SHIPPING CAMELS
_Mossamedes_ dropped anchor as near as was safe to the flat-roofed
Moorish town. The roadstead was open and the harbour was only deep
enough for boats, but so long as the wind did not back to the North one
could ship cargo, and the agent sent off a quantity of maize and beans.
In the Canaries corn is scarce, and the _peons_ roast and grind such
grain as they can get for their coarse _gofio_ meal. Kit was rather
disturbed about the cartridges, although Wolf's Jewish agent had so far
refused to state when they would go on board. Kit was the steamship
company's servant, the ship was British, and he thought he ought to have
warned the manager how she might be used. The trouble was, he was Wolf's
servant, too. Besides, it was possible Don Ramon was informed.
When the grain was on board Kit went one evening to the agent's house.
Yusuf was old and yellow-skinned. His beard was thin and his long hair
greasy with scented oil, but he had a touch of dignity. Kit went through
a little dark shop to his office and sat on a low, flat-topped couch. An
iron chest stood against the opposite wall, and an open lamp hung by
chains from the roof. A door with a horseshoe arch and a leather curtain
led to the house; the door to the shop was strong and iron-bound. One
very narrow window pierced the wall. The Jews have long traded in
Morocco, but they know the risk, and Kit generally found it a relief to
finish his business and get back to the harbour. Yusuf transacted
Wolf's business in the evening, and when Kit arrived the copper lamp was
lighted.
Yusuf gave him a little cup of black coffee and a cigarette with a
strange, bitter taste. Then he talked about the grain, and presently
took a long roll of paper and some documents from the chest.
"This voyage we will give you camels," he said in good Castilian. "You
will get them where you got the sheep. Since you will not come back, I
will give you the bills of lading for the captain to sign."
"The rule is to sign the bills of lading when the goods are shipped,"
Kit remarked.
"In this country English rules do not go. A trader must run some risks
and you will need proper documents for the Spanish officers."
Kit agreed. Wolf had told him he must trust Yusuf, but he did not,
although he was willing to carry out his orders. There was something
secretive about the old fellow; one felt strange plans were made in his
small dark shop. In fact, Kit would have trusted nobody in the town. The
people were a strange, silent lot; the Moors stamped by an inscrutable
reserve. The Jews and half-breed Christians looked furtive and afraid.
To hear the negroes' noisy talk was a relief, but all was quiet after
dark.
"I understand you have some other cargo for us," he remarked.
"That is so. When you go back to your boat you will find the boxes are
on board."
Kit thought it strange. His boat lay alongside the little mole, where
people could see goods carried down, and since Yusuf had got the
cartridges Kit wondered why he had not smuggled them off overland. To
use a steamer like _Mossamedes_ to carry a few boxes along the coast
was a strange plan; but then the business was all strange.
"Where must we land the goods?" he asked.
"I will show you," said Yusuf, and when he unrolled the long paper Kit
saw with some surprise it was a good chart of the African coast.
"You will anchor here and signal," he said, marking a spot. "When you
see smoke among the sandhills send off your boat. Afterwards you will
steam back to the anchorage you know and wait for the camels."
"But we may wait for some time," Kit objected, noting the distance
between the spots.
"I think not. A messenger will be sent and a good camel travels fast,"
Yusuf replied, and Kit, picking up the chart, started for the harbour.
The night was not dark and when he jumped on board his boat he noted a
row of small boxes stowed in the bottom.
"But this stuff is heavy!" said old Miguel, striking a cardboard match.
Kit told him to put out the match, but was relieved to see the boxes
were not numerous. Then they had, so to speak, been put on board openly,
and Kit felt that after all he need not bother Don Ramon about the
thing.
"We will go. Push off," he said.
The men pulled down the harbour. A smooth swell rolled in and two or
three anchor lights tossed and swung. By and by engines throbbed in the
dark, and Kit saw moving beams of red and green. The French gunboat had
arrived the day before, and her launch was coming off from the mole. For
a minute or two Kit was disturbed, but the launch steamed by and
vanished in the dark. Kit steered for _Mossamedes'_ lights and when he
got on board went to the captain's room. Don Erminio, wearing his old
English clothes, fronted Macallister in greasy dungarees, and between
them some bottles and glasses balanced the swing-table. Kit put down the
bills of lading and remarked that he had agreed the captain would sign
the documents.
"But of course," said Don Erminio, "when I sign for Senor Wolf, I will
sign all you ask. When I sign for me, it is another thing. Then, if I am
not cautious, somebody gets my dollars."
"Where are we going?" Macallister asked.
Kit spread out the chart and indicated the spot Yusuf had marked on the
curve of a bay. It looked as if landing would not be hard, but although
the chart did not give the political frontiers, he imagined the bay was
outside the Spanish belt.
"I expect the coast is French. It's awkward; particularly since we carry
cartridges."
"Senegal's French," said Macallister. "The rest is nobody's; the
strongest tribe uses the ground it wants. Man, they're amusing fellows
at the foreign offices. Do they think they can parcel out Africa wi' a
gold fountain pen?"
"Sometimes the French foreign office uses the foreign legion."
"Must I teach ye geography? The legion leeves in Algeria, and that's
t'ither side the country o' Kaid Maclean."
"It is not important," Don Erminio remarked. "All politicians are
animals, and if the Moors shoot somebody with the cartridges, it is not
my affair. I will catch fish for _baccalao_ and then my senora will not
want much money."
Kit put away the chart and went on deck. He rather envied Don Erminio's
philosophical carelessness. The captain did not bother; if he could
catch fish and shoot rabbits, he was satisfied. Kit was not like that.
His job was to keep things going smoothly, but things did not go
smoothly when one left them alone. He was accountable to Wolf and the
owners of the ship, and began to see his duties might clash. Walking up
and down the boat-deck, he frowned when he heard the clink of glasses
and Don Erminio's laugh. Then Macallister began to sing, and Kit went
off impatiently to his room.
At daybreak they hove anchor and steamed South along the coast, until
one morning a dark line on the port bow indicated land. Then they turned
a quarter circle, the line got faint, as if it ran back to the East, and
after they took soundings _Mossamedes_ steamed into a wide, shallow bay.
Some time after she brought up a plume of smoke blew across the
sandhills, a boat was swung out and Kit and the interpreter went ashore.
Nothing romantic marked the landing of the cartridges. A few big,
dark-skinned men came down the beach, took the boxes from the sailors
and vanished in the sand. The boat pulled off and Kit began to think
smuggling in Africa was strangely flat.
Then _Mossamedes_, stopping now and then to use the lead, steamed North
dead-slow. They saw no ships, although at times a trail of smoke stained
the blue horizon. Liners bound for Cape Town kept deep water, and the
captains of the Guinea boats hauled off until they made Cape Verde. The
stream of traffic flowed along, but did not touch the forbidding coast.
At length Don Erminio headed cautiously for the beach and _Mossamedes_
dropped anchor in the pool among the sands. For two or three days the
captain and Kit went fishing and then, when the smoke signal wavered
about the mouth of the wady, Kit went ashore with Miguel in the big
cargo launch. In a sense, perhaps, the job was not his, but he felt his
responsibility. The camels were his employer's, and he must see them got
on board.
The morning was hot, the sea luminous green, streaked by dazzling lines
of foam. Sandhills and stony hummocks floated like a mirage in
quivering, reflected light. Farther off, dust storms tossed in spirals
and dissolved. Now and then the wind got light for a few minutes and Kit
felt he could not breathe, but there was no break in the steady beat of
the white surge on the beach.
When the rollers began to curl Miguel threw out an anchor, and the boat
drove in stern-foremost until the rope brought her up. This was possible
because the headland broke the sea, but Kit thought the launch would
soon be swamped if the wind backed farther North. The interpreter jumped
overboard, and by and by men in fluttering blue and white clothes drove
the camels from the wady. When the animals reached the beach all the
crew but Miguel went overboard, and the hardest work Kit had known
began. The camels knelt while the head-ropes were fixed, but some
stretched their long necks and tried to seize his arm with their yellow
teeth. They grunted and made savage noises, and when they were driven to
the water obstinately stopped.
The single-humped camel can swim, but will not, unless it is forced, and
to break the big animal's firm resolve is not easy. Moreover, the launch
leaped and plunged and must be hauled off when a large roller came in
like a glittering wall. Spray blew about; sometimes the men were
knee-deep, and sometimes buried to the shoulders, in angry foam. Now and
then Kit was knocked down and washed up the beach among the legs of a
floundering camel. In the background, the group of Moors sat on the
beach and watched; their dark skins and harshly-coloured clothes
distinct in the strong light.
When Miguel was satisfied he could take no more, they hauled off the
boat and tied the camels by the short head-ropes along her gunwale. Then
the anchor was got up and they began to row, but although they pulled
the long oars double-banked, did not make much progress. It looked as if
the camels, supported by their halters, were satisfied to be towed. The
animals floated awkwardly and their bodies were a heavy drag.
To drive the boat ahead was exhausting labour in the burning sun, and by
and by Kit relieved a man whose efforts got slack. His clothes had dried
stiff, his hair was full of sand, and the salt had crystallised on his
burned skin. At length they stopped abreast of the steamer's gangway and
somebody threw a rope. _Mossamedes_ rolled, lifting a long belt of rusty
side out of the foam. Sometimes she was high above the boat, and
sometimes she sank until the water splashed about the open iron doors. A
man, seizing a boathook, stood ready to fend-off the launch; the others
got canvas bands under the camels. Then a long derrick swung out and a
band was hooked to a wire rope.
"_Ahora! Llevadlo!_" shouted Miguel and a winch began to rattle.
The rope tightened with a jerk, a camel rose from the water, and for a
few moments swung wildly to and fro. The animal looked ridiculous, with
its outstretched neck and paddling legs. Then _Mossamedes_ steadied and
one heard running wire; the camel sank and vanished and the rope came
down again. When all were on board, Miguel started for the beach with a
fresh crew, and Kit went to see the animals fastened up and fed. The
mate was accountable for their stowing, but camels were worth much at
Grand Canary, and Kit imagined his employer's interest was his.
Sometimes when he thought about his efforts afterwards, he smiled.
He was occupied until the launch returned and he went ashore again. The
tide had risen and the surf was worse, but they got another load. The
launch came back half-swamped with the men exhausted and a broken oar,
and on her next voyage the crew kept her off the beach until the tide
fell. While she rolled and plunged at anchor Kit lay in her bottom and
watched the angry combers crash upon the beach.
They brought off the last few animals in the dark and Kit washed away
the sand and salt. Three or four dark bruises marked his skin, his hands
were blistered and he limped because a camel had stepped upon his foot.
All the same, when he put on soft clean clothes he was satisfied.
_Mossamedes_ would go to sea at daybreak and it was something to know
the job was done.