IT was very fortunate for the well-disposed few, as well as for the
disaffected majority of the crew, that the _Pinta_ was commanded by so
able a sailor and so cool-headed a man as Martin Alonzo Pinzon.
Many another man at such a time would have been utterly at a loss
what to do; but Martin Alonzo acted with a promptness that gave the
impression that he had been prepared for this very emergency.
He did not merely issue his orders in quick and precise terms, but bore
a hand in the execution of the more pressing duties, and so animated
the terrified sailors that they took heart to act briskly and in
sympathy with his efforts. Drags were hurriedly prepared and thrown
over, and after a time of doubt and fearful anxiety the little vessel
swung around and brought her head up to the wind.
There was no hope of any assistance from the other vessels during such
a high wind and rough sea; but Martin Alonzo had the distress signal
run up as soon as he had secured the safety of the _Pinta_, in order
partly to explain why he did not continue on his course, and also to
prevent the companion vessels from leaving him.
Providentially--it seemed as if Providence interfered more than once
in behalf of this daring enterprise--providentially the wind began to
abate a great deal of its violence at this time; and although the waves
continued to run very high, they were less dangerous by reason of no
longer curling and breaking.
It still remained a hazardous thing to get over the vessel’s side
to examine the steering-gear and rudder; but Martin Alonzo had such
courage and such confidence in his strength that he performed that
office himself. He tied a stout line about his body and slipped it up
under his armpits, and then, commending himself to the care of his
brother, climbed over the rail.
Diego knew that it was inevitable that so shrewd a seaman as his cousin
must discover that the gear had been tampered with, and when Martin
Alonzo disappeared over the side he looked around to note the effect
on the conspirators. Many of the sailors looked frightened, but on the
faces of Miguel and Juan especially he could see a desperate, hunted
expression, as if they believed that their crime would certainly be
fastened on them.
Diego himself was not without a deep concern, and his face was as
pallid as any; for, now that he knew the danger they had all been
exposed to by what Juan had done, he realized that there could be no
excuse for his not hastening to inform his cousin of his suspicions.
And he knew it would not make his case seem any better to plead that
his cousin had repelled him so often that he had feared to warn him.
Presently he saw Miguel whisper to Juan, and then both of them glanced
towards him. After that, Juan left the side of Miguel and made through
the anxious crowd towards him. Now, the last thing Diego wished was
any intercourse with either of those two. He was uncertain enough of
his own position not to wish it made worse by seeming to have any
understanding with them, and so he shifted his place until he was as
near as he dared to go to where Francisco Martin Pinzon stood.
Perhaps Juan would have followed him there had not Martin Alonzo at
that moment lifted his head above the rail, and then climbed quickly on
deck. His brother asked him a question relative to the nature of the
injury to the rudder; but Diego noticed that Martin Alonzo pushed him
sternly aside and stepped forward to where he could sweep the waiting
crew with his keen glance.
[Illustration: “MARTIN ALONZO DISAPPEARED OVER THE SIDE.”]
It seemed to Diego as if that stern eye were reading every face, and he
had no doubt that he had betrayed in his countenance all that he knew,
when the glance passed over him. He looked involuntarily at Miguel and
Juan, and could see that they were in the same dread as himself, and
that the former, with the ugly expression of an animal cornered, was
feeling nervously of the handle of his knife.
The look they both shot at him was one of mingled inquiry and hatred,
and he knew that Miguel was regretting that he had been prevented
carrying out his murderous design towards him.
It was as certain to him as it seemed to them that he would be
questioned by his cousin, and his dread of Martin Alonzo was such that
he caught at the rail to steady himself. Martin Alonzo had other work
to do first; the rudder must be repaired as far as was possible before
he did anything else, and the carpenter was called and instructed what
to do.
He brought his tools and such materials as seemed to be needed and went
over the rail. And all the while that he was making ready, Martin
Alonzo paced back and forth in the limited space available to him,
never taking his stern glance from the crew, which stood in the waist
of the vessel eying him with evident trepidation.
But not until the carpenter had made all his preparations and
disappeared over the rail did the captain utter a word. And when he
did, it was sternly and harshly enough, but without that roar which
had theretofore characterized his voice. He stepped to the ladder and
sent a searching glance over the faces turned expectantly upward to
his. Then after a moment of silence, during which more than one of the
sailors caught a painful breath, he spoke.
“A foul deed has been wrought here.” He stopped and waited as if to
give time for his words to be fully understood. “Some scoundrel, for
whom hanging is too good, has wrecked the rudder. The gear has been
cut with a knife, and the rudder is separated and unhung.” Again he
stopped, and Diego stole a frightened look at Miguel and Juan. “Every
life on board has been put in jeopardy. It is only by a mercy of God
that we live now. It will be only by a further mercy that we shall
continue to live. When I know the man who did it, I will hang him
there,” and he pointed with flashing eyes to the yard. “What! because
ye like not the voyage will ye seek to drown us all? What! do ye think
Martin Alonzo Pinzon is to be frightened from his purpose?” He stopped
short and looked over the faces as if he would find one that expressed
such a belief.
It is unlikely that he saw such a face; for of all there, those who
were innocent of participation and those who were guilty, there was not
one that did not answer his glance with one of fear or of respect. Once
again before he spoke he swept the crowd with his eyes, but this time
slowly.
“Diego Pinzon, come hither!”
He spoke sharply, shortly, distinctly, and Diego heard; but it was not
until he spoke again that the boy found strength to move. It was then
with a stagger rather than with a walk that he went to the foot of the
ladder and turned his pallid face up to his cousin.
“Up, by my side!” said Martin Alonzo, sternly.
Diego climbed up with difficulty, and stood with pale face and beating
heart by the side of the captain of the _Pinta_. Martin Alonzo eyed him
in silence for a few moments, and the crew waited breathlessly for what
was to follow. In that brief space Diego understood that the whole crew
looked upon him as a sort of spy, and that his cousin regarded him as a
coward who could be frightened into telling aught he might know.
“Now, boy,” said Martin Alonzo, “you know something of this; tell me
what it is. Speak!”
Diego raised his eyes imploringly to his cousin’s face, as if
beseeching him not to force such a thing upon him; but Martin Alonzo
held the safety of his vessel above the feelings of a boy, whose chief
merit was his over-readiness of speech when it was least desired of
him, and so he repeated, threateningly:
“Speak, or I shall know how to make you!”
Diego drooped his head and was silent. Martin Alonzo thought he was
obstinate, when in fact he was torn between doubt and anguish. What was
his duty? The great muscular hand of the captain fell upon his shoulder
and gripped it tight, the angry man not realizing perhaps his own
energy, and causing Diego severe pain.
“Will you speak? You had tongue enough a while since. Speak, I warn
you!”
Martin Alonzo was doubly angry now. Angry at what he believed was
Diego’s obstinacy, and angry that he should meet with a check before
the crew. If he had doubted his ability to make Diego speak he would
not have essayed it so publicly; but, since he had essayed it, he
was determined to succeed; for Martin Alonzo was a man who at all
times would have his own way, and who was used to being supreme and
undisputed when at sea on his own vessel.
Diego was well satisfied that nothing on the score of relationship
would stand between him and the wrath of his cousin should he refuse
to speak and tell what he knew. It was true, he might lie. How should
any one know that he had cognizance of what had happened? Was it not
more likely, indeed, that his denial would be the more readily credited
in view of the fact that he had been a sort of outcast among the crew?
Well, he did not even think of lying. A lie is the coward’s refuge, and
he was not a coward.
He was pale, he trembled, and his voice was unsteady; but when he
looked up at his cousin his eye did not quail.
“I had naught to do with it, and I have naught to say,” were his words.
Martin Alonzo’s face grew gray with sudden wrath. He was in no mood
then to credit Diego with the courage he had before denied him. He only
knew, or believed, that his vessel had been put in jeopardy by some
miscreant, and that the boy before him knew who it was and refused to
divulge his knowledge. Diego was no more to him than any other boy on
the vessel would have been.
“You know, and you refuse to tell!” he said, hoarsely. “Now I ask you
again, and I bid you think twice ere you answer.”
Even at that moment--a terrible moment to him, with his fear of his
cousin--the picture rose in his mind of Fray Antonio bidding him think
twice ere he set foot to ground. Ah, the good fray! the sweet, peaceful
days forever lost! It had been so funny then; it was so pathetic now!
“Who--who did it?” demanded Martin Alonzo, quivering with wrath.
“Why,” cried Diego, with sudden indignation, “would you make a spy of
me? They all hate me now, though they have no cause. I will not give
them cause. I have naught to say.”
He seemed to hear a murmur of approbation from the crew; but it died
away as Martin Alonzo, in a voice hoarse with passion, cried:
“Have you naught to say? We shall see! Lopez! trice him up. Though he
were my own son, he should not brave me so.”
Diego understood the meaning of that--they were going to flog him.
Alas! it was a common enough thing in those brutal days. Diego turned
paler than before, but he looked into the angry face of his cousin and
said:
“And this is how you keep your promise to my mother!”
“Will you tell?”
“I have naught to tell.”
“Then you shall be flogged.”
“And I may say things I should not, Martin Alonzo Pinzon; but the shame
will be yours, not mine,” and the pallor on his cheek gave place to a
red flush.
“To the mast with him!” said Martin Alonzo, a flush showing, too, on
his bronzed cheek.