THE RETURN OF THE BOAT
Receiving no other orders, the moment all was secure, the crew eager
to welcome back the boat party, and learn the news, hurried over to
the port rail. Beyond doubt most of those aboard realized that this
had been an expedition of some importance, the culmination of their
long wait on the coast, part of some scheme of their chief, in the
spoils of which they expected to share. It was for this end they had
been inactive for weeks, hiding and skulking along shore; now they
hoped to reap their reward in gold and silver, and then be permitted
to return to the wilder, more adventurous life they loved on the high
seas. Moreover this boat approaching through the darkness was bringing
back their leader, and however else they might feel toward him, the
reckless daring, and audacious resourcefulness of Sanchez meant
success. These fellows, the scum of the seven seas, whom he had
gathered about him, might hate and fear, yet were glad to follow. They
had learned on many a bloody deck the merit of their chief, and in
their way were loyal to him.
I was made to comprehend all this by the low, muttered utterances of
those crowding near me, spoken in nearly every language of the world.
Much I could not even translate, yet enough reached my ears to
convince me of the temper of the crew--their feverish eagerness to be
again at sea, under command of a captain whom they both hated and
feared, yet whom they would follow to the very gates of hell. Even as
they cursed him with hot oaths, in memory of some act of discipline,
there came into their voices a tinge of admiration, which furnished me
an accurate etching of the man. They knew him, these hell-hounds of
the sea, and from out their mouths I knew him also for what he was--a
cruel, cold-blooded monster, yet a genius in crime, and a natural
leader of such men as these. _Black Sanchez!_ All the unspeakable
horror which in the past had clung to that name came back again to
haunt me; I seemed to hear once more the tales of men who had escaped
from his grip alive; to see again the scenes they had witnessed. It
could not seem possible that I was actually upon one of his ships, in
the very midst of his wild crew. I listened to their comments, their
expectations, with swiftly beating heart. I alone knew what that boat
was bringing. And when it arrived, and they knew also, what would
these sea wolves say? What would they do? What would be the result
when the dead body of their leader came up over the rail?
For a few moments we could perceive nothing through the black night.
The clouds were rolling low, thickened by vapor, and the increasing
wind had already beaten the waves into crests of foam. We could hear
them crash against the stout sides of the bark, which leaped to their
impetus, yet was held in helpless captivity by the two anchors. The
deck under foot tossed dizzily, the bare masts swaying above, while
our ears could distinguish the sullen roar of breakers tumbling up on
the sand just astern. Overhead ropes rattled noisily, the sound
mingling with the flapping ends of loosened sails beating against the
yards. LeVere shouted an order, and a sudden flare was lighted
amidships, the circle of flame illumining a part of the deck, and
spreading out over the wild expanse of water. The seaman holding the
blazing torch aloft, and thrusting it forth across the rail, took on
the appearance of a black statue, as motionless as though carved from
ebony, while in the gleam the various groups of men became visible,
lined up along the port bulwarks, all staring in the one direction,
eagerly seeking a first glimpse of the approaching craft.
Scarcely had a minute elapsed before it came sweeping into the radius
of light--at first a dim, spectral shadow, scarcely to be recognized;
then, almost as suddenly, revealed in all its details--a boat of size,
flying toward us under a lug sail, standing out hard as a board,
keeling well over, and topping the sea swells like a bird on wing.
'Twas a beautiful sight as the craft came sweeping on before the full
weight of the wind, out from that background of gloom into the yellow
glare of the torch, circling widely so as to more safely approach the
bark's quarter. LeVere called for men to stand by, the fellows rushing
past me to their stations, but, in the fascination of the moment, I
failed to move. I could do nothing but stare out across the
intervening water, with eyes fastened on that swiftly approaching
boat. I must see. I must know the message it brought; what story it
held of the tragedy. At first I could only barely distinguish the
figures of those aboard, yet these gradually assumed recognizable
form, and finally the faces also became dimly visible. Manuel held the
tiller, with Estada seated beside him, leaning forward, and
gesticulating with one hand, as he directed the course. I had never
seen these two, yet I knew them beyond a doubt. Mendez and Anderson
(at least I supposed these to be the two) were poised at the sail
halliards, ready to let the straining sheet down at a run, while
Cochose crouched low in the bow, his black hand uplifted, gripping a
coil of rope. Their faces were all turned forward, lighted by the
flare from our deck, and I felt a shudder of fear run over me--no
expression on any countenance spoke of defeat; even the ugly features
of the negro beamed with delight.
But was that all? Was that all? Surely not, yet the boat had to leap
forward, and then turn broadside too, as it swept aft toward the main
chains, before I succeeded in seeing what remained partially concealed
between the thwarts in its bottom. Forward of the single mast was
stowed the chest, which Travers' slaves had borne with such care up
the bluff; while in the open space between the helmsman and the two
sailors were stretched two motionless bodies. LeVere, gripping a
stay-rope, and leaning well out, hailed in Spanish.
"Ahoy, the boat--there is not too much sea? You can make it?"
"Ay!" came back Estada's voice, swept aside by the wind, yet still
audible. "Stand by to fend us off. Call all hands, and break anchor as
soon as we are aboard."
"Very well, sir. Where is Captain Sanchez?"
Estada pointed downward in swift, expressive gesture.
"Here at my feet--badly hurt, but will recover. Send two men down to
help when we make fast. Now, Cochose--let go of your rope; watch out
above!"
I stood, gripping hard at the rail, and staring down at the scene
below, as the men in the boat made fast. I felt paralyzed, and
helpless, unable to move. I had no business to remain there; every
prospect of security depended on my joining the crew, but it was not
in my power to desert my position. I could hear the hurrying feet of
the watch tramping across the deck in response to LeVere's orders; the
heavy pounding of a marling-spike on the forecastle hatch, as Haines
called for all hands. I was aware that men were already mounting the
ratlines, and laying out on the upper yards to make sail, while the
capstan bars began rattling. Yet only one thought gripped me--_Sanchez
was not dead_! I had believed he was; I had staked all on his death as
a certainty. But instead, the man was lying there in the boat,
helpless at present, sorely wounded perhaps, yet still alive. Estada
even said he would surely recover. And that other body? That of
Dorothy Fairfax, without doubt, yet certainly not lifeless. Those
fellows would surely never bring back to the _Namur_ the useless, dead
form of one of their victims. That was unthinkable, impossible. If
their prisoner was the girl--and who else could it be?--she remained
alive, helplessly bound to prevent either struggle, or outcry, and
destined to a fate far worse than death.
This revelation struck me like a blow. I had anticipated the possible
capture of the young woman, but not the return of Sanchez. His living
overthrew all my plans. There was no hope in the narrow confines of
the ship for me to remain long out of his sight, once he became able
again to reach the deck. And he would instantly recognize me in any
guise. Every hope of rescue had vanished, every faith that I could be
of aid. My own life hung in the balance--nay, rather, my doom was
already sealed. There, seemingly was but one chance for escape
left--that was to drop silently overboard, amid the confusion of
getting under way, and make the desperate attempt to reach shore
unseen before the crew could lift anchor, and set sail. This
possibility came to me, yet I continued to cling there, dazed and
helpless, staring dully down, lacking both physical and mental energy
to put the wild scheme into execution. God, no! that would be the
craven act of a coward. Better far to stay, and kill, or even be
killed, than to be forever cursed by my own conscience. The fellow
might die; some fatal accident befall the _Namur_; why a hundred
things might occur before Sanchez was capable of resuming command, or
could attempt any serious injury to Dorothy.
The fellows sent down from the main chains to the boat brought the
injured Captain up first. This required the services of three men, his
body hanging limp between them, his upturned face showing ghastly in
the flaming of the torch thrust out over the rail. To every appearance
it was apparently a corpse they handled, except for their tenderness,
and a single groan to which the white lips gave utterance, when one of
the bearers slipped, wrenching the wounded body with a sharp pang of
pain. Once safely on deck, the three bore him across to the after
cabin, in which a swinging lantern had been lighted, and was by then
burning brightly, and disappeared down the steps. My eyes followed
every movement, as I forgot for the instant the boat and its occupants
still tossing alongside on the waters below. As I turned back,
awakened by some cry, I saw that Estada had already swung himself up
into the chains, while Anderson and Mendez were lifting the girl to
her feet, and rather roughly urging her forward. Her hands and limbs
had been set free, but she swayed back and forth in the grasp of the
two men, as though unable to support herself alone, her face upturned
into the flare of light, as she gazed in terror at the black side of
the bark towering above. Her eyes reflected all the unutterable horror
which for the moment dominated her mind, while her loosened hair,
disarranged by struggle, only served to intensify the pallor of her
face. Yet in spite of this evident despair, there was still strength
and defiance in the firm closing of her lips, and her efforts to stand
alone, uncontaminated by the touch of the sailors' hands.
"Hustle her along lively, boys," shouted back Estada coarsely. "If she
won't move, give her a shove. Then tie her up again, and take the turn
of a rope 'round her. What do you think this is--a queen's reception?
Move lively, Senorita," in mock sarcasm.
Her gaze settled on him, where he hung far out, grasping a backstay,
watching the movements below, and her slender form straightened as by
the acquisition of new strength.
"If these creatures will take their hands off me," she said, using
their tongue without a tremor in the clear voice. "I can easily go up
alone. What is it you are so afraid of--a woman?"
The expression of Estada's face promised an outburst of profanity,
but, instead of giving it utterance, he lifted his cap in a sudden
pretense at gallantry.
"Your pardon, Senorita," he said in a tone of humble mockery. "If you
have come to your senses at last, it is well. No one can be happier
than I. Leave her alone, men. Now, my beauty, I am taking you at your
own word--a step, and then the protection of my hand. We welcome you,
as a guest aboard."
A moment and she had attained the deck. Where she stood I could no
longer see her face, yet she remained there silent and motionless,
rather stiffly erect as she faced him. Frightened, and helpless as she
was, yet her very posture seemed to express the detestation she felt
for the man. But Estada, apparently pleased with his performance thus
far, chose to continue playing the fool.
"Thanks, Senorita--thanks," he began softly, and again bowing before
her, cap in hand. "We greet you with due honor aboard the _Namur_--"
"Enough of that, you coward, you murderer," she broke in coldly. "Do
not touch nor speak to me."
She turned her back on him, thus coming face to face with LeVere, who
stood enjoying the scene, a wide grin on his dark face, revealing a
row of white teeth under a jet-black moustache.
"You, sir--you are an officer?"
"I have charge of the deck."
"Then where am I to go?"
The mulatto, surprised by the sudden question, glanced inquiringly
toward Estada, who had already completely lost his sense of humor.
"Go!" the latter growled. "Where is she to go? Why send the wench
below. I'll see to her later, and teach her who is the master here.
She will not queen it long on these decks, I warrant you. Off with her
now, but be back quickly." He leaned out over the rail, sending his
gruff voice below. "Send up that chest, you men--careful now not to
let it drop overboard. Yes, that's better. Hook on the boat, Manuel,
and let her drag; we must get out of here in a hurry. All ready,
aloft?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Then sheet home; how is it forrard?"
"Both anchors apeak, sir."
"Smartly done--hard down with your helm there! That's it; now let her
play off slowly."
He must have caught sight of me through the gloom, for he strode
furiously forward, giving utterance to a bristling Spanish oath. All
the savage brutality of his nature had been brought to the surface by
Dorothy's stinging words, and he sought now some fit opportunity to
give it vent. Before I could move, he had gripped me by the collar,
and swung me about, so that the light streaming out from the cabin
fell directly on my face.
"What the devil are you doing, loafing aft here?" he demanded roughly,
staring into my eyes. "Didn't you hear the orders, you damned shirker?
I've seen you hanging about for ten minutes, never lifting a hand. Who
the hell are you anyhow--the captain?"
"Joe Gates, sir."
"Gates--another damned Englishman! How did you ever get aboard here?"
It was the returning LeVere who made explanation before I could reply.
"Manuel brought him on board last night. Picked him up drunk ashore."
Estada's ugly eyes roved from face to face, as though he failed to
fully comprehend.
"Well, does he imagine he is going to be a passenger? Why hasn't he
been taught his place before this? It's about time, LeVere, for this
drunken sailor to be given a lesson to last him for awhile; and, by
God, if you won't do it, I will. Step over here, Gates."
I took the necessary step forward, and faced him, expecting the rabid
tongue lashing, which I rather felt I deserved.
"Now, my man, do you know what this bark is?"
"I think so, sir--Mister LeVere explained that to me."
"Oh, he did? Well, he must have failed to make clear the fact that we
enforce discipline aboard. The next time you neglect to jump at an
order, you are going to taste the cat. You understand me? You speak
Spanish?"
"Yes, sir; I lived two years in Cuba."
"I see; well now, do you happen to have any idea who I am?"
"No, sir--only that you are one of the officers."
"Then I will enforce the information on your mind so that you are not
liable to forget; also the fact that hereafter you are to jump when I
speak. I am the first officer, and in command at present. Pedro Estada
is my name. Now, you damned English whelp, remember that!"
Before I even suspected what was coming, his unexpected action as
swift as the leap of a poised tiger, he struck me fairly between the
eyes with the butt of a pistol, and I went down sprawling onto the
deck. For a moment I seemed, in spite of the viciousness of the blow,
to retain a spark of consciousness, for I knew he kicked me savagely
with his heavy sea boots; I felt the pain, and even heard the words,
and curses, accompanying each brutal stroke.
"You drunken dog! You whelp of a sea wolf! You English cur! Take
that--damn you! And that! You'll not forget me for awhile, That's
it--squirm, I like to see it. When you wake up again, you'll remember
Pedro Estada, How did that feel, you grunting pig? Here, LeVere,
Manuel, throw this sot into the forecastle. Curse you, here is one
more to jog your memory."
The heavy, iron-shod boot landed full in my face, and every sensation
left me as I sank limply back, bloody and unconscious.