The shipwrecked sailor, floating upon his frail raft, or some spar of
his shattered vessel, could not be more at the mercy of wave and wind,
than were the two men astride of the capsized canoe. Their situation
was indeed desperate. The stroke of a strong sea would be sufficient to
swamp their frail embarkation; and, should the tempest continue to
increase in fury, then destruction appeared inevitable.
Despite the imminent danger, Lantejas still indulged a hope that the
intrepidity of the Zapoteque might rescue him from the present danger,
as it had from many others. Sustained by this vague belief, he kept his
eyes fixed upon the countenance of Costal, while endeavouring to read in
its expression the condition of the Indian's spirit.
Up to that time the imperturbable coolness exhibited by the _ex-tigrero_
had favoured the hopes of his companion. As the time passed, however,
and nothing was seen of the whale-boats, even the features of Costal
began to wear an expression of anxiety. There is a difference, however,
between anxiety and despair. The spirit of the Indian had only
succumbed to the former of these two phases.
"Well, Costal, what think you?" demanded Lantejas, with a view of
breaking the silence, which appeared to him of ill omen.
"_Por Dios_!" replied the Indian, "I'm astonished that the barges have
not moved up on hearing that shot. It's not like the Marshal to hang
back so. He don't often need two such signals to advance--"
A blast of wind sweeping past at the moment hindered Lantejas from
hearing the last words of his companion's speech. He saw, however, that
the latter had relapsed into his ominous silence, and that the cloud of
inquietude was growing darker over his countenance. It was almost an
expression of fear that now betrayed itself upon the bronzed visage of
the Indian.
The Captain well knew that the least display of such a sentiment on the
part of Costal, was evidence that the danger was extreme. Not that he
needed any farther proof of this, than what he saw around him; but, so
long as the Zapoteque showed no signs of fear, he had entertained a hope
that the latter might still find some resource for their safety.
He almost believed himself saved, when the voice of the Indian once more
fell upon his ear, in a tone that seemed to betray an indifference to
their present situation.
"Well, Senor Don Cornelio," said Costal, "what would you give now to be
lying in a hammock, with a canopy of jaguars and rattlesnakes over you?
Eh?"
Costal smiled as he recalled the scene of the inundation. His gaiety
was a good sign. Almost immediately after, however, he muttered to
himself, in a tone of inquietude--
"Can it be possible that the barges have gone back?"
In situations of a frightful kind the smallest suspicion soon assumes
the form of a reality; and the Captain did not doubt but that the barges
had returned to the shore. Not that there was the slightest reason for
this belief. On the contrary, it was more natural to suppose that they
were still in the place where they had been left--awaiting the return of
the canoe, and the news it might bring them. This was all the more
likely: since they in the barges could not fail to have heard the shot
from the schooner, and would be awaiting an explanation of it.
The probability of all this--especially of the boats being still in the
same place--did not fail to strike Costal, who for some seconds appeared
to be reflecting profoundly.
Meanwhile the waves had increased, and had all the appearance of soon
becoming much larger. Already the frail embarkation was tossed about
like an egg-shell.
"Listen to me, Senor Don Cornelio Lantejas!" said Costal.
"Ah!" woefully murmured the Captain, on hearing his patronymic
pronounced; for ever since his proscription as Cornelio Lantejas, he had
held his own name in horror. Never did it sound to him with a more
lugubrious accent than now.
"Listen!" said Costal, repeating himself with emphasis; "I know you are
a man for whom death has no terrors. Well, then! I think it would not
be right of me to conceal from you--a fact--"
"What fact?"
"That if we stay here one hour longer, we must both go to the bottom.
The waves are constantly growing bigger, as you see--"
"And what can we do?" demanded Lantejas, in a despairing tone.
"One of two things," replied Costal. "The barges are either waiting for
us where we left them, or they are directing their course towards the
isle. It is absurd to suppose they have returned to the town. When one
receives an order from a great general to attack any particular point,
one does not return without making an attempt. The boats, therefore,
must still be where we parted from them."
"Well, what would you do?"
"Why, since it is easy for me to swim to them--"
"Swim to them!"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"What! through the midst of those monsters who have just devoured our
comrades under our very eyes?"
A flash of lightning at that instant lit up the countenance of Costal,
which exhibited an expression of profound disdain.
"Have I not just told you," said he, "that I am perhaps the only man who
could pass among these sharks without the least danger? I have done it
a hundred times out of mere bravado. To-night I shall do it to save our
lives."
The thought of being left alone caused the Captain a fresh alarm. He
hesitated a moment before making a reply. Costal, taking his silence
for consent, cried out--
"As soon as I have reached one of the barges I shall cause a rocket to
be sent up as a signal that I am aboard. Then you may expect us to come
this way; and you must shout at the top of your voice, in order that we
may find you."
Don Cornelio had not time to make answer. On finishing his speech the
_ci-devant_ pearl-diver plunged head foremost into the water.
The Captain could trace a luminous line as he swam for some seconds
under the surface; and could also see that the fierce denizens of the
deep--as if they recognised in him a superior power--had suddenly glided
out of his way!
Don Cornelio saw the intrepid swimmer rise to the surface, at some
distance off, and then lost sight of him altogether behind the curling
crests of the waves. He fancied, however, he could hear some indistinct
words of encouragement borne back by the wind. After that, the only
sounds that reached his ear were the hoarse moanings of the surf, and
the ominous plashing of the waves against the quivering timbers of his
canoe.