A TRIAL OF SPEED
Night was falling over the troubled water, and there were threats of a
tropical storm. The _Enchantress_, with her anchor down, rolled uneasily
on the broken swell. A sandy point ran out to windward, but the combers
that beat upon its seaward side with a thunderous roar swirled in a
white turmoil round its end and filled the lagoon with an angry heave.
The palms on the landward shore bent in the wind and the dense green
jungle behind them rolled in tossing waves of green. To the north, the
sky was barred by leaden clouds and the sea-tops cut against it, lividly
white.
A trail of smoke whirled about the funnel, now streaming out to lee, now
eddying down, for a quantity of ammunition and contraband material had
just been landed, and Grahame was ready to go to sea again. There was
some danger in remaining, but the weather was bad, and he half expected
fresh instructions from Don Martin.
While he sat smoking in the lee of the deck-house and Walthew leaned
against the rail, Macallister looked out of the engine-room door.
"I can give ye steam enough to take her out at half an hour's notice,
but if ye're no' likely to need it, I'll bank my fires," he said.
"We won't heave anchor unless we're forced to; it's not an enticing
night," Grahame replied, and Walthew nodded, as in the pause that
followed he heard the rumble of the surf upon the shoals.
"What do you reckon has been going on inland?" he asked. "The fellows
who took the guns ashore didn't seem to have much news, but they
believed you were right in thinking this might be the last important
cargo we'd have to run."
"The Government has arrested Castillo, and no doubt brought pretty
strong pressure to bear on him. I'm afraid he couldn't stand up against
it, and has given his fellow conspirators away. The President seems no
fool, and Gomez is a cunning rascal, but I'm not sure they could keep
their plans dark because the opposition have their spies and
sympathizers everywhere. The consequence is that both parties may be
driven into prompt action instead of quietly finishing their
preparations."
"I expect that's so," said Walthew thoughtfully. "I wish I knew, because
I must see Don Martin and make a trip to Rio Frio before we leave the
coast for good."
"You know best; but I imagine it means trouble with your people when you
go home."
"It may, for a time," Walthew answered with a dogged look. "Still,
they'll come round, and I'm glad to think that, considering this job as
a business proposition, we have done pretty well. That will appeal to
the old man. Gun-running's not the line he wanted me to take, but he'll
be tickled when he sees that I've made good at it."
"I wouldna' say but he might like Miss Sarmiento as weel as yin o' they
hussies at the Florida hotel," Macallister remarked encouragingly.
"There was yin in blue, but no' much o' it, with a flagpole in her hat,
that gave me what I've heard ye call the googly eye----"
Walthew chuckled.
"That girl has roomsful of money."
"Then she might hae bought some clothes," the Scotsman retorted.
They were silent for a few minutes, and through the quietness they heard
the splash of canoe paddles.
"We may get some news," Walthew said.
The canoe ran alongside, and a half-breed handed up a dirty note.
Grahame opened it, and his jaws set and a curious glint came into his
eyes when he read Evelyn's message.
"Where did this come from?" he called sharply to the waiting half-breed.
In his anxiety he had spoken in English.
The messenger shook his head.
"_No entiendo._"
Grahame repeated the question in Spanish, and added: "Tell me quickly!"
"A man brought it down from the hills a half-hour ago. That's all I
know," the half-breed explained.
"All right; you may go."
Grahame turned to Walthew and Macallister and showed them the crumpled
note.
"I don't think our partnership agreement covers a risky private
undertaking of this kind, and you can turn me out, if you like, but I'm
going," he said.
"And I'm coming with you," Walthew replied cheerfully. "I've some
business of my own at Rio Frio."
"You can't come! How is Mack to run the boat alone?"
"Weel," said Macallister, "I'm thinking that's no' impossible. Onyway,
ye'll take him. We'll quarrel about who's to command her if ye leave him
on board."
Grahame saw they were both determined; his comrades meant to stand by
him, if it cost them the vessel. He was touched, but there was no time
to indulge in sentiment.
"We'll talk of it later. Start the windlass and stir the fires. I'll
want all the steam you can give me."
"Ye'll get it," Macallister replied, and vanished below, while Grahame
went forward when the windlass began to clank and the cable tightened.
Speed was urgently needed. It was several days since the note had been
written, and he dared not speculate about what might have happened in
the meanwhile. Evelyn was not easily frightened; she would not have sent
for him unless the danger was imminent. Then, the postscript stated that
a guide would look out for him between midnight and three o'clock in the
morning, at a place mentioned, and the _Enchantress_ must be driven hard
to get there in time. If she arrived too late, he must steam out to sea
before dawn broke and wait for another night.
The windlass rattled faster, the chain ran in as the anchor left the
ground, and, seeing Miguel ready with the tackle at the cathead, Grahame
went aft to the wheel. The gong clanged the signal "Full ahead," and the
screw began to throb. There was a crash forward as the swinging anchor
struck the bow, but Miguel had men enough to stow it, and Grahame fixed
his eyes ahead as he turned his wheel. Rolling across the broken swell,
the _Enchantress_ stemmed the strong flood-tide; bending palms and
shadowy beach were sliding past, and the turmoil on the shoals drew
nearer. Ahead was a narrow channel with about a fathom of water to the
good, but the leading marks were obscured and Grahame doubted if he
could find it. If the boat struck, she would be washed up, badly
damaged, among the sands; but the tide was rising, and before long
Macallister would have raised full steam. It was unthinkable that they
should lose time, and Grahame meant to take his chance.
Spray flew about her forward; as the swell got steeper she dipped to the
knightheads, and Miguel, running aft, began to use the lead. Grahame did
not stop him, although sounding was a matter of form, because she would
drive aground before he could bring her head round if he missed the
narrow deep.
She crept past the point, rolling wildly and lifting out her screw,
while the air got thick with spray and the thud of engines was drowned
by the turmoil of the sea. Some distance off, white ridges leaped out of
the gathering dark, but nearer at hand they were broken by the shoals
and raged in foaming confusion. The _Enchantress_ must cross this belt
without much steam to help her, but it was obvious that Macallister was
hard at work below, for thick smoke with fiery sparks in it poured from
the funnel.
Miguel's white-clad figure, swaying in the channels, cut against the
gloom, but Grahame could not hear his hail. Though he glanced at the
compass now and then, he was feeling his way rather by instinct than
definite guidance, and so far the upward sweep of the bows showed there
was sufficient water under the vessel. Sometimes a sea came on board and
poured aft in a frothing flood, but she was steadily forging ahead, and
a few minutes would take her across the worst of the shoals.
Suddenly she stopped with a crash, lurched sideways, and lay still while
a foam-tipped mass of water rolled up ahead. It broke on board, burying
her forward half, and the next moment Grahame was wet to the waist; but
she lifted as the roller surged by; and then struck the shoal again. A
few more blows of that kind would crush in her bilge, but Grahame set
his teeth and clung grimly to his wheel. There was nothing to be done
but wait; the crash would warn Macallister what was required of him, and
if he could not drive her off, they must cut the boats adrift and leave
her to her fate.
Another sea came tumbling in, but while its crest broke across the rail
it picked her up and she moved on slowly with the water sluicing aft
down her inclined deck. For a few seconds Grahame held his breath,
waiting for the shock; but she went on, and lifted her head buoyantly as
the next comber rolled up. When she had lurched over it and the spray
had blown away, he saw that the sea was more regular and the worst of
the turmoil lay astern. Five minutes afterward, she reeled out into open
water, and Macallister came on deck.
"We've started the bilge-pump, but it's no' drawing much," he said. "I
dinna think she's the waur for the knocks she got."
"That's satisfactory. You know what you have to do."
Macallister smiled with quiet enjoyment.
"We've no' had the need to drive her yet, but noo I'll let ye see."
He went below, and Grahame gave Miguel an order, for in swinging round
after leaving the lagoon the _Enchantress_ had brought the wind on her
quarter, and she carried a good spread of sail. He would not, however,
luff her off her course to make the work easier; the crew must hoist the
canvas as best they could, and there was a furious banging and clatter
of flying blocks as fore-staysail, foresail, and mainsail went up. Then
she listed down with her rail in the white surges that boiled up to lee,
while tall, hollow-fronted combers ranged up astern and sped after her.
Wire shrouds, strung to the breaking-point, shrieked in wild harmonies
as the blasts struck them; chain funnel-guys roared in deeper tones, and
there was a confused groaning of masts and booms. Spray swept her,
lashing Grahame's back and blowing past his head in clouds, and now and
then a sea-top broke on board; but she drove on furiously before the
wind.
After a while Grahame called Miguel to the helm and stood in the lee of
the deckhouse, pipe in mouth, for he had now time to think. He could
make no plans until he landed, but it was plain that he must go to Rio
Frio; and, if possible, he must leave Walthew behind. He could not allow
the lad to run the risk, and Macallister would need him. Some help might
be had from the revolutionaries, and he must try to find Don Martin. If
he failed to do so, much would have to be left to chance.
Grahame looked at another side of the matter. Suppose he rescued Miss
Cliffe, what then? Though the gun-running had been profitable, he was an
adventurer with very limited means. He could not trade upon Cliffe's
gratitude, though he loved the girl. He did not know when he began to
love her, but he had for some time made stern efforts to drive the
thought of her out of his mind. Perhaps he might have succeeded had
nothing unusual happened, for he knew his disadvantages; but now his
determination suddenly had been swept away. Evelyn was in danger;
somehow this made clear the strength of the feelings with which he had
grappled. The future was clouded; there were difficulties to be faced;
but he felt that if she had any love for him he could not give her up.
The gale freshened; but Grahame would not shorten sail. There was not
much time to spare, and the gear was standing well. He could trust the
helm to Miguel and might have slept, but, although he imagined his
strength might be severely taxed during the next few days, it was
impossible for him to rest. In spite of his anxiety, he was sensible of
an exultant excitement. The girl he loved was in danger, but she had
sent for him. Then, the adventure he was embarking on had a fascination
of its own, and he smiled as he remembered that his ancestors had often
in past days ridden across the dark marches, leading the Border Spears.
It was not for nothing the hot blood of the old mosstroopers ran in his
veins.
Swept by the seas on her quarter, the _Enchantress_ drove on, and
Grahame lurched about the slanted deck and stood amidst the spray that
whirled across her stern. She was going fast; his glances at the
recording log astonished him, for he had not believed her capable of
the speed it showed. His fierce impatience seemed to have inspired
thudding engines and quivering hull, and he thrilled when a great,
white-topped comber rolled up and swept her on. Flame blew from the
funnel, wet canvas, straining in black curves, reeled through the dark,
and the sea sped back, snowy white, toward the plunging bows.
At last, however, lights shone in the gloom, and Grahame ordered the
canvas to be lowered. It cost the crew an arduous struggle, but they
made all fast, and Grahame, ringing for half-speed, took the wheel.
There was a point a short distance from the town that would break the
sea, and by steaming in behind it he might get a boat away. Landing
would be difficult, and it was important that he should find the right
spot.
He watched the beach with his glasses as the _Enchantress_ swung
inshore, and when presently the combers changed to a steep, troubled
swell that ended in a white band of surf, he stopped the engines and
told Miguel to hoist out the gig. The navigation lights had been
extinguished, but he thought that anybody carefully watching for the
steamer could see her. The men had some trouble in lowering the boat,
but as soon as she was in the water Grahame jumped on board and told the
men to push off. Then, as they got out their oars, a dark figure leaped
from the steamer's rail and Walthew, alighting in the sternsheets,
turned to his comrade with a grin.
"I'm here, and you'll smash the boat if you try to send me back," he
said. "You see, I suspected what you were getting after when you put me
at a job it was awkward to leave."
"Well, I did my best, anyway," Grahame laughed.
Walthew took an oar, for the swell was high enough to make progress
difficult, but they found smoother water near the land, and stopped
pulling just outside the fringe of surf. Waiting for a slacker interval
in the shoreward rush of hissing rollers, they drove her in as fast as
she could go, and jumped overboard when she touched the sand. A wave
broke into her, but they ran her up safely, and Grahame turned to
Walthew after they had emptied the water out.
"I don't think I'm straining my authority by telling you to go off with
Miguel," he said.
"Anyhow, I'm not going," Walthew replied doggedly. "Our association is a
partnership, and I mean to come along. I don't know that I'll be of much
help to you, but the job you've undertaken is too big for one."
Grahame saw that objections would be useless, and, feeling that his
pistol was loose, he walked up the beach, with Walthew following a few
yards behind.