came on, chilly and dark, they gathered driftwood and dead branches from the thicket and built a camp-fire. They sat around it, and smoked their pipes, but they did not tell stories, nor did they talk very much. They were glad to rest, they were glad to keep warm, but that was all. The only really cheerful thing upon the beach was the fire, which leaped high and blazed merrily as the dried wood was heaped upon it.