BETWEEN THE BRAZILIAN DEVIL AND THE DEEP ATLANTIC
There was an awkward pause. Coke, rascal though he was, and
pot-bellied withal, was no Falstaff. Rather did he suggest the
present-day atavism of some robber baron of the Middle Ages, whose
hectoring speech bubbled forth from a stout heart. But the ragged
ex-President heeded him not. After a moment of placid scrutiny of his
enraged countenance by those bright, watchful eyes, Coke might have
been non-existent so far as recognition of his outburst was apparent
during the sonorous discussion that ensued between Dom Corria Antonio
De Sylva and the Señor Capitano Salvador De San Benavides.
The latter, it is true, betrayed excitement. At first he favored Iris
with a deprecatingly admiring glance, as one who would say, "Dear lady,
accept my profound regret and respectful homage." But that phase
quickly passed. His leader was not a man to waste words, and the
gallant captain's expressive face soon showed that he had grasped the
essential facts. They did not please him. In fact, he was distinctly
cowed, almost stunned, by his companion's revelations.
It fell to De Sylva to explain matters to his unexpected guests.
"My friend agrees with me that it is only fair that the exact position
should be revealed to you," he said, addressing Coke, though a
dignified gesture invited the others to share his confidence.
"It don't take much tellin'," began Coke. De Sylva silenced him with
an emphatic hand.
"Please attend. The situation is not so simple as you seem to imagine.
The loss of your ship cannot be dealt with here. It raises issues of
international law which can only be settled by courts and governments.
You know, I suppose, that nothing will be done until a complaint is
lodged by a British minister, and that hinges upon the very doubtful
fact that you will ever again see your own country."
The ex-President certainly had the knack of expressing himself clearly.
Those concluding words rang like a knell. They even called Watts back
from the slumber of unconsciousness; the "chief" stirred himself where
he lay on the floor of the cavern, and began to quaver.
"----twelve old salts an' the skipper's lass
Marooned in the Spanish Main, O.
Sing hay----"
Coke, taken by surprise, was unable to stop this warbling earlier. But
his hand clutched Watts's shoulder, and his venomous whisper of "Shut
up, you ijjit!" was so unmistakable that the lyric ceased.
De Sylva seemed to be aware of some peculiarity in the symptoms of the
wounded man's recovery, but he continued speaking in the same balanced
tone.
"It happens, by idle chance, that my enemies have become yours. The
men who destroyed your ship thought they were injuring me. I have just
pointed out to Capitano De San Benavides the precise outcome of this
attack. Until a few moments ago we shared the delusion that the troops
on Fernando de Noronha believed we were now on our way to a Brazilian
port. We were mistaken. More than that, we know now that they have
obtained news--probably through a traitor to our cause--of the
_Andros-y-Mela's_ voyage. They were prepared for her coming. They had
made arrangements to receive her--almost at the place decided on by our
friends in Brazil. It is more than likely that the _Andros-y-Mela_ is
now lying under the guns of some coast fortress, since the presence of
troops and cannon on this side of the island is unprecedented."
"I don't see wot all this 'as to do with me," blurted out Coke
determinedly.
"No. It would not concern you in the least if you were safe at sea.
But, since you are here, it does concern you most gravely. From one
point of view, you served my cause well by preparing to lower a boat.
You misled my persecutors as to locality, at least. Of course, I saw
you, and thought you were mad, but your action did help to conceal from
the soldiers the secret of my true hiding-place. I wish to be candid
with you. If my friends and I had realized that you were here by
accident, we ought to have taken no steps to save you."
"Really!" snarled Coke, eying the unruffled Brazilian much as an
Andulusian bull might glare at a picador. A buzz of angry whispering
came from the crew. Even Iris flashed a disdainful glance at the man
who uttered this atrocious sentiment. De Sylva raised his hand. He
permitted himself the luxury of a wintry smile.
"Pray, do not misunderstand me," he said. "I am humane as most others,
but it is difficult to decide whether or not mere humanity, setting
aside self-interest, would not rather condemn you to the speedy death
of the wreck than drag you to the worse fate that awaits you here. And
please remember that we did succor you, thus risking observation and a
visit by the troops when the sea permits a landing. But that is not
the true issue. An hour ago there were four people on this bare
rock--four of us who looked for escape to-night. We were supplied with
such small necessaries of existence as would enable us to live if our
rescuers were delayed for a day, or even two. Now, there will be no
rescue. We are--" he looked slowly around--"twenty instead of four;
but we have the same quantity of stores, which consist of a
half-emptied skin of wine, a bunch of bananas, a few scraps of maize
bread, and some strips of dried meat. Do you follow me?"
Coke, who had been holding Watts in a sitting posture by a firm grip on
his collar, allowed the limp figure to sprawl headlong again. He
wanted to plunge both hands deeply into his trousers pockets, because
men of his type associate attitude so closely with thought that the one
is apt to become almost dependent on the other. And so, for the
moment, the safeguarding of Watts was of no consequence. But Watts had
benefited much by the sousing of the spray, while his recovery was
expedited by the forcible ejection of the salt water he had swallowed.
He raised himself on one hand, and looked about with an inquiring eye.
The Brazilian officer's uniform seemed to fascinate him.
"'Ello!" he gurgled. "Run in? Well I'm----"
"Is not that man wounded? I thought I saw him dashed against the
rocks," said De Sylva.
"'E ought to be," said Coke, "but 'e's on'y drunk. A skin o' rum, 'arf
empty, too, just like your skin o' wine, mister."
"Let him be taken outside and gagged if he resists."
There was an uneasy movement among the men. Their common impulse was
to obey. Coke spread his feet a little apart.
"Leave 'im alone. 'E'll do no 'arm now," he said.
"I cannot be interrupted," cried De Sylva, whose iron self-restraint
seemed to be yielding before British truculence.
"I'll keep 'im quiet but I can't 'ave 'im roasted afore 'is time, an'
that's wot's 'ul 'appen if you tied him up in that gulley."
"Thanke'ee, skipper. You allus were a reel pal," murmured Watts.
Coke bent over him.
"If your tongue don't stop waggin' it'll soon be stickin' out between
yer teeth," he hissed. "This ain't no fancy lock-up in the East Injia
Dock Road, Arthur, me boy. They won't bring you a pint of cocoa 'ere,
an' ax if you're comfortable. You 'aven't long to live accordin' to
all accounts, so just close your mouth an' open your ears, an' mebbe
you'll know w'y."
De Sylva regained his self-possession with a rapidity that was
significant. He had not climbed to the presidential chair of the
Republic from a clerkship in the London Embassy of the Empire without
acquiring the habit of estimating his fellow men speedily and
accurately. Here was one who might be led, but would never permit
himself to be driven. Moreover, this dethroned ruler was by way of
being a philosopher.
"I hate drunkards," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You cannot
trust them. If I had been surrounded by trustworthy men, I should
not----"
He broke off. There was a sound of hurrying footsteps on the steep
pathway. A figure, clad in rags that surpassed even De Sylva's,
appeared in the entrance. A brief colloquy took place. De Sylva's
eager questions were answered in monosyllables, or the nearest approach
thereto.
"Marcel tells me that one of your boats is drifting away with a man
lying in the bottom," came the uneasy explanation.
Coke's face showed a degree of surprise, which, in his case, was almost
invariably akin to disbelief, but an exclamation from Hozier drew all
eyes.
"Good Lord!" he cried, "that must be the lifeboat I was trying to clear
when the ship struck. Macfarlane was helping me, but he was hit by a
bullet and dropped across the thwarts. I thought he was dead!"
"Dead or alive, he is better off than we," said De Sylva. He
questioned Marcel again briefly. "There can be no doubt that the man
in the boat cast off the lashings when he found that the ship was
sinking," he continued in English. "Marcel saw him doing that, and
wondered why he was alone. At any rate, if he is carried beyond the
reef, he has a fighting chance. We have none."
"Why not? Are these men on the island so deaf to human sympathies that
they would murder all of us in cold blood?"
The girl's sweet, low-pitched voice sounded inexpressibly sad in that
vaulted place. Even De Sylva's studied control gave way before its
music. He uttered some anguished appeal to the deity in his own
tongue, and flung out his hands impulsively.
"What would you have me say?" he cried, and his eyes blazed, while the
scar on his forehead darkened with the gust of passion that swept over
his strong features. "I might lie to you, and try to persuade you that
we can exist here without food or water, whereas to-morrow, or next day
at the utmost, will see most of us dead. But in a few hours you will
realize what it means to be kept on this bare rock under a tropical
sun. You can do one thing. Your party greatly outnumbers mine. Climb
to the top-most pinnacle and signal to the island. You will soon be
seen."
He laughed with a savage irony that was not good to hear, but Coke
caught at the suggestion.
"Even that is better'n tearin' one another like mad dogs," he growled.
"I know wot's comin'. I've seen it wonst."
Hozier made for the exit, where Marcel stood, irresolute, apparently
waiting for orders.
"Where are you going?" demanded De Sylva.
"To see what is becoming of the lifeboat."
"Better not. You cannot help your friend, and the instant it becomes
known to the troops that there is a living soul on the Grand-père rock
they will come in a steam launch and shoot everyone at sight."
"Will that be the answer to our signal?"
It was Iris who asked the question, and the Brazilian's voice softened
again.
"Yes," he said.
"Why, then, do you advise us to seek our own destruction?"
He bowed. His manner was almost humble.
"It is the easier way," he murmured.
"Is there no other?"
"None--unless we attack two hundred soldiers with sticks, and stones,
and three revolvers, and a sword."
Hozier came back. He had merely stepped a pace or two into the
sunlight. Through the northerly dip of the gulley he had seen the
ship's boat whirled past an islet by the fierce current. Macfarlane
was not visible. Perhaps that was better so. At any rate, the sight
of the small craft vanishing behind one of the island barriers brought
home with telling force the predicament of those who remained. Now
that the sheer frenzy of the wreck had relaxed, Philip's head was like
to split with the throbbing anguish of the blow he had received. But
his mind was clearer. De Sylva's words, amplifying his own vague
recollection of the scene on board the _Andromeda_, enabled him to
construct a picture of events as they were. And his blood boiled when
he thought of Iris, snatched many times from death, only to face it
once more in the ravening form of starvation and thirst.
"Attack!" he said hoarsely. "How is that possible? A deep and wide
channel separates us from the main island."
The Brazilian, who seemed to have argued himself into a state of stoic
despair, gave a startling answer.
"We have a boat, a sort of boat," he said quietly.
"How many will it hold?"
"Three, in a smooth sea, and with skilled handling. It nearly
overturned when I and two others crossed from the island, a distance of
three hundred yards."
"But we have ropes, clothes, perhaps some few pieces of wreckage. Can
nothing be done to repair it?"
"Meaning that we draw lots to see who shall endeavor to escape
to-night?"
"The men might even do that."
"Ah, yes--the men, of course. I think it hopeless. But, try it! Yes,
certainly, try it!"
A pause, more eloquent than the most impassioned speech, showed how
this frail straw, eddying in the vortex of their fate, might yet be
clutched at. San Benavides, trying vainly to guess what was being
said, blurted forth an anxious inquiry. His compatriot explained
briefly. Somehow, the measured cadence of their talk had a less
reliable sound than the vigorous Anglo-Saxon. They were both brave
men. They had not scrupled to risk their lives in an enterprise where
success beckoned even doubtingly. But they were lacking when all that
remained to be settled was how best to die; in such an hour the men of
an English speaking race will ever choose a fighting death.
This time, it was a woman who decided.
Iris rose to her feet. She brushed back the strands of damp hair from
her face, and with deft hands made a rough-and-ready coil of her
abundant tresses.
"Are you planning to send me with two others adrift in a boat, while
seventeen men are left here?" she asked.
The Brazilian ceased speaking. There was another uneasy pause. Hozier
felt that the question was addressed to him, but he was tongue-tied,
almost shame-faced. Coke, however, did not shirk the task of
enlightening her.
"Something like that," he said. "We can't let you cut in with the rest
of us, missy. That wouldn't be reasonable. But it's best to fix the
business fair an' square. We ain't agoin' to try any other way, not so
long as _I'm_ skipper," and he looked with brutal frankness at De Sylva
and the anxious but uncomprehending San Benavides.
The ex-President knew what he meant; even in his despondency he
resented the implied slur on his good faith.
"You cannot examine the boat until darkness sets in," he said. "Then
you will find out how frail a foundation you are building on. It is
absolutely ridiculous to assume that she can be made seaworthy. Her
occupants would be drowned before they were clear of the islands."
"In any case, I refuse to go," said Iris.
De Sylva smiled gloomily.
"You are courageous, senhora, and, in some respects, you are wise," he
said. "Yet . . . I must admit it . . . I would urge you to select the
boat--in preference . . ."
Marcel, the Brazilian who had come to tell them of the drifting
life-boat, turned away from the mouth of the cavern, and scrambled down
the ravine.
"Wot's 'e after?" demanded Coke, suddenly suspicious.
"He and Domingo are keeping a lookout," said De Sylva. "If the
soldiers intend to visit us we should at least be warned. The boat is
hidden among the rocks on the landward side," he added, not without a
touch of scorn.
"That man has taught us our own duty," cried Iris. "The boat that
brought these men to this rock can bring nineteen men and a woman to
Fernando Noronha. We must land there to-night. With those to guide us
who know the coast, surely that should be possible. We have a right to
struggle for our lives. We, of the _Andromeda_, at least, have done no
wrong to the cruel wretches who sought to kill us without mercy to-day.
Why should we not endeavor to defend ourselves? There is food there,
and guns in plenty. Let us take them. Above all, let us not dream of
any such useless device as this proposal to send three to drown
somewhere in the sea and leave seventeen to perish miserably here. We
are in God's hands. Let us trust to Him, but while doing that fully
and fearlessly, we must seek life, not death."
"Bully for you, miss!" roared a sailor, and a growl of admiration rang
through the cave. Instantly a hubbub of talk showed how intent the
crew had been on the previous discussion, but Coke shouted them into
silence.
"Oo axed wot _you_ think, you swabs?" he bellowed. "Stow your lip!
Sink me, if you don't all do as you're bid, an' keep still tongues in
your 'eds, I'll want to know w'y--P.D.Q."
A big, blond Norwegian, Hans Olsen by name, strode forward. Unlike the
usual self-contained Norseman, he was reputed a "sea-lawyer" in the
forecastle.
"We haf somedings ter zay for our lifes, yez," he protested. Coke bent
and butted him violently in the stomach with his head. The man crashed
against the rocky wall, and sat dazed where he had fallen.
"You've got to obey orders--savvy?" growled Coke.
"Yez," gasped Olsen, evidently fearing a further assault.
The incident ended. Its outstanding feature was the amazing activity
displayed by the burly skipper, who had rammed his man before the big
fellow could lift a finger. It might be expected that Iris would show
some sign of dismay, owing to this unlooked-for violence. But she was
now beyond the reach of merely feminine emotions. She had protested
against the kicking of Watts because it seemed to lack motive, because
Watts was helpless, and because she herself was half-delirious at the
time. Olsen's attitude, on the other hand, hinted at mutiny, and
mutiny must be repressed at any cost.
De Sylva's incisive accents helped to bridge a moment fraught with
possibilities, for it would be idle to assume that this polyglot
gathering was composed of Bayards. Self-preservation is apt to prove
stronger than chivalry under such circumstances. Let it be assumed
that three among the twenty could escape that night, and it was
horribly true that the field of selection might be narrowed by a
wild-beast struggle long before the sun went down.
"The young lady has at least given us a project," he said. "It is a
desperate one, Heaven knows! It offers a fantastic chance, and I can
see no other, but--what can we do without arms?"
"Use our heads," put in Hozier. He had not the slightest intention of
making a light-hearted joke at that crisis in their affairs, but he
happened to look at Coke, and an involuntary smile gleamed through the
crust of clotted blood and perspiration that gave his good-looking face
a most sinister aspect. The Irishman cackled with laughter.
"Begob, that's wan for the skipper," he crowed; then some of the others
grinned, and the _Andromeda's_ little company stood four-square again
to the winds of adversity. Having blundered into prominence, the
second mate was quick to see that he must hammer home the facts, though
in more serious vein.
"Bring us to the island, Senhor De Sylva," he said, "and we will make a
fight of it. In any case, even if we fail, they will not deliberately
kill a woman. There must be other women there who will intervene in
behalf of one of their own sex. But we may succeed. It is improbable
that the whole of the troops will be gathered in one spot. Why should
we not take some small detachment by surprise and secure their weapons?
If we can land unobserved, we ought to be able to drop on them
apparently from the skies. I take it that the presence here of Captain
San Benavides is unknown, and the leadership of an officer in the
enemy's own uniform should turn the scale in our favor. Have you no
followers among the troops or islanders? Suppose we make good our
first attack, and seize a strong position--isn't it probable we may
receive assistance from your partisans?"
"Perhaps--among the convicts," was De Sylva's grim reply.
"No officials, or soldiers?"
"Not one. They are chosen for this service on account of their
animosity against the former Government. How else could you account
for their treatment of unarmed men on a ship crippled by their first
shell?"
"You spoke of a steam launch. Where is that kept?"
"At a wharf under the walls of the citadel which commands the town and
anchorage."
"Assuming we have a stroke of luck and rush some outpost, would it be
possible to cross the island before dawn and board the launch or some
other craft in which we can put to sea?"
"There is only the launch, and some small fishing catamarans. No other
boats are allowed to exist on the island, in order to prevent the
escape of convicts. The boat we possess is really a badly-constructed
catamaran, without a sail, and minus the out-rigger which alone renders
it safe for the shortest voyage."
"Wy didn't you say that sooner, mister?" put in Coke. "If some of
these jokers knew wot sort of craft it was, mebbe it wouldn't 'ave
needed a shove in the stommick to bring Hans Olsen to heel."
"I am sorry," said De Sylva. "You see, I realized the utter folly of
trying to escape in that fashion."
The two men looked each other squarely in the eye. The ex-President of
a great republic and the master of a worn-out tramp steamer were both
born leaders of men. Whatsoever prospect of a cabal existed
previously, it was scotched now, beyond doubt. Henceforth, no matter
what ills threatened, surely the little army mustered on the Grand-père
rock would stand or fall together!
An unerring token of unity was forthcoming at once.
"Please, miss, an' gents all, may we smoke?" pleaded a voice.
Iris was for an immediate permission, but De Sylva shook his head.
"Not until the tide falls," he said. "There is a very real fear of a
visit from the launch. It has passed this spot four times during the
past two days--ever since my absence was discovered, in fact. The
soldiers have searched every outlying island, but they have avoided
Grand-père because it is believed that a landing is highly dangerous if
not quite impracticable. My friend Marcel, a fisherman, discovered by
accident the only safe means of reaching the path which winds round the
island. Happily, the wretch who betrayed the mission of the
_Andros-y-Mela_ did not know the secret of my refuge. And I see now
that the Governor must be convinced that I am still hiding among the
cliffs, or your vessel would not have appeared off South Point this
morning. No, there must be no smoking as yet. In this clear air the
slightest cloud might be seen rising above the rocks from without."
Marcel reappeared at the entrance. With him was another man, whom
Hozier remembered seeing when he was hauled up from the ship with Iris.
"Ah, I was not mistaken," went on De Sylva. "Here comes news of the
launch! They have signaled for it across the island."
Marcel entered the cave with an expressive gesture, for long habit had
almost robbed him of his native vivacity. His companion, Domingo,
climbed the opposite wall of the ravine and stretched himself at full
length in a niche where there was room for a man to lie. Some tufts of
rough grass grew there in sufficient density to conceal his head while
he peered between the stalks. They could see him quite plainly, but no
one wanted to speak. Though the unceasing wash of a heavy swell
against the rocks would have drowned the noise had they shouted in
unison, there was no need to tell anyone present that a very real and
dangerous crisis had arrived. The slow change in the direction of
Domingo's gaze showed the approach and passing of the hostile vessel.
It was evident that a long halt was made in the channel close to the
wreck, of which some fragments remained above water. Still, curiously
enough, it was impossible for those on board the launch to read the
ship's name, since the word "_Andromeda_," twice embossed on the sharp
cut-water, was hidden by the jutting rocks on both sides of the cleft.
But it was not the fear of instant death following on the discovery
that the Grand-père islet was inhabited that kept tongues mute and ears
on the alert during a quarter of an hour that seemed to be protracted
to a quarter of a day. At present they were shut off from hostile
bullets by the walls of a fortress stronger than any that could be
built by men's hands. The greater danger was that the enemy's
suspicions might be aroused. Let those who held Fernando Noronha with
the armed forces of Brazil once come to regard the isolated rock in mid
channel as providing even a possible refuge for the ex-President and
his friends, and it would mean the complete overthrow of the slender
chance of saving their lives that still offered itself.
So they waited in silence, watching the rigid figure of the prostrate
Brazilian, just as those among them who were saved from the _Andromeda_
had watched the arch of spray and spindrift from the slowly sinking
forecastle.
At last Domingo turned his head slightly, and gave them a reassuring
little nod. He said something, which De Sylva translated.
"They have a photograph of the wreck," he said, "and are now steaming
through the northerly channel to the anchorage on the west side of the
island. Most fortunately, they do not seem to be aware of your
drifting boat."
Then he added, with a courtliness that was so incongruous with his
unkempt appearance and patched and tattered garments;--"If the Senhora
permits, the men may smoke now. In another hour the channel will not
be navigable. We have a hot and tiring day before us, and I advise
sleep for those to whom it is vouchsafed. If the weather continues to
improve, the next tide will bring us a smooth sea. Given that, and a
dark night--well--we may make history. Who knows?"