SAFE ARRIVAL OF THE "BELLA PAULA"
The crowd of people ran through the streets in the direction of the
port. Foremost, accompanied by six or eight sailors, his son Pablo and
several friends, came Don Rosendo, silent and preoccupied as he listened
to his companions' remarks, uttered in voices panting from exertion.
"Don Domingo is in luck to get in at nearly high tide," said a sailor,
alluding to the captain of the "Bella Paula."
"How do you know he is coming in? He may have cast anchor this
afternoon," remarked another.
"Where?"
"You ask 'where?' you fool! Why, in the Bay, of course," replied the
other in a rage.
"If so, we should see her, Uncle Miguel."
"How could we see her, you idiot? Why shouldn't she have dropped anchor
behind the Corvera Rock?"
"The flag of the 'Bella Paula' would float higher than the rock, Uncle
Miguel."
"Whatever do you know about it?"
"What cargo does she carry?" asked a bystander of the owner.
"Four thousand hundredweight."
"From Scotland?"
"No, all from Norway."
"Is the Senorita de las Cuevas on board?"
Don Rosendo did not reply; but after a few more quick steps he turned
round, saying:
"Don Melchor must be told that the 'Bella Paula' is coming in."
"I'll go," said a sailor, detaching himself from the crowd, and turning
back to the town.
They arrived at the mole. The night was starless, the wind had sunk, the
sea was calm. They passed the little old mole, and directed their steps
to the end of the new mole, which had been recently built, and stretched
some little distance out to sea. Lights from the moored boats shone here
and there in the darkness; the thick network of riggings was scarcely
discernible, and the hulks looked like formless black masses.
The newcomers did not at first perceive another group of people at the
end of the mole until they came upon them. They were all silent, with
their eyes fixed on the sea, trying to make out the lines of the ship in
the mist. The waves breaking monotonously against the rocks near by
occasionally shimmered in the darkness.
"Where is she?" asked several of the comers from the theatre, as they
cast their eyes around.
"There!"
"Where?"
"Don't you see a little green light there to the left? Follow my hand."
"Ah! Yes, now I see."
Don Rosendo went on to the second stage of the mole, and there ran
against Don Melchor de las Cuevas. He was an old, very tall, wiry man;
he wore his beard sailor fashion, that is to say, he let it hang round
his neck like a bag. He had a stronger reason for doing this than the
majority of the people of Sarrio who do so, for he belonged to the
honored profession of the navy, although he was now on the retired list.
But in seaport towns, and particularly when the place is small like that
of which we are speaking, the maritime element preponderates, and so
permeates the place that the inhabitants, unintentionally, and in spite
of themselves, adopt certain sailor customs, words, and fashions.
The Senor de las Cuevas had been a gallant, fine fellow when he was
young, and now at seventy-four he was still a vigorous, active man, with
bright, penetrating eyes, aquiline nose, a fine, open countenance, and a
bearing full of energy and decision.
He was standing on one of the seats fixed against the wall of the mole,
with an enormous telescope turned toward the little green light which
shone intermittently in the distance. He was by far the tallest figure
in the group of spectators.
"Don Melchor, you here already! I have just sent a messenger to your
house."
"I have been here for an hour," returned the Senor de las Cuevas, taking
his glass from his eye. "I saw the ship from the observatory a little
after sunset."
"Who would have thought it? How is it that nothing at sea escapes your
observation?"
"I have better sight than when I was a lad of twenty," said Don Melchor
in a loud, decided voice for all to hear.
"I believe it, I believe it, Don Melchor."
"I can see a little launch tack twenty miles off."
"I believe it, I believe it, Don Melchor."
"And if I were put to it," continued the old officer, in a louder tone,
"I could count the masts of the frigates that pass the Ferrol."
"Draw it mild, Don Melchor," said a voice. There was a round of
suppressed laughter in the dark, for Senor de las Cuevas inspired all
the sea-folk with profound respect.
The old sailor turned his head angrily in the direction of the jeering
remark, and, after silently trying to pierce the gloom, he said in a
severe tone:
"If I knew who that was who said that I would chuck him into the sea."
Nobody dared say a word, nor was a sign of a smile seen, for it was well
known in Sarrio that the Senor de las Cuevas was quite equal to
fulfilling his threat.
He had served more than forty years in the navy, and had won the
reputation of being a brave, punctilious officer; but his severity
bordered on cruelty. When no commander of a ship exercised the old
maritime laws, Don Melchor still strove to keep them in practise. It was
told with horror in the town that a sailor was drowned through his
making him pass three times under the keel according to the old
punishment for certain transgressions; and more than a hundred men had
been crippled by his blows, or had had the skin taken off their backs by
his use of the rope.
However, there was no pilot or sailor who could be compared with him in
his knowledge of all pertaining to the sea, the weather, ships, and all
the secrets of navigation.
The little green light continued its slow approach until the form of the
"Bella Paula" was visible to the naked eye, and, moreover, two or three
black spots could be seen hovering around her from different sides. They
were the pilot's launch and the auxiliary boats, ready to tow the ship
when necessary. Sail was crowded on the ship, as there was scarcely any
wind. However, it was too near the breakwater not to be dangerous. At
least Don Melchor thought so, for he began to swear under his breath,
and to seem uneasy. At last, no longer able to restrain himself,
although he knew he was not within earshot, he cried out:
"Furl the maintopsail, Domingo! What are you waiting for?"
He had scarcely uttered these words when the almost imperceptible forms
of the sailors were seen on the mastheads.
"We shall be all right now," exclaimed Don Melchor.
"Don Domingo would snap his finger at you," murmured the sailor who had
incurred the old officer's wrath, under his breath.
The hulk of the ship, painted black, with a line of white on the upper
decks, now stood out clearly from the dark background.
The eyes of the spectators, grown accustomed to the gloom, could discern
perfectly all that was passing on board.
Two figures were on the quarter-deck, the captain and the coasting
pilot, and at the bow stood the ship pilot.
"And the gaff-sail?" shouted Don Melchor again.
The sail of the mizzen-mast fell, as if in obedience to his voice. The
wind was insufficient to fill the lower sails, and the canvas hung from
the mast, limp and dilapidated as a draggled ball-dress. Soon all sails
were furled and the ship was motionless until it slowly made way when
taken in tow by the two boats. The figures of the rowers moved
measuredly on the benches and the voices of the coxswains singing out,
"Pull ahead; pull ahead!" broke the silence of the night.
But the rowers were so feeble in comparison to the bulk in tow that the
ship made but slow way. When at the end of a quarter of an hour she
managed to get some thirty lengths off the head of the mole, a rope was
thrown from one of the boats on to the sea wall to help tack the ship.
"Captain, captain!" cried a stentorian voice from the crowd.
"What is it?" they replied from the ship.
"Is the Senorita de las Cuevas on board?"
"Yes."
"Then as long as the Senorita de las Cuevas is all right, all the rest
may go to the devil."
The joke provoked much merriment in the crowd, until silence again
reigned.
The ship now began to tack, being dragged ashore by the rope, which
creaked with the tension of the hold; the people on the mole began
talking with those on board, but they were silent and taciturn, being
more concerned with the management of the ship than the questions
directed to them. Then came a fresh ebullition of the jocose spirit of
the sailors of the place, and fun was poked at those on board, more
especially at a certain fellow who looked like a heap of skins, and whom
they nicknamed Bruin, as he moved from one side to another with the
awkwardness of a bear, handling the ropes and casting grunts of scorn at
the crowd.
"I say, Bruin, you will be glad to have a dish of fish, eh?"
"Rejoice, O Bruin, for there is cider in Llandone's cellar."
"Is it hot in Norway?"
"Too hot for a rogue like you," growled Bruin, as he furled a sail.
This remark was received by the sailors with shouts of laughter.
"Keep clear," called the pilot from the quarter-deck.
"Hold there, on board!" returned the sailor who held the slack end of
the rope.
The rope fell into the sea and dashed against the side of the ship. She
was now close to the breakwater. The tide was not high enough to anchor
by the old mole. The captain called out to the pilot:
"Sound."
The pilot said to the sailor at his side:
"Drop anchor."
The anchor fell into the sea with a strident sound of chains. Then the
windlass was heard at work.
"Are you going to moor the ship, Domingo?" asked Don Melchor.
"Yes, senor," returned the captain.
"It is not necessary; you can warp ahead with two anchors. In an hour
you will be able to get in."
"One way is as good as another for me," said the officer in a low voice,
shrugging his shoulders, and then, in a loud tone, he added:
"Drop a second anchor," whereupon a second anchor fell into the sea with
the same harsh sound as the first.
"How are you, uncle?" cried a clear boyish voice from the ship.
"Hello, Gonzalito! arrived all right, my boy?"
"Perfectly; here I come."
And with great agility the young fellow swung himself down by a rope
into the boat.
"Let us go and meet him," said Don Rosendo, taking a step or two
forward.
But Senor de las Cuevas caught the merchant by the arm and held him like
a vise.
"Where are you going?"
"What is it?" asked the cod-merchant, in alarm. "Ah! it is true I did
not recollect that this was the lower stage, the darkness--such a long
time here, the dizziness from keeping one's eyes on the ship. My God!
what would have become of me if you had not caught hold of me?"
"Nothing, you would only have been stunned on the stones below."
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Don Rosendo, turning dreadfully pale, while a
cold sweat bathed his brow, and his legs trembled.
"Don't be alarmed at what is past and gone, but let us go down and meet
Gonzalito!"
So they went to the end of the mole, where a manly, tall, red-haired,
fine young fellow had just landed, dressed in a cloak which nearly
reached down to his heels.
"Uncle!"
"Gonzalo!"
The two tall men then fell into each other's arms. Don Rosendo also
received the young man with effusion. But he was so taken up with the
narrow escape he had just had from losing his life, that he soon
relapsed into his gloomy and melancholy mood, and he could hardly reply
to the dock-yard master's questions as to the disposition of the
captain's cargo.
They then started off to Don Melchor's house, which was situated in the
highest part of the town, commanding an extensive view of the sea.
During the walk Gonzalo left his uncle to go on in front, while he
diffidently asked Don Rosendo a few questions about his family.
"How is Dona Paula? Is she as smiling as ever? And Pablo? Is he still as
fond of horses? And Venturita? I suppose she has grown a big girl now?"
Pause. "And Cecilia, is she well?" he finally asked abruptly.
But the Senor de Belinchon only gave monosyllabic answers to all these
questions.
"Do you know, Gonzalo," he said, stopping suddenly, "that I might have
killed myself just now?"
"How?"
He then gave a full account of the incident of the mole, and when the
story was ended, he again relapsed into a state of profound melancholy.
"I suppose the family is in bed," said Gonzalo, after he had
sufficiently sympathized (at least in his own opinion) with the late
peril of the merchant.
"No, they are at the theatre--one never knows what may happen, eh?"
"So you've got a theatrical company here, eh?"
"Yes, for some days past. Do you know I thought I should have been
killed, Gonzalo?"
"Tush! You might, perhaps, have broken a leg, or at the worst, a rib or
two."
"Well, that would have been bad enough!" exclaimed the Senor de
Belinchon, with a sigh.
By this time they had proceeded some distance into the town, and
arriving at a certain street, Don Rosendo took leave of the uncle and
nephew. He held out his hand in a sad way, saying:
"I must go and fetch my family from the theatre. Until to-morrow, and a
good night's rest to you, Gonzalo."
"Until to-morrow--kind regards to all."
Then the Senor de las Cuevas and his nephew went on together to their
house; and the traveler had to undergo a torrent of questions not
relative to his visit to England, but concerning particulars of the
voyage home.
"What wind did you have? Pretty blusterous, eh? I suppose it hardly sank
once? The ship didn't pitch much, eh? She was well loaded. You never
sailed with all that canvas, eh? You had to reef on leaving Liverpool,
eh? I know the course well."
Gonzalo replied to the questions in an absent-minded manner, for he
really hardly took them in, as he was walking along in a state of
abstraction, with his head down.
"What is the matter, Gonzalito? You seem low-spirited."
"I? Bah! no, senor."
"I know you are."
They proceeded some distance in silence, and Don Melchor, striking his
forehead, exclaimed:
"I know what it is!"
"What?"
"You are longing for the sea again. I have gone through just the same. I
used to leap ashore after any voyage, and then I was seized with a fit
of depression and a strong desire to return to the ship! This lasted two
or three days, until I got accustomed to it. The fact is, I longed to
get into port, but once there, I wished to be on board again. I don't
know what there is so attractive in the sea, eh? That air so pure! The
motion! The freedom! I know you are longing to return to the ship, eh?"
he concluded, with a mischievous smile, to show his perspicacity.
"Bother it all! what I am longing for, uncle, is to go and see my
sweetheart."
Don Melchor was dumfounded.
"Is that true?"
"Of course it is."
The Senor de las Cuevas reflected a minute, and then said:
"All right; perhaps you would like to go and meet her at the theatre? In
the meanwhile I will go and see if Domingo has improved."
"How can he improve? He is a first-rate fellow," returned the youth,
smiling.
The uncle, oblivious of the irony, looked at him with scorn.
"Get along! I see you return as silly as you went. I will wait supper
for you."
"Don't wait for me, uncle," replied Gonzalo, already some distance off.
"Perhaps I shall not want supper."
Then, without running, but with extraordinary swiftness, thanks to his
unusually long legs, he strode through the streets, lighted here and
there by oil lamps, in the direction of the theatre. Any one meeting him
just then would have taken him for one of the many Englishmen who
occasionally come to Sarrio on shipping business, to reconnoitre mining
districts, or to start some industry. His colossal height and his stout,
robust appearance are not characteristic features of the Spanish race,
although one comes across them in the north; then that long coat, those
double-soled boots, and strange-shaped hat denoted the foreigner. A
glance at the face completed the illusion, for it was fair; and the long
red beard, and blue, or, more properly called, azure eyes are almost
always seen in the northern races.