DESMOND GOES ASHORE
It was a thick black night when Desmond brought the _Palestrina_ into
the Bahia, steaming at half-speed with the big smooth swell heaving in
vast undulations behind her. The blinding deluge which had delayed him
for half an hour had just ceased, and at every roll boat and deckhouse
shook off streams of lukewarm water. A dripping man stood strapped
outside the bridge swinging the heavy lead, and his sing-song cry
which rose at regular intervals broke through the throb of slowly
turning engines. A yard or two away from him Desmond leaned upon the
rails peering into the darkness athwart which there ran a dim black
line of bluff. A filmy haze that glimmered faintly white leapt up
between him and it, and the stagnant air was filled with a great,
deep-toned rumbling. It rolled along the half-seen bluff like the
muttering of distant thunder, for, though the Bahia was partly
sheltered, the vast heave of the Southern Ocean was crumbling upon the
hammered beach that night. It does so now and then when there is not a
breath of wind.
"It isn't exactly encouraging," he said to his mate. "The surf seems
running unpleasantly steep. There's a weight in it. I'm rather glad
the boat's a big one since we have to face it. Well, you had better
get forward, and stand by your anchors. I'll bring her up in another
few minutes."
The mate went forward with a handful of dripping men behind him, and
left Desmond quietly intent upon the bridge. The latter was quite
aware that it would have been prudent to wait for daylight, and
recognized that he was doing a reckless thing, but that rather
appealed to him. It is also possible to do a reckless thing carefully,
and he was, at least, proceeding with a certain circumspection. When
the bluff grew a trifle plainer he seized his telegraph, and raised a
warning hand to the helmsman.
"Starboard!" he said. "Let her swing when she goes astern."
A gong tinkled beneath him, there was a sharper clank of engines, and
the _Palestrina_ swinging round rolled from rail to rail. Then a
strident roar of running cable jarred through the rumbling of the
surf, and was succeeded by a trumpeting blast of blown off steam when
he rang the telegraph again. When this slackened a little he raised
his voice.
"If you're ready there, Mr. Winthrop, will you bring your men along,"
he said.
There was a tramp of feet forward, and when half-seen figures
clustered beneath the bridge Desmond leaned over the rails and
addressed them.
"Boys," he said, "what we are going to do is in some respects a crazy
thing, and while I don't know that we'll have trouble it's very
probable. Now there'll be a bonus for the men who come with me, but I
don't want any one to go against his will. If any of you would sooner
stay here all he has to do is to walk forward, and I'll admit that
he's sensible."
There was a little laughter, but nobody moved. Among those who heard
him were shrewd, cold-blooded Scots from the Clyde, and level-headed
Solent Englishmen, as well as boys from Kingston and Belfast Lough. Of
these latter Desmond had no doubt. A hint that the thing was rash and
might lead to trouble was naturally enough for them, but he recognized
that there might be occasions when the colder temperament of the
others was likely to prove, at least, as serviceable. It was not
astonishing that these, too, evidently meant to go with him, for there
are men who can apparently with no great effort bend others to their
will, and, after all, one can not invariably be sensible. Perhaps, it
would be a misfortune if this were possible.
"Sure," said one of them, and he was a Kingston man, "all ye have to
do, sir, is to go straight ahead. We're coming with ye, if we have to
swim, an' if we have to it's more than I can."
One or two of his comrades laughed, and Desmond raised a hand. "It's
very probable that you'll have to try. We'll get the surfboat over,
Mr. Winthrop."
It would have been a difficult task in the daylight, for the
_Palestrina_ rolled wickedly and the long slopes of water lapped to
her rail, but they accomplished it in the dark, and when the big boat
hove up beneath them dropped into her one by one. They had a few Accra
and Liberia boys for the paddles, but not enough and white seamen
perched among them on the froth-licked gunwale as they reeled away on
the back of a swell. It swept them out from the steamer, and let them
drop into a black hollow while the negro at the steering oar yelled as
another dark ridge hove itself aloft behind them. They drove on with
this one and several others that succeeded it, careering amidst a
turmoil of spouting froth that boiled round the high, pointed stern,
and there was spray all about them, stinging their eyes and in their
nostrils, when at last the beach was close at hand. They could not,
however, see it. There was nothing visible now but a dim filmy cloud,
out of which came a thunderous rumbling that has its effect upon the
stoutest nerves, for there are probably few men who can listen to the
crashing charge of the great combers on an African beach quite
unmoved, especially if it is their business to face them in the dark.
Desmond glanced astern a moment when the sable helmsman shouted, and
then resolutely turned his eyes ahead. He had seen all he wished to,
and it was with vague relief he felt the boat rush upwards under him,
for that waiting in the hollow was not a thing one could bear easily.
She went forward reeling, half-buried in tumbling foam, twisting in
spite of the gasping helmsman in peril of rolling over, and out of the
spray and darkness the dim line of bluff came rushing back to them.
Then there was a crash that flung half of them from the gunwale, and
the boat went up the beach with a seething white turmoil washing over
her, until they swung themselves over and clung to her waist-deep in
the wild welter when the sea sucked back. Straining every muscle they
held her somehow, and a voice rose strained and harsh through the din.
"Where are those--rollers, boys?" it said.
Somebody produced them, and gasping and floundering they ran her up
with another comber thundering out of the darkness behind them, and
then flung themselves down breathless and dripping on the hot sand.
Desmond let them lie awhile, and then leaving the negroes behind, the
white men clambered up the face of the bluff. After that they stumbled
amidst loose sand and tufts of harsh grass that now and then cut
through their thin duck garments and twined about their legs, but they
plodded on steadily, and when morning broke had made about a league
which was, all things considered, excellent traveling. With the
daylight, however, came the rain that beat the soil into a pulp and
filled the steamy air. The grass they found in places bent beneath it,
and the water flowed about their feet. Still, they held on, drenched,
and bleeding from odd scars and scratches, until there broke out
dazzling, blistering sunshine which in a few minutes sucked the
moisture from their clothing.
Then Desmond, who had heard that littoral described as dry and
parched, bade them lie down in the scanty strip of shadow behind a
clump of thorns, and a twinkle crept into his eyes as he glanced at
them. They were already freely plastered with mire. A few of them had
sporting rifles--he carried one himself--and bandoliers, while some of
the rest had the gig's ash stretchers, and one a big pointed iron
bar, but he fancied they would scarcely pass for a big game
expedition. For one thing, they had no carriers. Desmond desired only
men who could be relied upon to say as well as do what he bade them,
for he could without any great effort foresee that he might have to
grapple with more than physical difficulties. He let them lie for half
an hour, and then the rain came and drove them on again.
[Illustration: "He fancied they would scarcely pass for a big game
expedition."--Page 242.]
They floundered through it all that afternoon, lay down in wet sand
when the sudden darkness blotted out the misty littoral, and rose with
the swift dawn, cramped and wet and aching, to plunge into a thick
white steam. There was a muggy warmth in it which relaxed their
muscles and insidiously slackened the domination of their will. They
wanted to lie down, and wondered vaguely why they did not do so, for
there are times when man's resolution melts out of him in that land,
and nothing seems worth the trouble of accomplishing. Still, they went
on, and evening found them wearied in body and limp of will, as well
as very wet and miry, on the edge of a belt of thorny vegetation
amidst which there wound a native path. They slept beside it as best
they could, and went on again for two more days under scorching
sunshine until at last they reached a ridge of higher ground. There
were a few palms on the crest of it, and they lay down between them
amidst a maze of thorny vines.
Darkness was creeping up from the eastwards when Desmond sat poring
over a section of a large-scale chart which had proved to be a
reasonably accurate guide to the physical features of that
littoral. The elevation of which the ridge formed a portion was duly
marked, as was the creek they had cautiously waded through, and not
far away there stood another rise which might be made out from a
steamer's bridge. The dots that ran through them both indicated
Ormsgill's path. He was a man who, at least, endeavored to provide for
contingencies, and he had for Desmond's benefit plotted out the last
stages of his march to the coast. The latter, however, remained in
unpleasant uncertainty as to when he would arrive, which, in view of
the fact that a handful of dusky troops were in all probability not
very far away, was a question of some consequence.
When darkness swept down he posted two sentries and then lay down near
the smoldering cooking fire. The strip of rubber sheeting he spread
beneath him did not make a very efficient mattress, but worn-out as he
was he fell asleep in spite of the mosquitoes, and so far as he could
afterwards ascertain the men he had left on watch in due time did the
same. When he awakened there was a half-moon in the sky, and a faint
silvery light shone down upon the ridge. He could see the palm shafts
cut against it darkly in delicately proportioned columns, and the
ebony tracery of their great curved leaves. Now and then a big drop
that fell from them splashed heavily upon the straggling undergrowth,
but save for that everything was very still. The fire was red and low,
but the smell of wood smoke and hot wet soil was in his nostrils. He
was wondering drowsily why he had awakened when he fancied that a
shadowy figure flitted behind a palm, and turning cautiously he
reached out for the rifle that lay by his side. As his hand closed
upon it another figure moved towards him quietly. The moonlight fell
upon it and his grasp relaxed on the rifle as he saw that it was
dressed in tattered duck. He scrambled to his feet, and Ormsgill
stopped a pace or two away.
"You are a little ahead of time, but considering everything it's
fortunate," he said.
Desmond blinked at him for a moment or two. The man's face was lean
and worn, and his thin, dew-drenched garments were torn by thorns. One
of his boots had also burst, his wide hat was shapeless, and sunbaked
mire clung about him to the knees.
"There were reasons why it seemed advisable to divide my party and
push on," he proceeded. "My few personal belongings are now reposing
in a swamp."
Desmond shook hands with him. "Well," he said, "it's like you. Where
are your niggers, and what's the matter with my--sentries? Still
that's not exactly what I meant to say."
Ormsgill laughed, and sent a shrill call ringing across the belt of
mist below. There was an answer from it, and while the men from the
_Palestrina_ rose clamoring to their feet a row of weary, half-naked
negroes plodded into camp. Some of them had red scars upon their dusky
skin, some of them limped, and when they stopped at a sign from
Ormsgill the seaman clustered round and gazed at them. They were
woolly-haired and thick-lipped, and their weariness had worn all sign
of intelligence out of their dusky faces. They looked at the
clustering seamen vacantly and without curiosity.
"Lord," said Desmond, "and these are the fellows you have done so much
for! Well, it's evidently my turn. I suppose they can eat?"
Ormsgill laughed. "A good deal just now. We started soon after
sunrise, and have scarcely stopped all day. In fact, we have been
marching rather hard the last week or two."
Desmond turned to one of the men he had brought with him. "Stir that
fire," he said. "Make these images something, then take them away and
stuff them."
He touched Ormsgill, and pointed to the strip of sheeting. "Get off
your feet. We have a good deal to talk about."
They sat down, and by and by one of the _Palestrina_'s stewards served
them with coffee and canned stuff while his comrades sat in a ring
about the negroes patting them on their naked shoulders and
encouraging them to eat. The black men's stolidity vanished, and they
grinned widely, while by degrees odd snatches of different languages
and bursts of hoarse laughter rose from them. In the midst of it one
big man chanted a monotonous song. Ormsgill laid down his cup and
listened with a little smile.
"He's improvising rather cleverly," he said. "It's almost a pity you
don't know enough of the language to hear your praises sung. You see,
he has so far only come across two white men who have even spoken to
him decently."
Desmond grinned, and raised his voice. "If they understand what
tobacco is let them have what you have with you, boys," he said. "You
can come to me for more when we get back on board."
"That's all right, sir," said one man. "It's our dinner party. We've
got most of a hatful for them ready."
"Sailors," said Desmond reflectively, "have some curious notions on
the subject of making pets. So have you, for that matter, but, after
all, that's not quite the question. Did you see anything that would
lead you to believe Herrero's friends were after you?"
"I did," said Ormsgill. "Smoke, for one thing, and that was why I
pushed on for the coast. Nares who was a little feverish and found it
difficult to march fast insisted on turning back inland with half the
carriers. I left two men I could rely on behind to investigate, and I
expect some news before the morning. In the meanwhile what are you
doing here? It's at least a week before I was due."
Desmond looked at him steadily, and, as it happened, the firelight
fell upon them both. "Miss Figuera sent me."
"Ah," said Ormsgill, and a curious little glint crept into his eyes
and faded out of them again. "Well, you have, no doubt, a little more
to tell."
His companion told it tersely, and afterwards Ormsgill sat silent for
awhile with a half-filled pipe in his hand. Many a time during his
wanderings he had seen in fancy Benicia Figuera sitting in the shady
patio, and on each occasion the longing to hear her voice and once
more stand face to face had grown stronger. He had fought against it
on weary march and when the boys were sleeping in the silent camp, but
it had conquered him.
"It was very kind of her," he said at last. "Still, considering her
father's status, one could wonder why she did it."
Desmond smiled curiously as he leaned forward and stirred the fire.
"That," he said with an air of reflection, "is naturally one of the
things I don't know. Still, there is a certain chivalrous rashness in
the adventure you have undertaken which, although sensible folks would
probably consider it misguided, might appeal to a young woman of Miss
Figuera's description. You see, she is by no means a conventional
person herself. Perhaps, it's fortunate there are young women like her
with courage and intelligence enough to form their own opinions."
"Miss Figuera has certainly courage," said Ormsgill slowly.
Desmond laughed. "She has. She has also a wholesome pride, and sense
as well as imagination, though the two don't always go together. With
her at his side a man crazy enough to be pleased with that kind of
thing might set himself to straighten up half the wrongs perpetrated
by our civilization, and she'd see he was never wholly beaten.
Somehow, she would, at least, bring him off with honor, and that is,
after all, the most any one with such notions could reasonably look
for."
He stopped for a moment, and when he went on again the firelight
showed the little flush in his cheeks and the gleam in his eyes.
"Lord," he said, "how little some of us are content with when we
marry--a woman to sit at the head of out table, and talk prettily, one
who asks for everything that isn't worth while, and sees you never do
anything her friends don't consider quite fitting. Still, there is
another kind, the ones who give instead of asking, and who would, for
the man they loved, face the malice of the world with a smile in their
eyes. I think," and he made a little vague gesture, "I have said
something of the kind before, but I have to let myself go now and
then. I can't help it."
"One would almost fancy you were in love with the girl yourself," said
Ormsgill quietly.
Desmond leaned forward a trifle, and looked hard at him. "No. I might
have been had things been different. At least, she is certainly not in
love with me."
Ormsgill said nothing, but he was sensible of a curious stirring of
his blood. He would not ask himself exactly what his comrade meant, or
if, indeed, he meant anything in particular, for it was a consolation
to remember that Desmond now and then talked inconsequently. He sat
still, vacantly watching the blue smoke wreaths curl up between the
palms. The boys had lain down now, and only an occasional faint
rustle as one moved broke the heavy silence. Then, and, perhaps he was
a trifle overwrought and fanciful, as he watched the drifting smoke
wreaths a figure seemed to materialize out of them. It was filmy and
unsubstantial, etherealized by the moonlight, but it grew plainer, and
once more he saw Benicia Figuera as he had talked with her in the
shady patio. She seemed to be looking at him with reposeful eyes that
had nevertheless a little glint in the depths of them, and now the
desire to see her in the flesh took him by the throat and shook the
resolution out of him. At last he knew. There could no longer be any
brushing of disconcerting facts aside. There was one woman in the
world whom he desired, and he had pledged himself to marry another
one. Still, his duty remained, and he sat silent with one lean hand
closed tightly and the lines on his worn face deepening until at last
he became conscious that Desmond was watching him, and he roused
himself with an effort.
"Well," he said quietly, "she has laid me under a heavy obligation,
but we have other things to talk of."