Kitabı oku: «The Adventures of Captain Horn», sayfa 20

CHAPTER XXXIX. SHIRLEY SPIES A SAIL

When the Arato changed her mind about going to Callao, and sailed southward some five days after the Miranda had started on the same course, she had very good weather for the greater part of a week, and sailed finely. Cardatas, who owned a share in her, had sailed upon her as first mate, but he had never before commanded her. He was a good navigator, however, and well fitted for the task he had undertaken. He was a sharp fellow, and kept his eyes on everybody, particularly upon Nunez, who, although a landsman, and in no wise capable of sailing a ship, was perfectly capable of making plans regarding any vessel in which he was interested, especially when such a vessel happened to be sailing in pursuit of treasure, the value of which was merely a matter of conjecture. It was not impossible that the horse-dealer, who had embarked money in this venture, might think that one of the mariners on board might be able to sail the schooner as well as Cardatas, and would not expect so large a share of the profits should the voyage be successful. But when the storms came on, Nunez grew sick and unhappy, and retired below, and he troubled the mind of Cardatas no more for the present.

The Arato sailed well with a fair wind, but in many respects she was not as good a sea-boat in a storm as the Miranda had proved to be, and she had been obliged to lie to a great deal through the days and nights of high winds and heavy seas. Having never had, until now, the responsibility of a vessel upon him, Cardatas was a good deal more cautious and prudent, perhaps, than Captain Horn would have been had he been in command of the Arato. Among other methods of precaution which Cardatas thought it wise to take, he steered well out from the coast, and thus greatly lengthened his course, and at last, when a clearing sky enabled him to take an observation, he found himself so far to the westward that he changed his course entirely and steered for the southeast.

Notwithstanding all these retarding circumstances, Cardatas did not despair of overhauling the Miranda. He was sure she would make for the Straits, and he did not in the least doubt that, with good winds, he could overtake her before she reached them, and even if she did get out of them, he could still follow her. His belief that the Arato could sail two miles to the Miranda’s one was still unshaken. The only real fear he had was that the Miranda might have foundered in the storm. If that should happen to be the case, their voyage would be a losing one, indeed, but he said nothing of his fears to Nunez.

The horse-dealer was now on deck again, in pretty fair condition, but he was beginning to be despondent. After such an awful storm, and in all that chaos of waves, what chance was there of finding a little brig such as they were after?

“But vessels sail in regular courses,” Cardatas said to him. “They don’t go meandering all over the ocean. If they are bound for any particular place, they go there on the shortest safe line they can lay down on the map. We can go on that line, too, although we may be thrown out of it by storms. But we can strike it again, and then all we have to do is to keep on it as straight as we can, and we are bound to overtake another vessel on the same course, provided we sail faster than she does. It is all plain enough, don’t you see?”

Nunez could not help seeing, but he was a little cross, nevertheless. The map and the ocean were wonderfully different.

The wind had changed, and the Arato did not make very good sailing on her southeastern course. High as was her captain’s opinion of her, she never had sailed, nor ever could sail, two miles to the Miranda’s one, although she was a good deal faster than the brig. But she was fairly well handled, and in due course of time she approached so near the coast that her lookout sighted land, which land Cardatas, consulting his chart, concluded must be one of the Patagonian islands to the north of the Gulf of Penas.

As night came on, Cardatas determined to change his course somewhat to the south, as he did not care to trust himself too near the coast, when suddenly the lookout reported a light on the port bow. Cardatas had sailed down this coast before, but he had never heard of a lighthouse in the region, and with his glass he watched the light. But he could not make it out. It was a strange light, for sometimes it was bright and sometimes dull, then it would increase greatly and almost fade away again.

“It looks like a fire on shore,” said he, and some of the other men who took the glass agreed with him.

“And what does that mean?” asked Nunez.

“I don’t know,” replied Cardatas, curtly. “How should I? But one thing I do know, and that is that I shall lie to until morning, and then we can feel our way near to the coast and see what it does mean.”

“But what do you want to know for?” asked Nunez. “I suppose somebody on shore has built a fire. Is there any good stopping for that? We have lost a lot of time already.”

“I am going to lie to, anyway,” said Cardatas. “When we are on such business as ours, we should not pass anything without understanding it.”

Cardatas had always supposed that these islands were uninhabited, and he could not see why anybody should be on one of them making a fire, unless it were a case of shipwreck. If a ship had been wrecked, it was not at all impossible that the Miranda might be the unfortunate vessel. In any case, it would be wise to lie to, and look into the matter by daylight. If the Miranda had gone down at sea, and her crew had reached land in boats, the success of the Arato’s voyage would be very dubious. And should this misfortune have happened, he must be careful about Nunez when he came to hear of it. When he turned into his hammock that night, Cardatas had made up his mind that, if he should discover that the Miranda had gone to the bottom, it would be a very good thing if arrangements could be made for Nunez to follow her.

That night the crew of the Miranda slept well and enjoyed the first real rest they had had since the storm. No watch was kept, for they all thought it would be an unnecessary hardship. The captain awoke at early dawn, and, as he stepped out of the tent, he glanced over sea and land. There were no signs of storm, the brig had not slipped out into deep water, their boats were still high and dry upon the beach, and there was something encouraging in the soft, early light and the pleasant morning air. He was surprised, however, to find that he was not the first man out. On a piece of higher ground, a little back from the tents, Shirley was standing, a glass to his eye.

“What do you see?” cried the captain.

“A sail!” returned Shirley.

At this every man in the tents came running out. Even to the negroes the words, “A sail,” had the startling effect which they always have upon ship-wrecked men.

The effect upon Captain Horn was a strange one, and he could scarcely understand it himself. It was amazing that succor, if succor it should prove to be, had arrived so quickly after their disaster. But not-withstanding the fact that he would be overjoyed to be taken off that desolate coast, he could not help a strong feeling of regret that a sail had appeared so soon. If they had had time to conceal their treasure, all might have been well. With the bags of gold buried in a trench, or covered with sand so as to look like a natural mound, he and his sailors might have been taken off merely as shipwrecked sailors, and carried to some port where he might charter another vessel and come back after his gold. But now he knew that whoever landed on this beach must know everything, for it would be impossible to conceal the contents of that long pile of bags, and what consequences might follow upon such knowledge it was impossible for him to imagine. Burke had very much the same idea.

“By George, captain!” said he, “it is a great pity that she came along so soon. What do you say? Shall we signal her or not? We want to get away, but it would be beastly awkward for anybody to come ashore just now. I wish we had buried the bags as fast as we brought them ashore.”

The captain did not answer. Perhaps it might be as well not to signal her. And yet, this might be their only chance of rescue!

“What do you say to jumping into the boats and rowing out to meet them?” asked Burke. “We’d have to leave the bags uncovered, but we might get to a port, charter some sort of a craft, and get back for the bags before any other vessel came so near the coast.”

“I don’t see what made this one come so near,” said Shirley, “unless it was our fire last night. She might have thought that was a signal.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said the captain, who held the glass. “But we needn’t trouble ourselves about going out in boats, for she is making straight for land.”

“That’s so,” said Shirley, who could now see this for himself, for the light was rapidly growing stronger. “She must have seen our fire last night. Shall I hoist a signal?”

“No,” said the captain. “Wait!”

They waited to see what this vessel was going to do. Perhaps she was only tacking. But what fool of a skipper would run so close to the shore for the sake of tacking! They watched her eagerly, but not one of the white men would have been wholly disappointed if the schooner, which they could now easily make out, had changed her course and gone off on a long tack to the southwest.

But she was not tacking. She came rapidly on before a stiff west wind. There was no need of getting out boats to go to meet her. She was south of the headland, but was steering directly toward it. They could see what sort of craft she was — a long schooner, painted green, with all sails set. Very soon they could see the heads of the men on board. Then she came nearer and nearer to land, until she was less than half a mile from shore. Then she shot into the wind; her sails fluttered; she lay almost motionless, and her head-sails were lowered.

“That’s just as if they were coming into port,” said Burke.

“Yes,” said Shirley, “I expect they intend to drop anchor.”

This surmise was correct, for, as he spoke, the anchor went down with a splash.

“They’re very business-like,” said Burke. “Look at them. They are lowering a boat.”

“A boat!” exclaimed Shirley, “They’re lowering two of them.”

The captain knit his brows. This was extraordinary action on the part of the vessel. Why did she steer so straight for land? Why did she so quickly drop anchor and put out two boats? Could it be that this vessel had been on their track? Could it be that the Peruvian government — But he could not waste time in surmise as to what might be. They must act, not conjecture.

It was not a minute before the captain made up his mind how they should act. Five men were in each boat, and with a glass it was easy to see that some of them carried guns.

“Get your rifles!” cried he to Shirley and Burke, and he rushed for his own.

The arms and ammunition had been all laid ready in the tent, and in a moment each one of the white men had a rifle and a belt of cartridges. For the blacks there were no guns, as they would not have known how to use them, but they ran about in great excitement, each with his knife drawn, blindly ready to do whatever should be ordered. The poor negroes were greatly frightened. They had but one idea about the approaching boats: they believed that the men in them were Rackbirds coming to wreak vengeance upon them. The same idea had come into the mind of the captain. Some of the Rackbirds had gone back to the cove. They had known that there had been people there. They had made investigations, and found the cave and the empty mound, and in some way had discovered that the Miranda had gone off with its contents. Perhaps the black fellow who had deserted the vessel at Valparaiso had betrayed them. He hurriedly mentioned his suspicions to his companions.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Burke, “if that Inkspot had done it. Perhaps he could talk a good deal better than we thought. But I vow I wouldn’t have supposed that he would be the man to go back on us. I thought he was the best of the lot.”

“Get behind that wall of bags,” cried the captain, “every one of you. Whoever they are, we will talk to them over a breastwork.”

“I think we shall have to do more than talk,” said Burke, “for a blind man could see that there are guns in those boats.”

CHAPTER XL. THE BATTLE OF THE GOLDEN WALL

The five men now got behind the barrier of bags, but, before following them, Captain Horn, with the butt of his rifle, drew a long, deep furrow in the sand about a hundred feet from the breastwork of bags, and parallel with it. Then he quickly joined the others.

The three white men stationed themselves a little distance apart, and each moved a few of the top bags so as to get a good sight between them, and not expose themselves too much.

As the boats came on, the negroes crouched on the sand, entirely out of sight, while Shirley and Burke each knelt down behind the barrier, with his rifle laid in a crevice in the top. The captain’s rifle was in his hand, but he did not yet prepare for action. He stooped down, but his head was sufficiently above the barrier to observe everything.

The two boats came rapidly on, and were run up on the beach, and the men jumped out and drew them up, high and safe. Then, without the slightest hesitation, the ten of them, each with a gun in his hand, advanced in a body toward the line of bags.

“Ahoy!” shouted the captain, suddenly rising from behind the barrier. “Who are you, and what do you want?” He said this in English, but immediately repeated it in Spanish.

“Ahoy, there!” cried Cardatas. “Are you Captain Horn?”

“Yes, I am,” said the captain, “and you must halt where you are. The first man who passes that line is shot.”

Cardatas laughed, and so did some of the others, but they all stopped.

“We’ll stop here a minute to oblige you,” said Cardatas, “but we’ve got something to say to you, and you might as well listen to it.”

Shirley and Burke did not understand a word of these remarks, for they did not know Spanish, but each of them kept his eye running along the line of men who still stood on the other side of the furrow the captain had made in the sand, and if one of them had raised his gun to fire at their skipper, it is probable that he would have dropped. Shirley and Burke had been born and bred in the country; they were hunters, and were both good shots. It was on account of their fondness for sport that they had been separated from the rest of their party on the first day of the arrival of the people from the Castor at the caves.

“What have you to say?” said the captain. “Speak quickly.”

Cardatas did not immediately answer, for Nunez was excitedly talking to him. The soul of the horse-dealer had been inflamed by the sight of the bags. He did not suppose it possible that they could all contain gold, but he knew they must be valuable, or they would not have been carried up there, and he was advising a rush for the low wall.

“We will see what we can do with them, first,” said Cardatas to Nunez. “Some of us may be shot if we are in too great a hurry. They are well defended where they are, and we may have to get round into their rear. Then we can settle their business very well, for the negro said there were only three white men. But first let us talk to them. We may manage them without running any risks.”

Cardatas turned toward the captain, and at the same time Burke said:

“Captain, hadn’t you better squat down a little? You’re making a very fine mark of yourself.”

But the captain still stood up to listen to Cardatas.

“I’ll tell you what we’ve come for,” said the latter. “We are not officers of the law, but we are the same thing. We know all about you and the valuable stuff you’ve run away with, and we’ve been offered a reward to bring back those bags, and to bring you back, too, dead or alive, and here we are, ready to do it. It was good luck for us that your vessel came to grief, but we should have got you, even if she hadn’t. We were sure to overhaul you in the Straits. We know all about you and that old hulk, but we are fair and square people, and we’re sailors, and we don’t want to take advantage of anybody, especially of sailors who have had misfortunes. Now, the reward the Californian government has offered us is not a very big one, and I think you can do better by us, so if you’ll agree to come out from behind that breastwork and talk to us fair and square, your two white men and your three negroes, — you see, we know all about you, — I think we can make a bargain that’ll suit all around. The government of California hasn’t any claim on us, and we don’t see why we should serve it any more than we should serve you, and it will be a good deal better for you to be content with half the treasure you’ve gone off with, or perhaps a little more than that, and let us have the rest. We will take you off on our vessel, and land you at any port you want to go to, and you can take your share of the bags ashore with you. Now, that’s what I call a fair offer, and I think you will say so, too.”

Captain Horn was much relieved by part of this speech. He had had a slight fear, when Cardatas began, that these men might have been sent out by the Peruvian government, but now he saw they were a set of thieves, whether Rackbirds or not, doing business on their own account.

“The Californian government has nothing to do with me,” cried Captain Horn, “and it never had anything to do with you, either. When you say that, you lie! I am not going to make any bargain with you, or have anything to do with you. My vessel is wrecked, but we can take care of ourselves. And now I’ll give you five minutes to get to your boats, and the quicker you go, the better for you!”

At this, Nunez stepped forward, his face red with passion. “Look here, you Yankee thief,” he cried, “we’ll give you just one minute to come out from behind that pile of bags. If you don’t come, we’ll — ”

But if he said any more, Captain Horn did not hear it, for at that moment Burke cried: “Drop, captain!” And the captain dropped.

Stung by the insult he had received, and unable to resist the temptation of putting an end to the discussion by shooting Captain Horn, Cardatas raised his rifle to his shoulder, and almost in the same instant that the captain’s body disappeared behind the barrier, he fired. But the bullet had scarcely left his barrel when another ball, from Shirley’s gun, struck Cardatas under his uplifted left arm, and stretched him on the sand.

A shock ran through the attacking party, and instinctively they retreated several yards. So suddenly had they lost their leader that, for a few moments, they did not seem to understand the situation. But, on a shout from one of them to look out for themselves, every man dropped flat upon the beach, behind a low bank of sand scarcely a foot high. This was not much protection, but it was better than standing up as marks for the rifles behind the barrier.

The men from the Arato were very much surprised by what had happened. They had expected to have an easy job with the crew of the Miranda. As soon as the sailor Sanchez had seen the stranded brig, he had recognized her, and Cardatas, as well as the rest of them, had thought that there would be nothing to do but to go on shore with a party of well-armed men, and possess themselves of whatever treasure she had brought to this deserted coast. But to find her crew strongly intrenched and armed had very much amazed them.

Nunez’s anger had disappeared, and his accustomed shrewdness had taken its place, for he now saw that very serious business was before them. He was not much of a soldier, but he knew enough to understand that in the plan proposed by Cardatas lay their only hope of success. It would be ridiculous to lie there and waste their ammunition on that wall of bags. He was lying behind the others, and raised his head just enough to tell them what they should do.

“We must get into their rear,” he said. “We must creep along the sand until we reach those bushes up there, and then we can get behind them. I’ll go first, and you can follow me.”

At, this, he began to work himself along the beach, somewhat after the fashion of an earthworm. But the men paid no attention to him. There was little discipline among them, and they had no respect for the horse-dealer as a commander, so they remained on the sands, eagerly talking among themselves. Some of them were frightened, and favored a rush for the boats. But this advice brought down curses from the others. What were three men to nine, that they should run away?

Burke now became tired of waiting to see what would happen next, and putting his hat on a little stick, he raised it a short distance above the breastwork. Instantly one of the more excitable men from the Arato fired at it.

“Very good,” said Burke. “They want to keep it up, do they? Now, captain,” he continued, “we can see the backs and legs of most of them. Shall we fire at them? That will be just as good as killing them. They mean fight — that’s easy to see.”

But the captain was not willing to follow Burke’s advice.

“I don’t want to wound or maim them,” he replied. “Let’s give them a volley just over their heads, and let them see what we are prepared to do. Now, then, when I give the word!”

In a few moments three shots rang out from the intrenchment, and the bullets went whistling over the prostrate bodies of the men on the sand. But these tactics did not have the effect Captain Horn hoped for. They led to no waving of handkerchiefs, nor any show of an intention to treat with an armed and intrenched foe. Instead of that, the man Sanchez sprang to his feet and cried:

“Come on, boys! Over the wall and at them before they can reload!”

At this all the men sprang up and dashed toward the line of bags, Nunez with them. Somebody might get hurt in this wild charge, but he must reach the treasure as soon as the others. He must not fail in that. But Sanchez made a great mistake when he supposed that Captain Horn and his men fought with such arms as the muzzle-loading rifles and shot — guns which the Arato’s men had thought quite sufficient to bring with them for the work they had to do. Captain Horn, when he had fitted out the Miranda, had supplied himself and his two white men with fine repeating rifles, and the Arato’s men had scarcely crossed the line which had been drawn on the sand before there were three shots from the barrier, and three of the enemy dropped. Even the captain made a good shot this time.

At this the attacking party stopped, and some of them shouted, “To the boats!” Nunez said nothing, for he was dead. There had been much straggling in the line, and Shirley had singled him out as one of the leaders. Before one of them had turned or a retreat begun, Burke’s rifle flashed, and another man fell over against a companion, and then down upon the sand. The distance was very short, and a bad shot was almost impossible for a good hunter.

Now there was no hesitation. The five men who had life and legs, turned and dashed for the boats. But the captain did not intend, now, that they should escape, and rifle after rifle cracked from the barricade, and before they reached the boats, four of the flying party had fallen. The fifth man stumbled over one of his companions, who dropped in front of him, then rose to his feet, threw down his gun, and, turning his face toward the shore, held up his hands high above his head.

“I surrender!” he cried, and, still with his arms above his head, and his face whiter than the distant sands, he slowly walked toward the barrier.

The captain rose. “Halt!” he cried, and the man stood stock-still. “Now, my men,” cried the captain, turning to Burke and Shirley, “keep your eyes on that fellow until we reach him, and if he moves, shoot him.”

The three white men, followed by the negroes, ran down to the man, and when they had reached him, they carefully searched him to see if he had any concealed weapons.

After glancing rapidly over the bodies which lay upon the sand, the captain turned to his men.

“Come on, every one of you,” he shouted, “and run out that boat,” pointing to the largest one that had brought the Arato’s men ashore.

Shirley and Burke looked at him in surprise.

“We want that vessel!” he cried, in answer. “Be quick!” And taking hold of the boat himself, he helped the others push it off the sand. “Now, then,” he continued, “Shirley, you and Burke get into the bow, with your rifles. Tumble in, you black fellows, and each take an oar. You,” he said in Spanish to the prisoner, “get in and take an oar, too.”

The captain took the tiller. Shirley and Burke pushed the boat into deep water, and jumped aboard. The oars dipped, and they were off, regardless of the low surf which splashed its crest over the gunwale as the boat turned.

“Tell me, you rascal,” said the captain to the prisoner, who was tugging at his oar as hard as the others, “how many men are aboard that schooner?”

“Only two, I swear to you, Señor Capitan; there were twelve of us in all.”

The men left on the schooner had evidently watched the proceedings on shore, and were taking measures accordingly.

“They’ve slipped their anchor, and the tide is running out!” shouted the captain. “Pull! Pull!”

“They’re running up their jib!” cried Burke. “Lay to, you fellows, or I’ll throw one of you overboard, and take his place!”

The captured man was thoroughly frightened. They were great fighters, these men he had fallen among, and he pulled as though he were rowing to rescue his dearest friend. The black fellows bent to their oars like madmen. They were thoroughly excited. They did not know what they were rowing: for they only knew they were acting under the orders of their captain, who had just killed nine Rackbirds, and their teeth and their eyes flashed as their oars dipped and bent.