"DOWN HELM."
"Land, ho!"
The cry is from a man stationed on the fore-topmast cross-trees of the
_Condor_. Since sunrise he has been aloft--on the lookout for land. It
is now near noon, and he has sighted it.
Captain Lantanas is not quite certain of what land it is. He knows it
is the Veraguan coast, but does not recognise the particular place.
Noon soon after coming on, with an unclouded sky, enables him to catch
the sun in its meridian altitude, and so make him sure of a good sight.
It gives for latitude 7 degrees 20 minutes North, while his chronometer
furnishes him with the longitude 82 degrees 12 minutes West.
As the Chilian is a skilled observer, and has confidence in the
observations he has made, the land in sight should be the island of
Coiba; or an island that covers it, called Hicaron. Both are off the
coast of Veragua, westward from Panama Bay, and about a hundred miles
from its mouth; into which the _Condor_ is seeking to make entrance.
Having ciphered out his reckoning, the skipper enters it on his log:
"Latitude 7 degrees 20 minutes North, Longitude 82 degrees 12 minutes
West _Wind West-South-West. Light breeze_."
While penning these slight memoranda, little dreams the Chilian skipper
how important they may one day become. The night before, while taking
an observation of the stars, could he have read them astrologically, he
might have discovered many a chance against his ever making another
entry in that log-book.
A wind west-sou'-west is favourable for entering the Bay of Panama. A
ship steering round Cabo Mala, once she has weathered this much-dreaded
headland, will have it on her starboard quarter. But the _Condor_,
coming down from north, gets it nearly abeam; and her captain,
perceiving he has run a little too much coastwise, cries out to the man
at the wheel--
"Hard a-starboard! Put the helm down! Keep well off the land!"
Saying this, he lights a cigarrito; for a minute or two amuses himself
with his monkeys, always playful at meeting him; then, ascending to the
poop-deck, enters into conversation with company more refined--his lady
passengers.
These, with Don Gregorio, have gone up some time before, and stand on
the port-side, gazing at the land--of course delightedly: since it is
the first they have seen since the setting of that sun, whose last rays
gleamed upon the portals of the Golden Gate, through which they had
passed out of California.
The voyage has been somewhat wearisome: the _Condor_ having encountered
several adverse gales--to say nothing of the long period spent in
traversing more than three thousand miles of ocean-waste, with only once
or twice a white sail seen afar off, to vary its blue monotony.
The sight of _terra firma_, with the thought of soon setting foot on it,
makes all joyous; and Captain Lantanas adds to their exhilaration by
assuring them, that in less than twenty-four hours he will enter the Bay
of Panama, and in twenty-four after, bring his barque alongside the
wharf of that ancient port, so often pillaged by the _filibusteros_--
better known as buccaneers. It is scarcely a damper when he adds, "Wind
and weather permitting;" for the sky is of sapphire hue, and the gentle
breeze wafting them smoothly along seems steady, and as if it would
continue in the same quarter, which chances to be the right one.
After staying an hour or so on deck, indulging in cheerful converse, and
happy anticipations, the tropic sun, grown too sultry for comfort,
drives them down to the cabin, for shade and _siesta_--this last, a
habit of all Spanish-Americans.
The Chilian skipper is also accustomed to take his afternoon nap; and
this day, in particular, there is no need for his remaining longer on
deck. He has determined his latitude, cast up his dead-reckoning, and
set the _Condor_ on her course. Sailing on a sea without icebergs, or
other dangerous obstructions, he can go to sleep without anxiety on his
mind.
So, leaving his second mate in charge--the first being off-watch--he
descends to the cabin, and enters his sleeping-room on the starboard
side.
But before lying down, he summons the cook, and gives orders for a
dinner--to be dressed in the very best style the ship's stores can
furnish; this in celebration of the event of having sighted land.
Then, stretching himself along a sofa, he is soon slumbering;
profoundly, as one with nothing on his conscience to keep him awake.
For a time, the barque's decks appear deserted. No one seen, save the
helmsman at the wheel, and the second mate standing by his side. The
sailors not on duty have betaken themselves to the forecastle, and are
lolling in their bunks; while those of the working-watch--with no work
to do--have sought shady quarters, to escape from the sun's heat, now
excessive.
The breeze has been gradually dying away, and is now so light that the
vessel scarce makes steerage way. The only vigorous movements are those
made by the Bornean apes. To them the great heat, so far from being
disagreeable, is altogether congenial. They chase one another along the
decks, accompanying their grotesque romping by cries equally grotesque--
a hoarse jabbering, that sounds with weird strangeness throughout the
otherwise silent ship. Except this, everything is profoundly still; no
surging of waves, no rush of wind through the rigging, no booming of it
against the bellied sails; only now and then a flap of one blown back,
and aboard. The breeze has fallen to "light;" and the _Condor_, though
with all canvas spread, and studding-sails out, is scarce making two
knots an hour. This too with the wind well upon her quarter.
Still, there is nothing strange about the barque making so little way.
What is strange, is the direction in which the breeze is now striking
her. It is upon her starboard quarter, instead of the beam, as it
should be; and as Captain Lantanas left it on going below!
Yet, since he went below, the wind has not shifted, not by a single
point!
The barque must have changed her course; and indeed, has done this; the
man at the wheel having put the helm _up_, instead of _down_, causing
her to draw closer to the land, in direct contradiction to the orders of
the captain!
Is it ignorance on the steersman's part? No, that cannot be. Gil Gomez
has the helm; and being a seaman, should know how to handle it.
Besides, Padilla is standing beside him; and the second mate, whatever
his moral qualities, knows enough for the "conning" of a ship; and
cannot fail to observe that the barque is running too much inshore.
Why the skipper's orders are not being carried out, is because they who
now guide the _Condor's_ course, do not intend that her keel shall ever
cleave the waters of Panama Bay.
Why, this is told by the speech passing between them:
"You know all about the coast in there?" inquires Padilla, pointing to
land looming up on the port-side.
"Every inch of it; at least, sufficient to make sure of a place where we
can put in. That headland rising on the port-bow is Punta Marietta. We
must stand well under, taking care not to round it before evening. If
we did, and the breeze blow off-shore, which it surely will, we'd have
trouble to make back. With this light wind, we won't make much way
before nightfall. When Lantanas and the rest are down at dinner, we can
put about, and run along till we sight a likely landing place."
"So far as being looked after by Lantanas," observes the second mate,
"we need have no fear. To-day the cabin-dinner is to be a grand spread.
I overheard his orders to that effect. He intends making things
pleasant for his passengers before parting with them. As a matter of
course, he'll stay all evening below--perhaps get fuddled to boot--which
may spare us some trouble. It looks like luck, doesn't it?"
"Not much matter about that," rejoins Gomez; "it'll have to end all the
same. Only, as you say, his staying below will make things a little
easier, and save some unpleasantness in the way of blood-spilling.
After dinner, the senoritas are sure to come on deck. They've done so
every night, and I hope they won't make this night an exception. If Don
Gregorio and the skipper keep downstairs, and--"
The dialogue is interrupted by the striking of bells to summon the
relief-watch on duty.
Soon as the change is effected, Harry Blew takes charge, Striker
replacing Gomez at the helm.
Just at this instant, the head of Captain Lantanas shows above the
coaming of the companion stair.
Gomez seeing him, glides back to the wheel, gives a strong pull at the
spokes, Striker assisting him, so as to bring the barque's head up, and
the wind upon her beam.
"Good heavens!" exclaims the skipper excitedly, rushing on up the stair,
and out. For he sees what not only excites his surprise, but makes him
exceedingly angry.
Soon as setting his foot on deck, he steps briskly on to the rail, and
looks out over the sea--shoreward, towards land, where no land should be
seen!
First he glances ahead, then over the port-side, and again in the
direction of the vessel's course. What sees he there to make such an
impression upon him? A high promontory stretching out into the ocean,
almost butting against the bows of his ship! It is Punta Marietta! He
knows the headland, but knows, too, it should not be on the bow had his
instructions been attended to.
"_Que cosa_!" he cries in a bewildered way, rubbing his eyes, to make
sure they are not deceiving him; then to the helmsman:
"What does this mean, sir? You've been keeping too close inshore--the
very contrary to what I commanded! Helm down--hard!"
Striker grumblingly obeys, bringing the barque up close to wind. Then
the skipper turning angrily upon him, demands to know why his orders
have not been carried out.
The ex-convict excuses himself, saying, that he has just commenced his
trick, and knows nothing of what has been done before. He is keeping
the vessel too on the same course she was on, when he took her from the
last steersman.
"Who was the last?" thunders the irate skipper.
"Gil Gomez," gruffly replies Striker.
"Yes; it was he," says the first mate, who has come aft along with the
captain. "The watch was Senor Padilla's, and Gomez has just left the
wheel."
"Where is Gomez?" asks the captain, still in a towering passion, unusual
for him.
"Gone forward, sir: he's down in the forecastle."
"Call him up! Send him to me at once!"
The first officer hurries away towards the head, and soon returns, Gomez
with him.
The latter meets the gaze of Lantanas with a sullen look, which seems to
threaten disobedience.
"How is this?" asks the Chilian. "You had the wheel during the last
watch. Where have you been running to?"
"In the course you commanded, Captain Lantanas."
"That can't be, sir. If you'd kept her on as I set her, the land
couldn't have been there, lying almost across, our cut-water. I
understand my chart too well to have made such a mistake."
"I don't know anything about your chart," sulkily rejoins the sailor.
"All I know is, that I kept the barque's head as directed. If she
hasn't answered to it, that's no fault of mine; and I don't much like
being told it is."
The puzzled skipper again rubs his eyes, and takes a fresh look at the
coast-line. He is as much mystified as ever. Still the mistake may
have been his own; and as the relieved steersman appears confident about
it, he dismisses him without further parley, or reprimand.
Seeing that there will be no difficulty in yet clearing the point, his
anger cools down, and he is but too glad to withdraw from an angry
discussion uncongenial to his nature.
The _Condor_ now hauled close to wind, soon regains lost weather-way,
sufficient for the doubling of Punta Marietta; and before the bells of
the second dog-watch are sounded, she is in a fair way of weathering the
cape. The difficulty has been more easily removed by the wind veering
suddenly round to the opposite point of the compass. For now near
night, the land-breeze has commenced blowing off-shore.
Well acquainted with the coast, and noticing the change, Captain
Lantanas believes all danger past; and with the tranquillity of his
temper restored, goes back into his cabin, to join his passengers at
dinner, just in the act of being served.