BY FAVOR OF THE FOG
"I do not like this!" piped a small and dejected voice. "I came to ride
a black horse, not to be bumped in this vessel forgotten of God!"
In English these words would have sounded strangely from the lips of a
child of six, but little John Aylmer was fluent in the Arab jargon of
his grandfather's native household.
He was sitting disconsolate in the cockpit of the lateen _Esmeralda_.
His company was Senor Emilio Albaceda, mariner and practical exponent of
the tenets of an uncompromising Free Trade. From the uncovered hatch
came the sound of wind whistling in the cordage and the swish and thud
of the combers breaking past. Upon one of the narrow bunks which flanked
the tiny cabin lay Landon, fast asleep. A guttering and extremely
odoriferous lamp of vegetable oil was the sole illuminant. The prospects
of comfort and entertainment in such surroundings were not those likely
to appeal to a child accustomed to luxury and constant attention.
"_Pazienza!_" grunted the skipper, good-humoredly. "Black horses are not
found upon the sea, though a friend of mine who prefers the running of
contraband to the priesthood for which his parents destined him, read me
once verses from a journal--true poetry in praise of a boot polish the
name of which does not stay by me--where the waves of the Atlantic were
likened unto stallions white-maned. I confess I thought the notion
original."
The child stared at him meditatively.
"If horses are not to be found upon the sea and we seek horses, why do
not we forsake the sea for the land?" There was a note of anticipation
in the query which seemed to find this argument conclusive.
The smuggler grinned.
"Excellently argued, son of much intelligence," he answered. "Land is
what we shall seek when this gale breathed from Jehannum permits us to
do so in safety. For the moment we drive before it, there being no
harbors on this coast within a thousand miles."
The child moved restlessly.
"Where then can we land?" he demanded.
"Where God and His Mother and the Holy Saints permit," said Senor
Albaceda, suddenly reverting to _lingua franca_ to clothe a piety of
sentiment which the Moslem religion ignores. The One Allah's plans,
being laid from the foundation of the world, are not susceptible to the
influences of human appeal.
Little John made a grimace of hearty discontent and looked doubtfully at
the sleeping form of his father. But for the moment distraction came
from another quarter.
Two brown legs appeared in the opening of the hatch. As their owner
lowered himself into the cabin, he disclosed the features of the man of
the brown _djelab_--he who on Tangier pier had been sponsor for those
fiery but phantom steeds which Fate had not allowed to materialize. The
child received him with a shrill little shout of welcome.
"Muhammed!" he cried gladly. "Muhammed!"
The Moor placed his lean finger upon the yellow curls in a light caress,
but his look was towards the berth where Landon could be seen stirring,
aroused by his son's acclamation.
He slipped into a sitting posture in front of the tiny table and leaned
upon it, his chin supported by his elbows, a look of expectancy tinged
by humor in his eye.
"Well, my friends," he queried amiably, "our news is, what?"
The Moor gave a pessimistic shrug of the shoulder.
"Bad, Sidi," he said tersely. "We continue to drive westwards as
before."
Landon shrugged his shoulders.
"We shall not see Cadiz to-morrow nor the day after," he said. "Well,
the future is spacious. We have infinite leisure before us in which to
beat back."
The captain grunted.
"Leisure we have in abundance, but not food nor yet water. We must put
in somewhere before we attempt a feat which will take, at the best,
three days and, if Chance so decides, perhaps a fortnight."
Landon's face was clouded with a sudden scowl.
"Food and water! Why have you not these in sufficiency? Your terms are
extortionate enough as it is without the makeweight of starvation!"
"My terms," said Senor Albaceda, gruffly, "were all too cheap; what I
learned in Tangier after I had come to an agreement with you was proof
to me of that. But I am a man of honor; I keep bargains duly made. I
contracted to set you ashore in Cadiz harbor--with a favorable wind a
one night's work. I did not contract to feed three extra mouths through
a voyage of weeks. When the wind moderates, I make for the nearest
market, and you will buy your own provisions for our return. That is
well understood."
"You mean to land on the African coast, not the European?" cried Landon.
"Where else?" said the skipper, drily. "Do you expect me to carry you on
to the Azores?"
Landon looked questioningly at Muhammed. The Moor made a gesture of
resignation.
"_Mektub_, it is written!" he answered fatalistically. "Azemmour,
perchance, or Mazagan."
"And opposite each we shall find a French cruiser anchored," growled
Landon, "with launches fussing about, and every craft which enters under
suspicion of smuggling guns for the Chawia. And ten to one warning about
us from Tangier sent down the coast."
"That would be a matter of time," said the Moor. "We have driven faster
than horsemen could ride!"
"Horsemen!" Landon smote the table in his irritation. "These ships of
war have apparatus by which they can communicate as if a cable linked
them. If my father-in-law gets the right side of the commandant of the
Tangier guardship--" He broke off with another shrug. "Well, to each day
its appointed sorrow. The gale has not blown itself out yet."
"The event is with Allah!" said the Moor, gravely. He thrust his head up
through the hatch and shouted to the steersman. A moment later he
dropped back into the shelter of the cabin again.
"Your man Ibrahim is of opinion that the wind shows signs of abating. We
passed Larache two hours back. The scud hides the shore, but he judges
that we are not far from Sallee. If the surf permits, we may get
anchorage and make a landing at Azemmour. If not, we must dare
Casablanca or continue to Mazagan."
Senor Albaceda grunted pessimistically and climbed lumberingly on deck.
Landon threw himself back on the berth again. The Moor looked down at
the child with a whimsical expression of pity which changed to a
benignant smile as the object of it raised his eyes to his.
"The Sidi Jan has not heard the marvellous tale of the Bashaw of Tripoli
and the Afreets of El Mut?" he submitted. "If it is the Sidi's will, his
servant will now take the opportunity of relating it to him?"
Little John Aylmer answered with an ecstatic chuckle of delight, and
wriggled hurriedly into the encirclement of his friend's arm. Thus
supported, he was able to defy the unsettling influence of the waves and
give the whole of his attention to the taxing of the Moor's memory or,
when this occasionally failed, his very competent imagination. The hours
of the afternoon were passed agreeably; the difficulties of making a
meal without the ordinary appliances of civilization provided a certain
amount of diversion when night fell, and afterwards sleep was paramount.
When the child woke he found the boat running slowly upon an even keel,
and scrambling on deck was met by the view of a glassy swell surrounding
her, but only visible to the extent of the few square yards which were
enclosed in a veil of fog.
The skipper was at the wheel, and Ibrahim, the deck hand, and Muhammed
were seated side by side in the bows. They did not peer into the fog--a
hopeless task. They sat in a listening attitude, exchanging a brief word
now and again.
"It is certainly the drumming of a ship's screw," decided the sailor,
after a moment's silence. "It is going at half speed, behind us."
"Let us hope that Allah has not predestined us to be cut in twain," said
his companion. "But from port, and very regularly, I hear the beat of
breakers. The swell is rolling against a cliff."
"A shore, not a cliff," corrected the other. "If my dead reckoning is
right within a score of miles, we are opposite a beach of sand."
Muhammed shook his head.
"Nay, listen to that thud. The crest of the comber meets something flat.
It does not roll, in slowly dying foam, upon a strand."
Ibrahim shrugged his shoulders.
"In a fog we be all blind men," he said pessimistically. "Let us wait
for the fulfilment of Allah's plan."
They glanced questioningly upwards. As is common in these west coast
fogs, the blanket of vapor was thin. Now and again a faint hint of blue
above their heads seemed to presage a lifting of the mist; occasionally,
indeed, the sun was to be seen vaguely as a round yellow ball of light,
streaked by the slowly drifting scud. But the gray walls on each side of
them remained unbroken. At the same time the beat of the breakers was
perceptibly near.
Senor Albaceda lifted his head from the hatch and invited the
maledictions of innumerable Holy Men upon the weather. He was understood
to confess that he did not undertake to gauge their position within a
hundred miles.
"If Allah's mercy would send us an offshore wind!" aspired the pious
Ibrahim, and lo! with the word came its sudden fulfilment. The fog was
rent by a gust, to disclose, not a couple of cable lengths distant, what
appeared to be a smooth and painted crag of gray.
The two Moors addressed fervent appeals to the One God. The Spaniard,
impartially apostrophizing the tormented of Purgatory and the
celestially blessed to hasten to his assistance, delivered himself of
the opinion that Fate had closed her iron hand upon them. Where else
could they be than within a mile of the sea bastions of Casablanca?
That, did they observe, was a cruiser--nay, possibly a battleship by
whose watch they had been observed without a shadow of a doubt. As the
fog closed in again, he descended to the cabin where he could be heard
loudly bewailing the situation to his passenger, whom he appeared to
hold responsible for this and for a fairly extensive list of other
inconveniences. The captain of the lateen _Esmeralda_ had obviously been
warding off the chill influences of the fog by a liberal dose of
_aguardiente_.
Landon lifted himself quickly to the deck. The mist was perceptibly
lighter by now. A beam of sunlight pierced it from above and lit the
_Esmeralda's_ deck. The gray wall was still unbroken landward, but
seaward it thinned, lifted, rolled this way and that, and finally
disclosed a shining plain of blue. The central object in this, a couple
of miles away, was a white, gleaming yacht.
Landon swore.
"_The Morning Star_--Van Arlen's boat, by God!" he cried. He made the
helmsman a furious gesture. "Into the fog again!" he shouted. "Stick her
nose into it, get out of this!"
"To beat out her timbers upon the harbor reef, or be swamped beneath the
bows of a warship!" screamed the skipper from the hatch. "Never! Keep
her in the light, son of accursed mothers! Do passengers who have been
born of leprous parents give orders aboard this vessel, or I, Concepcion
Albaceda, to whom the law rightly adjudges powers of life and death?"
He came lurching heavily aft, waving a case bottle by the neck to give
emphasis to his commands. The bewildered Ibrahim stared at him owlishly.
The next moment he gave a cry of alarm. Landon had tripped the captain's
unsteady feet, and, aided by Muhammed, had taken him forward and flung
him into the cockpit. They closed the hatch, secured it, and came aft
again. Imperiously Landon repeated his order.
The unfortunate sailor still hesitated. His compatriot took him firmly
by the nape of the neck.
"Into the fog, child of indescribable unfaithfulness," he commanded, "or
become immediately bait for sharks! Choose!"
The bewildered Ibrahim brought round the tiller with a jerk. Like a
rabbit seeking its burrow, the lateen dived fogwards.
As the gray wall surged up to them again, they turned and stared
seaward. Landon cursed loudly. The yacht was turning, too, straight
towards them. At a word from his master, Muhammed got out the great
sweeps and invited Ibrahim imperiously to join him in working them.
Landon took the helm.
Two minutes later there was a crashing sound forward and the bowsprit
splintered with a shock which made the little vessel shiver throughout
its length. A muffled wail of wrath and despair followed from the depths
of the cockpit.
The wall of gray was towering above them. Over the bulwarks of the R.
F. Cruiser _Diomede_ a lieutenant looked down and anathematized them
with a versatility only acquired by a true son of the sea. Landon bowed,
smiled, and in perfect French, asked the liberty of being permitted to
come aboard.
The lieutenant, surprised beyond measure to hear the accents of the
Faubourg from the decks of such an unpromising craft, hastened to forget
the collision between the _Esmeralda's_ bowsprit and the _Diomede's_
paint, and directed his petitioner to find the companion ladder. A
minute's groping in the fog, and Landon stood upon the cruiser's deck.
He bowed elaborately. The lieutenant returned the bow and motioned him
towards the quarter-deck. The captain came forward to receive him,
smiling amiably.
"I must be perfectly frank with you, Monsieur le Commandant," said
Landon, returning the smile. "I come to beg assistance. My yacht is in
harbor here, as you are possibly aware. No? The fog has hidden us; we
came in last night. With my little son, I went ashore early this morning
to leave a card on General d'Amade, to whom I have an introduction. I
missed my own boat at the landing-place and was foolish enough to be
persuaded to embark with these imbeciles below, of whom one is drunk and
the other witless. I have already had an hour of monotonous adventure in
the gloom; I am a little tired of being very reasonably cursed by master
mariners whose vessels we have been ambitious enough to ram. It struck
me that perchance you would be sending a boat ashore within the course
of an hour or so, and might permit me to wait on deck and be a passenger
in it. If so, my gratitude would be beyond words. It is not only for
myself. My little son is delicate; I do not wish to expose him longer
than is necessary to the chill of these vile vapors."
Commandant Rattier smiled again, expressed his pleasure in being able to
offer assistance to any Englishman--he himself was united to that nation
by ties of blood. He would order away his launch immediately. In the
meantime _une limonade Ecossaise_ would combat the effect of chill and
mist. Monsieur would descend to the cabin, would accept some small
refreshment?
Monsieur overflowed with thanks. He would dismiss the villains who had
led him into such a coil, and then hold himself at M. le Commandant's
service.
He leaned over and gave his orders. Muhammed turned to Ibrahim.
"Remove yourself and your master, oh, son of dirt, from these
surroundings with the utmost speed, or I have the promise of the captain
of this warship that he will send you in chains ashore to answer for
your crime in wilfully colliding with his vessel. Your bowsprit? What
have I to do with the results of your own vile seamanship? Have haste or
Allah alone knows what will betide from the mouth of one of these guns."
He gathered the child up into his arms and stalked with dignity up the
companion.
Ten minutes later a launch fussed away from the side of the _Diomede_.
The commandant waved his handkerchief gaily in farewell to his small
guest, who, from the encirclement of his father's arm, waved as gaily
back. Half a hundred _matelots_ grinned affably at him as they paused in
their toil at cabin lights and brass-work. Landon saluted punctiliously
and Muhammed's brown eyes expressed a grave approval of his
entertainment. The launch's prow was thrust into the gloom.
Another gust sang lazily from the shore and the desert and shivered the
fog. The patches of blue joined, grew wider, opened a triumphal arch for
the descending sunbeams' entrance. A little more than a mile away the
walls of the sea bastions shone white. The launch's speed increased.
Before they reached the quayside the last wisp of vapor had disappeared.
Land and sea were swathed in sun. Landon gave a little cackle of
amusement and pointed behind him.
"My yacht!" he cried gaily. "My over-anxious master has weighed anchor
in pursuit of me. Word must have reached him of my having allowed myself
to be persuaded into that vile lateen."
The sub-lieutenant in charge swerved the tiller.
"Let me take you straight to her," he said. "Let me signal her!"
Landon appeared to consider.
"Thanks, a thousand times," he said, "but a small matter of victualling
which I promised my steward to deal with has just recurred to my mind. I
will see to it and then signal for my own boat. After all, too, I might
see a little of the town, now we have the sunshine to illuminate it. A
couple of hours ago it was London in November, with a few additional
smells!"
The lieutenant laughed and turned the prow towards the shore again. He
cast another look over his shoulder.
"Is it possible that your master has information of, or suspects, that
very lateen? It appears to me that he is chasing it!"
Landon faced seaward and observed the yacht keenly.
He laughed with great enjoyment.
"He is a character, that skipper of mine," he said. "He is as likely as
not to sink the unfortunate boat if he does not find me on board or get
a reasonable account of me. I shall have to smooth matters down with a
dollar or two."
A minute later the launch slowed up against the little quay. The three
passengers stepped ashore, Landon full of compliments and thanks. Still
waving adieu, he, Muhammed, and the child paced contentedly off into the
town. The lieutenant turned seaward again.
A slightly bewildered frown clouded his face as he approached the
_Diomede_. The yacht had anchored with the lateen alongside her, and a
boat was pulling from her towards the warship. The lieutenant considered
that for yachtsmen he had never seen a boat's crew pull faster.