Kitabı oku: «А Pirate of the Caribbees», sayfa 10

Chapter Ten.
Señor José Garcia.

Meanwhile, my wounded shoulder had been giving me a great deal of trouble, becoming very inflamed, and refusing to heal; so that upon my arrival in Port Royal I was compelled to at once go into the hospital, where for a whole week it remained an open question whether it would not be necessary to amputate the arm. Fortunately for me, the head surgeon—Sandy McAlister—was a wonderfully clever fellow, of infinite patience and inflexible determination; and, having expressed the opinion that the limb could be saved, he brought all the skill and knowledge of which he was possessed to the task of saving it, with the result that, in the end, he was successful. But it meant for me three weeks in the hospital, at the end of which time I was discharged, not as cured, but as in a fair way to be, provided that I took the utmost care of myself and strictly adhered to the regimen which the worthy McAlister prescribed for me.

By the time that I was free of the hospital the saucy little Tern was beginning, under the hands of the repairers, to look something like her old self again, and I was kept busy from morning to night attending to a hundred and one details connected with her refit. Nevertheless I found time to present myself for examination, and, having passed with flying colours, next day found myself a full-fledged lieutenant, thanks to the very kindly interest taken in me by my genial old friend the admiral. To that same kindly interest I was also indebted for the friendly overtures made by, and the hospitable invitations without number received from, the planters and other persons of importance belonging to the island; but I had my duty to attend to and my wound to think of, and I therefore very sparingly accepted the invitations that came pouring in upon me. Nevertheless I made many new friends, and enjoyed my short spell ashore amazingly.

The admiral was, as I have already said, particularly kind to me in every way, and in nothing more so than in the unstinting commendation which he bestowed upon my conduct during my first brief cruise in the Tern. Yet, despite all this, it was not difficult for me to perceive that the reflection that Morillo and his gang were still at large greatly nettled him, and that I could not find a surer way to his continued favour than by finding and capturing or destroying the audacious pirate.

Accordingly I made what inquiries I could relating to the whereabouts of the fellow’s headquarters, and also instructed Black Peter to try his luck in the same direction; but, up to within twenty-four hours of the time when the schooner would again be ready for sea, neither of us had met with the slightest success. When, however, the twenty-four hours had dwindled down to ten, I received the welcome intimation that Black Peter had at length contrived to get upon Morillo’s trail. The information was brought to me by Black Peter himself, who, having secured an afternoon’s liberty, which he broke by coming aboard about ten-thirty instead of at six o’clock p.m., presented himself—considerably the worse for liquor, I regret to say—at my cabin door, beaming hilariously all over his sable countenance as he stuttered—

“We–e–ll, M–mistah Cour’-nay, I g–got him a’ las’, sah!”

“Got who, you black rascal? And what do you mean, sir, by breaking your leave, and then presenting yourself in this disgraceful condition? You are drunk, sir; too drunk to stand steadily, too drunk to speak plainly; and I should only be giving you your deserts if I were to turn you over to the master-at-arms. What have you to say for yourself, eh, sir?” I fiercely demanded.

“Wha’ have I to s–s–say for ’shelf, Mistah C–Cour’-nay? Ha! ha! I has p–plenty to s–s–shay. Why, sah, I—I—I’ve g–got him, sah!”

“Got who, you villain? Got who?” I reiterated.

“Why—why—M–M– Mor—the pirate!” blurted Peter, finding himself unable to successfully pronounce Morillo’s name.

“Do you mean to say that you have succeeded in obtaining news of Morillo, Peter?” I demanded eagerly, my anger at the fellow’s condition at once giving way to the keenest curiosity.

“I—just dat, sah; no less,” answered Peter, nodding his head as he leered at me with a drunken look of preternatural smartness.

“Then,” said I, “go and get somebody to pump cold water upon your head until you are sober, after which you may come back here and tell me all about it. And if you fail to give a good account of yourself, stand clear, my man! I fancy a taste of the cat will do you no harm.”

Peter regarded me with horror for a moment as the sinister meaning of this threat dawned upon his muddled senses; then he drew himself up to his full height, saluted with drunken gravity, and vanished into the outer darkness, as he stumblingly made his way up the companion ladder and for’ard.

About a quarter of an hour later he returned, comparatively sober, and, saluting again, stood in the doorway, waiting for me to question him.

“So there you are again, eh?” remarked I. “Very well. Now, Peter, if you are sober enough to speak plainly, I should like to know what you meant by saying that you have ‘got’ Morillo, the pirate. Do you mean that you have actually found and captured the fellow?”

“Well, no, Mistah Courtenay, I don’t dissactly mean that; no such luck, sah! But I’se got de next best t’ing, sah; I’se got a man who says he knows where Morillo’s to be foun’,” answered Peter.

“Um! well that is better than nothing—if your friend is to be trusted,” said I. “Who is he, and where did you run athwart him?”

“He ain’t no friend ob mine,” answered Peter, virtuously indignant at so insulting an insinuation; “he’s jus’ a yaller man—a half-breed—dat I met at a rum shop up in Kingston. I heard him mention Morillo’s name, so I jined him in a bottle ob rum,—which I paid for out ob my own pocket, Mistah Courtenay,—and axed him some questions. He wouldn’t say much, but he kep’ on boastin’ dat he knew where Morillo could be found any time—excep’ when he was at sea. So I made him drunk wid my rum, Mistah Courtenay, and den brought him aboard here instead ob puttin’ him aboard his own footy little felucca in Kingston harbour.”

“I see. And where is the fellow now, Peter?” inquired I.

“Where is he now, sah?” repeated Peter. “Why, sah, he is on deck, comfortably asleep between two ob de guns, where I put him when I come aboard.”

“Very good, Peter; I begin to think you were not so very drunk after all,” answered I, well pleased. “But it will not do to leave him on deck all night,” I continued; “he will get sober, and give us the slip. So, to make quite sure of him, stow him away down below, and have a set of irons clapped on him. When we are fairly at sea to-morrow, I will have him up on deck, and see what can be made of him. Meanwhile, Peter, he is your prisoner, remember, and I shall hold you responsible for him. Now go and turn in, and beware how you appear before me drunk again.”

Early next morning I presented myself at the admiral’s office, timing myself so as to catch the old gentleman immediately upon his arrival from Kingston, when, having reported the Tern as ready for sea, I received my orders to sail forthwith, and also written instructions in reference to the especial object of my cruise. These, I was by no means surprised to find, indicated that, while doing my utmost to harass the enemy, I was to devote myself especially to the task of hunting down and cutting short the career of Morillo the pirate and his gang of cut-throats.

We weighed shortly before noon, beating out against a sea breeze that roared through our rigging with the strength of half a gale; and when we were fairly clear of the shoals I gave orders for Black Peter’s prisoner of the previous night to be brought on deck. A minute or two later the fellow—a half-caste Spanish negro—stood before me; and when I beheld what manner of man he was, I could readily believe him to be on terms of friendly intimacy not only with Morillo but with all the human scum of the Caribbean. The rascal presented a not altogether unpicturesque figure, as he stood in the brilliant sunlight, poising himself with the careless, easy grace of the practised seaman upon the heaving, lurching deck of the plunging schooner; for he was attired in a white shirt, with broad falling collar loosely confined at the neck by a black silk handkerchief, blue dungaree trousers rolled up to the knee and secured round the waist by a knotted crimson silk sash, and his head was enfolded in a similar sash, the fringed ends of which drooped upon his left shoulder. But it was the fellow’s countenance that riveted my attention despite myself; it was of itself ugly enough to have commanded attention anywhere, but to its natural ugliness there was added the further repulsiveness of expression that bespoke a character notable alike for low, unscrupulous cunning and the most ferocious cruelty. But for the fact that he had been encountered upon ground whereon neither Morillo nor any of his gang would have dared to show themselves, I could readily have believed that he not only had a pretty intimate knowledge of the movements and haunts of the pirates, but that he was probably a distinguished member of the gang.

“Well, my fine fellow, pray what may your name be?” I demanded in English, as he was led up and halted before me.

“Too mosh me no speakee Anglish!” he promptly replied, shrugging his shoulders until they touched the great gold rings that adorned the lobes of his ears, and spreading out his hands, palms upward, toward me.

“What do you speak, then?” I demanded, still in English, for somehow I did not for a moment believe the rascal’s statement.

“Me Español,” he answered, with another shrug and flourish of his hands.

“Good, then!” remarked I, in Spanish; “I will endeavour to converse with you in your own tongue. What is your name?”

“I am called José Garcia, señor,” he answered.

“And you were born—?” I continued interrogatively.

“In the city of Havana, thirty-two years ago, señor,” was the reply.

“Then if you are a Spaniard—and consequently an enemy of Great Britain—what were you doing in Kingston?” I demanded.

“Ah no, señor,” he exclaimed protestingly; “I am no enemy of Great Britain, although born a Spaniard. I have lived in Jamaica for the last fifteen years, earning my living as a fisherman.”

“Fifteen years!” I repeated. “Strange that you should have lived so long among English-speaking people without acquiring some knowledge of their language; and still more strange that you should have spoken English last night in the grog shop in the presence and hearing of my steward! How do you account for so very singular a circumstance as that?”

The fellow was so completely taken aback that for a few seconds he could find no reply. Then, seemingly convinced that further deception was useless, he suddenly gave in, exclaiming, in excellent English—

“Ah, sir, forgive me; I have been lying to you!”

“With what purpose?” I demanded. “Instinct, perhaps,” he answered, with a short, uneasy laugh. “The moment I was brought on deck I recognised that I was aboard a British ship-of-war, and I smelt danger.”

“Ah,” I remarked, “you afford another illustration of the adage that ‘a guilty conscience needs no accuser.’ What have you been doing that you should ‘smell’ danger upon finding yourself aboard a British man-o’-war?”

“I have been doing nothing; but I feared that you intended to impress me,” answered the fellow.

“So I am,” returned I, “but not for long, if you behave yourself. And when you have rendered the service which I require of you, you shall be richly rewarded, according as you serve me faithfully or otherwise.”

“And—and—what is this service, sir?” demanded he, with some slight uneasiness of manner.

“You last night boasted that you could at anytime find Morillo—unless he happened to be at sea,” I said. “Now, I want to find Morillo. Tell me where I may meet with him, and you shall receive fifty pounds within an hour of the moment when I shall have carried his ship a prize into Port Royal harbour.”

“Morillo? who is Morillo?” he demanded, trying unsuccessfully to assume an air of ignorance and indifference at the mention of the name.

“He is the pirate of whom you were speaking last night,” I answered sharply, for I suspected that he was about to attempt further deception with me.

“I must have been drunk indeed to talk about a man of whom I have never heard,” he exclaimed, with a hollow pretence at a laugh.

“Do you mean to tell me that you do not know Morillo, or anything about him?” I demanded angrily. “Now, take time to consider your answer. I want the truth, and the truth I am determined to have by one means or another. You have attempted to deceive me once, beware how you make such an attempt a second time. Now, what do you know of Morillo the pirate?”

“Nothing!” the fellow answered sullenly. But there was a shrinking of himself together, and a sudden grey pallor of the lips, that told how severe a tax upon his courage it was—under the circumstances—to utter the lie.

“Think again!” I said, pulling out my watch. “I will give you five minutes in which to overhaul your memory. If by the end of that time you fail I must endeavour to find means to refresh it.”

“What will you do?” demanded the fellow, with a scowl that entirely failed to conceal the trepidation which my remark had caused him.

I made no reply whatever, but rose, walked to the binnacle, took a squint at the compass, and then a long look aloft as I turned over in my mind the idea that had suggested itself to me, asking myself whether I should be justified in carrying it into action. I believed I now pretty well understood the kind of man I had to deal with; I took him to be a treacherous, unscrupulous, lying scoundrel, and a coward withal,—as indeed such people generally are,—and it was his cowardice that I proposed to play upon in order to extort from him the information I desired to obtain. In a word, my plan was to seize him up and threaten to flog him if he refused to speak. My only difficulty arose from a doubt as to how I ought to proceed in the event of my threat failing to effect the desired result. Should I be justified in actually carrying my threat into execution? For, after all, the fellow really might not know anything about Morillo; his remarks to Black Peter on the previous night might be nothing more than boastful lies. And if they were, all the flogging I might give him could not make him tell that of which he had no knowledge. But somehow I had a conviction that he could tell me a great deal that I should be glad to know, if he only chose; so I finally decided that if he continued contumacious I would risk giving him a stroke or two, being guided in my after conduct by his behaviour under the lash.

By the time that I had fully arrived at this resolution the five minutes’ grace had expired, and I returned to where the fellow still stood, guarded by a Jack with drawn cutlass.

“Well,” I demanded, “which is it to be? Will you speak freely, or must I compel you?”

“I have nothing to say; and I demand to know by what authority I have been kidnapped and brought aboard this accursed schooner?” was the reply.

“Did I not tell you a few minutes ago that you are impressed?” I answered. “You have been brought aboard here in order that you may render me a service, which I am convinced you can render if you will. When that service has been faithfully performed, I will not only set you free again but I will also handsomely reward you. You know what the service is that I require of you. Once more, will you or will you not render it?”

“I repeat that I have nothing to say. Put me in irons again if you choose; you cannot make a man tell that which he does not know,” answered Garcia; and as he spoke he turned away, seeming to consider that the dialogue was at an end.

“Here, not so fast, my joker,” interrupted the seaman who had the fellow in charge, seizing Garcia unceremoniously by the back of the neck and twisting him round until he faced me again, “it ain’t good manners, sonny, to turn your back upon your superiors until they tells you that they’ve done with you, and that you can go.”

The half-breed turned upon his custodian with a snarl, and a drawing back of his upper lip that exposed a whole row of yellow fangs, while his hand went, as from long habit, to his girdle, as though in quest of a knife; but the look of contemptuous amusement with which the sailor regarded him cowed the fellow, and he again faced me, meekly enough.

“Now,” said I, “your little fit of petulance being over, let me ask you once more, and for the last time, will you or will you not afford me the information I require?”

“No, Señor Englishman, I will not! I am a Spaniard and Morillo is a Spaniard, and nothing you can do shall induce me to betray a fellow-countryman! Is that plain enough for you?”

“Quite,” I answered, “and almost as satisfactory as though you had replied to my question. You have as good as admitted that you can, if you choose, tell me what I want to know; now it remains for me to see whether there are any means of compelling you to speak. Take him away for’ard, and keep a sharp eye upon him,” I continued, to the sailor who had him in charge. “And as you go pass the word for the carpenter to rig the grating. Perhaps a taste of the cat may loosen this gentleman’s tongue.”

“The cat?” exclaimed the half-breed, wheeling suddenly round as he was being led away; “do you mean that you are going to flog me?”

“Certainly, unless you choose to speak of your own free will,” answered I.

“Very well, then, I will speak; and your blood be on your own head!” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “I will direct you how to find Morillo, and when you have found him he will amply avenge your insult to me, and your audacity in seeking him; he will make your life such an unendurable torment to you that you will pray him, with tears of blood, to put you out of your misery. And I shall be there to see you suffer, and to laugh in your face as he refuses to grant you the boon of a speedy death.”

“That is all right,” I answered cheerfully, “I must take the risk of the fate you have so powerfully suggested. And now, that matter being disposed of, I shall be glad to hear from you how I am to find your friend.”

The fellow regarded me in stupid surprise for a moment, as though he could not understand his failure to terrify me by his vaguely awful threat; then, with a gesture that I interpreted as indicative of his final abandonment of me to the destruction that I seemed determined to court, he said—

“Do you know anything of the Grenadines, señor?”

“No,” I answered, “nothing, except that they exist, and that they form a practically unbroken chain of islets stretching between the islands of Saint Vincent and Grenada.”

“That is so,” he assented. “One of the most important of these islets is situate about thirteen miles to the northward of Grenada, and is called Cariacou. It is supposed to be uninhabited, but it is nothing of the kind; Morillo has taken possession of it, and established quite a little settlement upon it. There is a snug harbour at its south-western extremity, affording perfect shelter and concealment for his brigantine, and all round the shore of the harbour he has built storehouses and residences for himself and his people. I pray only that he may be at home to give you a fitting reception.”

“I am much obliged for your kind wish,” I replied drily. “And now, just one question more—is this harbour of which you speak difficult of access? Are there any rocks or shoals at its entrance or inside?”

“No, none whatever; it can safely be entered on the darkest night,” was the answer.

“Good,” I returned; “that will do for the present, Señor Garcia, and many thanks for your information. You will observe that I have accepted as true every word that you have spoken; but I should like you to think everything over again, and satisfy yourself that you have made no mistake. Because I warn you that if you have you will be shot on the instant. You may go!”

He was forthwith marched away and placed in close confinement below,—for my interview with him had convinced me that the fellow was as malignantly spiteful as a snake, and would willingly destroy the ship and all hands if an opportunity were afforded him,—after which I retired to my cabin, got out the chart, and set the course for the island of Cariacou, a course which we could just comfortably lay with yards braced taut against the lee rigging and all sheets well flattened in. The trade wind was blowing fresh enough to compel us to furl our topgallant sail, but it was steady, and under a whole topsail and mainsail the little hooker drove ahead over the long, regular ridges of swell at a good, honest, nine-knot pace hour after hour, as steadily as the chronometer itself. We sighted the island, some sixteen miles distant, on the evening of our fourth day out, and I at once shortened sail and hove-to, in order that I might carry out a little plan which I had concocted during our run across.