THE OFFICIAL MIND
On the evening after Clare's refusal, Dick entered the principal café at
Santa Brigida. The large, open-fronted room was crowded, for, owing to
the duty, newspapers were not generally bought by the citizens, who
preferred to read them at the cafés, and the _Diario_ had just come in.
The eagerness to secure a copy indicated that something important had
happened, and after listening to the readers' remarks, Dick gathered that
the French liner had sunk and a number of her passengers were drowned.
This, however, did not seem to account for the angry excitement some of
the men showed, and Dick waited until a polite half-breed handed him the
newspaper.
A ship's lifeboat, filled with exhausted passengers, had reached a bay
some distance along the coast, and it appeared from their stories that
the liner was steaming across a smooth sea in the dark when a large
vessel, which carried no lights, emerged from a belt of haze and came
towards her. The French captain steered for the land, hoping to reach
territorial waters, where he would be safe, but the stranger was faster
and opened fire with a heavy gun. The liner held on, although she was
twice hit, but after a time there was an explosion below and her colored
firemen ran up on deck. Then the ship stopped, boats were hoisted out,
and it was believed that several got safely away, though only one had so
far reached the coast. This boat was forced to pass the attacking vessel
rather close, and an officer declared that she looked like one of the
Spanish liners and her funnel was black.
Dick gave the newspaper to the next man and sat still with knitted brows,
for his suspicions were suddenly confirmed. The raider had a black
funnel, and was no doubt the ship he had seen steering for Adexe. An
enemy commerce-destroyer was lurking about the coast, and she could not
be allowed to continue her deadly work, which her resemblance to the
Spanish vessels would make easier. For all that, Dick saw that anything
he might do would cost him much, since Clare had said that she and
Kenwardine must stand together. This was true, in a sense, because if
Kenwardine got into trouble, she would share his disgrace and perhaps his
punishment. Moreover, she might think he had been unjustly treated and
blame Dick for helping to persecute him. Things were getting badly
entangled, and Dick, leaning back in his chair, vacantly looked about.
The men had gathered in groups round the tables, their dark faces showing
keen excitement as they argued with dramatic gestures about international
law. For the most part, they looked indignant, but Dick understood that
they did not expect much from their Government. One said the English
would send a cruiser and something might be done by the Americans;
another explained the Monroe Doctrine in a high-pitched voice. Dick,
however, tried not to listen, because difficulties he had for some time
seen approaching must now be faced.
He had been forced to leave England in disgrace, and his offense would be
remembered if he returned. Indeed, he had come to regard America as his
home, but patriotic feelings he had thought dead had awakened and would
not be denied. He might still be able to serve his country and meant to
do so, though it was plain that this would demand a sacrifice. Love and
duty clashed, but he must do his best and leave the rest to luck. Getting
up with sudden resolution, he left the café and went to the British
consulate.
When he stopped outside the building, to which the royal arms were fixed,
he remarked that two peons were lounging near, but, without troubling
about them, knocked at the door. There was only a Vice-Consul at Santa
Brigida, and the post, as sometimes happens, was held by a merchant, who
had, so a clerk stated, already gone home. Dick, however, knew where he
lived and determined to seek him at his house. He looked round once or
twice on his way there, without seeing anybody who seemed to be following
him, but when he reached the iron gate he thought a dark figure stopped
in the gloom across the street. Still, it might only be a citizen going
into his house, and Dick rang the bell.
He was shown on to a balcony where the Vice-Consul sat with his Spanish
wife and daughter at a table laid with wine and fruit. He did not look
pleased at being disturbed, but told Dick to sit down when the ladies
withdrew.
"Now," he said, "you can state your business, but I have an appointment
in a quarter of an hour."
Dick related his suspicions about the coaling company, and described what
he had seen at Adexe and the visit of the black-funnel boat, but before
he had gone far, realized that he was wasting his time. The Vice-Consul's
attitude was politely indulgent.
"This is a rather extraordinary tale," he remarked when Dick stopped.
"I have told you what I saw and what I think it implies," Dick answered
with some heat.
"Just so. I do not doubt your honesty, but it is difficult to follow your
arguments."
"It oughtn't to be difficult. You have heard that the French liner was
sunk by a black-funnel boat."
"Black funnels are common. Why do you imagine the vessel you saw was an
auxiliary cruiser?"
"Because her crew looked like navy men. They were unusually numerous and
were busy at drill."
"Boat or fire drill probably. They often exercise them at it on board
passenger ships. Besides, I think you stated that it was dark."
Dick pondered for a few moments. He had heard that Government officials
were hard to move, and knew that, in hot countries, Englishmen who marry
native wives sometimes grow apathetic and succumb to the climatic
lethargy. But this was not all: he had to contend against the official
dislike of anything informal and unusual. Had he been in the navy, his
warning would have received attention, but as he was a humble civilian he
had, so to speak, no business to know anything about such matters.
"Well," he said, "you can make inquiries and see if my conclusions are
right."
The Vice-Consul smiled. "That is not so. You can pry into the coaling
company's affairs and, if you are caught, it would be looked upon as an
individual impertinence. If I did anything of the kind, it would reflect
upon the Foreign Office and compromise our relations with a friendly
state. The Adexe wharf is registered according to the laws of this
country as being owned by a native company."
"Then go to the authorities and tell them what you know."
"The difficulty is that I know nothing except that you have told me a
somewhat improbable tale."
"But you surely don't mean to let the raider do what she likes? Her next
victim may be a British vessel."
"I imagine the British admiralty will attend to that, and I have already
sent a cablegram announcing the loss of the French boat."
Dick saw that he was doubted and feared that argument would be useless,
but he would not give in.
"A raider must have coal and it's not easy to get upon this coast," he
resumed. "You could render her harmless by cutting off supplies."
"Do you know much about international law and how far it prohibits a
neutral country from selling coal to a belligerent?"
"I don't know anything about it; but if our Foreign Office is any good,
they ought to be able to stop the thing," Dick answered doggedly.
"Then let me try to show you how matters stand. We will suppose that your
suspicions were correct and I thought fit to make representations to the
Government of this country. What do you think would happen?"
"They'd be forced to investigate your statements."
"Exactly. The head of a department would be asked to report. You probably
know that every official whose business brings him into touch with it is
in the coaling company's pay; I imagine there is not a foreign trader
here who does not get small favors in return for bribes. Bearing this in
mind, it is easy to understand what the report would be. I should have
shown that we suspected the good faith of a friendly country, and there
would be nothing gained."
"Still, you can't let the matter drop," Dick insisted.
"Although you have given me no proof of your statements, which seem to be
founded on conjectures, I have not said that I intend to let it drop. In
the meantime I am entitled to ask for some information about yourself.
You look like an Englishman and have not been here long. Did you leave
home after the war broke out?"
"Yes," said Dick, who saw where he was leading, "very shortly
afterwards."
"Why? Men like you are needed for the army."
Dick colored, but looked his questioner steadily in the face.
"I was in the army. They turned me out."
The Vice-Consul made a gesture. "I have nothing to do with the reason for
this; but you can see my difficulty. You urge me to meddle with things
that require very delicate handling and with which my interference would
have to be justified. No doubt, you can imagine the feelings of my
superiors when I admitted that I acted upon hints given me by a stranger
in the employ of Americans, who owned to having been dismissed from the
British army."
Dick got up, with his face firmly set.
"Very well. There's no more to be said. I won't trouble you again."
Leaving the house, he walked moodily back to the end of the line. The
Vice-Consul was a merchant and thought first of his business, which might
suffer if he gained the ill-will of corrupt officials. He would, no
doubt, move if he were forced, but he would demand incontestable proof,
which Dick feared he could not find. Well, he had done his best and been
rebuffed, and now the temptation to let the matter drop was strong. To go
on would bring him into conflict with Kenwardine, and perhaps end in his
losing Clare, but he must go on. For all that, he would leave the
Vice-Consul alone and trust to getting some help from his employer's
countrymen. If it could be shown that the enemy was establishing a secret
base for naval operations at Adexe, he thought the Americans would
protest. The Vice-Consul, however, had been of some service by teaching
him the weakness of his position. He must strengthen it by carefully
watching what went on, and not interfere until he could do so with
effect. Finding the locomotive waiting, he returned to his shack and with
an effort fixed his mind upon the plans of some work that he must
superintend in the morning.
For the next few days he was busily occupied. A drum of the traveling
crane broke and as it could not be replaced for a time, Dick put up an
iron derrick of Bethune's design to lower the concrete blocks into place.
They were forced to use such material as they could find, and the gang of
peons who handled the chain-tackle made a poor substitute for a steam
engine. In consequence, the work progressed slowly and Stuyvesant ordered
it to be carried on into the night. Jake and Bethune grumbled, but Dick
found the longer hours and extra strain something of a relief. He had now
no leisure to indulge in painful thoughts; besides, while he was busy at
the dam he could not watch Kenwardine, and his duty to his employer
justified his putting off an unpleasant task.
One hot night he stood, soaked with perspiration and dressed in soiled
duck clothes, some distance beneath the top of the dam, which broke down
to a lower level at the spot. There was no moon, but a row of blast-lamps
that grew dimmer as they receded picked out the tall embankment with jets
of pulsating flame. Glimmering silvery gray in the light, it cut against
the gloom in long sweeping lines, with a molded rib that added a touch of
grace where the slope got steeper towards its top. This was Dick's
innovation. He had fought hard for it and when Jake supported him
Stuyvesant had written to Fuller, who sanctioned the extra cost. The rib
marked the fine contour of the structure and fixed its bold curve upon
the eye.
Where the upper surface broke off, two gangs of men stood beside the
tackles that trailed away from the foot of the derrick. The flame that
leaped with a roar from a lamp on a tripod picked out some of the figures
with harsh distinctness, but left the rest dim and blurred. Dick stood
eight or nine feet below, with the end of the line, along which the
blocks were brought, directly above his head. A piece of rail had been
clamped across the metals to prevent the truck running over the edge.
Jake stood close by on the downward slope of the dam. Everything was
ready for the lowering of the next block, but they had a few minutes to
wait.
"That rib's a great idea," Jake remarked. "Tones up the whole work; it's
curious what you can do with a flowing line, but it must be run just
right. Make it the least too flat and you get harshness, too full and the
effect's vulgarly pretty or voluptuous. Beauty's severely chaste and I
allow, as far as form goes, this dam's a looker." He paused and indicated
the indigo sky, flaring lights, and sweep of pearly stone. "Then if you
want color, you can revel in silver, orange, and blue."
Dick, who nodded, shared Jake's admiration. He had helped to build the
dam and, in a sense, had come to love it. Any defacement or injury to it
would hurt him. Just then a bright, blinking spot emerged from the dark
at the other end of the line and increased in radiance as it came
forward, flickering along the slope of stone. It was the head-lamp of the
locomotive that pushed the massive concrete block they waited for. The
block cut off the light immediately in front of and below it, and when
the engine, snorting harshly, approached the edge of the gap somebody
shouted and steam was cut off. The truck stopped just short of the rail
fastened across the line, and Dick looked up.
The blast-lamp flung its glare upon the engine and the rays of the
powerful head-light drove horizontally into the dark, but the space
beyond the broken end of the dam was kept in shadow by the block, and the
glitter above dazzled his eyes.
"Swing the derrick-boom and tell the engineer to come on a yard or two,"
he said.
There was a patter of feet, a rattle of chains, and somebody called:
"_Adelante locomotura!_"
The engine snorted, the wheels ground through the fragments of concrete
scattered about the line, and the big dark mass rolled slowly forward. It
seemed to Dick to be going farther than it ought, but he had ascertained
that the guard-rail was securely fastened. As he watched the front of the
truck, Jake, who stood a few feet to one side, leaned out and seized his
shoulder.
"Jump!" he cried, pulling him forward.
Dick made an awkward leap, and alighting on the steep front of the dam,
fell heavily on his side. As he clutched the stones to save himself from
sliding down, a black mass plunged from the line above and there was a
deafening crash as it struck the spot he had left. Then a shower of
fragments fell upon him and he choked amidst a cloud of dust. Hoarse
shouts broke out above, and he heard men running about the dam as he got
up, half dazed.
"Are you all right, Jake?" he asked.
"Not a scratch," was the answer; and Dick, scrambling up the bank, called
for a lamp.
It was brought by a big mulatto, and Dick held up the light. The
last-fitted block of the ribbed course was split in two, and the one that
had fallen was scattered about in massive broken lumps. Amidst these lay
the guard-rail, and the front wheels of the truck hung across the gap
above. There was other damage, and Dick frowned as he looked about.
"We'll be lucky if we get the broken molding out in a day, and I expect
we'll have to replace two of the lower blocks," he said. "It's going to
be an awkward and expensive job now that the cement has set."
"Is that all?" Jake asked with a forced grin.
"It's enough," said Dick. "However, we'll be better able to judge in the
daylight."
Then he turned to the engineer, who was standing beside the truck,
surrounded by excited peons. "How did it happen?"
"I had my hand on the throttle when I got the order to go ahead, and let
her make a stroke or two, reckoning the guard-rail would snub up the car.
I heard the wheels clip and slammed the link-gear over, because it looked
as if she wasn't going to stop. When she reversed, the couplings held the
car and the block slipped off."
"Are you sure you didn't give her too much steam?"
"No, sir. I've been doing this job quite a while, and know just how smart
a push she wants. It was the guard-rail slipping that made the trouble."
"I can't understand why it did slip. The fastening clamps were firm when
I looked at them."
"Well," remarked the engineer, "the guard's certainly in the pit, and I
felt her give as soon as the car-wheels bit."
Dick looked hard at him and thought he spoke the truth. He was a steady
fellow and a good driver.
"Put your engine in the house and take down the feed-pump you were
complaining about. We won't want her to-morrow," he said, and dismissing
the men, returned to his shack, where he sat down rather limply on the
veranda.
"I don't understand the thing," he said to Jake. "The guard-rail's heavy
and I watched the smith make the clamps we fixed it with. One claw went
over the rail, the other under the flange of the metal that formed the
track, and sudden pressure would jamb the guard down. Then, not long
before the accident, I hardened up the clamp."
"You hit it on the back?"
"Of course. I'd have loosened the thing by hitting the front."
"That's so," Jake agreed, somewhat dryly. "We'll look for the clamps in
the morning. But you didn't seem very anxious to get out of the way."
"I expect I forgot to thank you for warning me. Anyhow, you know----"
"Yes, I know," said Jake. "You didn't think about it; your mind was on
your job. Still, I suppose you see that if you'd been a moment later
you'd have been smashed pretty flat?"
Dick gave him a quick glance. There was something curious about Jake's
tone, but Dick knew he did not mean to emphasize the value of his
warning. It was plain that he had had a very narrow escape, but since one
must be prepared for accidents in heavy engineering work, he did not see
why this should jar his nerves. Yet they were jarred. The danger he had
scarcely heeded had now a disturbing effect. He could imagine what would
have happened had he delayed his leap. However, he was tired, and perhaps
rather highly strung, and he got up.
"It's late, and we had better go to bed," he said.