STRANDED
The sun was high above the mangroves when Walthew joined Grahame and
Macallister at breakfast the morning after they landed the rifles. No
wind entered the gap in the forest, the smoke went straight up from the
slanted funnel, and the air was still and sour. The steamer lay nearly
dry among banks of mire, though a narrow strip of dazzling water
sluggishly flowed inland past her. Fifty yards outshore, there was a
broader channel and beyond it the dingy, pale-stemmed mangroves rose
like a wall. Some were strangely spotted, and Walthew glanced at them
with disgust as he drank his coffee.
"I guess I've never seen such repulsive trees," he said. "This place
takes away one's appetite. Even the coffee's bitter; you've been
doctoring it."
"It's weel to take precautions," Macallister replied. "Ye got a few
nibbles last night from a dangerous bit beastie they ca' _anopheles_."
"I suppose it doesn't manufacture the malaria germ, and from the looks
of the place one wouldn't imagine there was anybody else about for it to
bite."
"That's what we're hoping. We're no' anxious for visitors, but when ye
meet a smell like what we noo enjoy, ye take quinine till it makes ye
hear church bells ringing in your head."
Walthew turned to Grahame.
"Can you get her off?"
"We'll try. The sooner we get out the better; but the tides are
falling."
"Do you reckon the half-breed pilot meant to pile her up?"
"No," said Grahame thoughtfully. "For one thing, it would be a dangerous
game, because his employers wouldn't hesitate about knifing him. They
gave us a check which I've reason to believe will be honored and they
wouldn't have wasted their money if they'd meant treachery. I imagine
they're all too deep in the plot to turn informer."
"Do you think the pilot will turn up to take us out then?"
"I believe he'll be here at high-water, unless he's prevented."
"What could prevent him?"
"It's possible that our friends have been followed by the opposition's
spies. The man who rules this country is not a fool."
"Then it seems to me we must do our best to heave the boat off this
tide."
"Mack and I agree with you," Grahame said meaningly.
Breakfast was soon finished, for nobody had much appetite, and they sat,
smoking, in the thin shade while the water got deeper in the creek. When
the _Enchantress_ slowly rose upright, Macallister went down to stir the
fires; but though the others listened anxiously no splash of paddles
broke the silence.
"Our pilot's not coming," Grahame said at last. "I'll try to take her
out if we can get her afloat."
"What's likely to happen to him if he's been corralled by the dictator's
rural-guards?"
"On the whole," said Grahame, "I'd rather not speculate. They have a
drastic way of dealing with rebels here."
An hour later the screw shook the vessel, while the windlass strained at
the cable. Once or twice a few links of chain ran in and she moved, but
the mud had a firm hold and she stuck fast again. Then the water began
to fall and Grahame reluctantly told Macallister to draw the fires.
"We're here for the next six days," he said.
"It's to be hoped the Government's spies don't find us out before we get
her off," Walthew remarked.
"We could put the coal and heavier stores ashore, if ye can find a bit
dry beach to land them on," Macallister suggested. "It would lighten
her."
"I thought of that," Grahame answered. "On the other hand, it might be
safer to keep them on board as long as possible. We could strip her and
land everything in a day."
Macallister agreed, and for four days they lounged in such shade as they
could find. It was fiercely hot, not a breath of wind touched the
dazzling creek, and the sun burned through the awning. The pitch bubbled
up from the deck-seams, the water in the tanks was warm, and innumerable
flies came off from the mangroves and bit the panting men. To make
things worse, there was no coolness after sunset, when steamy mist
wrapped the vessel in its folds, bloodthirsty mosquitos came down in
swarms, buzzing insects dimmed the lamps, and the smell of festering
mire grew nauseating. Sleep was out of the question, and when the
mosquitos drove them off the deck the men lay in their stifling berths
and waited drearily for another day of misery to begin.
Among other discomforts, Walthew, who was not seasoned to the climate,
was troubled by a bad headache and pains in his limbs, but he said
nothing about this and accompanied Grahame when the latter took the
soundings in the dinghy. At last they rose at daybreak one morning to
lighten the vessel, and although he felt shaky and suffered from a
burning thirst, Walthew took charge of the gig, which was to be used for
landing coal.
The work was hard, for when they reached a sand bar up the creek they
were forced to wade some distance through mud and shallow water with the
heavy bags on their backs, while the perspiration soaked their thin
clothes and the black dust worked through to their skin. At noon they
stopped for half an hour and Walthew lay in the stern-sheets of the gig
where there was a patch of shade. He could not eat, and after drinking
some tea tried to smoke, but the tobacco tasted rank and he put his pipe
away. Up to the present his life had been luxurious. He had been
indulged and waited on, and had exerted himself only in outdoor sports.
Now he felt very sick and worn out, but knew that he must make good.
Having declined to enter his father's business, he must prove his
capacity for the career he had chosen. Moreover, he suspected that
Macallister and Grahame were watching him.
When the clatter of the winch began again he hid the effort it cost him
to resume his task and stubbornly pulled his oar as the gig floated up
the creek with her gunwale near awash. His back hurt him almost
unbearably when he lifted a heavy bag, and it was hard to keep upon his
feet while he floundered through the mire. Sometimes his head reeled and
he could scarcely see. The blisters on his hands had worked into
bleeding sores. This, however, did not matter much by comparison with
the pain in his head.
After the coal was landed they loaded loose ironwork and towed heavy
spars ashore, and Walthew held out somehow until darkness fell, when he
paddled back to the _Enchantress_ with a swarm of mosquitos buzzing
round his face.
He could not eat when they sat down to a frugal meal, and afterward lay
in his berth unable to sleep, and yet not quite awake, lost in confused
thoughts that broke off and left him conscious of intolerable heat and
pain. When he went languidly on deck the next morning Grahame looked
hard at him.
"You had better lie down in the shade," he said.
"I may let up when we reach open water," Walthew answered with a feeble
smile. "There's not much enjoyment to be got out of a lay-off here."
Grahame reluctantly agreed. He knew something about malaria and Walthew
did not look fit for work; but every man was needed, and this foul swamp
was no place to be ill. The sooner they got out the better.
Steam was up when the _Enchantress_ rose with the tide, and shortly
afterward the engines began to throb. Muddy foam leaped about the
whirling screw, flame mingled with the smoke that poured from her
funnel, and steam roared from the blow-off pipe. Then the clatter of
winch and windlass joined in, and Grahame stood, tense and anxious,
holding a rope that slipped round the spinning drum. The winch could not
shorten it, though the vessel was shaking and working in her muddy bed.
It was high-water, the tide would soon begin to fall, and the sweat of
suspense and strain dripped from the man as, at the risk of breaking the
warp, he tightened the turns on the drum. It gripped; to his surprise, a
little slack came off, and he nodded to Walthew, who was watching him
eagerly from the windlass.
"Give her all, if you burst the chain!" he cried.
The windlass clanked for a few moments, stopped, and clanked again; the
_Enchantress_ trembled and crept a foot or two ahead. Then she stuck
while the cable rose from the water, rigid as a bar, and the
messenger-chain that drove the windlass creaked and strained at breaking
tension. While Grahame expected to see links and gear-wheels fly, there
was a long shiver through the vessel's frame, a mad rattle of liberated
machinery, and she leaped ahead.
Five minutes later Walthew walked shakily aft, scarcely seeing where he
went because a confused sense of triumph had brought a mist into his
dazzled eyes. This was the first big thing in which he had taken a
leading part. He had made good and played the man; but there was still
much to be done and he pulled himself together as he stopped near
Grahame.
"She's moored where she won't ground again, but perhaps you had better
see that the chain-compressors and warp fastenings are right."
"If you're satisfied, it's enough," said Grahame.
"Then I'll take the gig and get the coal on board."
"If you feel equal to it," Grahame answered.
Walthew got into the boat with a sense of elation. His eyes had met
Grahame's while they spoke, and a pledge of mutual respect and trust had
passed between them. But this was not quite all. He felt he had won
official recognition from a leader he admired; he was no longer on trial
but accepted as a comrade and equal. The thought sustained him through a
day of murderous toil, during which his worn-out muscles needed constant
spurring by the unconquered mind. It was not dainty and, in a sense, not
heroic work in which he was engaged, but it must be done, and he dimly
saw that human nature rose highest in a grapple with obstacles that
seemed too great to overcome. Whatever the odds against him were, he
must not be beaten.
The heat was pitiless in the afternoon, but Walthew pulled his oar and
carried the hundred-pound coal bags across a stretch of mire that grew
broader as the tide ebbed. He could scarcely pull his feet out and keep
the load upon his aching back, and he sometimes sank knee-deep in the
softer spots. The air was heavy with exhalations from the swamps; he had
thrown off his jacket and the coal wore holes in his shirt and rubbed
raw places on his skin. He was wet from the waist downward and black
above, while the gritty dust filled his eyes and nostrils. Still he held
out until the work was finished, when the _Enchantress's_ cargo-light
began to twinkle through the dusk; and then, losing his balance, he fell
forward into the boat with his last heavy load. Miguel pushed her off,
and with oars splashing slackly she moved downstream. When she ran
alongside the steamer, Grahame saw a limp, black figure lying huddled on
the floorings. The others lifted it gently, but Walthew did not speak
when he was laid on deck, and Macallister, bending over him, looked up
at Grahame.
"Fever and exhaustion! I allow that ye were right about the lad. But we
must do the best we can for him."
They washed off the coal-dust, and when Walthew, wrapped in thick
blankets, lay unconscious in his berth, they debated earnestly over the
medicine chest before administering a dose that experience in the
unhealthy swamps of the tropics alone justified. They forced it, drop by
drop, between his clenched teeth, and then Macallister waited with a
grimy finger on his pulse, while Grahame sat down limply on the edge of
the berth. His hands were bruised, his thin clothes were torn, and he
felt the reaction after the day's strain. He had now an hour or two in
which to rest, and then he must pull himself together to take the vessel
down the creek.
When at last Macallister nodded, as if satisfied, Grahame went wearily
up on deck. Except for a faint hiss of steam, everything was quiet.
Tired men lay motionless about the deck, and the mist that clung to the
mangroves did not stir. After a while the lap of the flood-tide against
the planks made itself heard, and the moon, which was getting large,
rose above the trees.
Grahame, sitting limply on the grating, half dozing while he waited,
suddenly jumped to his feet, startled. Out of the semi-darkness came
distinctly the splash of oars, faint at first and then nearer.
Miguel lay nearest him. The Spaniard, quickly grasping the danger,
shook his men awake while Grahame ran below to Macallister.
"The government spies!" he said briefly. "Our pilot's turned traitor!"