The same sun that shines upon the abandoned barque lights up the men who
abandoned her, still on that spot where they came ashore. As the first
rays fall over the cliff's crest, they show a cove of semicircular
shape, backed by a beetling precipice. A ledge or dyke, sea-washed, and
weed-covered, trends across its entrance, with a gate-like opening in
the centre, through which, at high tide, the sea sweeps in, though never
quite up to the base of the cliff. Between this and the strand lies the
elevated platform already spoken of, accessible from above by a sloping
ravine, the bed of a stream running only when it rains. As said, it is
only an acre or so in extent, and occupying the inner concavity of the
semicircle. The beach is not visible from it, this concealed by the dry
reef which runs across it as the chord of an arc. Only a small portion
of it can be seen through the portal which admits the tidal flow.
Beyond, stretches the open sea outside the surf, with the breakers more
than a mile off.
Such is the topography of the place where the mutineers have made
landing and passed the night. When the day dawns, but little is there
seen to betray their presence. Only a man seated upon a stone, nodding
as if asleep, at intervals awakening with a start, and grasping at a gun
between his legs; soon letting it go, and again giving way to slumber,
the effects of that drunken debauch kept up to a late hour. He would be
a poor sentinel were there need for vigilance.
Seemingly, there is none. No enemy is near--no human being in sight;
the only animate objects some seabirds, that, winging their way along
the face of the cliff, salute him with an occasional scream, as if
incensed by his presence in a spot they deem sacred to themselves.
The sun fairly up, he rises to his feet, and walks towards the entrance
of the larger cavern; then stopping in front of it, cries out:
"Inside there, shipmates! Sun's up--time to be stirring!"
Seeing him in motion, and hearing his hail, the gulls gather, and swoop
around his head in continuous screaming. In larger numbers, and with
cries more stridulent, as his comrades come forth out of the cave, one
after another--yawning, and stretching their arms.
The first, looking seaward, proposes to refresh himself by a plunge in
the surf; and for this purpose starts toward the beach. The others,
taken with the idea, follow in twos and threes, till in a string all are
_en route_ for the strand.
To reach this, it is necessary for them to pass through the gap in the
transverse ledge; which the tide, now at ebb, enables them to do.
He who leads, having gone through it, on getting a view of the shore
outside, suddenly stops; as he does so, sending back a shout. It is a
cry of surprise, followed by the startling announcement:
"The boat's gone!"
This should cause them apprehension; and would, if they but knew the
consequences. Ignorant of these, they make light of it, one saying:
"Let her go, and be damned! We want no boats now."
"A horse would be more to our purpose," suggests a second; "or, for that
matter, a dozen."
"A dozen donkeys would do," adds a third, accompanying his remark with a
horse-laugh. "It'll take about that many to pack our possibles."
"What's become of the old pinnace, anyhow?" asks one in sober strain;
as, having passed through the rock-portal, they stand scanning the
strand. All remember the place where they left the boat; and see it is
not there.
"Has any one made away with it?"
The question is asked, and instantly answered, several saying, no.
Striker, the man who first missed it, vouchsafes the explanation:
"The return tide's taken it out; an' I dar say, it's broke to bits on
them theer breakers."
They now remember it was not properly moored, but left with painter
loose; and do not wonder it went adrift. They care little, indeed
nothing, and think of it no longer; but, stripping, plunge into the
surf.
After bathing to their hearts' content, they return to the cavern, and
array themselves in garments befitted to the life they intend leading.
Their tarry togs are cast off, to be altogether abandoned; for each has
a suit of shore clothes, brought away from the barque.
Every one rigged out in his own peculiar style, and breakfast
despatched, they draw together to deliberate on a plan of future action.
But first the matter of greatest moment--the partition of the spoils.
It is made in little time, and with no great trouble. The boxes are
broken open, and the gold-dust measured out in a pannikin; a like number
of measures apportioned to each.
In money value no one can tell the exact amount of his share. Enough
satisfaction to know it is nigh as much as he can carry.
After each has appropriated his own, they commence packing up, and
preparing for the inland journey. And next arises the question, what
way are they to go?
They have already resolved to strike for the city of Santiago; but in
what order should they travel? Separate into several parties, or go all
together?
The former plan, proposed by Gomez, is supported by Padilla, Hernandez,
and Velarde. Gomez gives his reasons. Such a large number of
pedestrians along roads where none save horsemen are ever seen, could
not fail to excite surprise. It might cause inconvenient questions to
be asked them--perhaps lead to their being arrested, and taken before
some village _alcalde_. And what story could they tell?
On the other hand, there will be the chance of coming across Indians;
and as those on the Veraguan coast are ranked among the "bravos"--having
preserved their independence, and along with it their instinctive
hostility to the whites--an encounter with them might be even more
dangerous than with any _alcalde_. Struggling along in squads of two or
three, they would run a risk of getting captured, or killed, or
scalped--perhaps all three.
This is the suggestion of Harry Blew, Striker and Davis alone favouring
his view. All the others go against it, Gomez ridiculing the idea of
danger from red men; at the same time enlarging on that to be
apprehended from white ones.
As the majority have more reason to fear civilised man than the
so-called savage, it ends in their deciding for separation. They can
come together again in Santiago if they choose it; or not, should chance
for good or ill so determine. They are all now amply provided for,
playing an independent part in the drama of life; and with this pleasant
prospect, they may part company without a sigh of regret.