THE TUG
When he had climbed the steps Marston stopped. Now he had started on his
adventure he saw its difficulties. To begin with, he must pass two or
three vessels, and the lights that burned on the steamer touched the
mole. She came from Cadiz and Spanish passenger boats carried a
_Sereno_, whose particular duty was to keep watch at night. Marston was
afraid the man might hail him. Although he had laboriously studied
Castilian, he did not speak it well, and his accent would indicate that
he was a foreigner. If the _Sereno_ were curious and kept him talking,
the port-guard might come up. Anyhow, there was some risk of his meeting
the latter and he would then be asked to account for his wandering about
in the dark. It was obvious that he could not do so satisfactorily, and
there was a telephone to the Government office at the Capital.
Marston doubted if Larrinaga could imprison him for spying, but it did
not matter much. If he were found at San Cristobal, Don Ramon would know
his object and would not let him go until he had sent off his soldiers
to put down the Bat. If the latter were not warned, he would probably be
surprised and captured. This was unthinkable, and Marston saw he must
not be caught, although to run away from the port-guard might lead to
his getting shot. The fellows carried pistols, which they were
empowered to use. Caution was plainly needed, and he crept past the
steamer, keeping close to the high parapet of the mole.
Nobody hailed him, and he went on until he came opposite a small marque.
She had no lights, but as he stole by his foot struck a mooring rope and
he fell. He lay flat on the ground for some moments, and then, hearing
no movement on board, got up and crept away, looking out for the next
rope. The mole was long and he had not gone far when he heard the splash
of oars. A boat came out of the dark, and a break in the wall indicated
a row of steps. Marston did not want to turn back, and it was possible
the men were going to one of the vessels. If they were going to the
town, he had better get past the steps before they landed. A pile of
goods forced him to leave the gloom of the parapet and it looked as if
his figure cut against the sky, for the splash of oars stopped.
"_Ola companero!_" somebody shouted.
Marston saw he must trust his luck and asked gruffly: "_Que quiere?_"
The man said they were coming to let go a schooner's rope but he might
throw it down, and Marston dragged the heavy warp to the edge.
"_Coje-le_," he said in a hoarse voice and threw down the rope.
He imagined it fell upon the others' heads, for somebody said, "_Mal
rayo! Esta borracho._"
Then the boat pulled away and Marston went on. If the fellows thought
him drunk, so much the better. This would account for his brevity and
uncouth accent. He wondered whether the shouting had excited the
port-guards' curiosity, but although he stopped to listen he heard
nothing.
By-and-by he got near the end of the mole and distinguished the
repairing ship, which ran down obliquely to the water. The trees on the
_marina_ rose behind it, touched in places by the glow from two big
electric lamps, and a blurred, dark mass cut against the illumination.
This was, no doubt, the tug and he wondered, rather anxiously, whether
the crew were on board. Stopping where the gloom was deepest, he looked
carefully about.
The tug's bow rose high above him, but he doubted if the tide had left
her stern. So far as he could feel with his feet, the stones were
covered by broken shells, and he smelt paint. In the tropics, the bottom
of an iron vessel soon gets crusted with shells and weed, and it looked
as if the crew had scraped the boat. When the plates were clean they
would paint her with red-oxide before applying the anti-fouling coat. It
was important for him to find out which they had put on, because, since
they could only work at low-water, this might mean a difference of a day
or two in the time needed to finish the job. All the same, he could not
take it for granted that she would be ready for sea when the last coat
was dry. He understood her engines were being overhauled, and must
ascertain if the work were done.
Marston moved lower down the inclined slip. The tug was a big propeller
boat and rested, upright, on heavy shores. When he was level with the
engine-room he saw a ladder against her side and his foot struck
something that tinkled. Stooping down, he felt about and found a number
of short tubes, some of which had torn ends. They had obviously come
from the condenser, and re-tubing a condenser might be a long job. It
looked as if he would have to get on board, but, to begin with, he had
better see how far the men had gone with the painting.
He rubbed his hand along the plates. Although they were pretty smooth,
this did not tell him much and he got no plainer hint when he used his
nose. There was a strong smell of paint, but he could not tell if it was
the priming coat, or the anti-fouling that would finish the work.
Perhaps he could find the drum that had held the paint and he began to
feel about as he moved down the slip. He had not gone far, however, when
he trod on a piece of iron that tilted up and dropped with a sharp
rattle. To continue the search might be dangerous and he stopped and
listened.
All was quiet on board the tug; the trees on the _marina_ tossed in the
wind and the surf rumbled behind the mole. A clinking noise came up the
harbor and Marston imagined the men whose rope he had thrown down were
getting ready to go to sea at sunrise; vessels were not allowed to leave
or enter port in the dark. This reminded Marston that it was some time
since he had left Wyndham and they must reach the schooner before
daybreak.
He went back up the slip, hoping he might be able to see the tug's deck.
Now he was on higher ground, he noted a faint and rather puzzling
illumination behind her bulwarks. Its position indicated that it came
from the engine-room and he imagined the skylight was open but somebody
had thrown a tarpaulin across the frames. The hinged lights opened from
the bottom, and perhaps the engineer wanted to dry his paint and yet
keep the heavy dew off the machinery. Anyhow, since there was a light in
the engine-room, one could see below.
Marston hesitated at the bottom of the ladder. It would be very awkward
if he were caught on board the tug; but he must find out if she were
ready for sea and he wore light, rubber-soled deck shoes. The ladder was
not fastened, for the top began to slip along the plates when he
climbed, and he was forced to reach up and seize the rail. Next moment
he stepped cautiously down on deck. Nobody seemed to have heard him and
all was dark but for the glow from the skylight, which only shone for a
few feet on the damp planks. As Marston made for the engine-room his
foot struck an iron drum and he stopped. It was a paint-drum, but he
must discover if it were empty and what paint the crew had used.
He tilted the drum and its lightness indicated that there was not much
inside. Then he turned it round carefully until he could see the brass
label on the top. The letters were obscured by paint, but he
distinguished JES--and was satisfied. He knew the famous anti-fouling
composition; the crew had put on the last coat and, so far as her being
painted went, the tug was ready for sea. Now he must look at her
engines, and he put back the drum. Its rim jarred on the deck and
Marston thought he heard a movement below. Stooping down, he looked
under the tarpaulin and got something of a shock.
A man stood on the floor plates in the engine-room, with his face turned
up towards the skylight as if he had been disturbed. Marston could not
see him well, because the bars of the top platform were in the way, but
the fellow carried a small, bright piece of steel and a ball of waste.
It looked as if he had been cleaning a valve-spindle, and his working at
night was significant. Marston's heart beat, but after a few moments the
other seemed to be satisfied and sitting down on a locker picked up a
file.
When the fellow bent his head over his work Marston glanced carefully
about the engine-room. He saw the condenser; the cover was on, which
indicated that the repairs were finished. A chain tackle hung from the
beams above the cylinders and some nuts lay about their heads. The
pistons had obviously been lifted in order to put on new rings. Other
things Marston noted implied that the engines had been given a thorough
overhaul. He thought the work was nearly completed, but when one
examined a vessel's engines the boiler was generally opened and he crept
cautiously to the stokehold.
The ladder came up to a grating on deck and when he had gone down half
way he struck a match. He could see the man-hole; the cover had recently
been taken off and replaced, for smears of red-lead marked the joint,
and Marston went cautiously back to the deck. He knew all he wanted to
know. The tug had been put in first-rate order, as if in preparation for
some important work, and he thought she could be floated off after
another tide. He must now rejoin Wyndham as soon as possible. So far, he
had been lucky, but when he went to the rail it looked as if his luck
had turned.
A man, singing lustily, crossed the _marina_ and his hoarseness implied
that he was returning from a carouse. As he passed the port-captain's
office somebody hailed him and Marston heard him answer, "_Fogonero_."
There was a short colloquy that seemed to get abusive, and then somebody
said, "_Vaya al diablo!_"
The man laughed and came on unsteadily towards the mole. He was a ship's
fireman, and Marston, who did not want to meet him, hoped he was not
making for the tug. After a few moments he fell down and Marston thought
he kicked something savagely when he got up. His figure was now faintly
distinguishable and it was plain that he meant to board the tug. Marston
crawled round the skylight and crouched against the bulwarks on the
other side. A rope ran across the rail and he tried to feel if its end
was fast. The rope might help him to reach the ground.
Then the awkward steps stopped at the tug and the ladder shook. Its
upper end slipped and a noise below indicated that the fireman had
fallen off.
"Pancho, Panchito!" he shouted. "Come out and help, little parrot!"
Marston heard the engineer clatter across the iron platforms and cross
the deck. So far as Marston could understand, his remarks were grossly
rude, but the other interrupted:
"What is a small bottle of _cana_ to a fireman? It is the ladder that is
drunk. If you will not hold it, little parrot, I must sleep in the
cold."
To judge by the noise they made, Pancho seized the ladder while the
other scrambled up. He jumped on deck, laughing boisterously, a door
shut, and when the men's feet rattled on the platform bars in the
engine-room Marston crawled across the deck. He found the top of the
ladder, but had only gone down a few steps when it slipped across the
side and threw him off. Although he did not fall far, the ladder struck
the ground with a crash and he lay down in the gloom under the tug's
bilge.
After waiting for a few moments he saw the others were not coming back
on deck, and he got up and stole along the slip. Crossing the mole with
a few quick steps, he climbed the parapet and dropped to the stones on
the other side. When he had gone a hundred yards along the beach he
whistled softly, and although the gravel rolled about in the languid
surf heard Wyndham's answer. Then the gig's white hull appeared
indistinctly among the streaks of foam, and he plunged into the backwash
as a wave recoiled. Seizing the gig's bow, he pushed her off and got on
board while Wyndham sculled her round. For two or three minutes they let
her drift off-shore; and then stepped the mast and hoisted sail.
"Well?" said Wyndham. "Did you find the tug?"
Marston related his adventures and added: "I expect they'll float her
off next tide, but some of the small jobs I noted would hardly be
finished. Then she'll have to coal, fill her tanks, and get up steam. In
fact, I don't imagine she could start until sometime after dark
to-morrow. Five or six lighters were lying near the slip."
"She'll no doubt bring them across," said Wyndham thoughtfully. "I
expect the skipper will go half-speed across the bay. Well, suppose she
arrives in the morning? The sea-breeze will freshen as the sun gets
high, and towing the loaded boats would be dangerous in broken water;
perhaps we can take it for granted the troops won't leave until it's
dark. At night they'd get smooth water, because the wind's off the land.
This means we have about forty-eight hours' warning. But slack the jib
sheet a little. Our first job's to get on board by daybreak."
As they opened up the bay the sea got rougher, but the wind was on the
gig's quarter and they let her go. She rolled on the angry combers and
the boom that stretched the lugsail's foot tossed up. If she fell off
much and the sail lurched across, the shock would capsize her or carry
away the mast. Wyndham, however, held her straight and she drove on,
with curling foam piled about her side. It was a wild run and they were
glad when they got near the land again and found shelter. The sea was
smooth now, and the breeze moderate, although it blew in gusts that
heeled the boat and set the water splashing against her planks. Once or
twice Wyndham made Marston strike a match and look at his watch.
"We may get in, but we have not much time to spare," he said at length.
The breeze fell and the boat rose nearly upright. Marston put out an oar
and began to pull, for when he looked east the sky was getting pale. The
gig was sailing, but the splash at the bows was faint and at times the
canvas hung slack. Half an hour afterwards they pulled down the mast and
Wyndham took the other oar.
"A steady stroke! Don't force the pace. But you have got to row!" he
said.
The need for speed was plain. The eastern sky was clearing and the mist
began to roll back from the coast. Marston saw a belt of surf and
shadowy rocks and woods. Ahead, a light marked the harbor mouth, but it
was some distance off and the gig was a heavy boat for two men to row.
Yet they must reach port before day broke, and, gasping and straining,
they labored on. After his hasty glance about, Marston saw nothing but
Wyndham's back, swinging to and fro in front with a regularity that he
must emulate. He felt the bow lift as he dragged the heavy oar through
the water; then there was a faint gurgle, and his heart beat as he swung
forward again. His hands blistered and the sweat ran into his eyes.
At length, Wyndham said something hoarsely and a high wall, washed by
languid surf, rose above the boat. They were entering the harbor, but
Marston dared not turn to look ahead. The light was growing and the wall
would guide them to _Columbine_. He must not miss a stroke, because the
port-guard might be able to see them now. Three or four minutes
afterwards, Wyndham stopped rowing and said, "Easy! Let her go!"
Marston fell forward with his oar and fought for breath. His heart beat
like a hammer, his arms and legs trembled, and he felt he had not
strength to lift his head. Then the end of his oar struck something and
they were alongside _Columbine_. Rousing himself with an effort, he
leaned out and seized a rope. Wyndham got up and began to lift the mast.
"Find the compass and lantern; then help me put the gear on board," he
said.
When the gig was empty of all but the oars they got over the schooner's
rail and pulled off their wet clothes. In the tropics, white men, as a
rule, do not bathe in cold water, but the galley fire was not lighted
and Wyndham filled a bucket over the side. The cool brine braced them,
and going to the cabin, they began to take out dry clothes. Wyndham,
however, stopped, as if listening, and Marston heard the splash of oars.
"Pyjamas, I think," said Wyndham. "Somebody's coming."
As they put on their pyjamas the oars stopped close by and a man
shouted.
"One of us will be enough," Wyndham resumed. "Look as sleepy as you
can."
Marston went up, with his pyjamas half buttoned, and leaned on the rail.
It was daylight, for on the Caribbean dawn comes swiftly at about six
o'clock. A boat carrying two men in the port-guards' uniform floated a
few yards off. Marston thought they were looking at the gig, and he
waited in keen suspense.
"A note from Senor Larrinaga," said one.
"Don Ramon gets up early," Marston remarked with a yawn, and when the
man gave him the note added: "Wait a minute."
Opening the envelope he went to the cabin and said to Wyndham, "We are
asked to breakfast at the mission and see the soldiers parade. I imagine
we're expected to stop the day. Don Ramon is sending horses; they'll be
ready in half an hour."
"Well," said Wyndham, "I suppose we must go."
Marston gave the men a bottle of _cana_ and sent them off. Then he went
back and sat down limply.
"If we had been ten minutes longer, they'd have found us out," he said.
"I don't feel up to riding far, and their asking us to the mission now
is awkward. Still I expect we couldn't sail until it's dark. It's lucky
we got our clearance papers."