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diff --git a/17642-0.txt b/17642-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..198b089 --- /dev/null +++ b/17642-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17385 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Romance, by Joseph Conrad and F.M. +Hueffer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Romance + +Author: Joseph Conrad and F.M. Hueffer + +Release Date: January 31, 2006 [EBook #17642] +Last Updated: February 19, 2023 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCE *** + + + + +ROMANCE + + +By Joseph Conrad + +and + +F.M. Hueffer + + + COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY + DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES + AT + THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. + + + + +TO + +ELSIE AND JESSIE + + “C’est toi qui dors dans Vombre, O sacré Souvenir.” + If we could have remembrance now + And see, as in the days to come + We shall, what’s venturous in these hours: + The swift, intangible romance of fields at home, + The gleams of sun, the showers, + Our workaday contentments, or our powers + To fare still forward through the uncharted haze + Of present days.... + For, looking back when years shall flow + Upon this olden day that’s now, + We’ll see, romantic in dimm’d hours, + These memories of ours. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PART FIRST The Quarry and the Beach + + PART SECOND The Girl with the Lizard + + PART THIRD Casa Riego + + PART FOURTH Blade and Guitar + + PART FIFTH The Lot of Man + + + + +PART FIRST -- THE QUARRY AND THE BEACH + + +ROMANCE + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +To yesterday and to to-day I say my polite “vaya usted con Dios.” What +are these days to me? But that far-off day of my romance, when from +between the blue and white bales in Don Ramon’s darkened storeroom, at +Kingston, I saw the door open before the figure of an old man with the +tired, long, white face, that day I am not likely to forget. I remember +the chilly smell of the typical West Indian store, the indescribable +smell of damp gloom, of locos, of pimento, of olive oil, of new sugar, +of new rum; the glassy double sheen of Ramon’s great spectacles, the +piercing eyes in the mahogany face, while the tap, tap, tap of a cane +on the flags went on behind the inner door; the click of the latch; the +stream of light. The door, petulantly thrust inwards, struck against +some barrels. I remember the rattling of the bolts on that door, and the +tall figure that appeared there, snuffbox in hand. In that land of white +clothes, that precise, ancient, Castilian in black was something to +remember. The black cane that had made the tap, tap, tap dangled by a +silken cord from the hand whose delicate blue-veined, wrinkled wrist ran +back into a foam of lawn ruffles. The other hand paused in the act of +conveying a pinch of snuff to the nostrils of the hooked nose that had, +on the skin stretched tight over the bridge, the polish of old ivory; +the elbow pressing the black cocked-hat against the side; the legs, +one bent, the other bowing a little back--this was the attitude of +Seraphina’s father. + +Having imperiously thrust the door of the inner room open, he remained +immovable, with no intention of entering, and called in a harsh, aged +voice: “Señor Ramon! Señor Ramon!” and then twice: +“Sera-phina--Seraphina!” turning his head back. + +Then for the first time I saw Seraphina, looking over her father’s +shoulder. I remember her face on that day; her eyes were gray--the gray +of black, not of blue. For a moment they looked me straight in the face, +reflectively, unconcerned, and then travelled to the spectacles of old +Ramon. + +This glance--remember I was young on that day--had been enough to set +me wondering what they were thinking of me; what they could have seen of +me. + +“But there he is--your Señor Ramon,” she said to her father, as if she +were chiding him for a petulance in calling; “your sight is not very +good, my poor little father--there he is, your Ramon.” + +The warm reflection of the light behind her, gilding the curve of her +face from ear to chin, lost itself in the shadows of black lace falling +from dark hair that was not quite black. She spoke as if the words clung +to her lips; as if she had to put them forth delicately for fear of +damaging the frail things. She raised her long hand to a white flower +that clung above her ear like the pen of a clerk, and disappeared. Ramon +hurried with a stiffness of immense respect towards the ancient grandee. +The door swung to. + +I remained alone. The blue bales and the white, and the great red oil +jars loomed in the dim light filtering through the jalousies out of the +blinding sunlight of Jamaica. A moment after, the door opened once more +and a young man came out to me; tall, slim, with very bright, very large +black eyes aglow in an absolute pallor of face. That was Carlos Riego. + +Well, that is my yesterday of romance, for the many things that have +passed between those times and now have become dim or have gone out +of my mind. And my day before yesterday was the day on which I, at +twenty-two, stood looking at myself in the tall glass, the day on which +I left my home in Kent and went, as chance willed it, out to sea with +Carlos Riego. + +That day my cousin Rooksby had become engaged to my sister Veronica, and +I had a fit of jealous misery. I was rawboned, with fair hair, I had a +good skin, tanned by the weather, good teeth, and brown eyes. I had not +had a very happy life, and I had lived shut in on myself, thinking +of the wide world beyond my reach, that seemed to hold out infinite +possibilities of romance, of adventure, of love, perhaps, and stores of +gold. In the family my mother counted; my father did not. She was the +daughter of a Scottish earl who had ruined himself again and again. He +had been an inventor, a projector, and my mother had been a poor beauty, +brought up on the farm we still lived on--the last rag of land that had +remained to her father. Then she had married a good man in his way; a +good enough catch; moderately well off, very amiable, easily influenced, +a dilettante, and a bit of a dreamer, too. He had taken her into the +swim of the Regency, and his purse had not held out. So my mother, +asserting herself, had insisted upon a return to our farm, which had +been her dowry. The alternative would have been a shabby, ignominious +life at Calais, in the shadow of Brummel and such. + +My father used to sit all day by the fire, inscribing “ideas” every now +and then in a pocket-book. I think he was writing an epic poem, and I +think he was happy in an ineffectual way. He had thin red hair, untidy +for want of a valet, a shining, delicate, hooked nose, narrow-lidded +blue eyes, and a face with the colour and texture of a white-heart +cherry. He used to spend his days in a hooded chair. My mother managed +everything, leading an out-of-door life which gave her face the colour +of a wrinkled pippin. It was the face of a Roman mother, tight-lipped, +brown-eyed, and fierce. You may understand the kind of woman she +was from the hands she employed on the farm. They were smugglers and +night-malefactors to a man--and she liked that. The decent, slow-witted, +gently devious type of rustic could not live under her. The neighbours +round declared that the Lady Mary Kemp’s farm was a hotbed of disorder. +I expect it was, too; three of our men were hung up at Canterbury on one +day--for horse-stealing and arson.... Anyhow, that was my mother. As +for me, I was under her, and, since I had my aspirations, I had a rather +bitter childhood. And I had others to contrast myself with. First +there was Rooksby: a pleasant, well-spoken, amiable young squire of the +immediate neighbourhood; young Sir Ralph, a man popular with all sorts, +and in love with my sister Veronica from early days. Veronica was very +beautiful, and very gentle, and very kind; tall, slim, with sloping +white shoulders and long white arms, hair the colour of amber, and +startled blue eyes--a good mate for Rooksby. Rooksby had foreign +relations, too. The uncle from whom he inherited the Priory had married +a Riego, a Castilian, during the Peninsular war. He had been a prisoner +at the time--he had died in Spain, I think. When Ralph made the grand +tour, he had made the acquaintance of his Spanish relations; he used to +talk about them, the Riegos, and Veronica used to talk of what he said +of them until they came to stand for Romance, the romance of the +outer world, to me. One day, a little before Ralph and Veronica became +engaged, these Spaniards descended out of the blue. It was Romance +suddenly dangled right before my eyes. It was Romance; you have no idea +what it meant to me to talk to Carlos Riego. + +Rooksby was kind enough. He had me over to the Priory, where I made +the acquaintance of the two maiden ladies, his second cousins, who kept +house for him. Yes, Ralph was kind; but I rather hated him for it, +and was a little glad when he, too, had to suffer some of the pangs of +jealousy--jealousy of Carlos Riego. + +Carlos was dark, and of a grace to set Ralph as much in the shade as +Ralph himself set me; and Carlos had seen a deal more of the world than +Ralph. He had a foreign sense of humour that made him forever ready to +sacrifice his personal dignity. It made Veronica laugh, and even drew +a grim smile from my mother; but it gave Ralph bad moments. How he came +into these parts was a little of a mystery. When Ralph was displeased +with this Spanish connection he used to swear that Carlos had cut a +throat or taken a purse. At other times he used to say that it was a +political matter. In fine, Carlos had the hospitality of the Priory, and +the title of Count when he chose to use it. He brought with him a short, +pursy, bearded companion, half friend, half servant, who said he had +served in Napoleon’s Spanish contingent, and had a way of striking his +breast with a wooden hand (his arm had suffered in a cavalry charge), +and exclaiming, “I, Tomas Castro! ...” He was an Andalusian. + +For myself, the first shock of his strangeness over-come, I adored +Carlos, and Veronica liked him, and laughed at him, till one day he +said good-by and rode off along the London road, followed by his Tomas +Castro. I had an intense longing to go with him out into the great world +that brooded all round our foothills. + +You are to remember that I knew nothing whatever of that great world. +I had never been further away from our farm than just to Canterbury +school, to Hythe market, to Romney market. Our farm nestled down under +the steep, brown downs, just beside the Roman road to Canterbury; Stone +Street--the Street--we called it. Ralph’s land was just on the other +side of the Street, and the shepherds on the downs used to see of nights +a dead-and-gone Rooksby, Sir Peter that was, ride upon it past the +quarry with his head under his arm. I don’t think I believed in him, but +I believed in the smugglers who shared the highway with that horrible +ghost. It is impossible for any one nowadays-to conceive the effect +these smugglers had upon life thereabouts and then. They were the power +to which everything else deferred. They used to overrun the country in +great bands, and brooked no interference with their business. Not long +before they had defeated regular troops in a pitched battle on the +Marsh, and on the very day I went away I remember we couldn’t do our +carting because the smugglers had given us notice they would need our +horses in the evening. They were a power in the land where there was +violence enough without them, God knows! Our position on that Street put +us in the midst of it all. At dusk we shut our doors, pulled down our +blinds, sat round the fire, and knew pretty well what was going on +outside. There would be long whistles in the dark, and when we found men +lurking in our barns we feigned not to see them--it was safer so. +The smugglers--the Free Traders, they called themselves--were as well +organized for helping malefactors out of the country as for running +goods in; so it came about that we used to have comers and forgers, +murderers and French spies--all sorts of malefactors--hiding in our +straw throughout the day, wait-for the whistle to blow from the Street +at dusk. I, born with my century, was familiar with these things; but +my mother forbade my meddling with them. I expect she knew enough +herself--all the resident gentry did. But Ralph--though he was to some +extent of the new school, and used to boast that, if applied to, he +“would grant a warrant against any Free Trader”--never did, as a matter +of fact, or not for many years. + +Carlos, then, Rooksby’s Spanish kinsman, had come and gone, and I +envied him his going, with his air of mystery, to some far-off lawless +adventures--perhaps over there in Spain, where there were war and +rebellion. Shortly afterwards Rooksby proposed for the hand of Veronica +and was accepted--by my mother. Veronica went about looking happy. That +upset me, too. It seemed unjust that she should go out into the great +world--to Bath, to Brighton, should see the Prince Regent and the great +fights on Hounslow Heath--whilst I was to remain forever a farmer’s boy. +That afternoon I was upstairs, looking at the reflection of myself in +the tall glass, wondering miserably why I seemed to be such an oaf. + +The voice of Rooksby hailed me suddenly from downstairs. “Hey, +John--John Kemp; come down, I say!” + +I started away from the glass as if I had been taken in an act of folly. +Rooksby was flicking his leg with his switch in the doorway, at the +bottom of the narrow flight of stairs. + +He wanted to talk to me, he said, and I followed him out through the +yard on to the soft road that climbs the hill to westward. The evening +was falling slowly and mournfully; it was dark already in the folds of +the sombre downs. + +We passed the corner of the orchard. “I know what you’ve got to tell +me,” I said. “You’re going to marry Veronica. Well, you’ve no need of my +blessing. Some people have all the luck. Here am I ... look at me!” + +Ralph walked with his head bent down. + +“Confound it,” I said, “I shall run away to sea! I tell you, I’m +rotting, rotting! There! I say, Ralph, give me Carlos’ direction....” I +caught hold of his arm. “I’ll go after him. He’d show me a little life. +He said he would.” + +Ralph remained lost in a kind of gloomy abstraction, while I went on +worrying him for Carlos’ address. + +“Carlos is the only soul I know outside five miles from here. Besides, +he’s friends in the Indies. That’s where I want to go, and he could give +me a cast. You remember what Tomas Castro said....” + +Rooksby came to a sudden halt, and began furiously to switch his corded +legs. + +“Curse Carlos, and his Castro, too. They’ll have me in jail betwixt +them. They’re both in my red barn, if you want their direction....” + +He hurried on suddenly up the hill, leaving me gazing upwards at him. +When I caught him up he was swearing--as one did in those days--and +stamping his foot in the middle of the road. + +“I tell you,” he said violently, “it’s the most accursed business! That +Castro, with his Cuba, is nothing but a blasted buccaneer... and Carlos +is no better. They go to Liverpool for a passage to Jamaica, and see +what comes of it!” + +It seems that on Liverpool docks, in the owl-light, they fell in with an +elderly hunks just returned from West Indies, who asks the time at the +door of a shipping agent. Castro pulls out a watch, and the old fellow +jumps on it, vows it’s his own, taken from him years before by some +picaroons on his outward voyage. Out from the agent’s comes another, and +swears that Castro is one of the self-same crew. He himself purported to +be the master of the very ship. Afterwards--in the solitary dusk among +the ropes and bales--there had evidently been some play with knives, and +it ended with a flight to London, and then down to Rooksby’s red barn, +with the runners in full cry after them. + +“Think of it,” Rooksby said, “and me a justice, and... oh, it drives me +wild, this hole-and-corner work! There’s a filthy muddle with the Free +Traders--a whistle to blow after dark at the quarry. To-night of all +nights, and me a justice... and as good as a married man!” + +I looked at him wonderingly in the dusk; his high coat collar almost hid +his face, and his hat was pressed down over his eyes. The thing seemed +incredible to me. Here was an adventure, and I was shocked to see that +Rooksby was in a pitiable state about it. + +“But, Ralph,” I said, “I would help Carlos.” + +“Oh, you,” he said fretfully. “You want to run your head into a noose; +that’s what it comes to. Why, I may have to flee the country. There’s +the red-breasts poking their noses into every cottage on the Ashford +road.” He strode on again. A wisp of mist came stealing down the hill. +“I can’t give my cousin up. He could be smuggled out, right enough. But +then I should have to get across salt water, too, for at least a year. +Why----” + +He seemed ready to tear his hair, and then I put in my say. He needed a +little persuasion, though, in spite of Veronica. + +I should have to meet Carlos Riego and Castro in a little fir-wood above +the quarry, in half an hour’s time. All I had to do was to whistle +three bars of “Lillibulero,” as a signal. A connection had been already +arranged with the Free Traders on the road beside the quarry, and they +were coming down that night, as we knew well enough, both of us. They +were coming in force from Canterbury way down to the Marsh. It had +cost Ralph a pretty penny; but, once in the hands of the smugglers, his +cousin and Castro would be safe enough from the runners; it would have +needed a troop of horse to take them. The difficulty was that of late +the smugglers themselves had become demoralized. There were ugly rumours +of it; and there was a danger that Castro and Carlos, if not looked +after, might end their days in some marsh-dyke. It was desirable that +someone well known in our parts should see them to the seashore. A boat, +there, was to take them out into the bay, where an outward-bound West +Indiaman would pick them up. But for Ralph’s fear for his neck, which +had increased in value since its devotion to Veronica, he would have +squired his cousin. As it was, he fluttered round the idea of letting +me take his place. Finally he settled it; and I embarked on a long +adventure. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Between moonrise and sunset I was stumbling through the bracken of the +little copse that was like a tuft of hair on the brow of the great white +quarry. It was quite dark, in among the trees. I made the circuit of the +copse, whistling softly my three bars of “Lillibulero.” Then I plunged +into it. The bracken underfoot rustled and rustled. I came to a halt. +A little bar of light lay on the horizon in front of me, almost +colourless. It was crossed again and again by the small fir-trunks that +were little more than wands. A woodpigeon rose with a sudden crash of +sound, flapping away against the branches. My pulse was dancing with +delight--my heart, too. It was like a game of hide-and-seek, and yet it +was life at last. Everything grew silent again and I began to think I +had missed my time. Down below in the plain, a great way off, a dog was +barking continuously. I moved forward a few paces and whistled. The +glow of adventure began to die away. There was nothing at all--a little +mystery of light on the tree-trunks. + +I moved forward again, getting back towards the road. Against the +glimmer of dead light I thought I caught the outlines of a man’s hat +down among the tossing lines of the bracken. I whispered loudly: + +“Carlos! Carlos!” + +There was a moment of hoarse whispering; a sudden gruff sound. A shaft +of blazing yellow light darted from the level of the ground into my +dazed eyes. A man sprang at me and thrust something cold and knobby +into my neckcloth. The light continued to blaze into my eyes; it moved +upwards and shone on a red waistcoat dashed with gilt buttons. I +was being arrested.... “In the King’s name....” It was a most sudden +catastrophe. A hand was clutching my windpipe. + +“Don’t you so much as squeak, Mr. Castro,” a voice whispered in my ear. + +The lanthorn light suddenly died out, and I heard whispers. + +“Get him out on to the road.... I’ll tackle the other ... +Darbies.... Mind his knife.” + +I was like a confounded rabbit in their hands. One of them had his fist +on my collar and jerked me out upon the hard road. We rolled down the +embankment, but he was on the top. It seemed an abominable episode, a +piece of bad faith on the part of fate. I ought to have been exempt from +these sordid haps, but the man’s hot leathery hand on my throat was like +a foretaste of the other collar. And I was horribly afraid--horribly--of +the sort of mysterious potency of the laws that these men represented, +and I could think of nothing to do. + +We stood in a little slanting cutting in the shadow. A watery light +before the moon’s rising slanted downwards from the hilltop along the +opposite bank. We stood in utter silence. + +“If you stir a hair,” my captor said coolly, “I’ll squeeze the blood out +of your throat, like a rotten orange.” + +He had the calmness of one dealing with an everyday incident; yet the +incident was--it should have been--tremendous. We stood waiting silently +for an eternity, as one waits for a hare to break covert before the +beaters. From down the long hill came a small sound of horses’ hoofs--a +sound like the beating of the heart, intermittent--a muffled thud on +turf, and a faint clink of iron. It seemed to die away unheard by the +runner beside me. Presently there was a crackling of the short pine +branches, a rustle, and a hoarse whisper said from above: + +“Other’s cleared, Thorns. Got that one safe?” + +“All serene.” + +The man from above dropped down into the road, a clumsy, cloaked figure. +He turned his lanthorn upon me, in a painful yellow glare. + +“What! ’Tis the young ’un,” he grunted, after a moment. “Read the +warrant, Thorns.” + +My captor began to fumble in his pocket, pulled out a paper, and bent +down into the light. Suddenly he paused and looked up at me. + +“This ain’t------ Mr. Lilly white, I don’t believe this ain’t a +Jack Spaniard.” + +The clinks of bits and stirrup-irons came down in a waft again. + +“That be hanged for a tale, Thorns,” the man with the lanthorn said +sharply. “If this here ain’t Riego--or the other--I’ll ...” + +I began to come out of my stupor. + +“My name’s John Kemp,” I said. + +The other grunted. “Hurry up, Thorns.” + +“But, Mr. Lillywhite,” Thorns reasoned, “he don’t speak like a Dago. +Split me if he do! And we ain’t in a friendly country either, you know +that. We can’t afford to rile the gentry!” + +I plucked up courage. + +“You’ll get your heads broke,” I said, “if you wait much longer. Hark to +that!” + +The approaching horses had turned off the turf on to the hard road; the +steps of first one and then another sounded out down the silent hill. +I knew it was the Free Traders from that; for except between banks they +kept to the soft roadsides as if it were an article of faith. The noise +of hoofs became that of an army. + +The runners began to consult. The shadow called Thorns was for bolting +across country; but Lilly white was not built for speed. Besides he did +not know the lie of the land, and believed the Free Traders were mere +bogeys. + +“They’ll never touch us,” Lillywhite grumbled. “We’ve a warrant... +King’s name....” He was flashing his lanthorn aimlessly up the hill. + +“Besides,” he began again, “we’ve got this gallus bird. If he’s not a +Spaniard, he knows all about them. I heard him. Kemp he may be, but he +spoke Spanish up there... and we’ve got something for our trouble. He’ll +swing, I’ll lay you a------” + +From far above us came a shout, then a confused noise of voices. The +moon began to get up; above the cutting the clouds had a fringe of +sudden silver. A horseman, cloaked and muffled to the ears, trotted +warily towards us. + +“What’s up?” he hailed from a matter of ten yards. “What are you showing +that glim for? Anything wrong below?” + +The runners kept silence; we heard the click of a pistol lock. + +“In the King’s name,” Lillywhite shouted, “get off that nag and lend a +hand! We’ve a prisoner.” + +The horseman gave an incredulous whistle, and then began to shout, his +voice winding mournfully uphill, “Hallo! Hallo--o--o.” An echo stole +back, “Hallo! Hallo--o--o”; then a number of voices. The horse stood, +drooping its head, and the man turned in his saddle. “Runners,” he +shouted, “Bow Street runners! Come along, come along, boys! We’ll roast +’em.... Runners! Runners!” + +The sound of heavy horses at a jolting trot came to our ears. + +“We’re in for it,” Lillywhite grunted. “D------n this county of Kent.” + +Thorns never loosed his hold of my collar. At the steep of the hill the +men and horses came into sight against the white sky, a confused crowd +of ominous things. + +“Turn that lanthorn off’n me,” the horseman said. “Don’t you see you +frighten my horse? Now, boys, get round them....” + +The great horses formed an irregular half-circle round us; men descended +clumsily, like sacks of corn. The lanthorn was seized and flashed upon +us; there was a confused hubbub. I caught my own name. + +“Yes, I’m Kemp... John Kemp,” I called. “I’m true blue.” + +“Blue be hanged!” a voice shouted back. “What be you a-doing with +runners?” + +The riot went on--forty or fifty voices. The runners were seized; +several hands caught at me. It was impossible to make myself heard; a +fist struck me on the cheek. + +“Gibbet ’em,” somebody shrieked; “they hung my nephew! Gibbet ’em all +the three. Young Kemp’s mother’s a bad ’un. An informer he is. Up with +’em!” + +I was pulled down on my knees, then thrust forward, and then left to +myself while they rushed to bonnet Lillywhite. I stumbled against a +great, quiet farm horse. + +A continuous scuffling went on; an imperious voice cried: “Hold your +tongues, you fools! Hold your tongues!...” Someone else called: “Hear to +Jack Rangsley. Hear to him!” + +There was a silence. I saw a hand light a torch at the lanthorn, and the +crowd of faces, the muddle of limbs, the horses’ heads, and the quiet +trees above, flickered into sight. + +“Don’t let them hang me, Jack Rangsley,” I sobbed. “You know I’m no spy. +Don’t let ’em hang me, Jack.” + +He rode his horse up to me, and caught me by the collar. + +“Hold your tongue,” he said roughly. He began to make a set speech, +anathematizing runners. He moved to tie our feet, and hang us by our +finger-nails over the quarry edge. + +A hubbub of assent and dissent went up; then the crowd became unanimous. +Rangsley slipped from his horse. + +“Blindfold ’em, lads,” he cried, and turned me sharply round. + +“Don’t struggle,” he whispered in my ear; his silk handkerchief came +cool across my eyelids. I felt hands fumbling with a knot at the back of +my head. “You’re all right,” he said again. The hubbub of voices ceased +suddenly. “Now, lads, bring ’em along.” + +A voice I knew said their watchword, “Snuff and enough,” loudly, and +then, “What’s agate?” + +Someone else answered, “It’s Rooksby, it’s Sir Ralph.” + +The voice interrupted sharply, “No names, now. I don’t want hanging.” +The hand left my arm; there was a pause in the motion of the +procession. I caught a moment’s sound of whispering. Then a new voice +cried, “Strip the runners to the shirt. Strip ’em. That’s it.” I heard +some groans and a cry, “You won’t murder us.” Then a nasal drawl, “We +will sure--_ly_.” Someone else, Rangsley, I think, called, “Bring ’em +along--this way now.” + +After a period of turmoil we seemed to come out of the crowd upon a very +rough, descending path; Rangsley had called out, “Now, then, the rest of +you be off; we’ve got enough here”; and the hoofs of heavy horses +sounded again. Then we came to a halt, and Rangsley called sharply from +close to me: + +“Now, you runners--and you, John Kemp--here you be on the brink of +eternity, above the old quarry. There’s a sheer drop of a hundred feet. +We’ll tie your legs and hang you by your fingers. If you hang long +enough, you’ll have time to say your prayers. Look alive, lads!” + +The voice of one of the runners began to shout, “You’ll swing for +this--you------” + +As for me I was in a dream. “Jack,” I said, “Jack, you won’t----” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” the voice said in a whisper. “Mum, now! It’s all +_right_.” + +It withdrew itself a little from my ear and called, “‘Now then, ready +with them. When I say three....” + +I heard groans and curses, and began to shout for help. My voice came +back in an echo, despairingly. Suddenly I was dragged backward, and the +bandage pulled from my eyes, + +“Come along,” Rangsley said, leading me gently enough to the road, which +was five steps behind. “It’s all a joke,” he snarled. “A pretty bad one +for those catchpolls. Hear ’em groan. The drop’s not two feet.” + +We made a few paces down the road; the pitiful voices of the runners +crying for help came plainly to my ears. + +“You--they--aren’t murdering them?” I asked. + +“No, no,” he answered. “Can’t afford to. Wish we could; but they’d make +it too hot for us.” + +We began to descend the hill. From the quarry a voice shrieked: + +“Help--help--for the love of God--I can’t....” + +There was a grunt and the sound of a fall; then a precisely similar +sequence of sounds. + +“That’ll teach ’em,” Rangsley said ferociously. “Come along--they’ve +only rolled down a bank. They weren’t over the quarry. It’s all right. I +swear it is.” + +And, as a matter of fact, that was the smugglers’ ferocious idea of +humour. They would hang any undesirable man, like these runners, whom it +would make too great a stir to murder outright, over the edge of a low +bank, and swear to him that he was clawing the brink of Shakespeare’s +Cliff or any other hundred-foot drop. The wretched creatures suffered +all the tortures of death before they let go, and, as a rule, they never +returned to our parts. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +The spirit of the age has changed; everything has changed so utterly +that one can hardly believe in the existence of one’s earlier self. But +I can still remember how, at that moment, I made the acquaintance of +my heart--a thing that bounded and leapt within my chest, a little +sickeningly. The other details I forget. + +Jack Rangsley was a tall, big-boned, thin man, with something sinister +in the lines of his horseman’s cloak, and something reckless in the way +he set his spurred heel on the ground. He was the son of an old Marsh +squire. Old Rangsley had been head of the last of the Owlers--the +aristocracy of export smugglers--and Jack had sunk a little in becoming +the head of the Old Bourne Tap importers. But he was hard enough, +tyrannical enough, and had nerve enough to keep Free-trading alive in +our parts until long after it had become an anachronism. He ended his +days on the gallows, of course, but that was long afterwards. + +“I’d give a dollar to know what’s going on in those runners’ heads,” + Rangsley said, pointing back with his crop. He laughed gayly. The great +white face of the quarry rose up pale in the moonlight; the dusky red +fires of the limekilns glowed at the base, sending up a blood-red dust +of sullen smoke. “I’ll swear they think they’ve dropped straight into +hell. + +“You’ll have to cut the country, John,” he added suddenly, “they’ll have +got your name uncommon pat. I did my best for you.” He had had me tied +up like that before the runners’ eyes in order to take their suspicions +off me. He had made a pretence to murder me with the same idea. But +he didn’t believe they were taken in. “There’ll be warrants out before +morning, if they ain’t too shaken. But what were you doing in the +business? The two Spaniards were lying in the fern looking on when you +come blundering your clumsy nose in. If it hadn’t been for Rooksby you +might have------ Hullo, there!” he broke off. + +An answer came from the black shadow of a clump of roadside elms. I +made out the forms of three or four horses standing with their heads +together. + +“Come along,” Rangsley said; “up with you. We’ll talk as we go.” + +Someone helped me into a saddle; my legs trembled in the stirrups as +if I had ridden a thousand miles on end already. I imagine I must have +fallen into a stupor; for I have only a vague impression of somebody’s +exculpating himself to me. As a matter of fact, Ralph, after having +egged me on, in the intention of staying at home, had had qualms of +conscience, and had come to the quarry. It was he who had cried +the watchword, “Snuff and enough,” and who had held the whispered +consultation. Carlos and Castro had waited in their hiding-place, having +been spectators of the arrival of the runners and of my capture. I +gathered this long afterwards. At that moment I was conscious only of +the motion of the horse beneath me, of intense weariness, and of the +voice of Ralph, who was lamenting his own cowardice. + +“If it had come at any other time!” he kept on repeating. “But now, with +Veronica to think of!------ You take me, Johnny, don’t you?” + +My companions rode silently. After we had passed the houses of a little +village a heavy mist fell upon us, white, damp, and clogging. Ralph +reined his horse beside mine. + +“I’m sorry,” he began again, “I’m miserably sorry I got you into this +scrape. I swear I wouldn’t have had it happen, not for a thousand +pounds--not for ten.” + +“It doesn’t matter,” I said cheerfully. + +“Ah, but,” Rooksby said, “you’ll have to leave the country for a time. +Until I can arrange. I will. You can trust me.” + +“Oh, he’ll have to leave the country, for sure,” Rangsley said jovially, +“if he wants to live it down. There’s five-and-forty warrants out +against me--but they dursent serve ’em. But he’s not me.” + +“It’s a miserable business,” Ralph said. He had an air of the +profoundest dejection. In the misty light he looked like a man mortally +wounded, riding from a battle-field. + +“Let him come with us,” the musical voice of Carlos came through the +mist in front of us. “He shall see the world a little.” + +“For God’s sake hold your tongue!” Ralph answered him. “There’s mischief +enough. He shall go to France.” + +“Oh, let the young blade rip about the world for a year or two, squire,” + Rangsley’s voice said from behind us. + +In the end Ralph let me go with Carlos--actually across the sea, and to +the West Indies. I begged and implored him; it seemed that now there was +a chance for me to find my world of romance. And Ralph, who, though one +of the most law-respecting of men, was not for the moment one of the +most valorous, was wild to wash his hands of the whole business. He did +his best for me; he borrowed a goodly number of guineas from Rangsley, +who travelled with a bag of them at his saddle-bow, ready to pay his men +their seven shillings a head for the run. + +Ralph remembered, too--or I remembered for him--that he had estates and +an agent in Jamaica, and he turned into the big inn at the junction of +the London road to write a letter to his agent bidding him house me and +employ me as an improver. For fear of compromising him we waited in the +shadow of trees a furlong or two down the road. He came at a trot, gave +me the letter, drew me aside, and began upbraiding himself again. The +others rode onwards. + +“Oh, it’s all right,” I said. “It’s fine--it’s fine. I’d have given +fifty guineas for this chance this morning--and, Ralph, I say, you may +tell Veronica why I’m going, but keep a shut mouth to my mother. Let her +think I’ve run away--eh? Don’t spoil your chance.” + +He was in such a state of repentance and flutter that he could not let +me take a decent farewell. The sound of the others’ horses had long died +away down the hill when he began to tell me what he ought to have done. + +“I knew it at once after I’d let you go. I ought to have kept you out +of it. You came near being murdered. And to think of it--you, her +brother--to be------” + +“Oh, it’s all right,” I said gayly, “it’s all right. You’ve to stand by +Veronica. I’ve no one to my back. Good-night, good-by.” + +I pulled my horse’s head round and galloped down the hill. The main body +had halted before setting out over the shingle to the shore. Rangsley +was waiting to conduct us into the town, where we should find a man to +take us three fugitives out to the expected ship. We rode clattering +aggressively through the silence of the long, narrow main street. Every +now and then Carlos Riego coughed lamentably, but Tomas Castro rode in +gloomy silence. There was a light here and there in a window, but not a +soul stirring abroad. On the blind of an inn the shadow of a bearded man +held the shadow of a rummer to its mouth. + +“That’ll be my uncle,” Rangsley said. “He’ll be the man to do your +errand.” He called to one of the men behind. “Here, Joe Pilcher, do you +go into the White Hart and drag my Uncle Tom out. Bring ’un up to me--to +the nest.” + +Three doors further on we came to a halt, and got down from our horses. + +Rangsley knocked on a shutter-panel, two hard knocks with the crop and +three with the naked fist. Then a lock clicked, heavy bars rumbled, and +a chain rattled. Rangsley pushed me through the doorway. A side door +opened, and I saw into a lighted room filled with wreaths of smoke. A +paunchy man in a bob wig, with a blue coat and Windsor buttons, holding +a churchwarden pipe in his right hand and a pewter quart in his left, +came towards us. + +“Hullo, captain,” he said, “you’ll be too late with the lights, won’t +you?” He had a deprecatory air. + +“Your watch is fast, Mr. Mayor,” Rangsley answered surlily; “the tide +won’t serve for half an hour yet.” + +“Cht, cht,” the other wheezed. “No offence. We respect you. But still, +when one has a stake, one likes to know.” + +“My stake’s all I have, and my neck,” Rangsley said impatiently; “what’s +yours? A matter of fifty pun ten?... Why don’t you make them bring they +lanthorns?” + +A couple of dark lanthorns were passed to Rangsley, who half-uncovered +one, and lit the way up steep wooden stairs. We climbed up to a tiny +cock-loft, of which the side towards the sea was all glazed. + +“Now you sit there, on the floor,” Rangsley commanded; “can’t leave +you below; the runners will be coming to the mayor for new warrants +to-morrow, and he’d not like to have spent the night in your company.” + +He threw a casement open. The moon was hidden from us by clouds, but, +a long way off, over the distant sea, there was an irregular patch of +silver light, against which the chimneys of the opposite houses were +silhouetted. The church clock began muffledly to chime the quarters +behind us; then the hour struck--ten strokes. + +Rangsley set one of his lanthorns on the window and twisted the top. He +sent beams of yellow light shooting out to seawards. His hands quivered, +and he was mumbling to himself under the influence of ungovernable +excitement. His stakes were very large, and all depended on the flicker +of those lanthorns out towards the men on the luggers that were hidden +in the black expanse of the sea. Then he waited, and against the light +of the window I could see him mopping his forehead with the sleeve +of his coat; my heart began to beat softly and insistently--out of +sympathy. + +Suddenly, from the deep shadow of the cloud above the sea, a yellow +light flashed silently cut--very small, very distant, very short-lived. +Rangsley heaved a deep sigh and slapped me heavily on the shoulder. + +“All serene, my buck,” he said; “now let’s see after you. I’ve half an +hour. What’s the ship?” + +I was at a loss, but Carlos said out of the darkness, “The ship the +_Thames_. My friend Señor Ortiz, of the Minories, said you would know.” + +“Oh, I know, I know,” Rangsley said softly; and, indeed, he did know +all that was to be known about smuggling out of the southern counties of +people who could no longer inhabit them. The trade was a survival of the +days of Jacobite plots. “And it’s a hanging job, too. But it’s no affair +of mine.” He stopped and reflected for an instant. + +I could feel Carlos’ eyes upon us, looking out of the thick darkness. A +slight rustling came from the corner that hid Castro. + +“She passes down channel to-night, then?” Rangsley said. “With this wind +you’ll want to be well out in the Bay at a quarter after eleven.” + +An abnormal scuffling, intermingled with snatches of jovial +remonstrance, made itself heard from the bottom of the ladder. A voice +called up through the hatch, “Here’s your uncle, Squahre Jack,” and a +husky murmur corroborated. + +“Be you drunk again, you old sinner?” Rangsley asked. “Listen to me.... +Here’s three men to be set aboard the _Thames_ at a quarter after +eleven.” + +A grunt came in reply. + +Rangsley repeated slowly. + +The grunt answered again. + +“Here’s three men to be set aboard the _Thames_ at a quarter after +eleven....” Rangsley said again. + +“Here’s... a-cop... three men to be set aboard _Thames_ at quarter after +eleven,” a voice hiccoughed back to us. + +“Well, see you do it,” Rangsley said. “He’s as drunk as a king,” + he commented to us; “but when you’ve said a thing three times, he +remembers--hark to him.” + +The drunken voice from below kept up a constant babble of, “Three men to +be set aboard _Thames_... three men to be set ...” + +“He’ll not stop saying that till he has you safe aboard,” Rangsley +said. He showed a glimmer of light down the ladder--Carlos and Castro +descended. I caught sight below me of the silver head and the deep +red ears of the drunken uncle of Rangsley. He had been one of the most +redoubtable of the family, a man of immense strength and cunning, but a +confirmed habit of consuming a pint and a half of gin a night had made +him disinclined for the more arduous tasks of the trade. He limited his +energies to working the underground passage, to the success of which his +fox-like cunning, and intimate knowledge of the passing shipping, were +indispensable. I was preparing to follow the others down the ladder when +Rangsley touched my arm. + +“I don’t like your company,” he said close behind my ear. “I know who +they are. There were bills out for them this morning. I’d blow them, +and take the reward, but for you and Squahre Rooksby. They’re handy with +their knives, too, I fancy. You mind me, and look to yourself with them. +There’s something unnatural.” + +His words had a certain effect upon me, and his manner perhaps more. A +thing that was “unnatural” to Jack Rangsley--the man of darkness, who +lived forever as if in the shadow of the gallows--was a thing to be +avoided. He was for me nearly as romantic a figure as Carlos himself, +but for his forbidding darkness, and he was a person of immense power. +The silent flittings of lights that I had just seen, the answering +signals from the luggers far out to sea, the enforced sleep of the +towns and countryside whilst his plans were working out at night, had +impressed me with a sense of awe. And his words sank into my spirit, and +made me afraid for my future. + +We followed the others downwards into a ground-floor room that was +fitted up as a barber’s shop. A rushlight was burning on a table. +Rangsley took hold of a piece of wainscotting, part of the frame of +a panel; he pulled it towards him, and, at the same moment, a glazed +show-case full of razors and brushes swung noiselessly forward with an +effect of the supernatural. A small opening, just big enough to take +a man’s body, revealed itself. We passed through it and up a sort of +tunnel. The door at the other end, which was formed of panels, had a +manger and straw crib attached to it on the outside, and let us into a +horse’s stall. We found ourselves in the stable of the inn. + +“We don’t use this passage for ourselves,” Rangsley said. “Only the most +looked up to need to--the justices and such like. But gallus birds like +you and your company, it’s best for us not to be seen in company with. +Follow my uncle now. Good-night.” + +We went into the yard, under the pillars of the town hall, across +the silent street, through a narrow passage, and down to the sea. Old +Rangsley reeled ahead of us swiftly, muttering, “Three men to be +set aboard the _Thames_... quarter past eleven. Three men to be set +aboard...” and in a few minutes we stood upon the shingle beside the +idle sea, that was nearly at the full. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +It was, I suppose, what I demanded of Fate--to be gently wafted into the +position of a hero of romance, without rough hands at my throat. It +is what we all ask, I suppose; and we get it sometimes in ten-minute +snatches. I didn’t know where I was going. It was enough for me to sail +in and out of the patches of shadow that fell from the moon right above +our heads. + +We embarked, and, as we drew further out, the land turned to a shadow, +spotted here and there with little lights. Behind us a cock crowed. The +shingle crashed at intervals beneath the feet of a large body of men. I +remembered the smugglers; but it was as if I had remembered them only +to forget them forever. Old Rangsley, who steered with the sheet in his +hand, kept up an unintelligible babble. Carlos and Castro talked under +their breaths. Along the gunwale there was a constant ripple and gurgle. +Suddenly old Rangsley began to sing; his voice was hoarse and drunken. + + “When Harol’ war in va--a--ded, + An’ fallin’, lost his crownd, + An’ Normun Willium wa--a--ded.” + +The water murmured without a pause, as if it had a million tiny facts to +communicate in very little time. And then old Rangsley hove to, to wait +for the ship, and sat half asleep, lurching over the tiller. He was +a very, unreliable scoundrel. The boat leaked like a sieve. The wind +freshened, and we three began to ask ourselves how it was going to end. +There were no lights upon the sea. + +At last, well out, a blue gleam caught our eyes; but by this time old +Rangsley was helpless, and it fell to me to manage the boat. Carlos was +of no use--he knew it, and, without saying a word, busied himself in +bailing the water out. But Castro, I was surprised to notice, knew more +than I did about a boat, and, maimed as he was, made himself useful. + +“To me it looks as if we should drown,” Carlos said at one point, very +quietly. “I am sorry for you, Juan.” + +“And for yourself, too,” I answered, feeling very hopeless, and with a +dogged grimness. + +“Just now, my young cousin, I feel as if I should not mind dying under +the water,” he remarked with a sigh, but without ceasing to bail for a +moment. + +“Ah, you are sorry to be leaving home, and your friends, and Spain, and +your fine adventures,” I answered. + +The blue flare showed a very little nearer. There was nothing to be done +but talk and wait. + +“No; England,” he answered in a tone full of meaning--“things in +England--people there. One person at least.” + +To me his words and his smile seemed to imply a bitter irony; but they +were said very earnestly. + +Castro had hauled the helpless form of old Rangsley forward. I caught +him muttering savagely: + +“I could kill that old man!” + +He did not want to be drowned; neither assuredly did I. But it was not +fear so much as a feeling of dreariness and disappointment that had come +over me, the sudden feeling that I was going not to adventure, but to +death; that here was not romance, but an end--a disenchanted surprise +that it should soon be all over. + +We kept a grim silence. Further out in the bay, we were caught in a +heavy squall. Sitting by the tiller, I got as much out of her as I knew +how. We would go as far as we could before the run was over. Carlos +bailed unceasingly, and without a word of complaint, sticking to his +self-appointed task as if in very truth he were careless of life. +A feeling came over me that this, indeed, was the elevated and the +romantic. Perhaps he was tired of his life; perhaps he really regretted +what he left behind him in England, or somewhere else--some association, +some woman. But he, at least, if we went down together, would +go gallantly, and without complaint, at the end of a life with +associations, movements, having lived and regretted. I should disappear +in-gloriously on the very threshold. + +Castro, standing up unsteadily, growled, “We may do it yet! See, señor!” + +The blue gleam was much larger--it flared smokily up towards the sky. I +made out ghastly parallelograms of a ship’s sails high above us, and at +last many faces peering unseeingly over the rail in our direction. We +all shouted together. + +I may say that it was thanks to me that we reached the ship. Our boat +went down under us whilst I was tying a rope under Carlos’ arms. He +was standing up with the baler still in his hand. On board, the women +passengers were screaming, and as I clung desperately to the rope that +was thrown me, it struck me oddly that I had never before heard so many +women’s voices at the same time. Afterwards, when I stood on the deck, +they began laughing at old Rangsley, who held forth in a thunderous +voice, punctuated by hiccoughs: + +“They carried I aboard--a cop--theer lugger and sinks I in the cold, +co--old sea.” + +It mortified me excessively that I should be tacked to his tail and +exhibited to a number of people, and I had a sudden conviction of my +small importance. I had expected something altogether different--an +audience sympathetically interested in my desire for a passage to the +West Indies; instead of which people laughed while I spoke in panting +jerks, and the water dripped out of my clothes. After I had made it +clear that I wanted to go with Carlos, and could pay for my passage, +I was handed down into the steerage, where a tallow candle burnt in +a thick, blue atmosphere. I was stripped and filled with some fiery +liquid, and fell asleep. Old Rangsley was sent ashore with the pilot. + +It was a new and strange life to me, opening there suddenly enough. The +_Thames_ was one of the usual West Indiamen; but to me even the very +ropes and spars, the sea, and the unbroken dome of the sky, had a rich +strangeness. Time passed lazily and gliding. I made more fully the +acquaintance of my companions, but seemed to know them no better. I +lived with Carlos in the cabin--Castro in the half-deck; but we were all +three pretty constantly together, and they being the only Spaniards on +board, we were more or less isolated from the other passengers. + +Looking at my companions at times, I had vague misgivings. It was as +if these two had fascinated me to the verge of some danger. Sometimes +Castro, looking up, uttered vague ejaculations. Carlos pushed his hat +back and sighed. They had preoccupations, cares, interests in which they +let me have no part. + +Castro struck me as absolutely ruffianly. His head was knotted in a red, +white-spotted handkerchief; his grizzled beard was tangled; he wore +a black and rusty cloak, ragged at the edges, and his feet were often +bare; at his side would lie his wooden right hand. As a rule, the place +of his forearm was taken by a long, thin, steel blade, that he was +forever sharpening. + +Carlos talked with me, telling me about his former life and his +adventures. The other passengers he discountenanced by a certain +coldness of manner that made me ashamed of talking to them. I respected +him so; he was so wonderful to me then. Castro I detested; but I +accepted their relationship without in the least understanding how +Carlos, with his fine grain, his high soul--I gave him credit for a +high soul--could put up with the squalid ferocity with which I credited +Castro. It seemed to hang in the air round the grotesque ragged-ness of +the saturnine brown man. + +Carlos had made Spain too hot to hold him in those tortuous intrigues of +the Army of the Faith and Bourbon troops and Italian legions. From what +I could understand, he must have played fast and loose in an insolent +manner. And there was some woman offended. There was a gayness and +gallantry in that part of it. He had known the very spirit of romance, +and now he was sailing gallantly out to take up his inheritance from +an uncle who was a great noble, owning the greater part of one of the +Intendencias of Cuba. + +“He is a very old man, I hear,” Carlos said--“a little doting, and +having need of me.” + +There were all the elements of romance about Carlos’ story--except the +actual discomforts of the ship in which we were sailing. He himself had +never been in Cuba or seen his uncle; but he had, as I have indicated, +ruined himself in one way or another in Spain, and it had come as a +God-send to him when his uncle had sent Tomas Castro to bring him to +Cuba, to the town of Rio Medio. + +“The town belongs to my uncle. He is very rich; a Grand d’Espagne ... +everything; but he is now very old, and has left Havana to die in his +palace in his own town. He has an only daughter, a Dona Seraphina, and I +suppose that if I find favour in his eyes I shall marry her, and inherit +my uncle’s great riches; I am the only one that is left of the family to +inherit.” He waved his hand and smiled a little. “_Vaya_; a little of +that great wealth would be welcome. If I had had a few pence more there +would have been none of this worry, and I should not have been on +this dirty ship in these rags.” He looked down good-humouredly at his +clothes. + +“But,” I said, “how do you come to be in a scrape at all?” + +He laughed a little proudly. + +“In a scrape?” he said. “I... I am in none. It is Tomas Castro there.” + He laughed affectionately. “He is as faithful as he is ugly,” he said; +“but I fear he has been a villain, too.... What do I know? Over there in +my uncle’s town, there are some villains--you know what I mean, one must +not speak too loudly on this ship. There is a man called O’Brien, who +mismanages my uncle’s affairs. What do I know? The good Tomas has been +in some villainy that is no affair of mine. He is a good friend and +a faithful dependent of my family’s. He certainly had that man’s +watch--the man we met by evil chance at Liverpool, a man who came from +Jamaica. He had bought it--of a bad man, perhaps, I do not ask. It was +Castro your police wished to take. But I, _bon Dieu_, do you think I +would take watches?” + +I certainly did not think he had taken a watch; but I did not relinquish +the idea that he, in a glamorous, romantic way, had been a pirate. +Rooksby had certainly hinted as much in his irritation. + +He lost none of his romantic charm in my eyes. The fact that he was +sailing in uncomfortable circumstances detracted little; nor did his +clothes, which, at the worst, were better than any I had ever had. And +he wore them with an air and a grace. He had probably been in worse +circumstances when campaigning with the Army of the Faith in Spain. +And there was certainly the uncle with the romantic title and the great +inheritance, and the cousin--the Miss Seraphina, whom he would probably +marry. I imagined him an aristocratic scapegrace, a corsair--it was the +Byronic period then--sailing out to marry a sort of shimmering princess +with hair like Veronica’s, bright golden, and a face like that of a +certain keeper’s daughter. Carlos, however, knew nothing about his +cousin; he cared little more, as far as I could tell. “What can she +be to me since I have seen your...?” he said once, and then stopped, +looking at me with a certain tender irony. He insisted, though, that his +aged uncle was in need of him. As for Castro--he and his rags came out +of a life of sturt and strife, and I hoped he might die by treachery. +He had undoubtedly been sent by the uncle across the seas to find +Carlos and bring him out of Europe; there was-something romantic in +that mission. He was now a dependent of the Riego family, but there were +unfathomable depths in that tubby little man’s past. That he had gone to +Russia at the tail of the Grande Armée, one could not help believing. He +had been most likely in the grand army of sutlers and camp-followers. +He could talk convincingly of the cold, and of the snows and his escape. +And from his allusions one could get glimpses of what he had been +before and afterwards--apparently everything that was questionable in a +secularly disturbed Europe; no doubt somewhat of a bandit; a guerrillero +in the sixes and sevens; with the Army of the Faith near the French +border, later on. + +There had been room and to spare for that sort of pike, in the muddy +waters, during the first years of the century. But the waters were +clearing, and now the good Castro had been dodging the gallows in the +Antilles or in Mexico. In his heroic moods he would swear that his +arm had been cut off at Somo Sierra; swear it with a great deal of +asseveration, making one see the Polish lancers charging the gunners, +being cut down, and his own sword arm falling suddenly. + +Carlos, however, used to declare with affectionate cynicism that the +arm had been broken by the cudgel of a Polish peasant while Castro was +trying to filch a pig from a stable.... “I cut his throat out, though,” + Castro would grumble darkly; “so, like that, and it matters very +little--it is even an improvement. See, I put on my blade. See, I +transfix you that fly there.... See how astonished he was. He did never +expect that.” He had actually impaled a crawling cockroach. He spent +his days cooking extraordinary messes, crouching for hours over a little +charcoal brazier that he lit surreptitiously in the back of his bunk, +making substitutes for eternal _gaspachos_. + +All these things, if they deepened the romance of Carlos’ career, +enhanced, also, the mystery. I asked him one day, “But why do you go to +Jamaica at all if you are bound for Cuba?” + +He looked at me, smiling a little mournfully. + +“Ah, Juan mio,” he said, “Spain is not like your England, unchanging and +stable. The party who reign to-day do not love me, and they are masters +in Cuba as in Spain. But in his province my uncle rules alone. There I +shall be safe.” He was condescending to roll some cigarettes for Tomas, +whose wooden hand incommoded him, and he tossed a fragment of tobacco to +the wind with a laugh. “In Jamaica there is a merchant, a Señor Ramon; I +have letters to him, and he shall find me a conveyance to Rio Medio, my +uncle’s town. He is an _afiliado_.” + +He laughed again. “It is not easy to enter that place, Juanino.” + +There was certainly some mystery about that town of his uncle’s. One +night I overheard him say to Castro: + +“Tell me, O my Tomas, would it be safe to take this _caballero_, my +cousin, to Rio Medio?” + +Castro paused, and then murmured gruffly: + +“Señor, unless that Irishman is consulted beforehand, or the English +lord would undertake to join with the picaroons, it is very assuredly +not safe.” + +Carlos made a little exclamation of mild astonishment. + +“_Pero?_ Is it so bad as that in my uncle’s own town?” + +Tomas muttered something that I did not catch, and then: + +“If the English _caballero_ committed indiscretions, or quarrelled--and +all these people quarrel, why, God knows--that Irish devil could hang +many persons, even myself, or take vengeance on your worship.” + +Carlos was silent as if in a reverie. At last he said: + +“But if affairs are like this, it would be well to have one more with +us. The _caballero_, my cousin, is very strong and of great courage.” + +Castro grunted, “Oh, of a courage! But as the proverb says, ‘If you set +an Englishman by a hornets’ nest they shall not remain long within.”: + +After that I avoided any allusion to Cuba, because the thing, think as +I would about it, would not grow clear. It was plain that something +illegal was going on there, or how could “that Irish devil,” whoever +he was, have power to hang Tomas and be revenged on Carlos? It did not +affect my love for Carlos, though, in the weariness of this mystery, the +passage seemed to drag a little. And it was obvious enough that Carlos +was unwilling or unable to tell anything about what pre-, occupied him. + +I had noticed an intimacy spring up between the ship’s second mate and +Tomas, who was, it seemed to me, forever engaged in long confabulations +in the man’s cabin, and, as much to make talk as for any other reason, +I asked Carlos if he had noticed his dependent’s familiarity. It was +noticeable because Castro held aloof from every other soul on board. +Carlos answered me with one of his nervous and angry smiles. + +“Ah, Juan mine, do not ask too many questions! I wish you could come +with me all the way, but I cannot tell you all I know. I do not even +myself know all. It seems that the man is going to leave the ship in +Jamaica, and has letters for that Señor Ramon, the merchant, even as I +have. _Vaya_; more I cannot tell you.” + +This struck me as curious, and a little of the whole mystery seemed from +that time to attach to the second mate, who before had been no more to +me than a long, sallow Nova Scotian, with a disagreeable intonation and +rather offensive manners. I began to watch him, desultorily, and was +rather startled by something more than a suspicion that he himself was +watching me. On one occasion in particular I seemed to observe this. The +second mate was lankily stalking the deck, his hands in his pockets. As +he paused in his walk to spit into the sea beside me, Carlos said: + +“And you, my Juan, what will you do in this Jamaica?” + +The sense that we were approaching land was already all over the ship. +The second mate leered at me enigmatically, and moved slowly away. +I said that I was going to the Horton Estates, Rooksby’s, to learn +planting under a Mr. Macdonald, the agent. Carlos shrugged his +shoulders. I suppose I had spoken with some animation. + +“Ah,” he said, with his air of great wisdom and varied experience, +of disillusionment, “it will be much the same as it has been at your +home--after the first days. Hard work and a great sameness.” He began to +cough violently. + +I said bitterly enough, “Yes. It will be always the same with me. I +shall never see life. You’ve seen all that there is to see, so I suppose +you do not mind settling down with an old uncle in a palace.” + +He answered suddenly, with a certain darkness of manner, “That is as God +wills. Who knows? Perhaps life, even in my uncle’s palace, will not be +so safe.” + +The second mate was bearing down on us again. + +I said jocularly, “Why, when I get very tired of life at Horton Pen, I +shall come to see you in your uncle’s town.” + +Carlos had another of his fits of coughing. + +“After all, we are kinsmen. I dare say you would give me a bed,” I went +on. + +The second mate was quite close to us then. + +Carlos looked at me with an expression of affection that a little shamed +my lightness of tone: + +“I love you much more than a kinsman, Juan,” he said. “I wish you could +come with me. I try to arrange it. Later, perhaps, I may be dead. I am +very ill.” + +He was undoubtedly ill. Campaigning in Spain, exposure in England in a +rainy time, and then the ducking when we came on board, had done him no +good. He looked moodily at the sea. + +“I wish you could come. I will try------” + +The mate had paused, and was listening quite unaffectedly, behind +Carlos’ back. + +A moment after Carlos half turned and regarded him with a haughty stare. + +He whistled and walked away. + +Carlos muttered something that I did not catch about “spies of that +pestilent Irishman.” Then: + +“I will not selfishly take you into any more dangers,” he said. “But +life on a sugar plantation is not fit for you.” + +I felt glad and flattered that a personage so romantic should deem me a +fit companion for himself. He went forward as if with some purpose. + +Some days afterwards the second mate sent for me to his cabin. He had +been on the sick list, and he was lying in his bunk, stripped to the +waist, one arm and one leg touching the floor. He raised himself slowly +when I came in, and spat. He had in a pronounced degree the Nova Scotian +peculiarities and accent, and after he had shaved, his face shone like +polished leather. + +“Hallo!” he said. “See heeyur, young Kemp, does your neck just _itch_ to +be stretched?” + +I looked at him with mouth and eyes agape. + +He spat again, and waved a claw towards the forward bulkhead. + +“They’ll do it for yeh,” he said. “You’re such a green goose, it makes +me sick a bit. You hevn’t reckoned out the chances, not quite. It’s a +kind of dead reckoning yeh hevn’t had call to make. Eh?” + +“What do you mean?” I asked, bewildered. + +He looked at me, grinning, half naked, with amused contempt, for quite a +long time, and at last offered sardonically to open my eyes for me. + +I said nothing. + +“Do you know what will happen to you,” he asked, “ef yeh don’t get quit +of that Carlos of yours?” + +I was surprised into muttering that I didn’t know. + +“I can tell yeh,” he continued. “Yeh will get hanged.” + +By that time I was too amazed to get angry. I simply suspected the Blue +Nose of being drunk. But he glared at me so soberly that next moment I +felt frightened. + +“Hanged by the neck,” he repeated; and then added, “Young fellow, you +scoot. Take a fool’s advice, and _scoot_. That Castro is a blame fool, +anyhow. Yeh want men for that job. Men, I tell you.” He slapped his bony +breast. + +I had no idea that he could look so ferocious. His eyes fascinated me, +and he opened his cavernous mouth as if to swallow me. His lantern jaws +snapped without a sound. He seemed to change his mind. + +“I am done with yeh,” he said, with a sort of sinister restraint. He +rose to his feet, and, turning his back to me, began to shave, squinting +into a broken looking-glass. + +I had not the slightest inkling of his meaning. I only knew that going +out of his berth was like escaping from the dark lair of a beast into +a sunlit world. There is no denying that his words, and still more his +manner, had awakened in me a sense of insecurity that had no precise +object, for it was manifestly absurd and impossible to suspect my friend +Carlos. Moreover, hanging was a danger so recondite, and an eventuality +so extravagant, as to make the whole thing ridiculous. And yet I +remembered how unhappy I felt, how inexplicably unhappy. Presently the +reason was made clear. I was homesick. I gave no further thought to the +second mate. I looked at the harbour we were entering, and thought of +the home I had left so eagerly. After all, I was no more than a boy, and +even younger in mind than in body. + +Queer-looking boats crawled between the shores like tiny water beetles. +One headed out towards us, then another. I did not want them to reach +us. It was as if I did not wish my solitude to be disturbed, and I was +not pleased with the idea of going ashore. A great ship, floating high +on the water, black and girt with the two broad yellow streaks of her +double tier of guns, glided out slowly from beyond a cluster of shipping +in the bay. She passed without a hail, going out under her topsails with +a flag at the fore. Her lofty spars overtopped our masts immensely, and +I saw the men in her rigging looking down on our decks. The only sounds +that came out of her were the piping of boatswain’s calls and the +tramping of feet. Imagining her to be going home, I felt a great desire +to be on board. Ultimately, as it turned out, I went home in that very +ship, but then it was too late. I was another man by that time, with +much queer knowledge and other desires. Whilst I was looking and longing +I heard Carlos’ voice behind me asking one of our sailors what ship it +was. + +“Don’t you know a flagship when you see it?” a voice grumbled surlily. +“Admiral Rowley’s,” it continued. Then it rumbled out some remarks about +“pirates, vermin, coast of Cuba.” + +Carlos came to the side, and looked after the man-of-war in the +distance. + +“_You_ could help us,” I heard him mutter. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +There was a lad called Barnes, a steerage passenger of about my own age, +a raw, red-headed Northumbrian yokel, going out as a recruit to one of +the West Indian regiments. He was a serious, strenuous youth, and I had +talked a little with him at odd moments. In my great loneliness I went +to say good-by to him after I had definitely parted with Carlos. + +I had been in our cabin. A great bustle of shore-going, of leave-taking +had sprung up all over the ship. Carlos and Castro had entered with a +tall, immobile, gold-spectacled Spaniard, dressed all in white, and with +a certain air of noticing and attentive deference, bowing a little as +he entered the cabin in earnest conference with Tomas Castro. Carlos had +preceded them with a certain nonchalance, and the Spaniard--it was +the Señor Ramon, the merchant I had heard of--regarded him as if with +interested curiosity. With Tomas he seemed already familiar. He stood in +the doorway, against the strong light, bowing a little. + +With a certain courtesy, touched with indifference, Carlos made him +acquainted with me. Ramon turned his searching, quietly analytic gaze +upon me. + +“But is the _caballero_ going over, too?” he asked. + +Carlos said, “No. I think not, now.” + +And at that moment the second mate, shouldering his way through a +white-clothed crowd of shore people, made up behind Señor Ramon. He held +a letter in his hand. + +“I am going over,” he said, in his high nasal voice, and with a certain +ferocity. + +Ramon looked round apprehensively. + +Carlos said, “The señor, my cousin, wishes for a Mr. Macdonald. You know +him, senor?” + +Ramon made a dry gesture of perfect acquaintance. “I think I have seen +him just now,” he said. “I will make inquiries.” + +All three of them had followed him, and became lost in the crowd. It +was then, not knowing whether I should ever see Carlos again, and with +a desperate, unhappy feeling of loneliness, that I had sought out Barnes +in the dim immensity of the steerage. + +In the square of wan light that came down the scuttle he was cording his +hair-trunk--unemotional and very matter-of-fact. He began to talk in an +everyday voice about his plans. An uncle was going to meet him, and to +house him for a day or two before he went to the barracks. + +“Mebbe we’ll meet again,” he said. “I’ll be here many years, I think.” + +He shouldered his trunk and climbed unromantically up the ladder. He +said he would look for Macdonald for me. + +It was absurd to suppose that the strange ravings of the second mate had +had an effect on me. “Hanged! Pirates!” Was Carlos really a pirate, or +Castro, his humble friend? It was vile of me to suspect Carlos. A couple +of men, meeting by the scuttle, began to talk loudly, every word coming +plainly to my ears in the stillness of my misery, and the large deserted +steerage. One of them, new from home, was asking questions. Another +answered: + +“Oh, I lost half a seroon the last voyage--the old thing.” + +“Haven’t they routed out the scoundrels yet?” the other asked. + +The first man lowered his voice. I caught only that “the admiral was an +old fool--no good for this job. He’s found out the name of the place the +pirates come from--Rio Medio. That’s the place, only he can’t get in at +it with his three-deckers. You saw his flagship?” + +Rio Medio was the name of the town to which Carlos was going--which his +uncle owned. They moved away from above. + +What was I to believe? What could this mean? But the second mate’s, +“Scoot, young man,” seemed to come to my ears like the blast of a +trumpet. I became suddenly intensely anxious to find Macdonald--to see +no more of Carlos. + +From above came suddenly a gruff voice in Spanish. “Señor, it would be a +great folly.” + +Tomas Castro was descending the ladder gingerly. He was coming to fetch +his bundle. I went hastily into the distance of the vast, dim cavern of +spare room that served for the steerage. + +“I want him very much,” Carlos said. “I like him. He would be of help to +us.” + +“It’s as your worship wills,” Castro said gruffly. They were both at +the bottom of the ladder. “But an Englishman there would work great +mischief. And this youth----” + +“I will take him, Tomas,” Carlos said, laying a hand on his arm. + +“Those others will think he is a spy. I know them,” Castro muttered. +“They will hang him, or work some devil’s mischief. You do not know that +Irish judge--the _canaille_, the friend of priests.” + +“He is very brave. He will not fear,” Carlos said. + +I came suddenly forward. “I will not go with you,” I said, before I had +reached them even. + +Castro started back as if he had been stung, and caught at the wooden +hand that sheathed his steel blade. + +“Ah, it is you, Señor,” he said, with an air of relief and dislike. +Carlos, softly and very affectionately, began inviting me to go to his +uncle’s town. His uncle, he was sure, would welcome me. Jamaica and a +planter’s life were not fit for me. + +I had not then spoken very loudly, or had not made my meaning very +clear. I felt a great desire to find Macdonald, and a simple life that I +could understand. + +“I am not going with you,” I said, very loudly this time. + +He stopped at once. Through the scuttle of the half-deck we heard a +hubbub of voices, of people exchanging greetings, of Christian names +called out joyously. A tumultuous shuffling of feet went on continuously +over our heads. The ship was crowded with people from the shore. Perhaps +Macdonald was amongst them, even looking for me. + +“Ah, _amigo mio_, but you _must_ now,” said Carlos gently--“you +must------” And, looking me straight in the face with a still, +penetrating glance of his big, romantic eyes, “It is a good life,” he +whispered seductively, “and I like you, John Kemp. You are young-very +young yet. But I love you very much for your own sake, and for the sake +of one I shall never see again.” + +He fascinated me. He was all eyes in the dusk, standing in a languid +pose just clear of the shaft of light that fell through the scuttle in a +square patch. + +I lowered my voice, too. “What life?” I asked. + +“Life in my uncle’s palace,” he said, so sweetly and persuasively that +the suggestiveness of it caused a thrill in me. + +His uncle could nominate me to posts of honour fit for a _caballero_. + +I seemed to wake up. “Your uncle the pirate!” I cried, and was amazed at +my own words. + +Tomas Castro sprang up, and placed his rough, hot hand over my lips. + +“Be quiet, John Kemp, you fool!” he hissed with sudden energy. + +He had spruced himself, but I seemed to see the rags still nutter about +him. He had combed out his beard, but I could not forget the knots that +had been in it. + +“I told your worship how foolish and wrong-headed these English are,” he +said sardonically to Carlos. And then to me, “If the senor speaks loudly +again, I shall kill him.” + +He was evidently very frightened of something. + +Carlos, silent as an apparition at the foot of the ladder, put a finger +to his lips and glanced upwards. + +Castro writhed his whole body, and I stepped backwards. “I know what Rio +Medio is,” I said, not very loudly. “It is a nest of pirates.” + +Castro crept towards me again on the points of his toes. “Señor Don Juan +Kemp, child of the devil,” he hissed, looking very much frightened, “you +must die!” + +I smiled. He was trembling all over. I could hear the talking and +laughing that went on under the break of the poop. Two women were +kissing, with little cries, near the hatchway. I could hear them +distinctly. + +Tomas Castro dropped his ragged cloak with a grandiose gesture. + +“By my hand!” he added with difficulty. + +He was really very much alarmed. Carlos was gazing up the hatch. I was +ready to laugh at the idea of dying by Tomas Castro’s hand while, within +five feet of me, people were laughing and kissing. I should have laughed +had I not suddenly felt his hand on my throat. I kicked his shins hard, +and fell backwards over a chest. He went back a step or two, flourished +his arm, beat his chest, and turned furiously upon Carlos. + +“He will get us murdered,” he said. “Do you think we are safe here? If +these people here heard that name they wouldn’t wait to ask who +your worship is. They would tear us to pieces in an instant. I tell +you--_moi_, Tomas Castro--he will ruin us, this white fool-------” + +Carlos began to cough, shaken speechless as if by an invisible devil. +Castro’s eyes ran furtively all round him, then he looked at me. He made +an extraordinary swift motion with his right hand, and I saw that he was +facing me with a long steel blade displayed. Carlos continued to cough. +The thing seemed odd, laughable still. Castro began to parade round +me: it was as if he were a cock performing its saltatory rites before +attacking. There was the same tenseness of muscle. He stepped with +extraordinary care on the points of his toes, and came to a stop about +four feet from me. I began to wonder what Rooksby would have thought of +this sort of thing, to wonder why Castro himself found it necessary to +crouch for such a long time. Up above, the hum of many people, still +laughing, still talking, faded a little out of mind. I understood, +horribly, how possible it would be to die within those few feet of them. +Castro’s eyes were dusky yellow, the pupils a great deal inflated, +the lines of his mouth very hard and drawn immensely tight. It seemed +extraordinary that he should put so much emotion into such a very easy +killing. I had my back against the bulkhead, it felt very hard against +my shoulder-blades. I had no dread, only a sort of shrinking from the +actual contact of the point, as one shrinks from being tickled. I opened +my mouth. I was going to shriek a last, despairing call, to the light +and laughter of meetings above when Carlos, still shaken, with one white +hand pressed very hard upon his chest, started forward and gripped his +hand round Castro’s steel. He began to whisper in the other’s hairy ear. +I caught: + +“You are a fool. He will not make us to be molested, he is my kinsman.” + +Castro made a reluctant gesture towards Barnes’ chest that lay between +us. + +“We could cram him into that,” he said. + +“Oh, bloodthirsty fool,” Carlos answered, recovering his breath; “is +it always necessary to wash your hands in blood? Are we not in enough +danger? Up--up! Go see if the boat is yet there. We must go quickly; +up--up-------” He waved his hand towards the scuttle. + +“But still,” Castro said. He was reluctantly fitting his wooden hand +upon the blue steel. He sent a baleful yellow glare into my eyes, and +stooped to pick up his ragged cloak. + +“Up--mount!” Carlos commanded. + +Castro muttered, “_Vamos_,” and began clumsily to climb the ladder, like +a bale of rags being hauled from above. Carlos placed his foot on the +steps, preparing to follow him. He turned his head round towards me, his +hand extended, a smile upon his lips. + +“Juan,” he said, “let us not quarrel. You are very young; you cannot +understand these things; you cannot weigh them; you have a foolish idea +in your head. I wished you to come with us because I love you, Juan. Do +you think I wish you evil? You are true and brave, and our families are +united.” He sighed suddenly. + +“I do not want to quarrel!” I said. “I don’t.” + +I did not want to quarrel; I wanted more to cry. I was very lonely, and +he was going away. Romance was going out of my life. + +He added musically, “You even do not understand. There is someone else +who speaks for you to me, always--someone else. But one day you will. I +shall come back for you--one day.” He looked at me and smiled. It +stirred unknown depths of emotion in me. I would have gone with him, +then, had he asked me. “One day,” he repeated, with an extraordinary +cadence of tone. + +His hand was grasping mine; it thrilled me like a woman’s; he stood +shaking it very gently. + +“One day,” he said, “I shall repay what I owe you. I wished you with me, +because I go into some danger. I wanted you. Good-by. _Hasta mas ver_.” + +He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek, then climbed away. I +felt that the light of Romance was going out of my life. As we reached +the top of the ladder, somebody began to call harshly, startlingly. I +heard my own name and the words, “mahn ye were speerin’ after.” + +The light was obscured, the voice began clamouring insistently. + +“John Kemp, Johnnie Kemp, noo. Here’s the mahn ye were speerin’ after. +Here’s Macdonald.” + +It was the voice of Barnes, and the voice of the every day. I discovered +that I had been tremendously upset. The pulses in my temples were +throbbing, and I wanted to shut my eyes--to sleep! I was tired; Romance +had departed. Barnes and the Macdonald he had found for me represented +all the laborious insects of the world; all the ants who are forever +hauling immensely heavy and immenlsely unimportant burdens up weary +hillocks, down steep places, getting nowhere and doing nothing. + +Nevertheless I hurried up, stumbling at the hatchway against a man who +was looking down. He said nothing at all, and I was dazed by the light. +Barnes remarked hurriedly, “This ’ll be your Mr. Macdonald”; and, +turning his back on me, forgot my existence. I felt more alone than +ever. The man in front of me held his head low, as if he wished to butt +me. + +I began breathlessly to tell him I had a letter from +“my--my--Rooksby--brother-in-law--Ralph Rooks-by”--I was panting as if I +had run a long way. He said nothing at all. I fumbled for the letter in +an inner pocket of my waistcoat, and felt very shy. Macdonald maintained +a portentous silence; his enormous body was enveloped rather than +clothed in a great volume of ill-fitting white stuff; he held in his +hand a great umbrella with a vivid green lining. His face was very pale, +and had the leaden transparency of a boiled artichoke; it was fringed +by a red beard streaked with gray, as brown flood-water is with foam. +I noticed at last that the reason for his presenting his forehead to +me was an incredible squint--a squint that gave the idea that he was +performing some tortuous and defiant feat with the muscles of his neck. + +He maintained an air of distrustful inscrutability. The hand which took +my letter was very large, very white, and looked as if it would feel +horribly flabby. With the other he put on his nose a pair of enormous +mother-of-pearl-framed spectacles--things exactly like those of a +cobra’s--and began to read. He had said precisely nothing at all. It was +for him and what he represented that I had thrown over Carlos and +what _he_ represented. I felt that I deserved to be received with +acclamation. I was not. He read the letter very deliberately, swaying, +umbrella and all, with the slow movement of a dozing elephant. Once he +crossed his eyes at me, meditatively, above the mother-of-pearl rims. He +was so slow, so deliberate, that I own I began to wonder whether Carlos +and Castro were still on board. It seemed to be at least half an +hour before Macdonald cleared his throat, with a sound resembling the +coughing of a defective pump, and a mere trickle of a voice asked: + +“Hwhat evidence have ye of identitee?” + +I hadn’t any at all, and began to finger my buttonholes as shamefaced +as a pauper before a Board. The certitude dawned upon me suddenly that +Carlos, even if he would consent to swear to me, would prejudice my +chances. + +I cannot help thinking that I came very near to being cast adrift upon +the streets of Kingston. To my asseverations Macdonald returned +nothing but a series of minute “humphs.” I don’t know what overcame his +scruples; he had shown no signs of yielding, but suddenly turning on his +heel made a motion with one of his flabby white hands. I understood it +to mean that I was to follow him aft. + +The decks were covered with a jabbering turmoil of negroes with muscular +arms and brawny shoulders. All their shining black faces seem to be +momentarily gashed open to show rows of white teeth, and were spotted +with inlaid eyeballs. The sounds coming from them were a bewildering +noise. They were hauling baggage about aimlessly. A large soft bundle +of bedding nearly took me off my legs. There wasn’t room for emotion. +Macdonald laid about him with the handle of the umbrella a few inches +from the deck; but the passage that he made for himself closed behind +him. + +Suddenly, in the pushing and hurrying, I came upon a little clear space +beside a pile of boxes. Stooping over them was the angular figure of +Nichols, the second mate. He looked up at me, screwing his yellow eyes +together. + +“Going ashore,” he asked, “’long of that Puffing Billy?” + +“What business is it of yours’” I mumbled sulkily. + +Sudden and intense threatening came into his yellow eyes: + +“Don’t you ever come to you know where,” he said; “I don’t want no spies +on what I do. There’s a man there’ll crack your little backbone if he +catches you. Don’t yeh come now. Never.” + + + + +PART SECOND -- THE GIRL WITH THE LIZARD + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +“Rio Medio?” Señor Ramon said to me nearly two years afterwards. “The +_caballero_ is pleased to give me credit for a very great knowledge. +What should I know of that town? There are doubtless good men there and +very wicked, as in other towns. Who knows? Your worship must ask the +boats’ crews that the admiral has sent to burn the town. They will be +back very soon now.” + +He looked at me, inscrutably and attentively, through his gold +spectacles. + +It was on the arcade before his store in Spanish Town. Long sunblinds +flapped slightly. Before the next door a large sign proclaimed +“Office of the _Buchatoro Journal_” It was, as I have said, after two +years--years which, as Carlos had predicted, I had found to be of hard +work, and long, hot sameness. I had come down from Horton Pen to Spanish +Town, expecting a letter from Veronica, and, the stage not being in, +had dropped in to chat with Ramon over a consignment of Yankee notions, +which he was prepared to sell at an extravagantly cheap price. It was +just at the time when Admiral Rowley was understood to be going to make +an energetic attempt upon the pirates who still infested the Gulf of +Mexico and nearly ruined the Jamaica trade of those days. Naturally +enough, we had talked of the mysterious town in which the pirates were +supposed to have their headquarters. + +“I know no more than others,” Ramon said, “save, senor, that I lose +much more because my dealings are much greater. But I do not even know +whether those who take my goods are pirates, as you English say, or +Mexican privateers, as the Havana authorities say. I do not very much +care. _Basta_, what I know is that every week some ship with a letter +of marque steals one of my consignments, and I lose many hundreds of +dollars.” + +Ramon was, indeed, one of the most frequented merchants in Jamaica; he +had stores in both Kingston and Spanish Town; his cargoes came from all +the seas. All the planters and all the official class in the island had +dealings with him. + +“It was most natural that the hidalgo, your respected cousin, should +consult me if he wished to go to any town in Cuba. Whom else should +he go to? You yourself, señor, or the excellent Mr. Topnambo, if you +desired to know what ships in a month’s time are likely to be sailing +for Havana, for New Orleans, or any Gulf port, you would ask me. What +more natural? It is my business, my trade, to know these things. In that +way I make my bread. But as for Rio Medio, I do not know the place.” He +had a touch of irony in his composed voice. “But it is very certain,” + he went on, “that if your Government had not recognized the belligerent +rights of the rebellious colony of Mexico, there would be now no letters +of marque, no accursed Mexican privateers, and I and everyone else in +the island should not now be losing thousands of dollars every year.” + +That was the eternal grievance of every Spaniard in the island--and of +not a few of the English and Scotch planters. Spain was still in +the throes of losing the Mexican colonies when Great Britain had +acknowledged the existence of a state of war and a Mexican Government. +Mexican letters of marque had immediately filled the Gulf. No kind of +shipping was safe from them, and Spain was quite honestly powerless to +prevent their swarming on the coast of Cuba--the Ever Faithful Island, +itself. + +“What can Spain do,” said Ramon bitterly, “when even your Admiral +Rowley, with his great ships, cannot rid the sea of them?” He lowered +his voice. “I tell you, young señor, that England will lose this Island +of Jamaica over this business. You yourself are a Separationist, are +you not?... No? You live with Separationists. How could I tell? Many +people say you are.” + +His words gave me a distinctly disagreeable sensation. I hadn’t any idea +of being a Separationist; I was loyal enough. But I understood suddenly, +and for the first time, how very much like one I might look. + +“I myself am nothing,” Ramon went on impassively; “I am content that the +island should remain English. It will never again be Spanish, nor do I +wish that it should. But our little, waspish friend there”--he lifted +one thin, brown hand to the sign of the _Buckatoro Journal_--“his paper +is doing much mischief. I think the admiral or the governor will commit +him to jail. He is going to run away and take his paper to Kingston; I +myself have bought his office furniture.” + +I looked at him and wondered, for all his impassivity, what he +knew--what, in the depths of his inscrutable Spanish brain, his dark +eyes concealed. + +He bowed to me a little. “There will come a very great trouble,” he +said. + +Jamaica was in those days--and remained for many years after--in the +throes of a question. The question was, of course, that of the abolition +of slavery. The planters as a rule were immensely rich and overbearing. +They said, “If the Home Government tries to abolish our slavery system, +we will abolish the Home Government, and go to the United States for +protection.” That was treason, of course; but there was so much of it +that the governor, the Duke of Manchester, had to close his ears and +pretend not to hear. The planters had another grievance--the pirates in +the Gulf of Mexico. There was one in particular, a certain El Demonio +or Diableto, who practically sealed the Florida passage; it was hardly +possible to get a cargo underwritten, and the planters’ pockets felt +it a good deal. Practically, El Demonio had, during the last two +years, gutted a ship once a week, as if he wanted to help the Kingston +Separationist papers. The planters said, “If the Home Government wishes +to meddle with our internal affairs, our slaves, let it first clear our +seas.... Let it hang El Demonio....” + +The Government had sent out one of Nelson’s old captains, Admiral +Rowley, a good fighting man; but when it came to clearing the Gulf of +Mexico, he was about as useless as a prize-fighter trying to clear a +stable of rats. I don’t suppose El Demonio really did more than a tithe +of the mischief attributed to him, but in the peculiar circumstances he +found himself elevated to the rank of an important factor in colonial +politics. The Ministerialist papers used to kill him once a month; the +Separationists made him capture one of old Rowley’s sloops five times a +year. They both lied, of course. But obviously Rowley and his frigates +weren’t much use against a pirate whom they could not catch at sea, and +who lived at the bottom of a bottle-necked creek with tooth rocks all +over the entrance--that was the sort of place Rio Medio was reported to +be.... + +I didn’t much care about either party--I was looking out for +romance--but I inclined a little to the Separationists, because +Macdonald, with whom I lived for two years at Horton Pen, was himself a +Separationist, in a cool Scotch sort of way. He was an Argyleshire man, +who had come out to the island as a lad in 1786, and had worked his way +up to the position of agent to the Rooksby estate at Horton Pen. He had +a little estate of his own, too, at the mouth of the River Minho, where +he grew rice very profitably. He had been the first man to plant it on +the island. + +Horton Pen nestled down at the foot of the tall white scars that end the +Vale of St. Thomas and are not much unlike Dover Cliffs, hanging over +a sea of squares of the green cane, alternating with masses of pimento +foliage. Macdonald’s wife was an immensely stout, raven-haired, +sloe-eyed, talkative body, the most motherly woman I have ever known--I +suppose because she was childless. + +What was anomalous in my position had passed away with the next outward +mail. Veronica wrote to me; Ralph to his attorney and the Macdonalds. +But by that time Mrs. Mac. had darned my socks ten times. + +The surrounding gentry, the large resident landowners, of whom there +remained a sprinkling in the Vale, were at first inclined to make much +of me. There was Mrs. Topnambo, a withered, very dried-up personage, who +affected pink trimmings; she gave the _ton_ to the countryside as far as +ton could be given to a society that rioted with hospitality. She +made efforts to draw me out of the Macdonald environment, to make me +differentiate myself, because I was the grandson of an earl. But the +Topnambos were the great Loyalists of the place, and the Macdonalds the +principal Separationists, and I stuck to the Macdonalds. I was searching +for romance, you see, and could find none in Mrs. Topnambo’s white +figure, with its dryish, gray skin, and pink patches round the neck, +that lay forever in dark or darkened rooms, and talked querulously of +“Your uncle, the earl,” whom I had never seen. I didn’t get on with the +men any better. They were either very dried up and querulous, too, or +else very liquorish or boisterous in an incomprehensible way. Their +evenings seemed to be a constant succession of shouts of laughter, +merging into undignified staggers of white trousers through blue +nights--round the corners of ragged huts. I never understood the hidden +sources of their humour, and I had not money enough to mix well with +their lavishness. I was too proud to be indebted to them, too. +They didn’t even acknowledge me on the road at last; they called +me poor-spirited, a thin-blooded nobleman’s cub--a Separationist +traitor--and left me to superintend niggers and save money. Mrs. Mac, +good Separationist though she was, as became the wife of her husband, +had the word “home” forever on her lips. She had once visited the +Rooksbys at Horton; she had treasured up a host of tiny things, parts +of my forgotten boyhood, and she talked of them and talked of them until +that past seemed a wholly desirable time, and the present a dull thing! + +Journeying in search of romance--and that, after all, is our business in +this world--is much like trying to catch the horizon. It lies a little +distance before us, and a little _distance behind--about as far as the +eye can carry._ One, discovers that one has passed through it just as +one passed what is to-day our horizon--One looks back and says. “Why +there it is.” One looks forward and says the same. It lies either in +the old days when we used to, or in _the new days when we shall_. I look +back upon those days of mine, and little things remain, come back to me, +assume an atmosphere, take significance, go to the making of a _temps +jadis_. Probably, when I look back upon what is the dull, arid waste of +to-day, it will be much the same. + +I could almost wish to take again one of the long, uninteresting night +rides from the Vale to Spanish Town, or to listen once more to one of +old Macdonald’s interminable harangues on the folly of Mr. Canning’s +policy, or the virtues of Scotch thrift. “Jack, lad,” he used to bellow +in his curious squeak of a voice, “a gentleman you may be of guid Scots +blood. But ye’re a puir body’s son for a’ that.” He was set on my making +money and turning honest pennies. I think he really liked me. + +It was with that idea that he introduced me to Ramon, “an esteemed +Spanish merchant of Kingston and Spanish Town.” Ramon had seemed +mysterious when I had seen him in company with Carlos and Castro but +re-introduced in the homely atmosphere of the Macdonalds, he had become +merely a saturnine, tall, dusky-featured, gold-spectacled Spaniard, and +very good company. I learnt nearly all my Spanish from him. The only +mystery about him was the extravagantly cheap rate at which he sold +his things under the flagstaff in front of Admiral Rowley’s house, the +King’s House, as it was called. The admiral himself was said to have +extensive dealings with Ramon; he had at least the reputation of +desiring to turn an honest penny, like myself. At any rate, everyone, +from the proudest planters to the editor of the _Buckatoro Journal_ +next door, was glad of a chat with Ramon, whose knowledge of an immense +variety of things was as deep as a draw-well--and as placid. + +I used to buy island produce through him, ship it to New Orleans, have +it sold, and re-import parcels of “notions,” making a double profit. He +was always ready to help me, and as ready to talk, saying that he had an +immense respect for my relations, the Riegos. + +That was how, at the end of my second year in the island, I had come to +talking to him. The stage should have brought a letter from Veronica, +who was to have presented Rooksby with a son and heir, but it was +unaccountably late. I had been twice to the coach office, and was making +my way desultorily back to Ramon’s. He was talking to the editor of the +_Buckatoro Journal_--the man from next door--and to another who had, +whilst I walked lazily across the blazing square, ridden furiously up +to the steps of the arcade. The rider was talking to both of them with +exaggerated gestures of his arms. He had ridden off, spurring, and the +editor, a little, gleaming-eyed hunchback, had remained in the sunshine, +talking excitedly to Ramon. + +I knew him well, an amusing, queer, warped, Satanic member of society, +who was a sort of nephew to the Macdonalds, and hand in glove with +all the Scotch Separationists of the island. He had started an +extraordinary, scandalous paper that, to avoid sequestration, changed +its name and offices every few issues, and was said by Loyalists, like +the Topnambos, to have an extremely bad influence. + +He subsisted a good deal on the charity of people like the Macdonalds, +and I used sometimes to catch sight of him at evenfall listening to Mrs. +Macdonald; he would be sitting beside her hammock on the veranda, his +head very much down on his breast, very much on one side, and his great +hump portending over his little white face, and ruffling up his ragged +black hair. Mrs. Macdonald clacked all the scandal of the Vale, and the +_Buckatoro Journal_ got the benefit of it all, with adornments. + +For the last month or so the Journal had been more than usually +effective, and it was only because Rowley was preparing to confound his +traducers by the boat attack on Rio Medio, that a warrant had not come +against David. When I saw him talking to Ramon, I imagined that the +rider must have brought news of a warrant, and that David was preparing +for flight. He hopped nimbly from Ramon’s steps into the obscurity of +his own door. Ramon turned his spectacles softly upon me. + +“There you have it,” he said. “The folly; the folly! To send only little +boats to attack such a nest of villains. It is inconceivable.” + +The horseman had brought news that the boats of Rowley’s squadron had +been beaten off with great loss, in their attack on Rio Medio. + +Ramon went on with an air of immense superiority, “And all the while we +merchants are losing thousands.” + +His dark eyes searched my face, and it came disagreeably into my head +that he was playing some part; that his talk was delusive, his anger +feigned; that, perhaps, he still suspected me of being a Separationist. +He went on talking about the failure of the boat attack. All Jamaica had +been talking of it, speculating about it, congratulating itself on it. +British valour was going to tell; four boats’ crews would do the trick. +And now the boats had been beaten off, the crews captured, half the men +killed! Already there was panic on the island. I could see men coming +together in little knots, talking eagerly. I didn’t like to listen +to Ramon, to a Spaniard talking in that way about the defeat of my +countrymen by his. I walked across the King’s Square, and the stage +driving up just then, I went to the office, and got my correspondence. + +Veronica’s letter came like a faint echo, like the sound of very distant +surf, heard at night; it seemed impossible that any one could be as +interested as she in the things that were happening over there. She had +had a son; one of Ralph’s aunts was its godmother. She and Ralph had +been to Bath last spring; the country wanted water very badly. Ralph had +used his influence, had explained matters to a very great personage, +had spent a little money on the injured runners. In the meanwhile I had +nearly forgotten the whole matter; it seemed to be extraordinary that +they should still be interested in it. + +I was to come back; as soon as it was safe I was to come back; that was +the main tenor of the letter. + +I read it in a little house of call, in a whitewashed room that +contained a cardboard cat labelled “The Best,” for sole ornament. Four +swarthy fellows, Mexican patriots, were talking noisily about their War +of Independence, and the exploits of a General Trapelascis, who had +been defeating the Spanish troops over there. It was almost impossible +to connect them with a world that included Veronica’s delicate +handwriting with the pencil lines erased at the base of each line of +ink. They seemed to be infinitely more real. Even Veronica’s interest +in me seemed a little strange; her desire for my return irritated me. It +was as if she had asked me to return to a state of bondage, after having +found myself. Thinking of it made me suddenly aware that I had become a +man, with a man’s aims, and a disillusionized view of life. It suddenly +appeared very wonderful that I could sit calmly there, surveying, for +instance, those four sinister fellows with daggers, as if they were +nothing at all. When I had been at home the matter would have caused +me extraordinary emotions, as many as if I had seen an elephant in a +travelling show. As for going back to my old life, it didn’t seem to be +possible. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +One night I was riding alone towards Horton Pen. A large moon hung +itself up above me like an enormous white plate. Finally the sloping +roof of the Ferry Inn, with one dishevelled palm tree drooping over it, +rose into the disk. The window lights were reflected like shaken torches +in the river. A mass of objects, picked out with white globes, loomed +in the high shadow of the inn, standing motionless. They resolved +themselves into a barouche, with four horses steaming a great deal, and +an army of negresses with bandboxes on their heads. A great lady was +on the road; her querulous voice was calling to someone within the open +door that let down a soft yellow light from the top of the precipitous +steps. A nondescript object, with apparently two horns and a wheel, +rested inert at the foot of the sign-post; two negroes were wiping their +foreheads beside it. That resolved itself into a man slumbering in a +wheelbarrow, his white face turned up to the moon. A sort of buzz of +voices came from above; then a man in European clothes was silhouetted +against the light in the doorway. He held a full glass very carefully +and started to descend. Suddenly he stopped emotionally. Then he turned +half-right and called back, “Sir Charles! Sir Charles! Here’s the very +man! I protest, the very man!” There was an interrogative roar from +within. It was like being outside a lion’s cage. + +People appeared and disappeared in front of the lighted door; windows +stood open, with heads craning out all along the inn face. I was +hurrying off the back of my horse when the admiral came out on to the +steps. Someone lit a torch, and the admiral became a dark, solid figure, +with the flash of the gold lace on his coat. He stood very high in the +leg; had small white whiskers, and a large nose that threw a vast shadow +on to his forehead in the upward light; his high collar was open, and a +mass of white appeared under his chin; his head was uncovered. A third +male face, very white, bobbed up and down beside his shining left +shoulder. He kept on saying: + +“What? what? what? Hey, what?... That man?” He appeared to be halfway +between supreme content and violent anger. At last he delivered himself. +“Let’s duck him... hey?... Let’s duck him!” He spoke with a sort of +benevolent chuckle, then raised his voice and called, “Tinsley! Tinsley! +Where the deuce is Tinsley?” + +A high nasal sound came from the carriage window. “Sir Charles! Sir +Charles! Let there be no scene in my presence, I beg.” + +I suddenly saw, halfway up, laboriously ascending the steps, a black +figure, indistinguishable at first on account of deformities. It was +David Macdonald. Since his last, really terrible comments on the failure +of the boat-attack, he had been lying hidden somewhere. It came upon me +in a flash that he was making his way from one hiding place to another. +In making his escape from Spanish Town, either to Kingston or the +Vale, he had run against the admiral and his party returning from the +Topnambos’ ball. It was hardly a coincidence: everyone on the road met +at the Ferry Inn. But that hardly made the thing more pleasant. + +Sir Charles continued to clamour for Tinsley, his flag lieutenant, who, +as a matter of fact, was the man drunk in the wheelbarrow. When this was +explained by the shouts of the negroes, he grunted, “Umph!” turned on +the man at his side, and said, “Here, Oldham; you lend a hand to duck +the little toad.” It was the sort of thing that the thirsty climate +of Jamaica rendered frequent enough. Oldham dropped his glass and +protested. Macdonald continued silently and enigmatically to climb +the steps; now he was in for it he showed plenty of pluck. No doubt +he recognized that, if the admiral made a fool of himself, he would be +afraid to issue warrants in soberness. I could not stand by and see +them bully the wretched little creature. At the same time I didn’t, most +decidedly, want to identify myself with him. + +I called out impulsively, “Sir Charles, surely you would not use +violence to a cripple.” + +Then, very suddenly, they all got to action, David Macdonald reaching +the top of the steps. Shrieks came from the interior of the carriage, +and from the waiting négresses. I saw three men were falling upon a +little thing like a damaged cat. I couldn’t stand that, come what might +of it. + +I ran hastily up the steps, hoping to be able to make them recover their +senses, a force of purely conventional emotion impelling me. It was +no business of mine; I didn’t want to interfere, and I felt like a +man hastening to separate half a dozen fighting dogs too large to be +pleasant. + +When I reached the top, there was a sort of undignified scuffle, and +in the end I found myself standing above a ghastly white gentleman who, +from a sitting posture, was gasping out, “I’ll commit you!... I swear +I’ll commit you!...” I helped him to his feet rather apologetically, +while the admiral behind me was asking insistently who the deuce I was. +The man I had picked up retreated a little, and then turned back to look +at me. The light was shining on my face, and he began to call out, “I +know him. I know him perfectly well. He’s John Kemp. I’ll commit him at +once. The papers are in the barouche.” After that he seemed to take it +into his head that I was going to assault him again. He bolted out +of sight, and I was left facing the admiral. He stared at me +contemptuously. I was streaming with perspiration and upbraiding him for +assaulting a cripple. + +The admiral said, “Oh, that’s what you think? I will settle with +you presently. This is rank mutiny.” I looked at Oldham, who was the +admiral’s secretary. He was extremely dishevelled about his neck, much +as if a monkey had been clawing him thereabouts. Half of his roll collar +flapped on his heaving chest; his stock hung down behind like a cue. +I had seen him kneeling on the ground with his head pinned down by the +hunchback. I said loftily: + +“What did you set him on a little beggar like that for? You were three +to one. What did you expect?” + +The admiral swore. Oldham began to mop with a lace handkerchief at a +damaged upper lip from which a stream of blood was running; he even +seemed to be weeping a little. Finally, he vanished in at the door, very +much bent together. The undaunted David hopped in after him coolly. + +The admiral said, “I know your kind. You’re a treasonous dog, sir. This +is mutiny. You shall be made an example of.” + +All the same he must have been ashamed of himself, for presently he and +the two others went down the steps without even looking at me, and their +carriage rolled away. + +Inside the inn I found a couple of merchant captains, one asleep with +his head on the table and little rings shining in his great red ears; +the other very spick and span--of what they called the new school then. +His name was Williams--Captain Williams of the _Lion_, which he part +owned; a man of some note for the dinners he gave on board his ship. His +eyes sparkled blue and very round in a round rosy face, and he clawed +effusively at my arm. + +“Well done!” he bubbled over. “You gave it them; strike me, you did! It +did me good to see and hear. I wasn’t going to poke my nose in, not I. +But I admire you, my boy.” + +He was a quite guileless man with a strong dislike for the admiral’s +blundering--a dislike that all the seamen shared--and for people of the +Topnambo kidney who affected to be above his dinners. He assured me that +I had burst upon those gentry roaring... “like the Bull of Bashan. You +should have seen!” and he drank my health in a glass of punch. + +David Macdonald joined us, looming through wreaths of tobacco smoke. He +was always very nice in his dress, and had washed himself into a state +of enviable coolness. + +“They won’t touch me now,” he said. “I wanted that assault and +battery....” He suddenly turned vivid, sarcastic black eyes upon me. +“But you,” he said--“my dear Kemp! You’re in a devil of a scrape! +They’ll have a warrant out against you under the Black Act. I know the +gentry.” + +“Oh, he won’t mind,” Williams struck in, “I know him; he’s a trump. +Afraid of nothing.” + +David Macdonald made a movement of his head that did duty for an ominous +shake: + +“It’s a devil of a mess,” he said. “But I’ll touch them up. Why did you +hit Topnambo? He’s the spitefullest beast in the island. They’ll make it +out high treason. They are capable of sending you home on this charge.” + +“Oh, never say die.” Williams turned to me, “Come and dine with me on +board at Kingston to-morrow night. If there’s any fuss I’ll see what I +can do. Or you can take a trip with me to Havana till it blows over. My +old woman’s on board.” His face fell. “But there, you’ll get round her. +I’ll see you through.” + +They drank some sangaree and became noisy. I wasn’t very happy; +there was much truth in what David Macdonald had said. Topnambo would +certainly do his best to have me in jail--to make an example of me as +a Separationist to please the admiral and the Duke of Manchester. Under +the spell of his liquor Williams became more and more pressing with his +offers of help. + +“It’s the devil that my missus should be on board, just this trip. But +hang it! come and dine with me. I’ll get some of the Kingston men--the +regular hot men--to stand up for you. They will when they hear the +tale.” + +There was a certain amount of sense in what he said. If warrants were +out against me, he or some of the Kingston merchants whom he knew, and +who had no cause to love the admiral, might help me a good deal. + +Accordingly, I did go down to Kingston. It happened to be the day when +the seven pirates were hanged at Port Royal Point. I had never seen a +hanging, and a man who hadn’t was rare in those days. I wanted to keep +out of the way, but it was impossible to get a boatman to row me off to +the _Lion_. They were all dying to see the show, and, half curious, half +reluctant, I let myself drift with the crowd. + +The gallows themselves stood high enough to be seen--a long very stout +beam supported by posts at each end. There was a blazing sun, and the +crowd pushed and shouted and craned its thousands of heads every time +one heard the cry of “Here they come,” for an hour or so. There was a +very limpid sky, a very limpid sea, a scattering of shipping gliding up +and down, and the very silent hills a long way away. There was a large +flavour of Spaniards among the crowd. I got into the middle of a knot of +them, jammed against the wheels of one of the carriages, standing, hands +down, on tiptoe, staring at the long scaffold. There were a great many +false alarms, sudden outcries, hushing again rather slowly. In between +I could hear someone behind me talk Spanish to the occupants of the +carriage. I thought the voice was Ramon’s, but I could not turn, and the +people in the carriage answered in French, I thought. A man was shouting +“Cool Drinks” on the other side of them. + +Finally, there was a roar, an irresistible swaying, a rattle of musket +ramrods, a rhythm of marching feet, and the grating of heavy iron-bound +wheels. Seven men appeared in sight above the heads, clinging to each +other for support, and being drawn slowly along. The little worsted +balls on the infantry shakos bobbed all round their feet. They were +a sorry-looking group, those pirates; very wild-eyed, very ragged, +dust-stained, weather-beaten, begrimed till they had the colour of +unpolished mahogany. Clinging still to each other as they stood beneath +the dangling ropes of the long beam, they had the appearance of a +group of statuary to forlorn misery. Festoons of chains completed the +“composition.” + +One was a very old man with long yellow-white hair, one a negro +whose skin had no lustre at all. The rest were very dark-skinned, +peak-bearded, and had long hair falling round their necks. A soldier +with a hammer and a small anvil climbed into the cart, and bent down out +of sight. There was a ring of iron on iron, and the man next the very +old man raised his arms and began to speak very slowly, very distinctly, +and very mournfully. It was quite easy to understand him; he declared +his perfect innocence. No one listened to him; his name was Pedro Nones. +He ceased speaking, and someone on a horse, the High Sheriff, I think, +galloped impatiently past the cart and shouted. Two men got into the +cart, one pulled the rope, the other caught the pirate by the elbows. +He jerked himself loose, and began to cry out; he seemed to be lost in +amazement, and shrieked: + +“_Adonde está el padre?... Adonde está el padre?_” No one answered; +there wasn’t a priest of any denomination; I don’t know whether the +omission was purposed. The man’s face grew convulsed with agony, his +eyeballs stared out very white and vivid, as he struggled with the two +men. He began to curse us epileptically for compassing his damnation. A +hoarse patter of Spanish imprecations came from the crowd immediately +round me. The man with the voice like Ramon’s groaned in a lamentable +way; someone else said, “What infamy ... what infamy!” + +An aged voice said tremulously in the carriage, “This shall be a matter +of official remonstrance.” Another said, “Ah, these English heretics!” + +There was a forward rush of the crowd, which carried me away. Someone +in front began to shout orders, and the crowd swayed back again. The +infantry muskets rattled. The commotion lasted some time. When it +ceased, I saw that the man about to die had been kissing the very old +man; tears were streaming down the gray, parchment-coloured cheeks. +Pedro Nones had the rope round his neck; it curved upwards loosely +towards the beam, growing taut as the cart jolted away. He shouted: + +“_Adiôs, viejo, para siempre adi------_” + +My whole body seemed to go dead all over. I happened to look downwards +at my hands; they were extraordinarily white, with the veins standing +out all over them. They felt as if they had been sodden in water, and +it was quite a long time before they recovered their natural colour. +The rest of the men were hung after that, the cart jolting a little way +backwards and forwards and growing less crowded after every journey. +One man, who was very large framed and stout, had to go through it twice +because the rope broke. He made a good deal of fuss. My head ached, and +after the involuntary straining and craning to miss no details was over, +I felt sick and dazed. The people talked a great deal as they streamed +back, loosening over the broader stretch of pebbles; they seemed to wish +to remind each other of details. I have an idea that one or two, in +the sheer largeness of heart that seizes one after occasions of popular +emotions, asked me in exulting voices if I had seen the nigger’s tongue +sticking out. + +Others thought that there wasn’t very much to be exultant over. We +had not really captured the pirates; they had been handed over to +the admiral by the Havana authorities--as an international courtesy I +suppose, or else because they were pirates of no account and short in +funds, or because the admiral had been making a fuss in front of the +Morro. It was even asserted by the anti-admiral faction that the seven +weren’t pirates at all, but merely Cuban _mauvais sujets_, hawkers of +derogatory _coplas_, and known freethinkers. In any case, excited people +cheered the High Sheriff and the returning infantry, because it was +pleasant to hang any kind of Spaniard. I got nearly knocked down by the +kettle-drummers, who came through the scattering crowd at a swinging +quick-step. As I cannoned off the drums, a hand caught at my arm, and +someone else began to speak to me. It was old Ramon, who was telling +me that he had a special kind of Manchester goods at his store. He +explained that they had arrived very lately, and that he had come from +Spanish Town solely on their account. One made the eighth of a penny a +yard more on them than on any other kind. If I would deign to have some +of it offered to my inspection, he had his little curricle just off the +road. He was drawing me gently towards it all the time, and I had not +any idea of resisting. He had been behind in the crowd, he said, beside +the carriage of the commissioner and the judge of the Marine Court sent +by the Havana authorities to deliver the pirates. + +It was after that, that in Ramon’s dusky store, I had my first sight +of Seraphina and of her father, and then came my meeting with Carlos. I +could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him come out with extended hand. +It was an extraordinary sensation, that of talking to Carlos again. He +seemed to have worn badly. His face had lost its moist bloom, its hardly +distinguishable subcutaneous flush. It had grown very, very pale. Dark +blue circles took away from the blackness and sparkle of his eyes. And +he coughed, and coughed. + +He put his arm affectionately round my shoulders and said, “How splendid +to see you again, my Juan.” His eyes had affection in them, there was no +doubt about that, but I felt vaguely suspicious of him. I remembered how +we had parted on board the _Thames_. “We can talk here,” he added; “it +is very pleasant. You shall see my uncle, that great man, the star of +Cuban law, and my cousin Seraphina, your kinsfolk. They love you; I have +spoken well of you.” He smiled gayly, and went on, “This is not a place +befitting his greatness, nor my cousin’s, nor, indeed, my own.” He +smiled again. “But I shall be very soon dead, and to me it matters +little.” He frowned a little, and then laughed. “But you should have +seen the faces of your officers when my uncle refused to go to their +governor’s palace; there was to have been a _fiesta_, a ‘reception’; is +it not the word? It will cause a great scandal.” + +He smiled with a good deal of fine malice, and looked as if he expected +me to be pleased. I said that I did not quite understand what had +offended his uncle. + +“Oh, it was because there was no priest,” Carlos answered, “when those +poor devils were hung. They were _canaille_. Yes; but one gives that +much even to such. And my uncle was there in his official capacity as a +a plenipotentiary. He was very much distressed: we were all. You heard, +my uncle himself had advised their being surrendered to your English. +And when there was no priest he repented very bitterly. Why, after all, +it was an infamy.” + +He paused again, and leant back against the counter. When his eyes +were upon the ground and his face not animated by talking, there became +lamentably insistent his pallor, the deep shadows under his eyes, and +infinite sadness in the droop of his features, as if he were preoccupied +by an all-pervading and hopeless grief. When he looked at me, he smiled, +however. + +“Well, at worst it is over, and my uncle is here in this dirty place +instead of at your palace. We sail back to Cuba this very evening.” He +looked round him at Ramon’s calicos and sugar tubs in the dim light, as +if he accepted almost incredulously the fact that they could be in +such a place, and the manner of his voice indicated that he thought +our governor’s palace would have been hardly less barbarous. “But I +am sorry,” he said suddenly, “because I wanted you--you and all your +countrymen--to make a good impression on him. You must do it yourself +alone. And you will. You are not like these others. You are our kinsman, +and I have praised you very much. You saved my life.” + +I began to say that I had done nothing at all, but he waved his hand +with a little smile. + +“You are very brave,” he said, as if to silence me. “I am not +ungrateful.” + +He began again to ask for news from home--from my home. I told him that +Veronica had a baby, and he sighed. + +“She married the excellent Rooksby?” he asked. “Ah, what a waste.” He +relapsed into silence again. “There was no woman in your land like her. +She might have------- And to marry that--that excellent personage, my +good cousin. It is a tragedy.” + +“It was a very good match,” I answered. + +He sighed again. “My uncle is asleep in there, now,” he said, after a +pause, pointing at the inner door. “We must not wake him; he is a very +old man. You do not mind talking to me? You will wait to see them? Dona +Seraphina is here, too.” + +“You have not married your cousin?” I asked. + +I wanted very much to see the young girl who had looked at me for a +moment, and I certainly should have been distressed if Carlos had said +she was married. + +He answered, “What would you have?” and shrugged his shoulders gently. A +smile came into his face. “She is very willful. I did not please her, I +do not know why. Perhaps she has seen too many men like me.” + +He told me that, when he reached Cuba, after parting with me on the +_Thames_, his uncle, “in spite of certain influences,” had received +him quite naturally as his heir, and the future head of the family. But +Seraphina, whom by the laws of convenience he ought to have married, had +quite calmly refused him. + +“I did not impress her; she is romantic. She wanted a very bold man, a +Cid, something that it is not easy to have.” + +He paused again, and looked at me with some sort of challenge in his +eyes. + +“She could have met no one better than you,” I said. + +He waved his hand a little. “Oh, for that-------” he said deprecatingly. +“Besides, I am dying. I have never been well since I went into your cold +sea, over there, after we left your sister. You remember how I coughed +on board that miserable ship.” + +I did remember it very well. + +He went to the inner door, looked in, and then came back to me. + +“Seraphina needs a guide--a controller--someone very strong and gentle, +and kind and brave. My uncle will never ask her to marry against her +wish; he is too old and has too little will. And for any man who would +marry her--except one--there would be great dangers, for her and for +him. It would need a cool man, and a brave man, and a good one, too, to +hazard, perhaps even life, for her sake. She will be very rich. All +our lands, all our towns, all our gold.” There was a suggestion of +fabulousness in his dreamy voice. “They shall never be mine,” he added. +“_Vaya_.” + +He looked at me with his piercing eyes set to an expression that +might have been gentle mockery. At any rate, it also contained intense +scrutiny, and, perhaps, a little of appeal. I sighed myself. + +“There is a man called O’Brien in there,” he said. “He does us the +honour to pretend to my cousin’s hand.” + +I felt singularly angry. “Well, he’s not a Spaniard,” I said. + +Carlos answered mockingly, “Oh, for Spaniard, no. He is a descendant of +the Irish kings.” + +“He’s an adventurer,” I said. “You ought to be on your guard. You don’t +know these bog-trotting fortune-hunters. They’re the laughter of Europe, +kings and all.” + +Carlos smiled again. “He’s a very dangerous man for all that,” he said. +“I should not advise any one to come to Rio Medio, my uncle’s town, +without making a friend of the Señor O’Brien.” + +He went once more to the inner door, and, after a moment’s whispering +with someone within, returned to me. + +“My uncle still sleeps,” he said. “I must keep you a little longer. Ah, +yes, the Señor O’Brien. He shall marry my cousin, I think, when I am +dead.” + +“You don’t know these fellows,” I said. + +“Oh, I know them very well,” Carlos smiled, “there are many of them at +Havana. They came there after what they call the ’98, when there was +great rebellion in Ireland, and many good Catholics were killed and +ruined.” + +“Then he’s a rebel, and ought to be hung,” I said. + +Carlos laughed as of old. “It may be, but, my good Juan, we Christians +do not see eye to eye with you. This man rebelled against your +government, but, also, he suffered for the true faith. He is a good +Catholic; he has suffered for it; and in the Ever Faithful Island, that +is a passport. He has climbed very high; he is a judge of the Marine +Court at Havana. That is why he is here to-day, attending my uncle in +this affair of delivering up the pirates. My uncle loves him very much. +O’Brien was at first my uncle’s clerk, and my uncle made him a _juez_, +and he is also the intendant of my uncle’s estates, and he has a great +influence in my uncle’s town of Rio Medio. I tell you, if you come to +visit us, it will be as well to be on good terms with the Señor Juez +O’Brien. My uncle is a very old man, and if I die before him, this +O’Brien, I think, will end by marrying my cousin, because my poor uncle +is very much in his hands. There are other pretenders, but they have +little chance, because it is so very dangerous to come to my uncle’s +town of Rio Medio, on account of this man’s intrigues and of his power +with the populace.” + +I looked at Carlos intently. The name of the town had seemed to be +familiar to me. Now I suddenly remembered that it was where Nicolas +el Demonio, the pirate who was so famous as to be almost mythical, had +beaten off Admiral Rowley’s boats. + +“Come, you had better see this Irish hidalgo who wants to do us so much +honour,”--he gave an inscrutable glance at me,--“but do not talk loudly +till my uncle wakes.” + +He threw the door open. I followed him into the room, where the vision +of the ancient Don and the charming apparition of the young girl had +retreated only a few moments before. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +The room was very lofty and coldly dim; there were great bars in front +of the begrimed windows. It was very bare, containing only a long black +table, some packing cases, and half a dozen rocking chairs. Of these, +five were very new and one very old, black and heavy, with a green +leather seat and a coat of arms worked on its back cushions. There +were little heaps of mahogany sawdust here and there on the dirty tiled +floor, and a pile of sacking in one corner. Beneath a window the flap +of an open trap-door half hid a large green damp-stain; a deep recess +in the wall yawned like a cavern, and had two or three tubs in the +right corner; a man with a blond head, slightly bald as if he had been +tonsured, was rocking gently in one of the new chairs. + +Opposite him, with his aged face towards us, sat the old Don asleep in +the high chair. His delicate white hands lay along the arms, one of them +holding a gold vinaigrette; his black, silver-headed cane was between +his silk-stockinged legs. The diamond buckles of his shoes shot out +little vivid rays, even in that gloomy place. The young girl was sitting +with her hands to her temples and her elbows on the long table, minutely +examining the motionlessness of a baby lizard, a tiny thing with golden +eyes, whom fear seemed to have turned into stone. + +We entered quietly, and after a moment she looked up candidly into my +eyes, and placed her finger on her lips, motioning her head towards her +father. She placed her hand in mine, and whispered very clearly: + +“Be welcome, my English cousin,” and then dropped her eyes again to the +lizard. + +She knew all about me from Carlos. The man of whom I had seen only the +top of his head, turned his chair suddenly and glinted at me with little +blue eyes. He was rather small and round, with very firm flesh, and very +white, plump hands. He was dressed in the black clothes of a Spanish +judge. On his round face there was always a smile like that which +hangs around the jaws of a pike--only more humorous. He bowed a little +exaggeratedly to me and said: + +“Ah, ye are that famous Mr. Kemp.” + +I said that I imagined him the more famous Señor Juez O’Brien. + +“It’s little use saying ye arren’t famous,” he said. His voice had the +faint, infinitely sweet twang of certain Irishry; a thing as delicate +and intangible as the scent of lime flowers. “Our noble friend”--he +indicated Carlos with a little flutter of one white hand--“has told me +what make of a dare-devil gallant ye are; breaking the skulls of half +the Bow Street runners for the sake of a friend in distress. Well, +I honour ye for it; I’ve done as much myself.” He added, “In the old +days,” and sighed. + +“You mean in the ’98,” I said, a little insolently. + +O’Brien’s eyes twinkled. He had, as a matter of fact, nearly lost his +neck in the Irish fiasco, either in Clonmel or Sligo, bolting violently +from the English dragoons, in the mist, to a French man-of-war’s boats +in the bay. To him, even though he was now a judge in Cuba, it was an +episode of heroism of youth--of romance, in fact. So that, probably, he +did not resent my mention of it. I certainly wanted to resent something +that was slighting in his voice, and patronizing in his manner. + +The old Don slumbered placidly, his face turned up to the distant +begrimed ceiling. + +“Now, I’ll make you a fair offer,” O’Brien said suddenly, after an +intent study of the insolent glance that I gave him. I disliked him +because I knew nothing about the sort of man he was. He was, as a matter +of fact, more alien to me than Carlos. And he gave me the impression +that, if perhaps he were not absolutely the better man, he could still +make a fool of me, or at least make me look like a fool. + +“I’m told you are a Separationist,” he said. “Well, it’s like me. I am +an Irishman; there has been a price on my head in another island. And +there are warrants out against you here for assaulting the admiral. We +can work together, and there’s nothing low in what I have in mind for +you.” + +He had heard frequently from Carlos that I was a desperate and +aristocratically lawless young man, who had lived in a district entirely +given up to desperate and murderous smugglers. But this was the first I +had heard definitely of warrants against me in Jamaica. That, no +doubt, he had heard from Ramon, who knew everything. In all this little +sardonic Irishman said to me, it seemed the only thing worth attention. +It stuck in my mind while, in persuasive tones, and with airy fluency, +he discoursed of the profits that could be made, nowadays, in arming +privateers under the Mexican flag. He told me I needn’t be surprised +at their being fitted out in a Spanish colony. “There’s more than one +aspect to disloyalty like this,” said he dispassionately, but with a +quick wink contrasting with his tone. + +Spain resented our recognition of their rebellious colonies. And with +the same cool persuasiveness, relieved by humorous smiles, he explained +that the loyal Spaniards of the Ever Faithful Island thought there was +no sin in doing harm to the English, even under the Mexican flag, whose +legal existence they did not recognize. + +“Mind ye, it’s an organized thing, I have something to say in it. It +hurts Mr. Canning’s Government at home, the curse of Cromwell on him and +them. They will be dropping some of their own colonies directly. And as +you are a Separationist, small blame to you, and I am an Irishman, we +shan’t cry our eyes out over it. Come, Mr. Kemp, ’tis all for the good +of the Cause.... And there’s nothing _low_. You are a gentleman, and I +wouldn’t propose anything that was. The very best people in Havana are +interested in the matter. Our schooners lie in Rio Medio, but I can’t be +there all the time myself.” + +Surprise deprived me of speech. I glanced at Carlos. He was watching us +inscrutably. The young girl touched the lizard gently, but it was too +frightened to move. O’Brien, with shrewd glances, rocked his chair.... +What did I want? he inquired. To see life? What he proposed was the +life for a fine young fellow like me. Moreover, I was half Scotch. Had I +forgotten the wrongs of my own country? Had I forgotten the ’45? + +“You’ll have heard tell of a Scotch Chief Justice whose son spent +in Amsterdam the money his father earned on the justice seat in +Edinb’ro’--money paid for rum and run silks ...” + +Of course I had heard of it; everybody had; but it had been some years +before. + +“We’re backwards hereabouts,” O’Brien jeered. “But over there they +winked and chuckled at the judge, and they do the same in Havana at us.” + +Suddenly from behind us the voice of the young girl said, “Of what do +you discourse, my English cousin?” + +O’Brien interposed deferentially. “Señorita, I ask him to come to Rio,” + he said. + +She turned her large dark eyes scrutinizingly upon me, then dropped them +again. She was arranging some melon seeds in a rayed circle round the +lizard that looked motionlessly at her. + +“Do not speak very loudly, lest you awaken my father,” she warned us. + +The old Don’s face was still turned to the ceiling. Carlos, standing +behind his chair, opened his mouth a little in a half smile. I was +really angry with O’Brien by that time, with his air of omniscience, +superiority, and self-content, as if he were talking to a child or +someone very credulous and weak-minded. + +“What right have you to speak for me, Señor Juez?” I said in the best +Spanish I could. + +The young girl looked at me once more, and then again looked down. + +“Oh, I can speak for you,” he answered in English, “because I know. Your +position’s this.” He sat down in his rocking chair, crossed his legs, +and looked at me as if he expected me to show signs of astonishment at +his knowing so much. “You’re in a hole. You must leave this island of +Jamaica--surely it’s as distressful as my own dear land--and you can’t +go home, because the runners would be after you. You’re ‘wanted’ here as +well as there, and you’ve nowhere to go.” + +I looked at him, quite startled by this view of my case. He extended one +plump hand towards me, and still further lowered his voice. + +“Now, I offer you a good berth, a snug berth. And ’tis a pretty spot.” + He got a sort of languorous honey into his voice, and drawled out, +“The--the Señorita’s.” He took an air of businesslike candour. “You can +help us, and we you; we could do without you better than you without us. +Our undertaking--there’s big names in it, just as in the Free Trading +you know so well, don’t be saying you don’t--is worked from Havana. What +we need is a man we can trust. We had one--Nichols. You remember the +mate of the ship you came over in. He was Nicola el Demonio; he won’t be +any longer--I can’t tell you why, it’s too long a story.” + +I did remember very vividly that cadaverous Nova Scotian mate of the +_Thames_, who had warned me with truculent menaces against showing +my face in Rio Medio. I remembered his sallow, shiny cheeks, and the +exaggerated gestures of his claw-like hands. + +O’Brien smiled. “Nichols is alive right enough, but no more good than if +he were dead. And that’s the truth. He pretends his nerve’s gone; he was +a devil among tailors for a time, but he’s taken to crying now. It was +when your blundering old admiral’s boats had to be beaten off that +his zeal cooled. He thinks the British Government will rise in its +strength.” There was a bitter contempt in his voice, but he regained +his calm business tone. “It will do nothing of the sort. I’ve given them +those seven poor devils that had to die to-day without absolution. So +Nichols is done for, as far as we are concerned. I’ve got him put away +to keep him from blabbing. You can have his place--and better than his +place. He was only a sailor, which you are not. However, you know enough +of ships, and what we want is a man with courage, of course, but also a +man we can trust. Any of the Creoles would bolt into the bush the moment +they’d five dollars in hand. We’ll pay you well; a large share of all +you take.” + +I laughed outright. “You’re quite mistaken in your man,” I said. “You +are, really.” + +He shook his head gently, and brushed an invisible speck from his plump +black knees. + +“You _must_ go somewhere,” he said. “Why not go with us?” + +I looked at him, puzzled by his tenacity and assurance. + +“Ramon here has told us you battered the admiral last night; and there’s +a warrant out already against you for attempted murder. You’re hand and +glove with the best of the Separationists in this island, I know, but +they won’t save you from being committed--for rebellion, perhaps. You +know it as well as I do. You were down here to take a passage to-day, +weren’t you, now?” + +I remembered that the Island Loyalists said that the pirates and +Separationists worked together to bother the admiral and raise +discontent. Living in the centre of Separationist discontent with the +Macdonalds, I knew it was not true. But nothing was too bad to say +against the planters who clamoured for union with the United States. + +O’Brien leaned forward. His voice had a note of disdain, and then took +one of deeper earnestness; it sank into his chest. He extended his hand; +his eyebrows twitched. He looked--he was--a conspirator. + +“I tell you I do it for the sake of Ireland,” he said passionately. +“Every ship we take, every clamour they raise here, is a stroke and is +disgrace for them over there that have murdered us and ruined my own +dear land.” His face worked convulsively; I was in the presence of one +of the primeval passions. But he grew calm immediately after. “_You_ +want Separation for reasons of your own. I don’t ask what they are. No +doubt you and your crony Macdonald and the rest of them will feather +your own nests; I don’t ask. But help me to be a thorn in their +sides--just a little--just a little longer. What do I put in your way? +Just what you want. Have your Jamaica joined to the United States. +You’ll be able to come back with your pockets full, and I’ll be +joyful--for the sake of my own dear land.” + +I said suddenly and recklessly--if I had to face one race-passion, he +had to look at another; we were cat and dog--Celt and Saxon, as it was +in the beginning: “I am not a traitor to my country.” Then I realized +with sudden concern that I had probably awakened the old Don. He stirred +uneasily in his chair, and lifted one hand. + +“The moment I go out from here I’ll denounce you,” I said very low; “I +swear I will. You’re here; you can’t get away; you’ll swing.” + +O’Brien started. His eyes blazed at me. Then he frowned. “I’ve been +misled,” he muttered, with a dark glance at Carlos. And recovering his +jocular serenity, “Ye mean it?” he asked; “it’s not British heroics?” + +The old Don stirred again and sighed. The young girl glided swiftly to +his side. “Señor O’Brien,” she said, “you have so irritated my English +cousin that he has awakened my father.” + +O’Brien grinned gently. “’Tis ever the way,” he said sardonically. “The +English fools do the harm and the Irish fool gets the kicking.” He rose +to his feet, quite collected, a spick-and-span little man. “I suppose +I’ve said too much. Well, well! You are going to denounce the senior +judge of the Marine Court of Havana as a pirate. I wonder who will +believe you!” He went behind the old Don’s chair with the gliding motion +of a Spanish lawyer, and slipped down the open trap-hatch near the +window. + +It was the disappearance of a shadow. I heard some guttural mutterings +come up through the hatch, a rustling, then silence. If he was afraid +of me at all he carried it off very well. I apologized to the young girl +for having awakened her father. Her colour was very high, and her eyes +sparkled. If she had not been so very beautiful I should have gone away +at once. She said angrily: + +“He is odious to me, the Señor Juez. Too long my father has suffered his +insolence.” She was very small, but she had an extraordinary dignity of +command. “I could see, Señor, that he was annoying you. Why should you +consider such a creature?” Her head drooped. “But my father is very +old.” + +I turned upon Carlos, who stood all black in the light of the window. + +“Why did you make me meet him? He may be a judge of your Marine Court, +but he’s nothing but a scoundrelly bog-trotter.” + +Carlos said a little haughtily, “You must not denounce him. You should +not leave this place if I feared you would try thus to bring dishonour +on this gray head, and involve this young girl in a public scandal.” His +manner became soft. “For the honour of the house you shall say nothing. +And you shall come with us. I need you.” + +I was full of mistrust now. If he did countenance this unlawful +enterprise, whose headquarters were in Rio Medio, he was not the man +for me. Though it was big enough to be made, by the papers at home, +of political importance, it was, after all, neither more nor less +than piracy. The idea of my turning a sort of Irish traitor was so +extravagantly outrageous that now I could smile at the imbecility of +that fellow O’Brien. As to turning into a sea-thief for lucre--my blood +boiled. + +No. There was something else there. Something deep; something dangerous; +some intrigue, that I could not conceive even the first notion of. But +that Carlos wanted anxiously to make use of me for some purpose was +clear. I was mystified to the point of forgetting how heavily I was +compromised even in Jamaica, though it was worth remembering, because +at that time an indictment for rebellion--under the Black Act--was no +joking matter. I might be sent home under arrest; and even then, there +was my affair with the runners. + +“It is coming to pay a visit,” he was saying persuasively, “while your +affair here blows over, my Juan--and--and--making my last hours easy, +perhaps.” + +I looked at him; he was worn to a shadow--a shadow with dark wistful +eyes. “I don’t understand you,” I faltered. + +The old man stirred, opened his lids, and put a gold vinaigrette to his +nostrils. + +“Of course I shall not denounce O’Brien,” I said. “I, too, respect the +honour of your house.” + +“You are even better than I thought you. And if I entreat you, for the +love of your mother--of your sister? Juan, it is not for myself, it +is------” + +The young girl was pouring some drops from a green phial into a silver +goblet; she passed close to us, and handed it to her father, who had +leant a little forward in his chair. Every movement of hers affected me +with an intimate joy; it was as if I had been waiting to see just that +carriage of the neck, just that proud glance from the eyes, just that +droop of eyelashes upon the cheeks, for years and years. + +“No, I shall hold my tongue, and that’s enough,” I said. + +At that moment the old Don sat up and cleared his throat. Carlos +sprang towards him with an infinite grace of tender obsequiousness. He +mentioned my name and the relationship, then rehearsed the innumerable +titles of his uncle, ending “and patron of the Bishopric of Pinar del +Rio.” + +I stood stiffly in front of the old man. He bowed his head at intervals, +holding the silver cup carefully whilst his chair rocked a little. When +Carlos’ mellow voice had finished the rehearsing of the sonorous styles, +I mumbled something about “transcendent honour.” + +He stopped me with a little, deferentially peremptory gesture of one +hand, and began to speak, smiling with a contraction of the lips and a +trembling of the head. His voice was very low, and quavered slightly, +but every syllable was enunciated with the same beauty of clearness that +there was in his features, in his hands, in his ancient gestures. + +“The honour is to me,” he said, “and the pleasure. I behold my kinsman, +who, with great heroism, I am told, rescued my dearly loved nephew from +great dangers; it is an honour to me to be able to give him thanks. My +beloved and lamented sister contracted a union with an English hidalgo, +through whose house your own very honourable family is allied to my own; +it is a pleasure to me to meet after many years with one who has seen +the places where her later life was passed.” + +He paused, and breathed with some difficulty, as if the speech had +exhausted him. Afterwards he began to ask me questions about Rooksby’s +aunt--the lamented sister of his speech. He had loved her greatly, he +said. I knew next to nothing about her, and his fine smile and courtly, +aged, deferential manners made me very nervous. I felt as if I had been +taken to pay a ceremonial visit to a supreme pontiff in his dotage. He +spoke about Horton Priory with some animation for a little while, and +then faltered, and forgot what he was speaking of. Suddenly he said: + +“But where is O’Brien? Did he write to the Governor here? I should like +you to know the Señor O’Brien. He is a spiritual man.” + +I forbore to say that I had already seen O’Brien, and the old man sank +into complete silence. It was beginning to grow dark, and the noise of +suppressed voices came from the open trap-door. Nobody said anything. + +I felt a sort of uneasiness; I could by no means understand the +connection between the old Don and what had gone before, and I did not, +in a purely conventional sense, know how long I ought to stop. The sky +through the barred windows had grown pallid. + +The old Don said suddenly, “You must visit my poor town of Rio Medio,” + but he gave no specific invitation and said nothing more. + +Afterwards he asked, rather querulously, “But where is O’Brien? He must +write those letters for me.” + +The young girl said, “He has preceded us to the ship; he will write +there.” + +She had gone back to her seat. Don Balthasar shrugged his shoulders to +his ears, and moved his hands from his knees. + +“Without doubt, he knows best,” he said, “but he should ask me.” + +It grew darker still; the old Don seemed to have fallen asleep again. +Save for the gleam of the silver buckle of his hat, he had disappeared +into the gloom of the place. I remembered my engagement to dine with +Williams on board the _Lion_, and I rose to my feet. There did not seem +to be any chance of my talking to the young girl. She was once more +leaning nonchalantly over the lizard, and her hair drooped right across +her face like clusters of grapes. There was a gleam on a little piece +of white forehead, and all around and about her there were shadows +deepening. Carlos came concernedly towards me as I looked at the door. + +“But you must not go yet,” he said a little suavely; “I have many things +to say. Tell me----” + +His manner heightened my uneasiness to a fear. The expression of his +eyes changed, and they became fixed over my shoulder, while on his lips +the words “You must come, you must come,” trembled, hardly audible. I +could only shake my head. At once he stepped back as if resigning. +He was giving me up--and it occurred to me that if the danger of his +seduction was over, there remained the danger of arrest just outside the +door. + +Some one behind me said peremptorily, “It is time,” and there was a +flickering diminution of the light. I had a faint instantaneous view of +the old Don dozing, with his head back--of the tall windows, cut up into +squares by the black bars. Something hairily coarse ran harshly down +my face; I grew blind; my mouth, my eyes, my nostrils were filled with +dust; my breath shut in upon me became a flood of warm air. I had no +time to resist. I kicked my legs convulsively; my elbows were drawn +tight against my sides. Someone grunted under my weight; then I was +carried--down, along, up, down again; my feet were knocking along a +wall, and the top of my head rubbed occasionally against what must have +been the roof of a low stone passage, issuing from under the back room +of Ramon’s store. Finally, I was dropped upon something that felt like +a heap of wood-shavings. My surprise, rage, and horror had been so great +that, after the first stifled cry, I had made no sound. I heard the +footsteps of several men going away. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +I remained lying there, bound hand and foot, for a long time; for quite +long enough to allow me to collect my senses and see that I had been a +fool to threaten O’Brien. I had been nobly indignant, and behold! I +had a sack thrown over my head for my pains, and was put away safely +somewhere or other. It seemed to be a cellar. + +I was in search of romance, and here were all the elements; Spaniards, +a conspirator, and a kidnapping; but I couldn’t feel a fool and +romantic as well. True romance, I suppose, needs a whirl of emotions to +extinguish all the senses except that of sight, which it dims. Except +for sight, which I hadn’t at all, I had the use of them all, and all +reported unpleasant things. + +I ached and smarted with my head in a sack, with my mouth full of +flour that had gone mouldy and offended my nostrils; I had a sense of +ignominy, and I was extremely angry; I could see that the old Don was in +his dotage--but Carlos I was bitter against. + +I was not really afraid; I could not suppose that the Riegos would allow +me to be murdered or seriously maltreated. But I was incensed against +Fate or Chance or whatever it is--on account of the ignominious details, +the coarse sack, the mouldy flour, the stones of the tunnel that +had barked my shins, the tightness of the ropes that bound my ankles +together, and seemed to cut into my wrists behind my back. + +I waited, and my fury grew in a dead silence. How would it end--with +what outrage? I would show my contempt and preserve my dignity by +submitting without a struggle--I despised this odious plot. At last +there were voices, footsteps; I found it very hard to carry out my +resolution and refrain from stifled cries and kicks. I was lifted up and +carried, like a corpse, with many stumbles, by men who sometimes growled +as they hastened along. From time to time somebody murmured, “Take +care.” Then I was deposited into a boat. The world seemed to be swaying, +splashing, jarring--and it became obvious to me that I was being taken +to some ship. The Spanish ship, of course. Suddenly I broke into cold +perspiration at the thought that, after all, their purpose might be +to drop me quickly overboard. “Carlos!” I cried. I felt the point of a +knife on my breast. “Silence, Señor!” said a gruff voice. + +This fear vanished when we came alongside a ship evidently already under +way; but I was handled so roughly and clumsily that I was thoroughly +exhausted and out of breath, by the time I was got on board. All was +still around me; I was left alone on a settee in the main cabin, as I +imagined. For a long time I made no movement; then a door opened and +shut. There was a murmured conversation between two voices. This went +on in animated whispers for a time. At last I felt as if someone were +trying, rather ineffectually, to remove the sack itself. Finally, that +actually did rub its way over my head, and something soft and silken +began to wipe my eyes with a surprising care, and even tenderness. “This +was stupidly done,” came a discontented remark; “you do not handle a +_caballero_ like this.” + +“And how else was it to be done, to that kind of _caballero?_” was the +curt retort. + +By that time I had blinked my eyes into a condition for remaining open +for minute stretches. Two men were bending over me--Carlos and O’Brien +himself. The latter said: + +“Believe me, your mistake made this necessary. This young gentleman was +about to become singularly inconvenient, and he is in no way harmed.” + +He spoke in a velvety voice, and walked away gently through the +darkness. Carlos followed with the lanthorn dangling at arm’s length; +strangely enough he had not even looked at me. I suppose he was ashamed, +and I was too proud to speak to him, with my hands and feet tied fast. +The door closed, and I remained sitting in the darkness. Long small +windows grew into light at one end of the place, curved into an outline +that suggested a deep recess. The figure of a crowned woman, that moved +rigidly up and down, was silhouetted over my body. Groaning creaks of +wood and the faint swish of water made themselves heard continuously. + +I turned my head to a click, I saw a door open a little way, and the +small blue flame of a taper floated into the room. Then the door closed +with a definite sound of shutting in. The light shone redly through +protecting fingers, and upwards on to a small face. It came to a halt, +and I made out the figure of a girl leaning across a table and looking +upwards. There was a click of glass, and then a great blaze of light +created a host of shining things; a glitter of gilded carvings, red +velvet couches, a shining table, a low ceiling, painted white, on carved +rafters. A large silver lamp she had lighted kept on swinging to the +gentle motion of the ship. + +She stood just in front of me; the girl that I had seen through the +door; the girl I had seen play with the melon seeds. She was breathing +fast--it agitated me to be alone with her--and she had a little shining +dagger in her hand. + +She cut the rope round my ankles, and motioned me imperiously to turn +round. “Your hands--your hands!” + +I turned my back awkwardly to her, and felt the grip of small, cool, +very firm fingers upon my wrists. My arms fell apart, numb and perfectly +useless; I was half aware of pain in them, but it passed unnoticed among +a cloud of other emotions. I didn’t feel my finger-tips because I had +the agitation, the flutter, the tantalization of looking at her. + +I was all the while conscious of the--say, the irregularity of my +position, but I felt very little fear. There were the old Don, an +ineffectual, silver-haired old gentleman, who obviously was not a +pirate; the sleek O’Brien, and Carlos, who seemed to cough on the edge +of a grave--and this young girl. There was not any future that I could +conceive, and the past seemed to be cut off from me by a narrow, very +dark tunnel through which I could see nothing at all. + +The young girl was, for the moment, what counted most on the whole, +the only thing the eye could rest on. She affected me as an apparition +familiar, yet absolutely new in her charm. I had seen her gray eyes; I +had seen her red lips; her dark hair, her lithe gestures; the carriage +of her head; her throat, her hands. I knew her; I seemed to have known +her for years. A rush of strange, sweet feeling made me dumb. She was +looking at me, her lips set, her eyes wide and still; and suddenly she +said: + +“Ask nothing. The land is not far yet. You can escape, Carlos +thought.... But no! You would only perish for nothing. Go with God.” She +pointed imperiously towards the square stern-ports of the cabin. + +Following the direction of her hand, my eyes fell upon the image of a +Madonna; rather large--perhaps a third life-size; with a gilt crown, +a pink serious face bent a little forward over a pink naked child that +perched on her left arm and raised one hand. It stood on a bracket, +against the rudder casing, with fat cherubs’ heads carved on the +supports. The young girl crossed herself with a swift motion of the +hand. The stern-ports, glazed in small panes, were black, and gleaming +in a white frame-work. + +“Go--go--go with God,” the girl whispered urgently. “There is a +boat-------” + +I made a motion to rise; I wanted to go. The idea of having my liberty, +of its being again a possibility, made her seem of less importance; +other things began to have their share. But I could not stand, though +the blood was returning, warm and tingling, in my legs and hands. She +looked at me with a sharp frown puckering her brows a little; beat a +hasty tattoo with one of her feet, and cast a startled glance towards +the forward door that led on deck. Then she walked to the other side of +the table, and sat looking at me in the glow of the lamp. + +“Your life hangs on a thread,” she murmured. + +I answered, “You have given it to me. Shall I never-------?” I was +acutely conscious of the imperfection of my language. + +She looked at me sharply; then lowered her lids. Afterwards she raised +them again. “Think of yourself. Every moment is-------” + +“I will be as quick as I can,” I said. + +I was chafing my ankles and looking up at her. I wanted, very badly, to +thank her for taking an interest in me, only I found it very difficult +to speak to her. Suddenly she sprang to her feet: + +“That man thinks he can destroy you. I hate him--I detest him! You have +seen how he treats my father.” + +It struck me, like a blow, that she was merely avenging O’Brien’s +insolence to her father. I had been kidnapped against Don Balthasar +Riego’s will. It gave me very well the measure of the old man’s +powerlessness in face of his intendant--who was obviously confident of +afterwards soothing the resentment. + +I was glad I had not thanked her for taking an interest in me. I was +distressed, too, because once more I had missed Romance by an inch. + +Someone kicked at the locked door. A voice cried--I could not help +thinking--warningly, “Seraphina, Seraphina,” and another voice said with +excessive softness, “_Senorita! Voyons! quelle folie_.” + +She sprang at me. Her hand hurt my wrist as she dragged me aft. I +scrambled clumsily into the recess of the counter, and put my head out. +The night air was very chilly and full of brine; a little boat towing +by a long painter was sheering about in the phosphorescent wake of the +ship. The sea itself was pallid in the light of the moon, invisible to +me. A little astern of us, on our port quarter, a vessel under a press +of canvas seemed to stand still; looming up like an immense pale ghost. +She might have been coming up with us, or else we had just passed her--I +couldn’t tell. I had no time to find out, and I didn’t care. The great +thing was to get hold of the painter. The whispers of the girl urged me, +but the thing was not easy; the rope, fastened higher up, streamed +away out of reach of my hand. At last, by watching the moment when it +slacked, and throwing myself half out of the stern window, I managed to +hook it with my finger-tips. Next moment it was nearly jerked away from +me, but I didn’t lose it, and the boat taking a run just then under the +counter, I got a good hold. The sound of another kick at the door made +me swing myself out, head first, without reflection. I got soused to the +waist before I had reached the bows of the boat. With a frantic effort +I clambered up and rolled in. When I got on my legs, the jerky motion +of tossing had ceased, the boat was floating still, and the light of +the stern windows was far away already. The girl had managed to cut the +painter. + +The other vessel was heading straight for me, rather high on the water, +broad-beamed, squat, and making her way quietly, like a shadow. The +land might have been four or five miles away--I had no means of knowing +exactly. It looked like a high black cloud, and purple-gray mists here +and there among the peaks hung like scarves. + +I got an oar over the stern to scull, but I was not fit for much +exertion. I stared at the ship I had left. Her stern windows glimmered +with a slight up-and-down motion; her sails seemed to fall into black +confusion against the blaze of the moon; faint cries came to me out of +her, and by the alteration of her shape I understood that she was being +brought to, preparatory to lowering a boat. She might have been half a +mile distant when the gleam of her stern windows swung slowly round and +went out. I had no mind to be recaptured, and began to scull frantically +towards the other vessel. By that time she was quite near--near +enough for me to hear the lazy sound of the water at her bows, and the +occasional flutter of a sail. The land breeze was dying away, and in the +wake of the moon I perceived the boat of my pursuers coming over, black +and distinct; but the other vessel was nearly upon me. I sheered under +her starboard bow and yelled, “Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!” + +There was a lot of noise on board, and no one seemed to hear my shouts. +Several voices yelled. “That cursed Spanish ship ahead is heaving-to +athwart our hawse.” The crew and the officers seemed all to be forward +shouting abuse at the “lubberly Dago,” and it looked as though I were +abandoned to my fate. The ship forged ahead in the light air; I failed +in my grab at her fore chains, and my boat slipped astern, bumping +against the side. I missed the main chain, too, and yelled all the time +with desperation, “For God’s sake! Ship ahoy! For God’s sake throw me a +rope, some-, body, before it’s too late!” + +I was giving up all hope when a heavy coil--of a brace, I suppose--fell +upon my head, nearly knocking me over. Half stunned as I was, +desperation lent me strength to scramble up her side hand over hand, +while the boat floated away from under my feet. I was done up when I got +on the poop. A yell came from forward, “Hard aport.” Then the same voice +addressed itself to abusing the Spanish ship very close to us now. “What +do you mean by coming-to right across my bows like this?” it yelled in a +fury. + +I stood still in the shadows on the poop. We were drawing slowly past +the stern of the Spaniard, and O’Brien’s voice answered in English: + +“We are picking up a boat of ours that’s gone adrift with a man. Have +you seen anything of her?” “No--confound you and your boat.” Of course +those forward knew nothing of my being on board. The man who had thrown +me the rope--a passenger, a certain Major Cowper, going home with his +wife and child--had walked away proudly, without deigning as much as to +look at me twice, as if to see a man clamber on board a ship ten miles +from the land was the most usual occurrence. He was, I found afterwards, +an absurd, pompous person, as stiff as a ramrod, and so full of his +own importance that he imagined he had almost demeaned himself by his +condescension in throwing down the rope in answer to my despairing +cries. On the other hand, the helmsman, the only other person aft, was +so astounded as to become quite speechless. I could see, in the light of +the binnacle thrown upon his face, his staring eyes and his open mouth. + +The voice forward had subsided by then, and as the stern of the Spanish +ship came abreast of the poop, I stepped out of the shadow of the sails, +and going close to the rail I said, not very loud--there was no need to +shout--but very distinctly: + +“I am out of your clutches, Mr. O’Brien, after all. I promise you that +you shall hear of me yet.” + +Meanwhile, another man had come up from forward on the poop, growling +like a bear, a short, rotund little man, the captain of the ship. The +Spanish vessel was dropping astern, silent, with her sails all black, +hiding the low moon. Suddenly a hurried hail came out of her. + +“What ship is this?” + +“What’s that to you, blank your eyes? The _Breeze_, if you want to know. +What are you going to do about it?” the little skipper shouted fiercely. +In the light wind the ships were separating slowly. + +“Where are you bound to?” hailed O’Brien’s voice again. + +The little skipper laughed with exasperation. “Dash your blanked +impudence. To Havana, and be hanged to you. Anything more you want to +know? And my name’s Lumsden, and I am sixty years old, and if I had you +here, I would put a head on you for getting in my way, you------” + +He stopped, out of breath. Then, addressing himself to his passenger: + +“That’s the Spanish chartered ship that brought these sanguinary +pirates that were hanged this morning, major. She’s taking the Spanish +commissioner back. I suppose they had no man-of-war handy for the +service in Cuba. Did you ever------” + +He had caught sight of me for the first time, and positively jumped a +foot high with astonishment. + +“Who on earth’s that there?” + +His astonishment was comprehensible. The major, Without deigning to +enlighten him, walked proudly away. He was too dignified a person to +explain. + +It was left to me. Frequenting, as I had been doing, Ramon’s store, +which was a great gossiping centre of the maritime world in Kingston, I +knew the faces and the names of most of the merchant captains who used +to gather there to drink and swap yarns. I was not myself quite unknown +to little Lumsden. I told him all my story, and all the time he kept +on scratching his bald head, full of incredulous perplexity. Old Señor +Ramon! Such a respectable man. And I had been kidnapped? From his store! + +“If I didn’t see you here in my cuddy before my eyes, I wouldn’t believe +a word you say,” he declared absurdly. + +But he was ready enough to take me to Havana. However, he insisted upon +calling down his mate, a gingery fellow, short, too, but wizened, and as +stupid as himself. + +“Here’s that Kemp, you know. The young fellow that Macdonald of the +Horton Pen picked up somewhere two years ago. The Spaniards in that +ship kidnapped him--so he says. He says they are pirates. But that’s a +government chartered ship, and all the pirates that have ever been in +her were hanged this morning in Kingston. But here he is, anyhow. And +he says that at home he had throttled a Bow Street runner before he went +off with the smugglers. Did you ever hear the likes of it, Mercer? I +shouldn’t think he was telling us a parcel of lies; hey, Mercer?” + +And the two grotesque little chaps stood nodding their heads at me +sagaciously. + +“He’s a desperate character, then,” said Mercer at last, cautiously. +“This morning, the very last thing I heard ashore, as I went to fetch +the fresh beef off, is that he had been assaulting a justice of the +peace on the highroad, and had been trying to knock down the admiral, +who was coming down to town in a chaise with Mr. Topnambo. There’s a +warrant out against him under the Black Act, sir.” + +Then he brightened up considerably. “So he must have been kidnapped or +something after all, sir, or he would be in chokey now.” + +It was true, after all. Romance reserved me for another fate, for +another sort of captivity, for more than one sort. And my imagination +had been captured, enslaved already by the image of that young girl who +had called me her English cousin, the girl with the lizard, the girl +with the dagger! And with every word she uttered romance itself, if I +had only known it, the romance of persecuted lovers, spoke to me through +her lips. + +That night the Spanish ship had the advantage of us in a freshening +wind, and overtook the _Breeze_. Before morning dawned she passed us, +and before the close of the next day she was gone out of sight ahead, +steering, apparently, the same course with ourselves. + +Her superior sailing had an enormous influence upon my fortunes; and I +was more adrift in the world than ever before, more in the dark as to +what awaited me than when I was lugged along with my head in a sack. +I gave her but little thought. A sort of numbness had come over me. I +could think of the girl who had cut me free, and for all my resentment +at the indignity of my treatment, I had hardly a thought to spare for +the man who had me bound. I was pleased to remember that she hated him; +that she had said so herself. For the rest, I had a vague notion of +going to the English Consul in Havana. After all, I was not a complete +nobody. I was John Kemp, a gentleman, well connected; I could prove +it. The Bow Street runner had not been dead as I had thought. The +last letter from Veronica informed me that the man had given up +thief-catching, and was keeping, now, a little inn in the neighbourhood. +Ralph, my brother-in-law, had helped him to it, no doubt. I could come +home safely now. + +And I had discovered I was no longer anxious to return home. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +There wasn’t any weirdness about the ship when I woke in the sunlight. +She was old and slow and rather small. She carried Lumsden (master), +Mercer (mate), a crew that seemed no better and no worse than any other +crew, and the old gentleman who had thrown me the rope the night before, +and who seemed to think that he had derogated from his dignity in doing +it. He was a Major Cowper, retiring from a West Indian regiment, and had +with him his wife and a disagreeable little girl, with a yellow pigtail +and a bony little chest and arms. + +On the whole, they weren’t the sort of people that one would have chosen +for companions on a pleasure-trip. Major Cowper’s wife lay all day in a +deck chair, alternately drawing to her and repulsing the whining little +girl. The major talked to me about the scandals with which the world was +filled, and kept a suspicious eye upon his wife. He spent the morning +in shaving what part of his face his white whiskers did not cover, the +afternoon in enumerating to me the subjects on which he intended to +write to the Horse Guards. He had grown entirely amiable, perhaps for +the reason that his wife ignored my existence. + +Meantime I let the days slip by idly, only wondering how I could manage +to remain in Havana and breathe the air of the same island with the girl +who had delivered me. Perhaps some day we might meet--who knows? I was +not afraid of that Irishman. + +It never occurred to me to bother about the course we were taking, +till one day we sighted the Cuban coast, and I heard Lumsden and Mercer +pronounce the name of Rio Medio. The two ridiculous old chaps talked +of Mexican privateers, which seemed to rendezvous off that place. +They pointed out to me the headland near the bay. There was no sign of +privateer or pirate, as far as the eye could reach. In the course of +beating up to windward we closed in with the coast, and then the wind +fell. + +I remained motionless against the rail for half the night, looking at +the land. Not a single light was visible. A wistful, dreamy longing, a +quiet longing pervaded me, as though I had been drugged. I dreamed, as +young men dream, of a girl’s face. She was sleeping there within this +dim vision of land. Perhaps this was as near as I should ever be able to +approach her. I felt a sorrow without much suffering. A great stillness +reigned around the ship, over the whole earth. At last I went below and +fell asleep. + +I was awakened by the idea that I had heard an extraordinary +row--shouting and stamping. But there was a dead silence, to which I +was listening with all my ears. Suddenly there was a little pop, as if +someone had spat rather vigorously; then a succession of shouts, then +another little pop, and more shouts, and the stamping overhead. A woman +began to shriek on the other side of the bulkhead, then another woman +somewhere else, then the little girl. I hurried on deck, but it was some +minutes before I could make things fit together. I saw Major Cowper on +the poop; he was brandishing a little pistol and apostrophizing Lumsden, +who was waving ineffectual arms towards the sky; and there was a +great deal of shouting, forward and overhead. Cowper rushed at me, and +explained that something was an abominable scandal, and that there were +women on board. He waved his pistol towards the side; I noticed that the +butt was inlaid with mother-of-pearl Lumsden rushed at him and clawed at +his clothes, imploring him not to be rash. + +We were so close in with the coast that the surf along the shore gleamed +and sparkled in full view. + +Someone shouted aloft, “Look out! They are firing again.” + +Then only I noticed, a quarter of a mile astern and between the land and +us, a little schooner, rather low in the water, curtseying under a cloud +of white canvas--a wonderful thing to look at. It was as if I had never +seen anything so instinct with life and the joy of it. A snowy streak +spattered away from her bows at each plunge. She came at a great speed, +and a row of faces looking our way became plain, like a beady decoration +above her bulwarks. She swerved a little out of her course, and a sort +of mushroom of smoke grew out of her side; there was a little gleam of +smouldering light hidden in its heart. The spitting bang followed again, +and something skipped along the wave-tops beside us, raising little +pillars of spray that drifted away on the wind. The schooner came back +on her course, heading straight for us; a shout like groaned applause +went up from on board us. Lumsden hid his face in his hands. + +I could hear little Mercer shrieking out orders forwards. We were +shortening sail. The schooner, luffing a little, ranged abreast. A hail +like a metal blare came out of her. + +“If you donn’d heef-to we seenk you! We seenk you! By God!” + +Major Cowper was using abominable language beside me. Suddenly he began +to call out to someone: + +“Go down... go down, I say.” + +A woman’s face disappeared into the hood of the companion like a +rabbit’s tail into its burrow. There was a great volley of cracks from +the loose sails, and the ship came to. At the same time the schooner, +now on our beam and stripped of her light kites, put in stays and +remained on the other tack, with her foresheet to windward. + +Major Cowper said it was a scandal. The country was going to the +dogs because merchantmen were not compelled by law to carry guns. He +spluttered into my ears that there wasn’t so much as a twopenny signal +mortar on board, and no more powder than enough to load one of his +duelling pistols. He was going to write to the Horse Guards. + +A blue-and-white ensign fluttered up to the main gaff of the schooner; a +boat dropped into the water. It all went breathlessly--I hadn’t time to +think. I saw old Cowper run to the side and aim his pistol overboard; +there was an ineffectual click; he made a gesture of disgust, and tossed +it on deck. His head hung dejectedly down upon his chest. + +Lumsden said, “Thank God, oh, thank God!” and the old man turned on him +like a snarling dog. + +“You infernal coward,” he said. “Haven’t you got a spark of courage?” + +A moment after, our decks were invaded by men, brown and ragged, leaping +down from the bulwarks one after the other. + +They had come out at break of day (we must have been observed the +evening before), a big schooner--full of as ill-favoured, ragged rascals +as the most vivid imagination could conceive. Of course, there had been +no resistance on our part. We were outsailed, and at the first ferocious +hail the halyards had been let go by the run, and all our crew had +bolted aloft. A few bronzed bandits posted abreast of each mast kept +them there by the menace of bell-mouthed blunderbusses pointed upwards. +Lumsden and Mercer had been each tied flat down to a spare spar. They +presented an appearance too ridiculous to awaken genuine compassion. +Major Cowper was made to sit on a hen-coop, and a bearded pirate, with +a red handkerchief tied round his head and a cutlass in his hand, stood +guard over him. The major looked angry and crestfallen. The rest of that +infamous crew, without losing a moment, rushed into the cuddy to loot +the cabins for wearing apparel, jewellery, and money. They squabbled +amongst themselves, throwing the things on deck into a great heap of +booty. + +The schooner flying the Mexican flag remained hove to abeam. But in the +man in command of the boarding party I recognized Tomas Castro! + +He _was_ a pirate. My surmises were correct. He looked the part to the +life, in a plumed hat, cloaked to the chin, and standing apart in a +saturnine dignity. + +“Are you going to have us all murdered, Castro?” I asked, with +indignation. To my surprise he did not seem to recognize me; indeed, he +pretended not to see me at all. I might have been thin air for any sign +he gave of being aware of my presence; but, turning his back on me, he +addressed himself to the ignobly captive Lumsden, telling him that he, +Castro, was the commander of that Mexican schooner, and menacing him +with dreadful threats of vengeance for what he called the resistance we +had offered to a privateer of the Republic. I suppose he was pleased to +qualify with the name of armed resistance the miserable little pop of +the major’s pocket pistol. To punish that audacity he announced that no +private property would be respected. + +“You shall have to give up all the money on board,” he yelled at the +wretched man lying there like a sheep ready for slaughter. The other +could only gasp and blink. Castro’s ferocity was so remarkable that for +a moment it struck me as put on. There was no necessity for it. We were +meek and silent enough, only poor Major Cowper muttered: + +“My wife and child....” + +The ragged brown men were pouring on deck from below; their arms full +of bundles. Half a dozen of them started to pull off the main hatch +tarpaulin. Up aloft the crew looked down with scared eyes. I began to +say excitedly, in my indignation, almost into his very ear: + +“I know you, Tomas Castro--I know you--Tomas Castro.” + +Even then he seemed not to hear; but at last he looked into my face +balefully, as if he wished to convey the plague to me. + +“Hold your tongue,” he said very quickly in Spanish. “This is folly!” + His little hawk’s beak of a nose nestled in his moustache. He waved his +arm and declared forcibly, “I don’t know you. I am Nicola el Demonio, +the Mexican.” + +Poor old Cowper groaned. The reputation of Nicola el Demonio, if rumours +were to be trusted, was a horrible thing for a man with women depending +on him. + +Five or six of these bandits were standing about Lumsden, the major, +and myself, fingering the locks of their guns. Poor old Cowper, breaking +away from his guard, was raging up and down the poop; and the big pirate +kept him off the companion truculently. The major wanted to get below; +the little girl was screaming in the cuddy, and we could hear her very +plainly. It was rather horrible. Castro had gone forward into the crowd +of scoundrels round the hatchway. It was only then that I realized that +Major Cowper was in a state of delirious apprehension and fury; I seemed +to remember at last that for a long time he had been groaning somewhere +near me. He kept on saying: + +“Oh, for God’s sake--for God’s sake--my poor wife.” + +I understood that he must have been asking me to do something. + +It came as a shock to me. I had a vague sensation of his fears. Up till +then I hadn’t realized that any one could be much interested in Mrs. +Cowper. + +He caught hold of my arm, as if he wanted support, and stuttered: + +“Couldn’t you--couldn’t you speak to------” He nodded in the direction +of Tomas Castro, who was bent and shouting down the hatch. “Try +to-------” the old man gasped. “Didn’t you hear the child scream?” His +face was pallid and wrinkled, like a piece of crumpled paper; his mouth +was drawn on one side, and his lips quivered one against the other. + +I went to Castro and caught him by the arm. He spun round and smiled +discreetly. + +“We shall be using force upon you directly. Pray resist, Señor; but not +too much. What? His wife? Tell that stupid Inglez with whispers that she +is safe.” He whispered with an air of profound intelligence, “We shall +be ready to go as soon as these foul swine have finished their stealing. +I cannot stop them,” he added. + +I could not pause to think what he might mean. The child’s shrieks +resounding louder and louder, I ran below. There were a couple of men +in the cabin with the women. Mrs. Cowper was lying back upon a sofa, +her face very white and drawn, her eyes wide open. Her useless hands +twitched at her dress; otherwise she was absolutely motionless, like a +frozen woman. The black nurse was panting convulsively in a corner--a +palpitating bundle of orange and purple and white clothes. The child was +rushing round and round, shrieking. The two men did nothing at all. One +of them kept saying in Spanish: + +“But--we only want your rings. But--we only want your rings.” + +The other made feeble efforts to catch the child as it rushed past him. +He wanted its earrings--they were contraband of war, I suppose. + +Mrs. Cowper was petrified with terror. Explaining the desires of the two +men was like shouting things into the ear of a very deaf woman. She kept +on saying: + +“Will they go away then? Will they go away then?” All the while she was +drawing the rings off her thin fingers, and handing them to me. I gave +them to the ruffians whose presence seemed to terrify her out of her +senses. I had no option. I could do nothing else. Then I asked her +whether she wished me to remain with her and the child. She said: + +“Yes. No. Go away. Yes. No--let me think.” + +Finally it came into my head that in the captain’s cabin she would be +able to talk to her husband through the deck ventilator, and, after a +time, the idea filtered through to her brain. She could hardly walk at +all. The child and the nurse ran in front of us, and, practically, I +carried her there in my arms. Once in the stateroom she struggled loose +from me, and, rushing in, slammed the door violently in my face. She +seemed to hate me. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +I went on deck again. On the poop about twenty men had surrounded Major +Cowper; his white head was being jerked backwards and forwards above +their bending backs; they had got his old uniform coat off, and were +fighting for the buttons. I had just time to shout to him, “Your wife’s +down there, she’s all right!” when very suddenly I became aware that +Tomas Castro was swearing horribly at these thieves. He drove them away, +and we were left quite alone on the poop, I holding the major’s coat +over my arm. Major Cowper stooped down to call through the skylight. I +could hear faint answers coming up to him. + +Meantime, some of the rascals left on board the schooner had filled on +her in a light wind, and, sailing round our stern, had brought their +vessel alongside. Ropes were thrown on board and we lay close together, +but the schooner with her dirty decks looked to me, now, very sinister +and very sordid. + +Then I remembered Castro’s extraordinary words; they suggested infinite +possibilities of a disastrous nature, I could not tell just what. The +explanation seemed to be struggling to bring itself to light, like a +name that one has had for hours on the tip of a tongue without being +able to formulate it. Major Cowper rose stiffly, and limped to my side. +He looked at me askance, then shifted his eyes away. Afterwards, he took +his coat from my arm. I tried to help him, but he refused my aid, and +jerked himself painfully into it. It was too tight for him. Suddenly, he +said: + +“You seem to be deuced intimate with that man--deuced intimate.” + +His tone caused me more misgiving than I should have thought possible. +He took a turn on the deserted deck; went to the skylight; called down, +“All well, still?” waited, listening with his head on one side, and then +came back to me. + +“You drop into the ship,” he said, “out of the clouds. Out of the +clouds, I say. You tell us some sort of cock-and-bull story. I say it +looks deuced suspicious.” He took another turn and came back. “My wife +says that you took her rings and--and--gave them to------” + +He had an ashamed air. It came into my head that that hateful woman had +been egging him on to this through the skylight, instead of saying her +prayers. + +“Your wife!” I said. “Why, she might have been murdered--if I hadn’t +made her give them up. I believe I saved her life.” + +He said suddenly, “Tut, tut!” and shrugged his shoulders. He hung his +head for a minute, then he added, “Mind, I don’t say--I don’t say that +it mayn’t be as you say. You’re a very nice young fellow.... But what +I say is--I am a public man--you ought to clear yourself.” He was +beginning to recover his military bearing. + +“Oh! don’t be absurd,” I said. + +One of the Spaniards came up to me and whispered, “You must come now. +We are going to cast off.” At the same time Tomas Castro prowled to the +other side of the ship, within five yards of us. I called out, “Tomas +Castro! Tomas Castro! I will not go with you.” The man beside me said, +“Come, señor! _Vamos!_” + +Suddenly Castro, stretching his arm out at me, cried, “Come, _hombres_. +This is the _caballero_; seize him.” And to me in his broken English he +shouted, “You may resist, if you like.” + +This was what I meant to do with all my might. The ragged crowd +surrounded me; they chattered like monkeys. One man irritated me beyond +conception. He looked like an inn-keeper in knee-breeches, had a broken +nose that pointed to the left, and a double chin. More of them came +running up every minute. I made a sort of blind rush at the fellow with +the broken nose; my elbow caught him on the soft folds of flesh and he +skipped backwards; the rest scattered in all directions, and then stood +at a distance, chattering and waving their hands. And beyond them I saw +old Cowper gesticulating approval. The man with the double chin drew a +knife from his sleeve, crouched instantly, and sprang at me. I hadn’t +fought anybody since I had been at school; raising my fists was like +trying a dubious experiment in an emergency. I caught him rather hard on +the end of his broken nose; I felt the contact on my right, and a small +pain in my left hand. His arms went up to the sky; his face, too. But +I had started forward to meet him, and half a dozen of them flung their +arms round me from behind. + +I seemed to have an exaggerated clearness of vision; I saw each brown +dirty paw reach out to clutch some part of me. I was not angry any more; +it wasn’t any good being angry, but I made a fight for it. There were +dozens of them; they clutched my wrists, my elbows, and in between my +wrists and my elbows, and my shoulders. One pair of arms was round my +neck, another round my waist, and they kept on trying to catch my legs +with ropes. We seemed to stagger all over the deck; I expect they got in +each other’s way; they would have made a better job of it if they hadn’t +been such a multitude. I must then have got a crack on the head, for +everything grew dark; the night seemed to fall on us, as we fought. + +Afterwards I found myself lying gasping on my back on the deck of the +schooner; four or five men were holding me down. Castro was putting a +pistol into his belt. He stamped his foot violently, and then went and +shouted in Spanish: + +“Come you all on board. You have done mischief enough, fools of +_Lugarenos_. Now we go.” + +I saw, as in a dream of stress and violence, some men making ready to +cast off the schooner, and then, in a supreme effort, an effort of lusty +youth and strength, which I remember to this day, I scattered men like +chaff, and stood free. + +For the fraction of a second I stood, ready to fall myself, and looking +at prostrate men. It was a flash of vision, and then I made a bolt for +the rail. I clambered furiously; I saw the deck of the old barque; I had +just one exulting sight of it, and then Major Cowper uprose before +my eyes and knocked me back on board the schooner, tumbling after me +himself. + +Twenty men flung themselves upon my body. I made no movement. The +end had come. I hadn’t the strength to shake off a fly, my heart was +bursting my ribs. I lay on my back and managed to say, “Give me air.” I +thought I should die. + +Castro, draped in his cloak, stood over me, but Major Cowper fell on his +knees near my head, almost sobbing: “My papers! My papers! I tell you +I shall starve. Make them give me back my papers. They ain’t any use to +them--my pension--mortgages--not worth a penny piece to you.” + +He crouched over my face, and the Spaniards stood around, wondering. +He begged me to intercede, to save him those papers of the greatest +importance. + +Castro preserved his attitude of a conspirator. I was touched by the +major’s distress, and at last I condescended to address Castro on his +behalf, though it cost me an effort, for I was angry, indignant, and +humiliated. + +“Whart--whart? What do I know of his papers? Let him find them.” He +waved his hand loftily. + +The deck was hillocked with heaps of clothing, of bedding, casks of rum, +old hats, and tarpaulins. Cowper ran in and out among the plunder, like +a pointer in a turnip field. He was groaning. + +Beside one of the pumps was a small pile of shiny cases; ship’s +instruments, a chronometer in its case, a medicine chest. + +Cowper tottered at a black dispatch-box. “There, there!” he said; “I +tell you I shall starve if I don’t have it. Ask him--ask him-------” He +was clutching me like a drowning man. + +Castro raised the inevitable arm towards heaven, letting his round black +cloak fall into folds like those of an umbrella. Cowper gathered that +he might take his japanned dispatch-box; he seized the brass handles and +rushed towards the side, but at the last moment he had the good impulse +to return to me, holding out his hand, and spluttering distractedly, +“God bless you, God bless you.” After a time he remembered that I had +rescued his wife and child, and he asked God to bless me for that too. +“If it is ever necessary,” he said, “on my honour, if you escape, I will +come a thousand miles to testify. On my honour--remember.” He said he +was going to live in Clapham. That is as much as I remember. I was held +pinned down to the deck, and he disappeared from my sight. Before the +ships had separated, I was carried below in the cabin of the schooner. + +They left me alone there, and I sat with my head on my arms for a long +time, I did not think of anything at all; I was too utterly done up with +my struggles, and there was nothing to be thought about. I had grown to +accept the meanness of things as if I had aged a great deal. I had +seen men scratch each other’s faces over coat buttons, old shoes--over +Mercer’s trousers. My own future did not interest me at this stage. I +sat up and looked round me. + +I was in a small, bare cabin, roughly wainscotted and exceedingly +filthy. There were the grease-marks from the backs of heads all along a +bulkhead above a wooden bench; the rough table, on which my arms rested, +was covered with layers of tallow spots. Bright light shone through a +porthole. Two or three ill-assorted muskets slanted about round the foot +of the mast--a long old piece, of the time of Pizarro, all red velvet +and silver’ chasing, on a swivelled stand, three English fowling-pieces, +and a coachman’s blunderbuss. A man was rising from a mattress stretched +on the floor; he placed a mandolin, decorated with red favours, on +the greasy table. He was shockingly thin, and so tall that his head +disturbed the candle-soot on the ceiling. He said: “Ah, I was waiting +for the cavalier to awake.” + +He stalked round the end of the table, slid between it and the side, +and grasped my arm with wrapt earnestness as he settled himself slowly +beside me. He wore a red shirt that had become rather black where his +long brown ringlets fell on his shoulders; it had tarnished gilt buttons +ciphered “G. R.,” stolen, I suppose, from some English ship. + +“I beg the Señor Caballero to listen to what I have to record,” he said, +with intense gravity. “I cannot bear this much longer--no, I cannot bear +my sufferings much longer.” + +His face was of a large, classical type; a close-featured, rather long +face, with an immense nose that from the front resembled the section of +a bell; eyebrows like horseshoes, and very large-pupilled eyes that +had the purplish-brown lustre of a horse’s. His air was mournful in +the extreme, and he began to speak resonantly as if his chest were +a sounding-board. He used immensely long sentences, of which I only +understood one-half. + +“What, then, is the difference between me, Manuel-del-Popolo Isturiz, +and this Tomas Castro? The Señor Caballero can tell at once. Look at me. +I am the finer man. I would have you ask the ladies of Rio Medio, and +leave the verdict to them. This Castro is an Andalou--a foreigner. And +we, the braves of Rio Medio, will suffer no foreigner to make headway +with our ladies. Yet this Andalusian is preferred because he is a humble +friend of the great Don, and because he is for a few days given the +command. I ask you, Señor, what is the radical difference between me, +the sailing captain of this vessel, and him, the fighting captain for a +few days? Is it not I that am, as it were, the brains of it, and he only +its knife? I ask the Señor Caballero.” + +I didn’t in the least know what to answer. His great eyes wistfully +explored my face. I expect I looked bewildered. + +“I lay my case at your feet,” he continued. “You are to be our +chief leader, and, on account of your illustrious birth and renowned +intelligence, will occupy a superior position in the council of the +notables. Is it not so? Has not the Señor Juez O’Brien so ordained? You +will give ear to me, you will alleviate my indignant sufferings?” He +implored me with his eyes for a long time. + +Manuel-del-Popolo, as he called himself, pushed the hair back from his +forehead. I had noticed that the love-locks were plaited with black +braid, and that he wore large dirty silk ruffles. + +“The _caballero_” he continued, marking his words with a long, white +finger a-tap on the table, “will represent my views to the notables. +My position at present, as I have had the honour to observe, is become +unbearable. Consider, too, how your worship and I would work together. +What lightness for you and me. You will find this Castro unbearably +gross. But I--I assure you I am a man of taste--an _improvisador_--an +artist. My songs are celebrated. And yet!...” + +He folded his arms again, and waited; then he said, employing his most +impressive voice: + +“I have influence with the men of Rio. I could raise a riot. We Cubans +are a jealous people; we do not love that foreigners should take our +best from us. We do not love it; we will not suffer it. Let this Castro +bethink himself and go in peace, leaving us and our ladies. As the +proverb says, ‘It is well to build a bridge for a departing enemy.’” + +He began to peer at me more wistfully, and his eyes grew more luminous +than ever. This man, in spite of his grotesqueness, was quite in +earnest, there was no doubting that. + +“I have a gentle spirit,” he began again, “a gentle spirit. I am +submissive to the legitimate authorities. What the Señor Juez O’Brien +asks me to do, I do. I would put a knife into any one who inconvenienced +the Señor Juez O’Brien, who is a good Catholic; we would all do that, +as is right and fitting. But this Castro--this Andalou, who is nearly as +bad as a heretic! When my day comes, I will have his arms flayed and the +soles of his feet, and I will rub red pepper into them; and all the men +of Rio who do not love foreigners will applaud. And I will stick little +thorns under his tongue, and I will cut off his eyelids with little +scissors, and set him facing the sun. _Caballero_, you would love me; I +have a gentle spirit. I am a pleasant companion.” He rose and squeezed +round the table. “Listen”--his eyes lit up with rapture--“you shall hear +me. It is divine--ah, it is very pleasant, you will say.” + +He seized his mandolin, slung it round his neck, and leant against the +bulkhead. The bright light from the port-hole gilded the outlines of his +body, as he swayed about and moved his long fingers across the strings; +they tinkled metallically. He sang in a nasal voice: + + “‘Listen!’ the young girls say as they hasten to the barred window. + ‘Listen! Ah, surely that is the guitar of Man--u--el--del-Popolo, + As he glides along the wall in the twilight.’” + +It was a very long song. He gesticulated freely with his hand in between +the scratching of the strings, which seemed to be a matter of luck. +His eyes gazed distantly at the wall above my head. The performance +bewildered and impressed me; I wondered if this was what they had +carried me off for. It was like being mad. He made a decrescendo +tinkling, and his lofty features lapsed into their normal mournfulness. + +At that moment Castro put his face round the door, then entered +altogether. He sighed in a satisfied manner, and had an air of having +finished a laborious undertaking. + +“We have arranged the confusion up above,” he said to +Manuel-del-Popolo; “you may go and see to the sailing.... Hurry; it is +growing late.” + +Manuel blazed silently, and stalked out of the door as if he had an +electric cloud round his head. Tomas Castro turned towards me. + +“You are better?” he asked benevolently. “You exerted yourself too +much.... But still, if you liked----” He picked up the mandolin, and +began negligently scratching the strings. I noticed an alteration in +him; he had grown softer in the flesh in the past years; there were +little threads of gray in the knotted curls of his beard. It was as +if he had lived well, on the whole. He bent his head over the strings, +plucked one, tightened a peg, plucked it again, then set the instrument +on the table, and dropped on to the mattress. “Will you have some rum?” + he said. “You have grown broad and strong, like a bull.... You made +those men fly, _sacré nom d’une pipe_.... One would have thought you +were in earnest.... Ah, well!” He stretched himself at length on the +mattress, and closed his eyes. + +I looked at him to discover traces of irony. There weren’t any. He was +talking quietly; he even reproved me for having carried the pretence of +resistance beyond a joke. + +“You fought too much; you struck many men--and hard. You will have made +enemies. The _picaros_ of this dirty little town are as conceited as +pigs. You must take care, or you will have a knife in your back.” + +He lay with his hands crossed on his stomach, which was round like a +pudding. After a time he opened his eyes, and looked at the dancing +white reflection of the water on the grimy ceiling. + +“To think of seeing you again, after all these years,” he said. “I did +not believe my ears when Don Carlos asked me to fetch you like this. +Who would have believed it? But, as they say,” he added philosophically, +“‘The water flows to the sea, and the little stones find their places.’” +He paused to listen to the sounds that came from above. “That Manuel is +a fool,” he said without rancour; “he is mad with jealousy because for +this day I have command here. But, all the same, they are dangerous +pigs, these slaves of the Señor O’Brien. I wish the town were rid of +them. One day there will be a riot--a function--with their jealousies +and madness.” + +I sat and said nothing, and things fitted themselves together, little +patches of information going in here and there like the pieces of a +puzzle map. O’Brien had gone on to Havana in the ship from which I +had escaped, to render an account of the pirates that had been hung at +Kingston; the Riegos had been landed in boats at Rio Medio, of course. + +“That poor Don Carlos!” Castro moaned lamentably. “They had the +barbarity to take him out in the night, in that raw fog. He coughed +and coughed; it made me faint to hear him. He could not even speak to +me--his Tomas; it was pitiful. He could not speak when we got to the +Casa.” + +I could not really understand why I had been a second time kidnapped. +Castro said that O’Brien had not been unwilling that I should reach +Havana. It was Carlos that had ordered Tomas to take me out of the +_Breeze_. He had come down in the raw morning, before the schooner had +put out from behind the point, to impress very elaborate directions upon +Tomas Castro; indeed, it was whilst talking to Tomas that he had burst a +blood-vessel. + +“He said to me: ‘Have a care now. Listen. He is my dear friend, that +Señor Juan. I love him as if he were my only brother. Be very careful, +Tomas Castro. Make it appear that he comes to us much against his will. +Let him be dragged on board by many men. You are to understand, Tomas, +that he is a youth of noble family, and that you are to be as careful of +compromising him as you are of the honour of Our Lady.”! + +Tomas Castro looked across at me. “You will be able to report well of +me,” he said; “I did my best. If you are compromised, it was you who did +it by talking to me as if you knew me.” + +I remembered, then, that Tomas certainly had resented my seeming to +recognize him before Cowper and Lumsden. He closed his eyes again. After +a time he added: + +“_Vaya!_ After all, it is foolishness to fear being compromised. You +would never believe that his Excellency Don Balthasar had led a riotous +life--to look at him with his silver head. It is said he had three +friars killed once in Seville, a very, very long time ago. It was +dangerous in those days to come against our Mother, the Church.” He +paused, and undid his shirt, laying bare an incredibly hairy chest; then +slowly kicked off his shoes. “One stifles here,” he said. “Ah! in the +old days----” + +Suddenly he turned to me and said, with an air of indescribable +interest, as if he were gloating over an obscene idea: + +“So they would hang a gentleman like you, if they caught you? What +savages you English people are!--what savages! Like cannibals! You did +well to make that comedy of resisting. _Quel pays!_... What a people... +I dream of them still.... The eyes; the teeth! Ah, well! in an hour we +shall be in Rio. I must sleep....” + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +By two of the afternoon we were running into the inlet of Rio Medio. I +had come on deck when Tomas Castro had started out of his doze. I wanted +to see. We went round violently as I emerged, and, clinging to the side, +I saw, in a whirl, tall, baked, brown hills dropping sheer down to a +strip of flat land and a belt of dark-green scrub at the water’s edge; +little pink squares of house-walls dropped here and there, mounting the +hillside among palms, like men standing in tall grass, running back, +hiding in a steep valley; silver-gray huts with ragged dun roofs, like +dishevelled shocks of hair; a great pink church-face, very tall and +narrow, pyramidal towards the top, and pierced for seven bells, but +having only three. It looked as if it had been hidden for centuries in +the folds of an ancient land, as it lay there asleep in the blighting +sunlight. + +When we anchored, Tomas, beside me in saturnine silence, grunted and +spat into the water. + +“Look here,” I said. “What is the meaning of it all? What is it? What is +at the bottom?” + +He shrugged his shoulders gloomily. “If your worship does not know, who +should?” he said. “It is not for me to say why people should wish to +come here.” + +“Then take me to Carlos,” I said. “I must get this settled.” + +Castro looked at me suspiciously. “You will not excite him?” he said. “I +have known people die right out when they were like that.” + +“Oh, I won’t excite him,” I said. + +As we were rowed ashore, he began to point out the houses of the +notables. Rio Medio had been one of the principal ports of the Antilles +in the seventeenth century, but it had failed before the rivalry of +Havana because its harbour would not take the large vessels of modern +draft. Now it had no trade, no life, no anything except a bishop and a +great monastery, a few retired officials from Havana. A large settlement +of ragged thatched huts and clay hovels lay to the west of the +cathedral. The Casa Riego was an enormous palace, with windows like +loopholes, facing the shore. Don Balthasar practically owned the whole +town and all the surrounding country, and, except for his age and +feebleness, might have been an absolute monarch. + +He had lived in Havana with great splendour, but now, in his failing +years, had retired to his palace, from which he had since only twice set +foot. This had only been when official ceremonies of extreme importance, +such as the international execution of pirates that I had witnessed, +demanded the presence of someone of his eminence and lustre. Otherwise +he had lived shut up in his palace. There was nowhere in Rio Medio for +him to go to. + +He was said to regard his intendente O’Brien as the apple of his eye, +and had used his influence to get him made one of the judges of the +Marine Court. The old Don himself probably knew nothing about the +pirates. The inlet had been used by buccaneers ever since the days of +Columbus; but they were below his serious consideration, even if he had +ever seen them, which Tomas Castro doubted. + +There was no doubting the sincerity of his tone. + +“Oh, you thought _I_ was a pirate!” he muttered. “For a day--yes--to +oblige a Riego, my friend--yes! Moreover, I hate that familiar of the +priests, that soft-spoken Juez, intendente, intriguer--that O’Brien. A +sufferer for the faith! _Que picardia!_ Have I, too, not suffered for +the faith? I am the trusted humble friend of the Riegos. But, perhaps, +you think Don Balthasar is himself a pirate! He who has in his veins the +blood of the Cid Campeador; whose ancestors have owned half this island +since the days of Christopher himself....” + +“Has he nothing whatever to do with it?” I asked. “After all, it goes on +in his own town.” + +“Oh, you English,” he muttered; “you are all mad! Would one of your +great nobles be a pirate? Perhaps they would--God knows. Alas, alas!” he +suddenly broke off, “when I think that my Carlos shall leave his bones +in this ungodly place....” + +I gave up questioning Tomas Castro; he was too much for me. + +We entered the grim palace by the shore through an imposing archway, and +mounted a broad staircase. In a lofty room, giving off the upper gallery +round the central court of the Casa Riego, Carlos lay in a great bed. +I stood before him, having pushed aside Tomas Castro, who had been +cautiously scratching the great brilliant mahogany panels with a dirty +finger-nail. + +“Damnation, Carlos!” I said. “This is the third of your treacheries. +What do you want with me?” + +You might well have imagined he was a descendant of the Cid Campeador, +only to look at him lying there without a quiver of a feature, his face +stainlessly white, a little bluish in extreme lack of blood, with all +the nobility of death upon it, like an alabaster effigy of an old knight +in a cathedral. On the red-velvet hangings of the bed was an immense +coat-of-arms, worked in silk and surrounded by a collar, with the golden +sheep hanging from the ring. The shield was patched in with an immense +number of quarterings--lions rampant, leopards courant, fleurs de lis, +castles, eagles, hands, and arms. His eyes opened slowly, and his face +assumed an easy, languorous smile of immense pleasure. + +“Ah, Juan,” he said, “_se bienvenido_, be welcome, be welcome.” + +Castro caught me roughly by the shoulder, and gazed at me with blazing, +yellow eyes. + +“You should not speak roughly to him,” he said. “English beast! He is +dying.” + +“No, I won’t speak roughly to him,” I answered. “I see.” + +I did see. At first I had been suspicious; it might have been put on +to mollify me. But one could not put on that blueness of tinge, that +extra--nearly final--touch of the chisel to the lines round the nose, +that air of restfulness that nothing any more could very much disturb. +There was no doubt that Carlos was dying. + +“Treacheries--no. You had to come,” he said suddenly. “I need you. I am +glad, dear Juan.” He waved a thin long hand a little towards mine. “You +shall not long be angry. It had to be done--you must forgive the means.” + +His air was so gay, so uncomplaining, that it was hard to believe it +came from him. + +“You could not have acted worse if you had owed me a grudge, Carlos,” I +said. “I want an explanation. But I don’t want to kill you....” + +“Oh, no, oh, no,” he said; “in a minute I will tell.” + +He dropped a gold ball into a silver basin that was by the bedside, +and it sounded like a great bell. A nun in a sort of coif that took the +lines of a buffalo’s horns glided to him with a gold cup, from which he +drank, raising himself a little. Then the religious went out with Tomas +Castro, who gave me a last ferocious glower from his yellow eyes. Carlos +smiled. + +“They try to make my going easy,” he said. “_Vamos!_ The pillow is +smooth for him who is well loved.” He shut his eyes. Suddenly he said, +“Why do you, alone, hate me, John Kemp? What have I done?” + +“God knows I don’t hate you, Carlos,” I answered. + +“You have always mistrusted me,” he said. “And yet I am, perhaps, nearer +to you than many of your countrymen, and I have always wished you well, +and you have always hated and mistrusted me. From the very first you +mistrusted me. Why?” + +It was useless denying it; he had the extraordinary incredulity of his +kind. I remembered how I had idolized him as a boy at home. + +“Your brother-in-law, my cousin Rooksby, was the very first to believe +that I was a pirate. I, a vulgar pirate! I, Carlos Riego! Did he not +believe it--and you?” He glanced a little ironically, and lifted a thin +white finger towards the great coat-of-arms. “That sort of thing,” he +said, “_amigo mio_, does not allow one to pick pockets.” He suddenly +turned a little to one side, and fixed me with his clear eyes. “My +friend,” he said, “if I told you that Rooksby and your greatest Kent +earls carried smugglers’ tubs, you would say I was an ignorant fool. +Yet they, too, are magistrates. The only use I have ever made of these +ruffians was to-day, to bring you here. It was a necessity. That O’Brien +had gone on to take you when you arrived. You would never have come +alive out of Havana. I was saving your life. Once there, you could never +have escaped from that man.” + +I saw suddenly that this might be the truth. There had been something +friendly in Tomas Castro’s desire not to compromise me before the people +on board the ship. Obviously he had been acting a part, with a visible +contempt for the pilfering that he could not prevent. He _had_ been sent +merely to bring me to Rio Medio. + +“I never disliked you,” I protested. “I do not understand what you mean. +All I know is, that you have used me ill--outrageously ill. You have +saved my life now, you say. That may be true; but why did you ever make +me meet with that man O’Brien?” + +“And even for that you should not hate me,” he said, shaking his head on +the silk pillows. “I never wished you anything but well, Juan, because +you were honest and young, of noble blood, good to look upon; you had +done me and my friend good service, to your own peril, when my own +cousin had deserted me. And I loved you for the sake of another. I loved +your sister. We have a proverb: ‘A man is always good to the eyes in +which the sister hath found favour.’” + +I looked at him in amazement. “You loved Veronica!” I said. “But +Veronica is nothing at all. There was the Señorita.” + +He smiled wearily. “Ah, the Señorita; she is very well; a man could love +her, too. But we do not command love, my friend.” + +I interrupted him. “I want to know why you brought me here. Why did you +ask me to come here when we were on board the _Thames?_” + +He answered sadly, “Ah, then! Because I loved your sister, and you +reminded me always of her. But that is all over now--done with for +good.... I have to address myself to dying as it becomes one of my +race to die.” He smiled at me. “One must die in peace to die like a +Christian. Life has treated me rather scurvily, only the gentleman must +not repine like a poor man of low birth. I would like to do a good turn +to the friend who is the brother of his sister, to the girl-cousin whom +I do not love with love, but whom I understand with affection--to the +great inheritance that is not for my wasted hands.” + +I looked out of the open door of the room. There was the absolutely +quiet inner court of the palace, a colonnade of tall square pillars, +in the centre the little thread of a fountain. Round the fountain were +tangled bushes of flowers--enormous geraniums, enormous hollyhocks, a +riot of orange marigolds. + +“How like our flowers at home!” I said mechanically. + +“I brought the seeds from there--from your sister’s garden,” he said. + +I felt horribly hipped. “But all these things tell me nothing,” I said, +with an attempt towards briskness. + +“I have to husband my voice.” He closed his eyes. + +There is no saying that I did not believe him; I did, every word. I had +simply been influenced by Rooks-by’s suspicions. I had made an ass of +myself over that business on board the _Thames_. The passage of Carles +and his faithful Tomas had been arranged for by some agent of O’Brien in +London, who was in communication with Ramon and Rio Medio. The same man +had engaged Nichols, that Nova Scotian mate, an unscrupulous sailor, +for O’Brien’s service. He was to leave the ship in Kingston, and report +himself to Ramon, who furnished him with the means to go to Cuba. That +man, seeing me intimate with two persons going to Rio Medio, had got it +into his head that I was going there, too. And, very naturally, he did +not want an Englishman for a witness of his doings. + +But Rooksby’s behaviour, his veiled accusations, his innuendoes against +Carlos, had influenced me more than anything else. I remembered a +hundred little things now that I knew that Carlos loved Veronica. I +understood Rooksby’s jealous impatience, Veronica’s friendly glances at +Carlos, the fact that Rooksby had proposed to Veronica on the very day +that Carlos had come again into the neighbourhood with the runners after +him. I saw very well that there was no more connection between the +Casa Riego and the rascality of Rio Medio than there was between +Ralph himself and old drunken Rangsley on Hythe beach. There was less, +perhaps. + +“Ah, you have had a sad life, my Carlos,” I said, after a long time. + +He opened his eyes, and smiled his brave smile. “Ah, as to that,” he +said, “one kept on. One has to husband one’s voice, though, and not +waste it over lamentations. I have to tell you--ah, yes....” He paused +and fixed his eyes upon me. “Figure to yourself that this house, this +town, an immense part of this island, much even yet in Castile itself, +much gold, many slaves, a great name--a very great name--are what I +shall leave behind me. Now think that there is a very noble old man, one +who has been very great in the world, who shall die very soon; then all +these things shall go to a young girl. That old man is very old, is a +little foolish with age; that young girl knows very little of the world, +and is very passionate, very proud, very helpless. + +“Add, now, to that a great menace--a very dangerous, crafty, subtle +personage, who has the ear of that old man; whose aim it is to become +the possessor of that young girl and of that vast wealth. The old man +is much subject to the other. Old men are like that, especially the very +great. They have many things to think of; it is necessary that they +rely on somebody. I am, in fact, speaking of my uncle and the man called +O’Brien. You have seen him.” Carlos spoke in a voice hardly above a +whisper, but he stuck to his task with indomitable courage. “If I die +and leave him here, he will have my uncle to himself. He is a terrible +man. Where would all that great fortune go? For the re-establishing of +the true faith in Ireland? _Quien sabe?_ Into the hands of O’Brien, at +any rate. And the daughter, too--a young girl--she would be in the hands +of O’Brien, too. If I could expect to live, it might be different. That +is the greatest distress of all.” He swallowed painfully, and put his +frail hand on to the white ruffle at his neck. “I was in great trouble +to find how to thwart this O’Brien. My uncle went to Kingston because +he was persuaded it was his place to see that the execution of those +unhappy men was conducted with due humanity. O’Brien came with us as his +secretary. I was in the greatest horror of mind. I prayed for guidance. +Then my eyes fell upon you, who were pressed against our very carriage +wheels. It was like an answer to my prayers.” Carlos suddenly reached +out and caught my hand. + +I thought he was wandering, and I was immensely sorry for him. He looked +at me so wistfully with his immense eyes. He continued to press my hand. + +“But when I saw you,” he went on, after a time, “it had come into my +head, ‘That is the man who is sent in answer to my prayers.’ I knew it, +I say. If you could have my cousin and my lands, I thought, it would be +like my having your sister--not quite, but good enough for a man who is +to die in a short while, and leave no trace but a marble tomb. Ah, one +desires very much to leave a mark under God’s blessed sun, and to +be able to know a little how things will go after one is dead.... I +arranged the matter very quickly in my mind. There was the difficulty of +O’Brien. If I had said, ‘Here is the man who is to marry my cousin,’ he +would have had you or me murdered; he would stop at nothing. So I said +to him very quietly, ‘Look here, Señor Secretary, that is the man you +have need of to replace your Nichols--a devil to fight; but I think +he will not consent without a little persuasion. Decoy him, then, to +Ramon’s, and do your persuading.’ O’Brien was very glad, because he +thought that at last I was coming to take an interest in his schemes, +and because it was bringing humiliation to an Englishman. And Sera-phina +was glad, because I had often spoken of you with enthusiasm, as very +fearless and very honourable. Then I made that man Ramon decoy you, +thinking that the matter would be left to me.” + +That was what Carlos had expected. But O’Brien, talking with Ramon, had +heard me described as an extreme Separationist so positively that he had +thought it safe to open himself fully. He must have counted, also, on my +youth, my stupidity, or my want of principle. Finding out his mistake, +he very soon made up his mind how to act; and Carlos, fearing that worse +might befall me, had let him. + +But when the young girl had helped me to escape, Carlos, who understood +fully the very great risks I ran in going to Havana in the ship that +picked me up, had made use of O’Brien’s own picaroons to save me from +him. That was the story. + +Towards the end his breath came fast and short; there was a flush on his +face; his eyes gazed imploringly at me. + +“You will stay here, now, till I die, and then--I want you to +protect.------” He fell back on the pillows. + + + + +PART THIRD -- CASA RIEGO + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +All this is in my mind now, softened by distance, by the tenderness of +things remembered--the wonderful dawn of life, with all the mystery and +promise of the young day breaking amongst heavy thunder-clouds. At the +time I was overwhelmed--I can’t express it otherwise. I felt like a +man thrown out to sink or swim, trying to keep his head above water. Of +course, I did not suspect Carlos now; I was ashamed of ever having +done so. I had long ago forgiven him his methods. “In a great need, +you must,” he had said, looking at me anxiously, “recur to desperate +remedies.” And he was going to die. I had made no answer, and only hung +my head--not in resentment, but in doubt of my strength to bear the +burden of the great trust that this man whom I loved for his gayety, his +recklessness and romance, was going to leave in my inexperienced hands. + +He had talked till, at last exhausted, he sank back gently on the +pillows of the enormous bed emblazoned like a monument. I went out, +following a gray-headed negro, and the nun glided in, and stood at the +foot with her white hands folded patiently. + +“Señor!” I heard her mutter reproachfully to the invalid. + +“Do not scold a poor sinner, Dona Maria,” he addressed her feebly, with +valiant jocularity. “The days are not many now.” + +The strangeness and tremendousness of what was happening came over me +very strongly whilst, in a large chamber with barred loopholes, I was +throwing off the rags in which I had entered this house. The night had +come already, and I was putting on some of Carlos’ clothes by the many +flames of candles burning in a tall bronze candelabrum, whose three legs +figured the paws of a lion. And never, since I had gone on the road to +wait for the smugglers, and been choked by the Bow Street runners, had +I remembered so well the house in which I was born. It was as if, till +then, I had never felt the need to look back. But now, like something +romantic and glamorous, there came before me Veronica’s sweet, dim +face, my mother’s severe and resolute countenance. I had need of all her +resoluteness now. And I remembered the figure of my father in the big +chair by the ingle, powerless and lost in his search for rhymes. He +might have understood the romance of my situation. + +It grew upon me as I thought. Don Balthasar, I understood, was apprised +of my arrival. As in a dream, I followed the old negro, who had +returned to the door of my room. It grew upon me in the silence of this +colonnaded court. We walked along the upper gallery; his cane tapped +before me on the tessellated pavement; below, the water splashed in the +marble basins; glass lanthorns hung glimmering between the pillars and, +in wrought silver frames, lighted the broad white staircase. Under the +inner curve of the vaulted gateway a black-faced man on guard, with +a bell-mouthed gun, rose from a stool at our passing. I thought I saw +Castro’s peaked hat and large cloak flit in the gloom into which fell +the light from the small doorway of a sort of guardroom near the closed +gate. We continued along the arcaded walk; a double curtain was drawn to +right and left before me, while my guide stepped aside. + +In a vast white apartment three black figures stood about a central +glitter of crystal and silver. At once the aged, slightly mechanical +voice of Don Balthasar rose thinly, putting himself and his house at my +disposition. + +The formality of movements, of voices, governed and checked the +unbounded emotions of my wonder. The two ladies sank, with a rustle of +starch and stiff silks, in answer to my profound bow. I had just enough +control over myself to accomplish that, but mentally I was out of +breath; and when I felt the slight, trembling touch of Don Balthasar’s +hand resting on my inclined head, it was as if I had suddenly become +aware for a moment of the earth’s motion. The hand was gone; his face +was averted, and a corpulent priest, all straight and black below his +rosy round face, had stepped forward to say a Latin grace in solemn +tones that wheezed a little. As soon as he had done he withdrew with a +circular bow to the ladies, to Don Balthasar, who inclined his silvery +head. His lifeless voice propounded: + +“Our excellent Father Antonio, in his devotion, dines by the bedside +of our beloved Carlos.” He sighed. The heavy carvings of his chair +rose upright at his back; he sat with his head leaning forward over his +silver plate. A heavy silence fell. Death hovered over that table--and +also, as it were, the breath of past ages. The multitude of lights, the +polished floor of costly wood, the bare whiteness of walls wainscotted +with marble, the vastness of the room, the imposing forms of furniture, +carved heavily in ebony, impressed me with a sense of secular and +austere magnificence. For centuries there had always been a Riego living +in this fortress-like palace, ruling this portion of the New World with +the whole majesty of his race. And I thought of the long, loop-holed, +buttressed walls that this abode of noble adventurers presented +foursquare to the night outside, standing there by the seashore like a +tomb of warlike glories. They built their houses thus, centuries ago, +when the bands of buccaneers, indomitable and atrocious, had haunted +their conquest with a reminder of mortality and weakness. + +It was a tremendous thing for me, this dinner. The portly duenna on my +left had a round eye and an irritated, parrot-like profile, crowned by +a high comb, a head shaded by black lace. I dared hardly lift my eyes +to the dark and radiant presence facing me across a table furniture that +was like a display of treasure. + +But I did look. She was the girl of the lizard, the girl of the dagger, +and, in the solemnity of the silence, she was like a fabulous apparition +from a half-forgotten tale. I watched covertly the youthful grace of her +features. The curve of her cheek filled me with delight. From time to +time she shook the heavy clusters of her curls, and I was amazed, as +though I had never before seen a woman’s hair. Each parting of her lips +was a distinct anticipation of a great felicity; when she said a few +words to me, I felt an inward trembling. They were indifferent words. + +Had she forgotten she was the girl with the dagger? And the old Don? +What did that old man know? What did he think? What did he mean by that +touch of a blessing on my head? Did _he_ know how I had come to his +house? But every turn of her head troubled my thoughts. The movements of +her hands made me forget myself. The gravity of her eyes above the smile +of her lips suggested ideas of adoration. + +We were served noiselessly. A battalion of young lusty negroes, in blue +jackets laced with silver, walked about barefooted under the command of +the old major-domo. He, alone, had white silk stockings, and shoes with +silver buckles; his wide-skirted maroon velvet coat, with gold on the +collar and cuffs, hung low about his thin shanks; and, with a long ebony +staff in his hand, he directed the service from behind Don Balthasar’s +chair. At times he bent towards his master’s ear. Don Balthasar answered +with a murmur: and those two faces brought close together, one like a +noble ivory carving, the other black with the mute pathos of the African +faces, seemed to commune in a fellowship of age, of things far off, +remembered, lived through together. There was something mysterious and +touching in this violent contrast, toned down by the near approach to +the tomb--the brotherhood of master and slave. + +At a given moment an enormous iron key was brought in on a silver +salver, and, bending over the chair, the gray-headed negro laid it by +Don Balthasar’s plate. + +“Don Carlos’ orders,” he muttered. + +The old Don seemed to wake up; a little colour mounted to his cheeks. + +“There was a time, young _caballero_, when the gates of Casa Riego stood +open night and day to the griefs and poverty of the people, like the +doors of a church--and as respected. But now it seems ...” + +He mumbled a little peevishly, but seemed to recollect himself. “The +safety of his guest is like the breath of life to a Castilian,” he +ended, with a benignant but attentive look at me. + +He rose, and we passed out through the double lines of the servants +ranged from table to door. By the splash of the fountain, on a little +round table between two chairs, stood a many-branched candlestick. +The duenna sat down opposite Don Balthasar. A multitude of stars was +suspended over the breathless peace of the court. + +“Señorita,” I began, mustering all my courage, and all my Spanish, “I do +not know------” + +She was walking by my side with upright carriage and a nonchalant step, +and shut her fan smartly. + +“Don Carlos himself had given me the dagger,” she said rapidly. + +The fan flew open; a touch of the wind fanning her person came faintly +upon my cheek with a suggestion of delicate perfume. + +She noticed my confusion, and said, “Let us walk to the end, Señor.” + +The old man and the duenna had cards in their hands now. The intimate +tone of her words ravished me into the seventh heaven. + +“Ah,” she said, when we were out of ear-shot, “I have the spirit of my +house; but I am only a weak girl. We have taken this resolution because +of your _hidal-guidad_, because you are our kinsman, because you are +English. _Ay de mi!_ Would I had been a man. My father needs a son in +his great, great age. Poor father! Poor Don Carlos!” + +There was the catch of a sob in the shadow of the end gallery. We turned +back, and the undulation of her walk seemed to throw me into a state of +exaltation. + +“On the word of an Englishman------” I began. + +The fan touched my arm. The eyes of the duenna glittered over the cards. + +“This woman belongs to that man, too,” muttered Seraphina. “And yet she +used to be faithful--almost a mother. _Misericordia!_ Señor, there is no +one in this unhappy place that he has not bought, corrupted, frightened, +or bent to his will--to his madness of hate against England. Of our poor +he has made a rabble. The bishop himself is afraid.” + +Such was the beginning of our first conversation in this court +suggesting the cloistered peace of a convent. We strolled to and fro; +she dropped her eyelids, and the agitation of her mind, pictured in the +almost fierce swiftness of her utterance, made a wonderful contrast to +the leisurely rhythm of her movements, marked by the slow beating of +the fan. The retirement of her father from the world after her mother’s +death had made a great solitude round his declining years. Yes, that +sorrow, and the base intrigues of that man--a fugitive, a hanger-on +of her mother’s family--recommended to Don Balthasar’s grace by her +mother’s favour. Yes! He had, before she died, thrown his baneful +influence even upon that saintly spirit, by the piety of his practices +and these sufferings for his faith he always paraded. His faith! Oh, +hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite! His only faith was hate--the hate of +England. He would sacrifice everything to it. He would despoil and ruin +his greatest benefactors, this fatal man! + +“Señor, my cousin,” she said picturesquely, “he would, if he could, drop +poison into every spring of clear water in your country.... Smile, +Don Juan.” + +Her repressed vehemence had held me spellbound, and the silvery little +burst of laughter ending her fierce tirade had the bewildering effect of +a crash on my mind. The other two looked up from their cards. + +“I pretend to laugh to deceive that woman,” she explained quickly. “I +used to love her.” + +She had no one now about her she could trust or love. It was as if +the whole world were blind to the nefarious nature of that man. He had +possessed himself of her little father’s mind. I glanced towards the old +Don, who at that moment was brokenly taking a pinch of snuff out of +a gold snuff-box, while the duenna, very sallow and upright, waited, +frowning loftily at her cards. + +“It seemed as if nothing could restrain that man,” Seraphina’s voice +went on by my side, “neither fear nor gratitude.” He seemed to cast a +spell upon people. He was the plenipotentiary of a powerful religious +order--no matter. Don Carlos knew these things better than she did. He +had the ear of the Captain-General through that. “Sh! But the intrigues, +the intrigues!” I saw her little hand clenched on the closed fan. There +were no bounds to his audacity. He wasted their wealth. “The audacity!” + He had overawed her father’s mind; he claimed descent from his Irish +kings, he who------ “Señor, my English cousin, he even dares aspire to +my person.” + +The game of cards was over. + +“Death rather,” she let fall in a whisper of calm resolution. + +She dropped me a deep curtsey. Servants were ranging themselves in a +row, holding upright before their black faces wax lights in tall silver +candlesticks inherited from the second Viceroy of Mexico. I bowed +profoundly, with indignation on her behalf and horror in my breast; +and, turning away from me, she sank low, bending her head to receive her +father’s blessing. The major-domo preceded the _cortège_. The two women +moved away with an ample rustling of silk, and with lights carried on +each side of their black, stiff figures. Before they had disappeared up +the wide staircase, Don Balthasar, who had stood perfectly motionless +with his old face over his snuff-box, seemed to wake up, and made in the +air a hasty sign of the cross after his daughter. + +They appeared again in the upper gallery between the columns. I saw +her head, draped in lace, carried proudly, with the white flower in her +hair. I raised my eyes. All my being seemed to strive upwards in that +glance. Had she turned her face my way just a little? Illusion! And +the double door above closed with an echoing sound along the empty +galleries. She had disappeared. + +Don Balthasar took three turns in the courtyard, no more. It was +evidently a daily custom. When he withdrew his hand from my arm to tap +his snuff-box, we stood still till he was ready to slip it in again. +This was the strangest part of it, the most touching, the most +startling--that he should lean like this on me, as if he had done it for +years. Before me there must have been somebody else. Carlos? Carlos, no +doubt. And in this placing me in that position there was apparent the +work of death, the work of life, of time, the pathetic realization of an +inevitable destiny. He talked a little disjointedly, with the uncertain +swaying of a shadow on his thoughts, as if the light of his mind had +flickered like an expiring lamp. I remember that once he asked me, in a +sort of senile worry, whether I had ever heard of an Irish king called +Brian Boru; but he did not seem to attach any importance to my reply, +and spoke no more till he said good-night at the door of my chamber. + +He went on to his apartment, surrounded by lights and preceded by his +major-domo, who walked as bowed with age as himself; but the African had +a firmer step. + +I watched him go; there was about his progress in state something +ghostlike and royal, an old-time, decayed majesty. It was as if he had +arisen before me after a hundred years’ sleep in his retreat--that man +who, in his wild and passionate youth, had endangered the wealth of the +Riegos, had been the idol of the Madrid populace, and a source of dismay +to his family. He had carried away, _vi et armis_, a nun from a convent, +incurring the enmity of the Church and the displeasure of his sovereign. +He had sacrificed all his fortune in Europe to the service of his king, +had fought against the French, had a price put upon his head by a +special proclamation. He had known passion, power, war, exile, and love. +He had been thanked by his returned king, honoured for his wisdom, and +crushed with sorrow by the death of his young wife--Seraphina’s mother. + +What a life! And what was my arm--my arm on which he had leaned in his +decay? I looked at it with a sort of surprise, dubiously. What was +expected of it? I asked myself. Would it have the strength? Ah, let +_her_ only lean on it! + +It seemed to me that I would have the power to shake down heavy pillars +of stone, like Samson, in her service; to reach up and take the stars, +one by one, to lay at her feet. I heard a sigh. A shadow appeared in the +gallery. + +The door of my room was open. Leaning my back against the balustrade, I +saw the black figure of the Father Antonio, muttering over his breviary, +enter the space of the light. + +He crossed himself, and stopped with a friendly, “You are taking the +air, my son. The night is warm.” He was rubicund, and his little eyes +looked me over with priestly mansuetude. + +I said it was warm indeed. I liked him instinctively. + +He lifted his eyes to the starry sky. “The orbs are shining +excessively,” he said; then added, “To the greater glory of God. One is +never tired of contemplating this sublime spectacle.” + +“How is Don Carlos, your reverence?” I asked. + +“My beloved penitent sleeps,” he answered, peering at me benevolently; +“he reposes. Do you know, young _caballero_, that I have been a prisoner +of war in your country, and am acquainted with Londres? I was chaplain +of the ship _San José_ at the battle of Trafalgar. On my soul, it is, +indeed, a blessed, fertile country, full of beauty and of well-disposed +hearts. I have never failed since to say every day an especial prayer +for its return to our holy mother, the Church. Because I love it.” + +I said nothing to this, only bowing; and he laid a short, thick hand on +my shoulder. + +“May your coming amongst us, my son, bring calmness to a Christian soul +too much troubled with the affairs of this world.” He sighed, nodded to +me with a friendly, sad smile, and began to mutter his prayers as he +went. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Don Balthasar accepted my presence without a question. Perhaps he +fancied he had invited me; of my manner of coming he was ignorant, of +course. O’Brien, who had gone on to Havana in the ship which had landed +the Riegos in Rio Medio, gave no sign of life. And yet, on the arrival +of the _Breeze_, he must have found out I was no longer on board. I +forgot the danger suspended over my head. For a fortnight I lived as if +in a dream. + +“What is the action you want me to take, Carlos?” + +I asked one day. + +Propped up with pillows, he looked at me with the big eyes of his +emaciation. + +“I would like best to see you marry my cousin. Once before a woman of +our race had married an Englishman. She had been happy. English things +last forever--English peace, English power, English fidelity. It is a +country of much serenity, of order, of stable affection....” + +His voice was very weak and full of faith. I remained silent, +overwhelmed at this secret of my innermost heart, voiced by his +bloodless lips--as if a dream had come to pass, as if a miracle had +taken place. He added, with an indefinable smile of an almost unearthly +wistfulness: + +“I would have married your sister, my Juan.” + +He had on him the glamour of things English--of English power emerging +from the dust of wars and revolution; of England stable and undismayed, +like a strong man who had kept his feet in the tottering of secular +edifices shaken to their foundations by an earthquake. It was as if for +him that were something fine, something romantic, just as for me romance +had always seemed to be embodied in his features, in his glance, and to +live in the air he breathed. On the other side of the bed the old Don, +lost in a high-backed armchair, remained plunged in that meditation of +the old which resembles sleep, as sleep resembles death. The priest, +lighted up by the narrow, bright streak of the window, was reading his +breviary through a pair of enormous spectacles. The white coif of the +nun hovered in distant corners of the room. + +We were constantly talking of O’Brien. He was the only subject of all +our conversations; and when Carlos inveighed against the Intendente, the +old Don nodded sadly in his chair. He was dishonouring the name of the +Riegos, Carlos would exclaim feebly, turning his head towards his uncle. +His uncle’s own province, the name of his own town, stood for a refuge +of the scum of the Antilles. It wras a shameful sanctuary. Every +ruffian, rascal, murderer, and thief of the West Indies had come to +think of this ancient and honourable town as a safe haven. + +I myself could very well remember the Jamaica household expression, “The +Rio Medio piracies,” and all these paragraphs in the home papers that +reached us a month old headed, “The Activity of the So-called Mexican +Privateers,” and urging upon our Government the necessity of energetic +remonstrances in Madrid. “The fact, incredible as it may appear,” said +the writers, “seeming to be that the nest of these Picaroons is actually +within the loyal dominions of the Spanish Crown.” If Spain, our press +said, resented our recognition of South American independence, let it +do so openly, not by countenancing criminals. It was unworthy of a great +nation. “Our West Indian trade is being stabbed in the back,” declaimed +the _Bristol Mirror_. “Where is our fleet?” it asked. “If the Cuban +authorities are unable or unwilling, let us take the matter in our own +hands.” + +There was a great deal of mystery about this peculiar outbreak of +lawlessness that seemed to be directed so pointedly against the British +trade. The town of Rio Medio was alluded to as one of the unapproachable +towns of the earth--closed, like the capital of Prester John to the +travellers, or Mecca to the infidels. Nobody I ever met in Jamaica had +set eyes on the place. The impression prevailed that no stranger could +come out of it alive. Incredible stories were told of it in the island, +and indignation at its existence grew at home and in the colonies. + +Admiral Rowley, an old fighter, grown a bit lazy, no diplomatist +(the stories of his being venal, I take it, were simply abominable +calumnies), unable to get anything out of the Cuban authorities but +promises and lofty protestations, had made up his mind, under direct +pressure from home, to take matters into his own hands. His boat attack +had been a half-and-half affair, for all that. He intended, he had said, +to go to the bottom of the thing, and find out what there was in the +place; but he could not believe that anybody would dare offer resistance +to the boats of an English squadron. They were sent in as if for an +exploration rather than for an armed landing. + +It ended in a disaster, and a sense of wonder had been added to the +mystery of the fabulous Rio Medio organization. The Cuban authorities +protested against the warlike operations attempted in a friendly +country; at the same time, they had delivered the seven pirates--the men +whom I saw hanged in Kingston. And Rowley was recalled home in disgrace. + +It was my extraordinary fate to penetrate into this holy city of the +last organized piracy the world would ever know. I beheld it with my +eyes; I had stood on the point behind the very battery of guns which had +swept Rowley’s boats out of existence. + +The narrow entrance faced, across the water, the great portal of the +cathedral. Rio Medio had been a place of some splendour in its time. The +ruinous heavy buildings clung to the hillsides, and my eyes plunged into +a broad vista of an empty and magnificent street. Behind many of the +imposing and escutcheoned frontages there was nothing but heaps of +rubble; the footsteps of rare passers-by woke lonely echoes, and strips +of grass outlined in parallelograms the flagstones of the roadway. The +Casa Riego raised its buttressed and loop-holed bulk near the shore, +resembling a defensive outwork; on my other hand the shallow bay, vast, +placid, and shining, extended itself behind the strip of coast like an +enormous lagoon. The fronds of palm-clusters dotted the beach over the +glassy shimmer of the far distance. The dark and wooded slopes of the +hills closed the view inland on every side. + +Under the palms the green masses of vegetation concealed the hovels of +the rabble. There were three so-called ‘villages’ at the bottom of the +bay; and that good Catholic and terrible man, Señor Juez O’Brien, could +with a simple nod send every man in them to the gallows. + +The respectable population of Rio Medio, leading a cloistered existence +in the ruins of old splendour, used to call that thievish rabble +_Lugarenos_--villagers. They were sea-thieves, but they were dangerous. +At night, from these clusters of hovels surrounded by the banana +plantations, there issued a villainous noise, the humming of hived +scoundrels. Lights twinkled. One could hear the thin twanging of +guitars, uproarious songs, all the sounds of their drinking, singing, +gambling, quarrelling, love-making, squalor. Sometimes the long shriek +of a woman rent the air, or shouting tumults rose and subsided; while, +on the other side of the cathedral, the houses of the past, the houses +without life, showed no light and made no sound. + +There would be no strollers on the beach in the daytime; the masts of +the two schooners (bought in the United States by O’Brien to make war +with on the British Empire) appeared like slender sticks far away up +the empty stretch of water; and that gathering of ruffians, thieves, +murderers, and runaway slaves slept in their noisome dens. Their habits +were obscene and nocturnal. Cruel without hardihood, and greedy without +courage, they were no skull-and-crossbones pirates of the old kind, +that, under the black flag, neither gave nor expected quarter. Their +usual practice was to hang in rowboats round some unfortunate ship +becalmed in sight of their coast, like a troop of vultures hopping about +the carcass of a dead buffalo on a plain. When they judged the thing was +fairly safe, they would attack with a great noise and show of ferocity; +do some hasty looting amongst the cargo; break into the cabins for +watches, wearing apparel, and so on; perpetrate at times some atrocity, +such as singeing the soles of some poor devil of a ship-master, when +they had positive information (from such affiliated helpers as Ramon, +the storekeeper in Jamaica) that there was coined money concealed on +board; and take themselves off to their sordid revels on shore, and to +hold auctions of looted property on the beach. These Were attended by +people from the interior of the province, and now and then even the +Havana dealers would come on the quiet to secure a few pieces of silk +or a cask or two of French wine. Tomas Castro could not mention them +without spitting in sign of contempt. And it was with that base crew +that O’Brien imagined himself to be making war on the British Empire! + +In the time of Nichols it did look as if they were really becoming +enterprising. They had actually chased and boarded ships sixty miles out +at sea. It seems he had inspired them with audacity by means of kicks, +blows, and threats of instant death, after the manner of Bluenose +sailors. His long limbs, the cadaverous and menacing aspect, the strange +nasal ferocity of tone, something mocking and desperate in his aspect, +had persuaded them that this unique sort of heretic was literally in +league with the devil. He had been the most efficient of the successive +leaders O’Brien had imported to give some sort of effect to his warlike +operations. I laugh and wonder as I write these words; but the man did +look upon it as a war and nothing else. What he had had the audacity to +propose to me had been treason, not thieving. It had a glamour for him +which, he supposed, a Separationist (as I had the reputation of being) +could not fail to see. He was thinking of enlarging his activity, of +getting really in touch with the Mexican Junta of rebels. As he had +said, he needed a gentleman now. These were Carlos’ surmises. + +Before Nichols there had been a rather bloodthirsty Frenchman, but he +got himself stabbed in an _aguardiente_ shop for blaspheming the Virgin. +Nichols, as far as I could understand, had really grown scared at +O’Brien’s success in repulsing Rowley’s boats; he had mysteriously +disappeared, and neither of the two schooners had been out till the +day of my kidnapping, when Castro, by order of Carlos, had taken the +command. The freebooters of Rio Medio had returned to their cautious and +petty pilfering in boats, from such unlucky ships as the chance of the +weather had delivered into their hands. I heard, also, during my walks +with Castro (he attended me wrapped in his cloak, and with two pistols +in his belt), that there were great jealousies and bickerings amongst +that base populace. They were divided into two parties. For instance, +the rascals living in the easternmost village accepted tacitly the +leadership of a certain Domingo, a mulatto, keeper of a vile grogshop, +who was skilled in the art of throwing a knife to a great distance. +Man-uel-del-Popolo, the extraordinary _improvisador_ with the guitar, +was an aspirant for power with a certain following of his own. Words +could not express Castro’s scorn for these fellows. _Ladrones!_ vermin +of the earth, scum of the sea, he called them. + +His position, of course, was exceptional. A dependent of the Riegos, +a familiar of the Casa, he was infinitely removed from a Domingo or a +Manuel. He lived soberly, like a Spaniard, in some hut in the nearest of +the villages, with an old woman who swept the earth floor and cooked his +food at an outside fire--his _puchero_ and _tortillas_--and rolled for +him his provision of cigarettes for the day. Every morning he marched up +to the Casa, like a courtier, to attend on his king. I never saw him eat +or drink anything there. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, or sat +on the floor of the gallery with his short legs stretched out near the +big mahogany door of Carlos’ room, with many cigarettes stuck behind +his ears and in the band of his hat. When these were gone he grubbed for +more in the depths of his clothing, somewhere near his skin. Puffs of +smoke issued from his pursed lips; and the desolation of his pose, the +sorrow of his round, wrinkled face, was so great that it seemed were he +to cease smoking, he would die of grief. + +The general effect of the place was of vitality exhausted, of a body +calcined, of romance turned into stone. The still air, the hot sunshine, +the white beach curving around the deserted sheet of water, the sombre +green of the hills, had the motionlessness of things petrified, +the vividness of things painted, the sadness of things abandoned, +desecrated. And, as if alone intrusted with the guardianship of life’s +sacred fire, I was moving amongst them, nursing my love for Sera-phina. +The words of Carlos were like oil upon a flame; it enveloped me from +head to foot with a leap. I had the physical sensation of breathing it, +of seeing it, of being at the same time driven on and restrained. One +moment I strode blindly over the sand, the next I stood still; and +Castro, coming up panting, would remark from behind that, on such a hot +day as this, it was a shame to disturb even a dog sleeping in the shade. +I had the feeling of absolute absorption into one idea. I was ravaged by +a thought. It was as if I had never before imagined, heard spoken of, or +seen a woman. + +It was true. She was a revelation to my eye and my ear, as much as to my +heart and mind. Indeed, I seemed never before to have seen a woman. Whom +had I seen? Veronica? We had been too poor, and my mother too proud, to +keep up a social intercourse with our neighbours; the village girls had +been devoid of even the most rustic kind of charm; the people were too +poor to be handsome. I had never been tempted to look at a woman’s face; +and the manner of my going from home is known. In Jamaica, sharing with +an exaggerated loyalty the unpopularity of the Mac-donalds, I had led +a lonely life; for I had no taste for their friends’ society, and the +others, after a time, would have nothing to do with me. I had made a +sort of hermitage for myself out of a house in a distant plantation, and +sometimes I would see no white face for whole weeks together. She was +the first woman to me--a strange new being, a marvel as great as Eve +herself to Adam’s wondering awakening. + +It may be that a close intimacy stands in the way of love springing up +between two young people, but in our case it was different. My passion +seemed to spring from our understanding, because the understanding was +in the face of danger. We were like two people in a slowly sinking +ship; the feeling of the abyss under our feet was our bond, not the real +comprehension of each other. Apart from that, she remained to me always +unattainable and romantic?--unique, with all the unexpressed promises +of love such as no world had ever known. And naturally, because for +me, hitherto, the world had held no woman. She was an apparition of +dreams--the girl with the lizard, the girl with the dagger, a wonder to +stretch out my hands to from afar; and yet I was permitted to whisper +intimately to this my dream, to this vision. We had to put our heads +close together, talking of the enemy and of the shadow over the +house; while under our eyes Carlos waited for death, made cruel by his +anxieties, and the old Don walked in the darkness of his accumulated +years. + +As to me, what was I to her? + +Carlos, in a weak voice, and holding her hand with a feeble and +tenacious grasp, had told her repeatedly that the English cousin was +ready to offer up his life to her happiness in this world. Many a time +she would turn her glance upon me--not a grateful glance, but, as it +were, searching and pensive--a glance of penetrating candour, a young +girl’s glance, that, by its very trustfulness, seems to look one through +and through. + +And then the sense of my unworthiness made me long for her love as a +sinner, in his weakness, longs for the saving grace. + +“Our English cousin is worthy of his great nation. He is very brave, and +very chivalrous to a poor girl,” she would say softly. + +One day, I remember, going out of Carlos’ room, she had just paused on +the threshold for an almost imperceptible moment, the time to murmur, +with feeling, “May Heaven reward you, Don Juan.” This sound, faint and +enchanting, like a breath of sweet wind, staggered me. Castro, sitting +outside as usual, had scrambled to his feet and stood by, hat in hand, +his head bent slightly with saturnine deference. She smiled at him. I +think she felt kindly towards the tubby little bandit of a fellow. After +all, there was something touching and pathetic in his mournful vigil +at the door of our radiant Carlos. I could have embraced that figure of +grotesque and truculent devotion. Had she not smiled upon him? + +The rest of that memorable day I spent in a state of delightful +distraction, as if I had been ravished into the seventh heaven, and +feared to be cast out again presently, as my unworthiness deserved. What +if it were possible, after all?--this, what Carlos wished, what he had +said. The heavens shook; the constellations above the court of Casa +Riego trembled at the thought. + +Carlos fought valiantly. There were days when his courage seemed to +drive the grim presence out of the chamber, where Father Antonio with +his breviary, and the white coif of the nun, seemed the only reminders +of illness and mortality. Sometimes his voice was very strong, and a +sort of hopefulness lighted his wasted features. Don Balthasar paid +many visits to his nephew in the course of each day. He sat apparently +attentive, and nodding at the name of O’Brien. Then Carlos would talk +against O’Brien from amongst his pillows as if inspired, till the old +man, striking the floor with his gold-headed cane, would exclaim, in a +quavering voice, that he, alone, had made him, had raised him up from +the dust, and could abase him to the dust again. He would instantly +go to Havana; orders would be given to Cesar for the journey this very +moment. He would then take a pinch of snuff with shaky energy, and lean +back in the armchair. Carlos would whisper to me, “He will never leave +the Casa again,” and an air of solemn, brooding helplessness would fall +upon the funereal magnificence of the room. Presently we would hear the +old Don muttering dotingly to himself the name of Seraphina’s mother, +the young wife of his old days, so saintly, and snatched away from him +in punishment of his early sinfulness. It was impossible that she +should have been deceived in Don Patricio (O’Brien’s Christian name was +Patrick). The intendente was a man of great intelligence, and full of +reverence for her memory. Don Balthasar admitted that he himself was +growing old; and, besides, there was that sorrow of his life.... He +had been fortunate in his affliction to have a man of his worth by +his side. There might have been slight irregularities, faults of youth +(O’Brien was five-and-forty if a day). The archbishop himself was +edified by the life of the upright judge--all Havana, all the island. +The intendente’s great zeal for the House might have led him into an +indiscretion or two. So many years now, so many years. A noble himself. +Had we heard of an Irish king? A king ... king... he could not +recall the name at present. It might be well to hear what a man of such +abilities had to say for himself. + +Carlos and I looked at each other silently. “And his life hangs on a +thread,” whispered the dying man with something like despair. + +The crisis of all these years of plotting would come the moment the +old Don closed his eyes. Meantime, why was it that O’Brien did not show +himself in Rio Medio? What was it that kept him in Havana? + +“Already I do not count, my Juan,” Carlos would say. “And he prepares +all things for the day of my uncle’s death.” + +The dark ways of that man were inscrutable. He must have known, of +course, that I was in Rio Medio. His presence was to be feared, and his +absence itself was growing formidable. + +“But what do you think he will do? How do you think he will act?” I +would ask, a little bewildered by my responsibility. + +Carlos could not tell precisely. It was not till some time after his +arrival from Europe that he became clearly aware of all the extent of +that man’s ambition. At the same time, he had realized all his power. +That man aimed at nothing less than the whole Riego fortune, and, of +course, through Seraphina. I would feel a rage at this--a sort of rage +that made my head spin as if the ground had reeled. “He would have found +means of getting rid of me if he had not seen I was not long for this +world,” Carlos would say. He had gained an unlimited ascendency over his +uncle’s mind; he had made a solitude round this solemn dotage in which +ended so much power, a great reputation, a stormy life of romance and +passion--so picturesque and excessive even in his old man’s love, +whose after-effect, as though the work of a Nemesis resenting so much +brilliance, was casting a shadow upon the fate of his daughter. + +Small, fair, plump, concealing his Irish vivacity of intelligence under +the taciturn gravity of a Spanish lawyer, and backed by the influence +of two noble houses, O’Brien had attained to a remarkable reputation of +sagacity and unstained honesty. Hand in glove with the clergy, one of +the judges of the Marine Court, procurator to the cathedral chapter, he +had known how to make himself so necessary to the highest in the land +that everybody but the very highest looked upon him with fear. His +occult influence was altogether out of proportion to his official +position. His plans were carried out with an unswerving tenacity +of purpose. Carlos believed him capable of anything but a vulgar +peculation. He had been reduced to observe his action quietly, hampered +by the weakness of ill-health. As an instance of O’Brien’s methods, he +related to me the manner in which, faithful to his purpose of making a +solitude about the Riegos, he had contrived to prevent overtures for an +alliance from the Salazar family. The young man Don Vincente himself was +impossible, an evil liver, Carlos said, of dissolute habits. Still, to +have even that shadow of a rival out of the way, O’Brien took advantage +of a sanguinary affray between that man and one of his boon companions +about some famous guitar-player girl. The encounter having taken place +under the wall of a convent, O’Brien had contrived to keep Don Vincente +in prison ever since--not on a charge of murder (which for a young man +of that quality would have been a comparatively venial offence), but +of sacrilege. The Salazars were a powerful family, but he was strong +enough to risk their enmity. “Imagine that, Juan!” Carlos would exclaim, +closing his eyes. What had caused him the greatest uneasiness was the +knowledge that Don Balthasar had been induced lately to write some +letter to the archbishop in Havana. Carlos was afraid it was simply +an expression of affection and unbounded trust in his intendente, +practically dictated to the old man by O’Brien. “Do you not see, Juan, +how such a letter would strengthen his case, should he ask the guardians +for Seraphina’s hand?” And perhaps he was appointed one of the +guardians himself. It was impossible to know what, were the testamentary +dispositions; Father Antonio, who had learned many things in the +confessional, could tell us nothing, but, when the matter was mentioned, +only rolled his eyes up to heaven in an alarming manner. It was +startling to think of all the unholy forces awakened by the temptation +of Seraphina’s helplessness and her immense fortune. Incorruptible +himself, that man knew how to corrupt others. There might have been +combined in one dark intrigue the covetousness of religious orders, the +avarice of high officials--God knows what conspiracy--to help O’Brien’s +ambition, his passions. He could make himself necessary; he could bribe; +he could frighten; he was able to make use of the highest in the land +and of the lowest, from the present Captain-General to the _Lugarenos_. +In Havana he had for him the reigning powers; in Rio Medio the lowest +outcasts of the island. + +This last was the most dangerous aspect of his power for us, and +also his weakest point. This was the touch of something fanciful and +imaginative; a certain grim childishness in the idea of making war on +the British Empire; a certain disregard of risk; a bizarre illusion +of his hate for the abhorred Saxon. That he risked his position by his +connection with such a nest of scoundrels, there could be no doubt. It +was he who had given them such organization as they had, and he stood +between them and the law. But whatever might have been suspected of him, +he was cautious enough not to go too far. He never appeared personally; +his agents directed the action--men who came from Havana rather +mysteriously. They were of all sorts; some of them were friars. But the +rabble, who knew him really only as the intendente of the great man, +stood in the greatest dread of him. Who was it procured the release of +some of them who had got into trouble in Havana? The intendente. Who was +it who caused six of their comrades, who had been taken up on a matter +of street-brawling in the capital, to be delivered to the English +as pirates? Again, the intendente, the terrible man, the Juez, who +apparently had the power to pardon and condemn. + +In this way he was most dangerous to us in Rio Medio. He had that +rabble at his beck and call. He could produce a rising of cut-throats by +lifting his little finger. He was not very likely to do that, however. +He was intriguing in Havana--but how could we unmask him there? “He has +cut us off from the world,” Carlos would say. “It is so, my Juan, that, +if I tried to write, no letter of mine would reach its destination; it +would fall into his hands. And if I did manage to make my voice heard, +he would appeal to my uncle himself in his defence.” + +Besides, to whom could he write?--who would believe him? O’Brien would +deny everything, and go on his way. He had been accepted too long, had +served too many people and known so many secrets. It was terrible. +And if I went myself to Havana, no one would believe me. But I should +disappear; they would never see me again. It was impossible to +unmask that man unless by a long and careful action. And for this +he--Carlos--had no time; and I--I had no standing, no relations, no +skill even.... + +“But what is my line of conduct, Carlos?” I insisted; while Father +Antonio, from whom Carlos had, of course, no secrets, stood by the bed, +his round, jolly face almost comical in its expression of compassionate +concern. + +Carlos passed his thin, wasted hand over a white brow pearled with the +sweat of real anguish. + +Carlos thought that while Don Balthasar lived, O’Brien would do nothing +to compromise his influence over him. Neither could I take any action; +I must wait and watch. O’Brien would, no doubt, try to remove me; but +as long as I kept within the Casa, he thought I should be safe. He +recommended me to try to please his cousin, and even found strength +to smile at my transports. Don Balthasar liked me for the sake of his +sister, who had been so happy in England. I was his kinsman and his +guest. From first to last, England, the idea of my country, of my home, +played a great part in my life then; it seemed to rest upon all our +thoughts. To me it was but my boyhood, the farm at the foot of the +downs--Rooksby’s Manor--all within a small nook between the quarry by +the side of the Canterbury road and the shingle beach, whose regular +crashing under the feet of a smuggling band was the last sound of my +country I had heard. For Carlos it was the concrete image of stability, +with the romantic feeling of its peace and of Veronica’s beauty; the +unchangeable land where he had loved. To O’Brien’s hate it loomed up +immense and odious, like the form of a colossal enemy. Father Antonio, +in the naïve benevolence of his heart, prayed each night for its +conversion, as if it were a loved sinner. He believed this event to +be not very far off accomplishment, and told me once, with an amazing +simplicity of certitude, that “there will be a great joy amongst the +host of heaven on that day.” It is marvellous how that distant land, +from which I had escaped as if from a prison to go in search of romance, +appeared romantic and perfect in these days--all things to all men! With +Seraphina I talked of it and its denizens as of a fabulous country. +I wonder what idea she had formed of my father, of my mother, my +sister--“Señora Dona Veronica Rooksby,” she called her--of the +landscape, of the life, of the sky. Her eyes turned to me seriously. +Once, stooping, she plucked an orange marigold for her hair; and at last +we came to talk of our farm as the only perfect refuge for her. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +One evening Carlos, after a silence of distress, had said, “There’s +nothing else for it. When the crisis comes, you must carry her off from +this unhappiness and misery that hangs over her head. You must take her +out of Cuba; there is no safety for her here.” + +This took my breath away. “But where are we to go, Carlos?” I asked, +bending over him. + +“To--to England,” he whispered. + +He was utterly worn out that evening by all the perplexities of his +death-bed. He made a great effort and murmured a few words more--about +the Spanish ambassador in London being a near relation of the Riegos; +then he gave it up and lay still under my amazed eyes. The nun was +approaching, alarmed, from the shadows. Father Antonio, gazing sadly +upon his beloved penitent, signed me to withdraw. + +Castro had not gone away yet; he greeted me in low tones outside the big +door. + +“Señor,” he went on, “I make my report usually to his Señoria Don +Carlos; only I have not been admitted to-day into his rooms at all. But +what I have to say is for your ear, also. There has arrived a friar from +a Havana convent amongst the _Lugarenos_ of the bay. I have known him +come like this before.” + +I remembered that in the morning, while dressing, I had glanced out +of the narrow outside window of my room, and had seen a brown, mounted +figure passing on the sands. Its sandalled feet dangled against the +flanks of a powerful mule. + +Castro shook his head. “Malediction on his green eyes! He baptizes the +offspring of this vermin sometimes, and sits for hours in the shade +before the door of Domingo’s posada telling his beads as piously as a +devil that had turned monk for the greater undoing of us Christians. +These women crowd there to kiss his oily paw. What else they------ +_Basta!_ Only I wanted to tell you, Señor, that this evening (I just +come from taking a _pasear_ that way) there is much talk in the villages +of an evil-intentioned heretic that has introduced himself into this our +town; of an _Inglez_ hungry for men to hang--of you, in short.” + +The moon, far advanced in its first quarter, threw an ashen, bluish +light upon one-half of the courtyard; and the straight shadow upon the +other seemed to lie at the foot of the columns, black as a broad stroke +of Indian ink. + +“And what do you think of it, Castro?” I asked. + +“I think that Domingo has his orders. Manuel has made a song already. +And do you know its burden, Señor? Killing is its burden. I would the +devil had all these _Improvisadores_. They gape round him while he +twangs and screeches, the wind-bag! And he knows what words to sing to +them, too. He has talent. _Maladetta!_” + +“Well, and what do you advise?” + +“I advise the senor to keep, now, within the Casa. No songs can give +that vermin the audacity to seek the senor here. The gate remains +barred; the firearms are always loaded; and Cesar is a sagacious +African. But methinks this moon would fall out of the heaven first +before they would dare.... Keep to the Casa, I say--I, Tomas Castro.” + +He flung the corner of his cloak over his left shoulder, and preceded me +to the door of my room; then, after a “God guard you, Señor,” continued +along the colonnade. Before I had shut my door it occurred to me that +he was going on towards the part of the gallery on which Seraphina’s +apartments opened. Why? What could he want there? + +I am not so much ashamed of my sudden suspicion of him--one did not know +whom to trust--but I am a little ashamed to confess that, kicking off my +shoes, I crept out instantly to spy upon him. + +This part of the house was dark in the inky flood of shadow; and before +I had come to a recess in the wall, I heard the discreet scratching of a +finger-nail on a door. A streak of light darted and disappeared, like a +signal for the murmurs of two voices. + +I recognized the woman’s at once. It belonged to one of Seraphina’s +maids, a pretty little quadroon--a favourite of hers--called La Chica. +She had slipped out, and her twitter-like whispering reached me in the +still solemnity of the quadrangle. She addressed Castro as “His Worship” + at every second word, for the saturnine little man, in his unbrushed +cloak and battered hat, was immensely respected by the household. Had he +not been sent to Europe to fetch Don Carlos? He was in the confidence of +the masters--their humble friend. The little tire-woman twittered of her +mistress. The senorita had been most anxious all day--ever since she had +heard the friar had come. Castro muttered: + +“Tell the Excellency that her orders have been obeyed. The English +_caballero_ has been warned. I have been sleepless in my watchfulness +over the guest of the house, as the senorita has desired--for the honour +of the Riegos. Let her set her mind at ease.” + +The girl then whispered to him with great animation. Did not his worship +think that it was the senorita’s heart which was not at ease? + +Then the quadrangle became dumb in its immobility, half sheen, half +night, with its arcades, the soothing plash of water, with its expiring +lights, in a suggestion of Castilian severity, enveloped by the exotic +softness of the air. + +“What folly!” uttered Castro’s sombre voice. “You women do not mind how +many corpses come into your imaginings of love. The mere whisper of such +a thing------” + +She murmured swiftly. He interrupted her. + +“Thine eyes, La Chica--thine eyes see only the silliness of thine own +heart. Think of thine own lovers, _nina. Por Dios!_”--he changed to a +tone of severe appreciation--“thy foolish face looks well by moonlight.” + +I believe he was chucking her gravely under the chin. I heard her +soft, gratified cooing in answer to the compliment; the streak of light +flashed on the polished shaft of a pillar; and Castro went on, going +round to the staircase, evidently so as not to pass again before my open +door. + +I forgot to shut it. I did not stop until I was in the middle of +my room; and then I stood still for a long time in a self-forgetful +ecstasy, while the many wax candles of the high candelabrum burned +without a flicker in a rich cluster of flames, as if lighted to throw +the splendour of a celebration upon the pageant of my thoughts. + +For the honour of the Riegos! + +I came to myself. Well, it was sweet to be the object of her anxiety and +care, even on these terms--on any terms. And I felt a sort of profound, +inexpressible, grateful emotion, as though no one, never, on no day, on +no occasion, had taken thought of me before. + +I should not be able to sleep. I went to the window, and leaned my +forehead on the iron bar. There was no glass; the heavy shutter was +thrown open; and, under the faint crescent of the moon I saw a small +part of the beach, very white, the long streak of light lying mistily +on the bay, and two black shapes, cloaked, moving and stopping all of a +piece like pillars, their immensely long shadows running away from their +feet, with the points of the hats touching the wall of the Casa Riego. +Another, a shorter, thicker shape, appeared, walking with dignity. It +was Castro. The other two had a movement of recoil, then took off their +hats. + +“_Buenas noches, caballeros_,” his voice said, with grim politeness. +“You are out late.” + +“So is your worship. _Vaya, Señor, con Dios_. We are taking the air.” + +They walked away, while Castro remained looking after them. But I, +from my elevation, noticed that they had suddenly crouched behind some +scrubby bushes growing on the edge of the sand. Then Castro, too, passed +out of my sight in the opposite direction, muttering angrily. + +I forgot them all. Everything on earth was still, and I seemed to be +looking through a casement out of an enchanted castle standing in the +dreamland of romance. I breathed out the name of Seraphina into the +moonlight in an increasing transport. “Seraphina! Seraphina! Seraphina!” + The repeated beauty of the sound intoxicated me. “Seraphina!” I cried +aloud, and stopped, astounded at myself. And the moonlight of romance +seemed to whisper spitefully from below: + +“Death to the traitor! Vengeance for our brothers dead on the English +gallows!” “Come away, Manuel.” + +“No. I am an artist. It is necessary for my soul...” + +“Be quiet!” + +Their hissing ascended along the wall from under the window. The two +_Lugarenos_ had stolen in unnoticed by me. There was a stifled metallic +ringing, as of a guitar carried under a cloak. + +“Vengeance on the heretic _Inglez!_” + +“Come away! They may suddenly open the gate and fall upon us with +sticks.” + +“My gentle spirit is roused to the accomplishment of great things. +I feel in me a valiance, an inspiration. I am no vulgar seller of +_aguardiente_, like Domingo. I was born to be the _capataz_ of the +_Lugarenos_.” + +“We shall be set upon and beaten, oh, thou Manuel. Come away!” + +There were no footsteps, only a noiseless flitting of two shadows, and a +distant voice crying: + +“Woe, woe, woe to the traitor!” + +I had not needed Castro’s warning to understand the meaning of this. +O’Brien was setting his power to work, only this Manuel’s restless +vanity had taught me exactly how the thing was to be done. The friar +had been exciting the minds of this rabble against me; awakening their +suspicions, their hatred, their fears. + +I remained at the casement, lost in rather sombre reflections. I was now +a prisoner within the walls of the Casa. After all, it mattered little. +I did not want to go away unless I could carry off Seraphina with me. +What a dream! What an impossible dream! Alone, without friends, with no +place to go to, without means of going; without, by Heaven, the right of +even as much as speaking of it to her. Carlos--Carlos dreamed--a +dream of his dying hours. England was so far, the enemy so near; +and--Providence itself seemed to have forgotten me. + +A sound of panting made me turn my head. Father Antonio was mopping his +brow in the doorway. Though a heavy man, he was noiseless of foot. A +wheezing would be heard along the dark galleries some time before his +black bulk approached you with a gliding motion. He had the outward +placidity of corpulent people, a natural artlessness of demeanour +which was amusing and attractive, and there was something shrewd in his +simplicity. Indeed, he must have displayed much tact and shrewdness to +have defeated all O’Brien’s efforts to oust him from his position of +confessor to the household. What had helped him to hold his ground was +that, as he said to me once, “I, too, my son, am a legacy of that truly +pious and noble lady, the wife of Don Riego. I was made her spiritual +director soon after her marriage, and I may say that she showed more +discretion in the choice of her confessor than in that of her man of +affairs. But what would you have? The best of us, except for Divine +grace, is liable to err; and, poor woman, let us hope that, in her +blessed state, she is spared the knowledge of the iniquities going on +here below in the Casa.” + +He used to talk to me in that strain, coming in almost every evening +on his way from the sick room. He, too, had his own perplexities, which +made him wipe his forehead repeatedly; afterwards he used to spread his +red bandanna handkerchief over his knees. + +He sympathized with Carlos, his beloved penitent, with Seraphina, his +dear daughter, whom he had baptized and instructed in the mysteries of +“our holy religion,” and he allowed himself often to drop the remark +that his “illustrious spiritual son,” Don Balthasar, after a stormy +life of which men knew only too much, had attained to a state of truly +childlike and God-fearing innocence--a sign, no doubt, of Heaven’s +forgiveness for those excesses. He ended, always, by sighing heartily, +to sit with his gaze on the floor. + +That night he came in silently, and after shutting the door with care, +took his habitual seat, a broad wooden armchair. + +“How did your reverence leave Don Carlos?” I asked. + +“Very low,” he said. “The disease is making terrible ravages, and my +ministrations------I ought to be used to the sight of human misery, +but------” He raised his hands; a genuine emotion overpowered him; then, +uncovering his face to stare at me, “He is lost, Don Juan,” he +exclaimed. + +“Indeed, I fear we are about to lose him, your reverence,” I said, +surprised at this display. It seemed inconceivable that he should have +been in doubt up to this very moment. + +He rolled his eyes painfully. I was forgetting the infinite might of +God. Still, nothing short of a miracle------But what had we done to +deserve miracles? + +“Where is the ancient piety of our forefathers which made Spain so +great?” he apostrophized the empty air, a little wildly, as if in +distraction. “No, Don Juan; even I, a true servant of our faith, am +conscious of not having had enough grace for my humble ministrations to +poor sailors and soldiers--men naturally inclined to sin, but simple. +And now--there are two great nobles, the fortune of a great house....” + +I looked at him and wondered, for he was, in a manner, wringing his +hands, as if in immense distress. + +“We are all thinking of that poor child--_mas que_, Don Juan, imagine +all that wealth devoted to the iniquitous purposes of that man. Her +happiness sacrificed.” + +“I cannot imagine this--I will not,” I interrupted, so violently that he +hushed me with both hands uplifted. + +“To these wild enterprises against your own country,” he went on +vehemently, disregarding my exasperated and contemptuous laugh. “And she +herself, the _niña_ I have baptized her; I have instructed her; and a +more noble disposition, more naturally inclined to the virtues and +proprieties of her sex------But, Don Juan, she has pride, which +doubtless is a gift of God, too, but it is made a snare of by Satan, +the roaring lion, the thief of souls. And what if her feminine +rashness--women are rash, my son,” he interjected with unction--“and her +pride were to lead her into--I am horrified at the thought--into an act +of mortal sin for which there is no repentance?” + +“Enough!” I shouted at him. + +“No repentance,” he repeated, rising to his feet excitedly, and I stood +before him, my arms down my sides, with my fists clenched. + +Why did the stupid priest come to talk like this to me, as if I had not +enough of my own unbearable thoughts? + +He sat down and began to flourish his handkerchief. There was depicted +on his broad face--depicted simply and even touchingly--the inward +conflict of his benevolence and of his doubts. + +“I observe your emotion, my son,” he said. I must have been as pale +as death. And, after a pause, he meditated aloud, “And, after all, you +English are a reverent nation. You, a scion of the nobility, have been +brought up in deplorable rebellion against the authority of God on this +earth; but you are not a scoffer--not a scoffer. I, a humble +priest------But, after all, the Holy Father himself, in his inspired +wisdom------I have prayed to be enlightened....” + +He spread the square of his damp handkerchief on his knees, and bowed +his head. I had regained command over myself, but I did not understand +in the least. I had passed from my exasperation into a careworn fatigue +of mind that was like utter darkness. + +“After all,” he said, looking up naively, “the business of us priests is +to save souls. It is a solemn time when death approaches. The affairs of +this world should be cast aside. And yet God surely does not mean us to +abandon the living to the mercy of the wicked.” + +A sadness came upon his face, his eyes; all the world seemed asleep. He +made an effort. “My son,” he said with decision, “I call you to follow +me to the bedside of Don Carlos at this very hour of night. I, a humble +priest, the unworthy instrument of God’s grace, call upon you to bring +him a peace which my ministrations cannot give. His time is near.” + +I rose up, startled by his solemnity, by the hint of hidden significance +in these words. + +“Is he dying now?” I cried. + +“He ought to detach his thoughts from this earth; and if there is no +other way------” + +“What way? What am I expected to do?” + +“My son, I had observed your emotion. We, the appointed confidants +of men’s frailties, are quick to discern the signs of their innermost +feelings. Let me tell you that my cherished daughter in God, Señorita +Dona Seraphina Riego, is with Don Carlos, the virtual head of the +family, since his Excellency Don Balthasar is in a state of, I may say, +infantile innocence.” + +“What do you mean, father?” I faltered. + +“She is waiting for you with him,” he pronounced, looking up. And as his +solemnity seemed to have deprived me of my power to move, he added, with +his ordinary simplicity, “Why, my son, she is, I may say, not wholly +indifferent to your person.” + +I could not have dropped more suddenly into the chair had the good +_padre_ discharged a pistol into my breast. He went away; and when I +leapt up, I saw a young man in black velvet and white ruffles staring +at me out of the large mirror set frameless into the wall, like the +apparition of a Spanish ghost with my own English face. + +When I ran out, the moon had sunk below the ridge of the roof; the whole +quadrangle of the Casa had turned black under the stars, with only a +yellow glimmer of light falling into the well of the court from the lamp +under the vaulted gateway. The form of the priest had gone out of sight, +and a far-away knocking, mingling with my footfalls, seemed to be part +of the tumult within my heart. Below, a voice at the gate challenged, +“Who goes there?” I ran on. Two tiny flames burned before Carlos’ door +at the end of the long vista, and two of Seraphina’s maids shrank away +from the great mahogany panels at my approach. The candlesticks trembled +askew in their hands; the wax guttered down, and the taller of the two +girls, with an uncovered long neck, gazed at me out of big sleepy +eyes in a sort of dumb wonder. The teeth of the plump little one--La +Chica--rattled violently like castanets. She moved aside with a +hysterical little laugh, and glanced upwards at me. + +I stopped, as if I had intruded; of all the persons in the sick-room, +not one turned a head. The stillness of the lights, of things, of the +air, seemed to have passed into Seraphina’s face. She stood with a stiff +carriage under the heavy hangings of the bed, looking very Spanish and +romantic in her short black skirt, a black lace shawl enveloping her +head, her shoulders, her arms, as low as the waist. Her bare feet, +thrust into high-heeled slippers, lent to her presence an air of flight, +as if she had run into that room in distress or fear. Carlos, sitting up +amongst the snowy pillows of eider-down at his back, was not speaking +to her. He had done; and the flush on his cheek, the eager lustre of +his eyes, gave him an appearance of animation, almost of joy, a sort of +consuming, flame-like brilliance. They were waiting for me. With all his +eagerness and air of life, all he could do was to lift his white hand an +inch or two off the silk coverlet that spread over his limbs smoothly, +like a vast crimson pall. There was something joyous and cruel in the +shimmer of this piece of colour, contrasted with the dead white of the +linen, the duskiness of the wasted face, the dark head with no visible +body, symbolically motionless. The confused shadows and the tarnished +splendour of emblazoned draperies, looped up high under the ceiling, +fell in heavy and unstirring folds right down to the polished floor, +that reflected the lights like a sheet of water, or rather like ice. + +I felt it slippery under my feet. I, alone, had to move, in this +great chamber, with its festive patches of colour amongst the funereal +shadows, with the expectant, still figures of priest and nun, servants +of passionless eternity, as if immobilized and made mute by hostile +wonder before the perishable triumph of life and love. And only the +impatient tapping of the sick man’s hand on the stiff silk of the +coverlet was heard. + +It called to me. Seraphina’s unstirring head was lighted strongly by a +two-branched sconce on the wall; and when I stood by her side, not even +the shadow of the eyelashes on her cheek trembled. Carlos’ lips moved; +his voice was almost extinct; but for all his emaciation, the profundity +of his eyes, the sunken cheeks, the hollow temples, he remained +attractive, with the charm of his gallant and romantic temper worn away +to an almost unearthly fineness. + +He was going to have his desire because, on the threshold of his +spiritual inheritance, he refused, or was unable, to turn his gaze away +from this world. Father Antonio’s business was to save this soul; and +with a sort of simple and sacerdotal shrewdness, in which there was much +love for his most noble penitent, he would try to appease its trouble by +a romantic satisfaction. His voice, very grave and profound, addressed +me: + +“Approach, my son--nearer. We trust the natural feelings of pity which +are implanted in every human breast, the nobility of your extraction, +the honour of your _hidalguidad_, and that inextinguishable courage +which, as by the unwearied mercy of God, distinguishes the sons of +your fortunate and unhappy nation.” His bass voice, deepened in solemn +utterance, vibrated huskily. There was a rustic dignity in his uncouth +form, in his broad face, in the gesture of the raised hand. “You +shall promise to respect the dictates of our conscience, guided by the +authority of our faith; to defer to our scruples, and to the procedure +of our Church in matters which we believe touch the welfare of our +souls.... You promise?” + +He waited. Carlos’ eyes burned darkly on my face. What were they asking +of me? This was nothing. Of course I would respect her scruples--her +scruples--if my heart should break. I felt her living intensely by my +side; she could be brought no nearer to me by anything they could do, or +I could promise. She had already all the devotion of my love and youth, +the unreasoning and potent devotion, without a thought or hope of +reward. I was almost ashamed to pronounce the two words they expected. +“I promise.” + +And suddenly the meaning pervading this scene, something that was in my +mind already, and that I had hardly dared to look at till now, became +clear to me in its awful futility against the dangers, in all its remote +consequences. It was a betrothal. The priest--Carlos, too--must have +known that it had no binding power. To Carlos it was symbolic of his +wishes. Father Antonio was thinking of the papal dispensation. I was a +heretic. What if it were refused? But what was that risk to me, who had +never dared to hope? Moreover, they had brought her there, had persuaded +her; she had been influenced by her fears, impressed by Carlos. What +could she care for me? And I repeated: + +“I promise. I promise, even at the cost of suffering and unhappiness, +never to demand anything from her against her conscience.” + +Carlos’ voice sounded weak. “I answer for him, good father.” Then +he seemed to wander in a whisper, which we two caught faintly, “He +resembles his sister, O Divine------” + +And on this ghostly sigh, on this breath, with the feeble click of beads +in the nun’s hands, a silence fell upon the room, vast as the stillness +of a world of unknown faiths, loves, beliefs, of silent illusions, of +unexpressed passions and secret motives that live in our unfathomable +hearts. + +Seraphina had given me a quick glance--the first glance--which I had +rather felt than seen. Carlos made an effort, and, raising himself, put +her hand in mine. + +Father Antonio, trying to pronounce a short allocution, broke down, +naïve in his emotion, as he had been in his dignity. I could at first +catch only the words, “Beloved child--Holy Father--poor priest....” + He had taken this upon himself; and he would attest the purity of our +intentions, the necessity of the case, the assent of the head of the +family, my excellent disposition. All the Englishmen had excellent +dispositions. He would, personally, go to the foot of the Holy See--on +his knees, if necessary. Meantime, a document--he should at once prepare +a justificative document. The archbishop, it is true, did not like him +on account of the calumnies of that man O’Brien. But there was, beyond +the seas, the supreme authority of the Church, unerring and inaccessible +to calumnies. + +All that time Seraphina’s hand was lying passive in my palm--warm, +soft, living; all the life, all the world, all the happiness, the only +desire--and I dared not close my grasp, afraid of the vanity of my +hopes, shrinking from the intense felicity in the audacious act. +Father Antonio--I must say the word--blubbered. He was now only a +tender-hearted, simple old man, nothing more. + +“Before God now, Don Juan.... I am only a poor priest, but invested +with a sacred office, an enormous power. Tremble, Señor, it is a young +girl... I have loved her like my own; for, indeed, I have in baptism +given her the spiritual life. You owe her protection; it is for that, +before God, Señor------” + +It was as if Carlos had swooned; his eyes were closed, his face like +a carving. But gradually the suggestion of a tender and ironic smile +appeared on his lips. With a slow effort he raised his arm and his +eyelids, in an appeal of all his weariness for my ear. I made a movement +to stoop over him, and the floor, the great bed, the whole room, seemed +to heave and sway. I felt a slight, a fleeting pressure of Seraphina’s +hand before it slipped out of mine; I thought, in the beating rush of +blood to my temples, that I was going mad. + +He had thrown his arm over my neck; there was the calming austerity of +death on his lips, that just touched my ear and departed, together with +the far-away sound of the words, losing themselves in the remoteness of +another world: + +“Like an Englishman, Juan.” + +“On my honour, Carlos.” + +His arm, releasing my neck, fell stretched out on the coverlet. Father +Antonio had mastered his emotion; with the trail of undried tears on +his face, he had become a priest again, exalted above the reach of his +earthly sorrow by the august concern of his sacerdocy. + +“Don Carlos, my son, is your mind at ease, now?” + +Carlos closed his eyes slowly. + +“Then turn all your thoughts to heaven.” Father Antonio’s bass voice +rose, aloud, with an extraordinary authority. “You have done with the +earth.” + +The arm of the nun touched the cords of the curtains, and the massive +folds shook and fell expanded, hiding from us the priest and the +penitent. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +Seraphina and I moved towards the door sadly, as if under the oppression +of a memory, as people go back from the side of a grave to the cares of +life. No exultation possessed me. Nothing had happened. It had been a +sick man’s whim. + +“Señorita,” I said low, with my hand on the wrought bronze of the +door-handle, “Don Carlos might have died in full trust of my devotion to +you--without this.” + +“I know it,” she answered, hanging her head. + +“It was his wish,” I said. “And I deferred.” + +“It was his wish,” she repeated. + +“Remember he had asked you for no promise.” + +“Yes, it is you only he has asked. You have remembered it very well, +Señor. And you--you ask for nothing.” + +“No,” I said; “neither from your heart nor from your conscience--nor +from your gratitude. Gratitude from you! As if it were not I that +owe you gratitude for having condescended to stand with your hand in +mine--if only for a moment--if only to bring peace to a dying man; for +giving me the felicity, the illusion of this wonderful instant, that, +all my life, I shall remember as those who are suddenly stricken blind +remember the great glory of the sun. I shall live with it, I shall +cherish it in my heart to my dying day; and I promise never to mention +it to you again.” + +Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes remained downcast, her head +drooped as if in extreme attention. + +“I asked for no promise,” she murmured coldly. + +My heart was heavy. “Thank you for that proof of your confidence,” I +said. “I am yours without any promises. Wholly yours. But what can I +offer? What help? What refuge? What protection? What can I do? I can +only die for you. Ah, but this was cruel of Carlos, when he knew that I +had nothing else but my poor life to give.” + +“I accept that,” she said unexpectedly. “Señorita, it is generous of you +to accept so worthless a gift--a life I value not at all save for one +unique memory which I owe to you.” + +I knew she was looking at me while I swung open the door with a low bow. +I did not trust myself to look at her. An unreasonable disenchantment, +like the awakening from a happy dream, oppressed me. I felt an almost +angry desire to seize her in my arms--to go back to my dream. If I had +looked at her then, I believed I could not have controlled myself. + +She passed out; and when I looked up there was O’Brien booted and +spurred, but otherwise in his lawyer’s black, inclining his dapper +figure profoundly before her in the dim gallery. She had stopped short. +The two maids, huddled together behind her, stared with terrified eyes. +The flames of their candles vacillated very much. + +I closed the door quietly. Carlos was done with the earth. This had +become my affair; and the necessity of coming to an immediate decision +almost deprived me of my power of thinking. The necessity had arisen too +swiftly; the arrival of that man acted like the sudden apparition of +a phantom. It had been expected, however; only, from the moment we +had turned away from Carlos’ bedside, we had thought of nothing but +ourselves; we had dwelt alone in our emotions, as if there had been no +inhabitant of flesh and blood on the earth but we two. Our danger had +been present, no doubt, in our minds, because we drew it in with every +breath. It was the indispensable condition of our contact, of our words, +of our thoughts; it was the atmosphere of our feelings; a something +as all-pervading and impalpable as the air we drew into our lungs. And +suddenly this danger, this breath of our life, had taken this material +form. It was material and expected, and yet it had the effect of an evil +spectre, inasmuch as one did not know where and how it was vulnerable, +what precisely it would do, how one should defend one’s self. + +His bow was courtly; his gravity was all in his bearing, which was quiet +and confident: the manner of a capable man, the sort of man the great +of this earth find invaluable and are inclined to trust. His full-shaven +face had a good-natured, almost a good-humored expression, which I have +come to think must have depended on the cast of his features, on the +setting of his eyes--on some peculiarity not under his control, or else +he could not have preserved it so well. On certain occasions, as this +one, for instance, it affected me as a refinement of cynicism; and, +generally, it was startling, like the assumption of a mask inappropriate +to the action and the speeches of the part. + +He had journeyed in his customary manner overland from Havana, arriving +unexpectedly at night, as he had often done before; only this time he +had found the little door, cut out in one of the sides of the big gate, +bolted fast. It was his knocking I had heard, as I hurried after the +priest. The major-domo, who had been called up to let him in, told me +afterwards that the senor intendente had put no question whatever to him +as to this, and had gone on, as usual, towards his own room. Nobody knew +what was going on in Carlos’ chamber, but, of course, he came upon the +two girls at the door. He said nothing to them either, only just stopped +there and waited, leaning with one elbow on the balustrade with his +good-tempered, gray eyes fixed on the door. He had fully expected to see +Seraphina come out presently, but I think he did not count on seeing +me as well. When he straightened himself up after the bow, we two were +standing side by side. + +I had stepped quickly towards her, asking myself what he would do. He +did not seem to be armed; neither had I any weapon about me. Would he +fly at my throat? I was the bigger, and the younger man. I wished he +would. But he found a way of making me feel all his other advantages. +He did not recognize my existence. He appeared not to see me at all. He +seemed not to be aware of Seraphina’s startled immobility, of my firm +attitude; but turning his good-humoured face towards the two girls, who +appeared ready to sink through the floor before his gaze, he shook his +fore-finger at them slightly. + +This was all. He was not menacing; he was almost playful; and this +gesture, marvellous in its economy of effort, disclosed all the might +and insolence of his power. It had the unerring efficacy of an act of +instinct. It was instinct. He could not know how he dismayed us by +that shake of the finger. The tall girl dropped her candlestick with +a clatter, and fled along the gallery like a shadow. La Chica cowered +under the wall. The light of her candle just touched dimly the form of +a negro boy, waiting passively in the background with O’Brien’s +saddle-bags over his shoulder. + +“You see,” said Seraphina to me, in a swift, desolate murmur. “They are +all like this--all, all.” + +Without a change of countenance, without emphasis, he said to her in +French: + +“_Votre père dort sans doute, Señorita_.” + +And she intrepidly replied, “You know very well, Señor Intendente, that +nothing can make him open his eyes.” + +“So it seems,” he muttered between his teeth, stooping to pick up the +dropped candlestick. It was lying at my feet. I could have taken him +at a disadvantage, then; I could have felled him with one blow, thrown +myself upon his back. Thus may an athletic prisoner set upon a jailer +coming into his cell, if there were not the prison, the locks, the bars, +the heavy gates! the walls, all the apparatus of captivity, and the +superior weight of the idea chaining down the will, if not the courage. + +It might have been his knowledge of this, or his absolute disdain of +me. The unconcerned manner in which he busied himself--his head within +striking distance of my fist--in lighting the extinguished candle from +the trembling Chica’s humiliated me beyond expression. He had some +difficulty with that, till he said to her just audibly, “Calm thyself, +niña,” and she became rigid in her appearance of excessive terror. + +He turned then towards Seraphina, candlestick in hand, courteously +saying in Spanish: + +“May I be allowed to help light you to your door, since that silly +Juanita--I think it was Juanita--has taken leave of her senses? She is +not fit to remain in your service--any more than this one here.” + +With a gasp of desolation, La Chica began to sob limply against the +wall. I made one step forward; and, holding the candle well up, as +though for the purpose of examining my face carefully, he never looked +my way, while he and Seraphina were exchanging a few phrases in French +which I did not understand well enough to fellow. + +He was politely interrogatory, it seemed to me. The natural, +good-humoured expression never left his face, as though he had a fund of +inexhaustible patience for dealing with the unaccountable trifles of a +woman’s conduct. Seraphina’s shawl had slipped off her head. La Chica +sidled towards her, sobbing a deep sob now and then, without any sign of +tears; and with their scattered hair, their bare arms, the disorder of +their attire, they looked like two women discovered in a secret flight +for life. Only the mistress stood her ground firmly; her voice was +decided; there was resolution in the way one little white hand clutched +the black lace on her bosom. Only once she seemed to hesitate in her +replies. Then, after a pause he gave her for reflection, he appeared +to repeat his question. She glanced at me apprehensively, as I thought, +before she confirmed the previous answer by a slow inclination of her +head. + +Had he allowed himself to make a provoking movement, a dubious gesture +of any sort, I would have flung myself upon him at once; but the +nonchalant manner in which he looked away, while he extended to me his +hand with the candlestick, amazed me. I simply took it from him. He +stepped back, with a ceremonious bow for Seraphina. La Chica ran up +close to her elbow. I heard her voice saying sadly, “You need fear +nothing for yourself, child”; and they moved away slowly. I remained +facing O’Brien, with a vague notion of protecting their retreat. + +This time it was I who was holding the light before his face. It was +calm and colourless; his eyes were fixed on the ground reflectively, +with the appearance of profound and quiet absorption. But suddenly I +perceived the convulsive clutch of his hand on the skirt of his coat. It +was as if accidentally I had looked inside the man--upon the strength of +his illusions, on his desire, on his passion. Now he will fly at me, +I thought, with a tremendously convincing certitude. Now------All my +muscles, stiffening, answered the appeal of that thought of battle. + +He said, “Won’t you give me that light?” + +And I understood he demanded a surrender. + +“I would see you die first where you stand,” was my answer. + +This object in my hand had become endowed with moral +meaning--significant, like a symbol--only to be torn from me with my +life. + +He lifted his head; the light twinkled in his eyes. “Oh, _I_ won’t die,” + he said, with that bizarre suggestion of humour in his face, in his +subdued voice. “But it is a small thing; and you are young; it may be +yet worth your while to try and please me--this time.” + +Before I could answer, Seraphina, from some little distance, called out +hurriedly: + +“Don Juan, your arm.” + +Her voice, sounding a little unsteady, made me forget O’Brien, and, +turning my back on him, I ran up to her. She needed my support; and +before us La Chica tottered and stumbled along with the lights, moaning: + +“_Madré de Dios!_ What will become of us now! Oh, what will become of us +now!” + +“You know what he had asked me to let him do,” Seraphina talked rapidly. +“I made answer, ‘No; give the light to my cousin.’ Then he said, ‘Do you +really wish it, Señorita? I am the older friend.’ I repeated, ‘Give the +light to my cousin, Señor.’ He, then, cruelly, ‘For the young man’s own +sake, reflect, Señorita.’ And he waited before he asked me again, ‘Shall +I surrender it to him?’ I felt death upon my heart, and all my fear for +you--there.” She touched her beautiful throat with a swift movement of +a hand that disappeared at once under the lace. “And because I could +not speak, I------Don Juan, you have just offered me your life--I------ +_Misericordia!_ What else was possible? I made with my head the sign +‘Yes.’” + +In the stress, hurry, and rapture encompassing my immense gratitude, +I pressed her hand to my side familiarly, as if we had been two lovers +walking in a lane on a serene evening. + +“If you had not made that sign, it would have been worse than death--in +my heart,” I said. “He had allied me, too, to renounce my trust, my +light.” + +We walked on slowly, accompanied in our sudden silence by the plash of +the fountain at the bottom of the great square of darkness on our left, +and by the piteous moans of La Chica. + +“That is what he meant,” said the enchanting voice by my side. “And you +refused. That is your valour.” + +“From no selfish motives,” I said, troubled, as if all the great +incertitude of my mind had been awakened by the sound that brought so +much delight to my heart. “My valour is nothing.” + +“It has given me a new courage,” she said. + +“You did not want more,” I said earnestly. + +“Ah! I was very much alone. It is difficult to------” + +She hesitated. + +“To live alone,” I finished. + +“More so to die,” she whispered, with a new note of timidity. “It is +frightful. Be cautious, Don Juan, for the love of God, because I could +not------” + +We stopped. La Chica, silent, as if exhausted, drooped lamentably, +with her shoulder against the wall, by Seraphina’s door; and the pure +crystalline sound of the fountain below, enveloping the parting pause, +seemed to wind its coldness round my heart. + +“Poor Don Carlos!” she said. “I had a great affection for him. I was +afraid they would want me to marry him. He loved your sister.” + +“He never told her,” I murmured. “I wonder if she ever guessed.” + +“He was poor, homeless, ill already, in a foreign land.” + +“We all loved him at home,” I said. + +“He never asked her,” she breathed out. “And, perhaps--but he never +asked her.” + +“I have no more force,” sighed La Chica, suddenly, and sank down at the +foot of the wall, putting the candlesticks on the floor. + +“You have been very good to him,” I said; “only he need not have +demanded this from you. Of course, I understood perfectly.... I hope you +understand, too, that I------” + +“Señor, my cousin,” she flashed out suddenly, “do you think that I would +have consented only from my affection for him?” + +“Señorita,” I cried, “I am poor, homeless, in a foreign land. How can I +believe? How can I dare to dream?--unless your own voice------” + +“Then you are permitted to ask. Ask, Don Juan.” + +I dropped on one knee, and, suddenly extending her arm, she pressed her +hand to my lips. Lighted up from below, the picturesque aspect of her +figure took on something of a transcendental grace; the unusual upward +shadows invested her beauty with a new mystery of fascination. A minute +passed. I could hear her rapid breathing above, and I stood up before +her, holding both her hands. + +“How very few days have we been together,” she whispered. “Juan, I am +ashamed.” + +“I did not count the days. I have known you always. I have dreamed of +you since I can remember--for days, for months, a year, all my life.” + +The crash of a heavy door flung to, exploded, filling the galleries all +round the _patio_ with the sonorous reminder of our peril. + +“Ah! We had forgotten.” + +I heard her voice, and felt her form in my arms. Her lips at my ear +pronounced: + +“Remember, Juan. Two lives, but one death only.” + +And she was gone so quickly that it was as though she had passed through +the wood of the massive panels. + +La Chica crouched on her knees. The lights on the floor burned before +her empty stare, and with her bare shoulders the tone of old ivory +emerging from the white linen, with wisps of raven hair hanging down her +cheeks, the abandonment of her whole person embodied every outward mark +and line of desolation. + +“What do you fear from him?” I asked. + +She looked up; moved nearer to me on her knees. “I have a lover +outside.” + +She seized her hair wildly, drew it across her face, tried to stuff +handfuls of it into her mouth, as if to stop herself from shrieking. + +“He shook his finger at me,” she moaned. + +Her terror, as incomprehensible as the emotion of an animal, was gaining +upon me. I said sternly: + +“What can he do, then?” + +“I don’t know.” + +She did not know. She was like me. She feared for her love. Like myself! +Was there anything in the way of our undoing which it was not in his +power to achieve? + +“Try to be faithful to your mistress,” I said, “and all may be well +yet.” + +She made no answer, but staggered to her feet, and went away blindly +through the door, which opened just wide enough to let her through. +There were clouds on the sky. The _patio_, in its blackness, was like +the rectangular mouth of a bottomless pit. I picked up the candlesticks, +and lighted myself to my room, walking upon air, upon tempestuous air, +in a feeling of insecurity and exultation. + +The lights of my candelabrum had gone out. I stood the two candlesticks +on a table, and the shadows of the room, uplifted above the two flames +as high as the ceiling, filled the corners heavily like gathered +draperies, descended to the foot of the four walls in the shape of a +military tent, in which warlike objects vaguely gleamed: a trophy of +ancient arquebuses and conquering swords, arranged with bows, spears, +the stick and stone weapons of an extinct race, a war collar of shells +or pebbles, a round wicker-work shield in a halo of arrows, with a +matchlock piece on each side--of the sort that had to be served by two +men. + +I had left the door of my room open on purpose, so that he should know +I was back there, and ready for him. I took down a long straight blade, +like a rapier, with a basket hilt. It was a cumbrous weapon, and with a +blunt edge; still, it had a point, and I was ready to thrust and parry +against the world. I called upon my foes. No enemy appeared, and by +the light of two candles, with a sword in my hand, I lost myself in the +foreshadowings of the future. + +It was positive and uncertain. I wandered in it like a soul outside the +gates of paradise, with an anticipation of bliss, and the pain of my +exclusion. There was only one man in the way. I was certain he had been +watching us across the blackness of the _patio_. He must have seen the +dimly-lit dumb show of our parting at Sera-phina’s door. I hoped he had +understood, and that my shadow, bearing the two lights, had struck him +as triumphant and undismayed, walking upon air. I strained my ears. I +had heard.... + +Somebody was coming towards me along the silent galleries. It was he; +I knew it. He was coming nearer and nearer. In the profound, tomb-like +stillness of the great house, I had heard the sound of his footsteps on +the tessellated pavement from afar. Now he had turned the corner, and +the calm, strolling pace of his approach was enough to strike awe into +an adversary’s heart. It never hesitated, not once; never hurried; never +slowed till it stopped. He stood in the doorway. + +I suppose, in that big room, by the light of two candles, I must have +presented an impressive picture of a menacing youth all in black, with +a tense face, and holding a naked, long rapier in his hand. At any rate, +he stood still, eyeing me from the doorway, the picture of a dapper +Spanish lawyer in a lofty frame; all in black, also, with a fair head +and a well-turned leg advanced in a black silk stocking. He had taken +off his riding boots. For the rest, I had never seen him dressed +otherwise. There was no weapon in his hand, or at his side. + +I lowered the point, and, seeing he remained on the doorstep, as if not +willing to trust himself within, I said disdainfully: + +“You don’t suppose I would murder a defenceless man.” + +“Am I defenceless?” He had a slight lift of the eyebrows. “That is news, +indeed. It is you who are supposing. I have been a very certain man for +this many a year.” + +“How can you know how an English gentleman would feel and act? I am +neither a murderer nor yet an intriguer.” + +He walked right in rapidly, and, getting round to the other side of the +table, drew a small pistol out of his breeches pocket. + +“You see--I am not trusting too much to your English generosity.” + +He laid the pistol negligently on the table. I had turned about on my +heels. As we stood, by lunging between the two candlesticks, I should +have been able to run him through the body before he could cry out. + +I laid the sword on the table. + +“Would you trust a damned Irish rebel?” he asked. + +“You are wrong in your surmise. I would have nothing to do with a rebel, +even in my thoughts and suppositions. I think that the Intendente of Don +Balthasar Riego would look twice before murdering in a bedroom the guest +of the house--a relation, a friend of the family.” + +“That’s sensible,” he said, with that unalterable air of good nature, +which sometimes was like the most cruel mockery of humour. “And do you +think that even a relation of the Riegos would escape the scaffold for +killing Don Patricio O’Brien, one of the Royal Judges of the Marine +Court, member of the Council, Procurator to the Chapter....” + +“Intendente of the Casa,” I threw in. + +“That’s my gratitude,” he said gravely. “So you see....” + +“Supreme chief of thieves and picaroons,” I suggested again. + +He answered this by a gesture of disdainful superiority. + +“I wonder if you---if any of you English--would have the courage to risk +your all--ambition, pride, position, wealth, peace of mind, your dearest +hope, your self-respect--like this. For an idea.” + +His tone, that revealed something exalted and sad behind everything that +was sordid and base in the acts of that man’s villainous tools, +struck me with astonishment. I beheld, as an inseparable whole, the +contemptible result, the childishness of his imagination, the danger of +his recklessness, and something like loftiness in his pitiful illusion. + +“Nothing’s too hot, too dirty, too heavy. Any way to get at you English; +any means. To strike! That’s the thing. I would die happy if I knew I +had helped to detach from you one island--one little island of all the +earth you have filched away, stolen, taken by force, got by lying.... +Don’t taunt me with your taunts of thieves. What weapons better worthy +of you could I use? Oh, I am modest. I am modest. This is a little +thing, this Jamaica. What do I care for the Separationist blatherskite +more than for the loyal fools? You are all English to me. If I had my +way, your Empire would die of pin-pricks all over its big, overgrown +body. Let only one bit drop off. If robbing your ships may help it, +then, as you see me standing here, I am ready to go myself in a leaky +boat. I tell you Jamaica’s gone. And that may be the beginning of the +end.” + +He lifted his arm not at me, but at England, if I may judge from his +burning stare. It was not to me he was speaking. There we were, Irish +and English, face to face, as it had been ever since we had met in the +narrow way of the world that had never been big enough for the tribes, +the nations, the races of man. + +“Now, Mr. O’Brien, I don’t know what you may do to me, but I won’t +listen to any of this,” I said, very red in the face. + +“Who wants you to listen?” he muttered absently, and went away from the +table to look out of the loophole, leaving me there with the sword and +the pistol. + +Whatever he might have said of the scaffold, this was very imprudent +of him. It was characteristic of the man--of that impulsiveness which +existed in him side by side with his sagacity, with his coolness in +intrigue, with his unmerciful and revengeful temper. By my own feelings +I understood what an imprudence it was. But he was turning his back on +me, and how could I?... His imprudence was so complete that it made for +security. He did not, I am sure, remember my existence. I would just as +soon have jumped with a dagger upon a man in the dark. + +He was really stirred to his depths--to the depths of his hate, and of +his love--by seeing me, an insignificant youth (I was no more), surge up +suddenly in his path. He turned where he stood at last, and contemplated +me with a sort of thoughtful surprise, as though he had tried to account +to himself for my existence. + +“No,” he said, to himself really, “I wonder when I look at you. How did +you manage to get that pretty reputation over there? Ramon’s a fool. He +shall know it to his cost. But the craftiness of that Carlos! Or is it +only my confounded willingness to believe?” + +He was putting his finger nearly on the very spot. I said nothing. + +“Why,” he exclaimed, “when it’s all boiled down, you are only an English +beggar boy.” + +“I’ve come to a man’s estate since we met last,” I said meaningly. + +He seemed to meditate over this. His face never changed, except, +perhaps, to an even more amused benignity of expression. + +“You have lived very fast by that account,” he remarked artlessly. +“Is it possible now? Well, life, as you know, can’t last forever; and, +indeed, taking a better look at you in this poor light, you do seem to +be very near death.” + +I did not flinch; and, with a very dry mouth, I uttered defiantly: + +“Such talk means nothing.” + +“Bravely said. But this is not talk. You’ve gone too fast. I am giving +you a chance to turn back.” + +“Not an inch,” I said fiercely. “Neither in thought, in deed; not even +in semblance.” + +He seemed as though he wanted to swallow a bone in his throat. + +“Believe me, there is more in life than you think. There is at your age, +more than...” he had a strange contortion of the body, as though in a +sudden access of internal pain; that humorous smile, that abode in the +form of his lips, changed into a ghastly, forced grin... “than one love +in a life--more than one woman.” + +I believe he tried to leer at me, because his voice was absolutely dying +in his throat. My indignation was boundless. I cried out with the fire +of deathless conviction: + +“It is not true. You know it is not true.” + +He was speechless for a time; then, shaking and stammering with that +inward rage that seemed to heave like molten lava in his breast, without +ever coming to the surface of his face: + +“What! Is it I, then, who have to go back? For--for you---a boy--come +from devil knows where--an English, beggarly.... For a girl’s whim.... +I--a man.” + +He calmed down. “No; you are mad. You are dreaming. You don’t know. You +can’t--you! You don’t know what a man is; you with your calf-love a day +old. How dare you look at me who have breathed for years in the very +air? You fool--you little, wretched fool! For years sleeping, and +waking, and working....” + +“And intriguing,” I broke in, “and plotting, and deceiving--for years.” + +This calmed him altogether. “I am a man; you are but a boy; or else I +would not have to tell you that your love”--he choked at the word--“is +to mine like--like--” + +His eyes fell on a cut-glass water-ewer, and, with a convulsive sweep +of his arm, he sent it flying far away from the table. It fell heavily, +shattering itself with the unringing thud of a piece of ice. “Like +this.” He remained for some time with his eyes fixed on the table, and +when he looked up at me it was with a sort of amused incredulity. His +tone was not resentful. He spoke in a business-like manner, a little +contemptuously. I had only Don Carlos to thank for the position in which +I found myself. What the “poor devil over there” expected from me, he, +O’Brien, would not inquire. It was a ridiculous boy-and-girl affair. If +those two--meaning Carlos and Seraphina--had not been so mighty clever, +I should have been safe now in Jamaica jail, on a charge of treasonable +practices. He seemed to find the idea funny. Well, anyhow, he had meant +no worse by me than my own dear countrymen. When he, O’Brien, had found +how absurdly he had been hoodwinked by Don Carlos--the poor devil--and +misled by Ramon--he would make him smart for it, yet--all he had +intended to do was to lodge me in Havana jail. On his word of honour... + +“Me in jail!” I cried angrily. “You--you would dare! On what charge? You +could not....” + +“You don’t know what Pat O’Brien can do in Cuba.” + +The little country solicitor came out in a flash from under the Spanish +lawyer. Then he frowned slightly at me. “You being an Englishman, I +would have had you taken up on a charge of stealing.” + +Blood rushed to my face. I lost control over myself. “Mr. O’Brien,” I +said, “I dare say you could have trumped up anything against me. You are +a very great scoundrel.” + +“Why? Because I don’t lie about my motives, as you all do? I would wish +you to know that I would scorn to lie either to myself or to you.” + +I touched the haft of the sword on the table. It was lying with the +point his way. + +“I had been thinking,” said I, in great heat, “to propose to you that we +should fight it out between us two, man to man, rebel and traitor as you +have been.” + +“The devil you have!” he muttered. + +“But really you are too much of a Picaroon. I think the gallows should +be your end.” + +I gave rein to my exasperation, because I felt myself hopelessly in his +power. What he was driving at, I could not tell. I had an intolerable +sense of being as much at his mercy as though I had been lying bound +hand and foot on the floor. It gave me pleasure to tell him what +I thought. And, perhaps, I was not quite candid, either. Suppose I +provoked him enough to fire his pistol at me. He had been fingering the +butt, absently, as we talked. He might have missed me, and then.... Or +he might have shot me dead. But surely there was some justice in Cuba. +It was clear enough that he did not wish to kill me himself. Well, this +was a desperate strait; to force him to do something he did not wish to +do, even at the cost of my own life, was the only step left open to +me to thwart his purpose; the only thing I could do just then for the +furtherance of my mission to save Seraphina from his intrigues. I was +oppressed by the misery of it all. As to killing him as he stood--if I +could do it by being very quick with the old rapier--my bringing up, my +ideas, my very being, recoiled from it. I had never taken a life. I was +very young. I was not used to scenes of violence; and to begin like this +in cold blood! Not only my conscience, but my very courage faltered. +Truth to tell, I was afraid; not for myself--I had the courage to +die; but I was afraid of the act. It was the unknown for me--for my +nerve--for my conscience. And then the Spanish gallows! That, too, +revolted me. To kill him, and then kill myself.... No, I must live. “Two +lives, one death,” she had said..... For a second or two my brain reeled +with horror; I was certainly losing my self-possession. His voice broke +upon that nightmare. + +“It may be your lot, yet,” it said. I burst into a nervous laugh. For a +moment I could not stop myself. + +“I won’t murder you,” I cried. + +To this he said astonishingly, “Will you go to Mexico?” + +It sounded like a joke. He was very serious. “I shall send one of the +schooners there on a little affair of mine. I can make use of you. I +give you this chance.” It was as though he had thrown a bucketful of +water over me. I had an inward shiver, and became quite cool. It was his +turn now to let himself go. + +It was a matter of delivering certain papers to the Spanish commandant +in Tamaulipas. There would be some employment found for me with the +Royal troops. I was a relation of the Riegos. And there came upon his +voice a strange ardour; a swiftness into his utterance. He walked away +from the table; came back, and gazed into my face in a marked, expectant +manner. He was not prompted by any love for me, he said, and gave an +uncertain laugh. + +My wits had returned to me wholly; and as he repeated “No love for +you--no love for you,” I had the intuition that what influenced him was +his love for Seraphina. I saw it. I read it in the workings of his +face. His eyes retained his good-humoured twinkle. He did not attach +any importance to a boy-and-girl affair; not at all--pah! The lady, +naturally young, warmhearted, full of kindness. I mustn’t think.... Ha, +ha! A man of his age, of course, understood.... No importance at all. + +He walked away from the table trying to snap his fingers, and, suddenly, +he reeled; he reeled, as though he had been overcome by the poison of +his jealousy--as though a thought had stabbed him to the heart. There +was an instant when the sight of that man moved me more than anything +I had seen of passionate suffering before (and that was nothing), or +since. He longed to kill me--I felt it in the very air of the room; and +he loved her too much to dare. He laughed at me across the table. I had +ridiculously misunderstood a very proper and natural kindness of a girl +with not much worldly experience. He had known her from the earliest +childhood. + +“Take my word for it,” he stammered. + +It seemed to me that there were tears in his eyes. A stiff smile was +parting his lips. He took up the pistol, and evidently not knowing +anything about it, looked with an air of curiosity into the barrel. + +It was time to think of making my career. That’s what I ought to +be thinking of at my age. “At your age--at your age,” he repeated +aimlessly. I was an Englishman. He hated me--and it was easy to believe +this, though he neither glared nor grimaced. He smiled. + +He smiled continuously and rather pitifully. But his devotion to +a--a--person who.... His devotion was great enough to overcome even +that, even that. Did I understand? I owed it to the lady’s regard, +which, for the rest, I had misunderstood--stupidly misunderstood. + +“Well, at your age it’s excusable!” he mumbled. “A career that...” + +“I see,” I said slowly. Young as I was, it was impossible to mistake +his motives. Only a man of mature years, and really possessed by a great +passion--by a passion that had grown slowly, till it was exactly as big +as his soul--could have acted like this--with that profound simplicity, +with such resignation, with such horrible moderation--But I wanted +to find out more. “And when would you want me to go?” I asked, with +a dissimulation of which I would not have suspected myself capable a +moment before. I was maturing in the fire of love, of danger; in the +lurid light of life piercing through my youthful innocence. + +“Ah,” he said, banging the pistol on to the table hurriedly. “At once. +To-night. Now.” + +“Without seeing anybody?” + +“Without seeing... Oh, of course. In your own interest.” + +He was very quiet now. “I thought you looked intelligent enough,” he +said, appearing suddenly very tired. “I am glad you see your position. +You shall go far in the Royal service, on the faith of Pat O’Brien, +English as you are. I will make it my own business for the sake of--the +Riego family. There is only one little condition.” + +He pulled out of his pocket a piece of paper, a pen, a travelling +inkstand. He looked the lawyer to the life; the Spanish family lawyer +grafted on an Irish attorney. + +“You can’t see anybody. But you ought to write. Dona Seraphina naturally +would be interested. A cousin and... I shall explain to Don Balthasar, +of course.... I will dictate: ‘Out of regard for your future, and the +desire for active life, of your own will, you accept eagerly Señor +O’Brien’s proposition.’ She’ll understand.” + +“Oh, yes, she’ll understand,” I said. + +“Yes. And that you will write of your safe arrival in Tamaulipas. You +must promise to write. Your word...” + +“By heavens, Señor O’Brien!” I burst out with inexpressible scorn, +“I thought you meant your villains to cut my throat on the passage. I +should have deserved no better fate.” + +He started. I shook with rage. A change had come upon both of us as +sudden as if we had been awakened by a violent noise. For a time we did +not speak a word. One look at me was enough for him. He passed his hand +over his forehead. + +“What devil’s in you, boy?” he said. “I seem to make nothing but +mistakes.” + +He went to the loophole window, and, advancing his head, cried out: + +“The schooner does not sail to-night.” + +He had some of his cut-throats posted under the window. I could not make +out the reply he got; but after a while he said distinctly, so as to be +heard below: + +“I give up that spy to you.” Then he came back, put the pistol in his +pocket, and said to me, “Fool! I’ll make you long for death yet.” + +“You’ve given yourself away pretty well,” I said. “Some day I shall +unmask you. It will be my revenge on you for daring to propose to +me....” + +“What?” he interrupted, over his shoulder. “You? Not you--and I’ll tell +you why. It’s because dead men tell no tales.” + +He passed through the door--a back view of a dapper Spanish lawyer, +all in black, in a lofty frame. The calm, strolling footsteps went away +along the gallery. He turned the corner. The tapping of his heels echoed +in the _patio_, into whose blackness filtered the first suggestion of +the dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +I remember walking about the room, and thinking to myself, “This is bad, +this is very bad; what shall I do now?” A sort of mad meditation that in +this meaningless way became so tense as positively to frighten me. Then +it occurred to me that I could do nothing whatever at present, and I was +soothed by this sense of powerless-ness, which, one would think, ought +to have driven me to distraction. I went to sleep ultimately, just as a +man sentenced to death goes to sleep, lulled in a sort of ghastly way by +the finality of his doom. Even when I awoke it kept me steady, in a way. +I washed, dressed, walked, ate, said “Good-morning, Cesar,” to the old +major-domo I met in the gallery; exchanged grins with the negro boys +under the gateway, and watched the mules being ridden out barebacked +by other nearly naked negro boys into the sea, with great splashing +of water and a noise of voices. A small knot of men, unmistakably +__Lugareños__, stood on the beach, also, watching the mules, and +exchanging loud jocular shouts with the blacks. Rio Medio, the dead, +forsaken, and desecrated city, was lying, as bare as a skeleton, on the +sands. They were yellow; the bay was very blue, the wooded hills very +green. + +After the mules had been ridden uproariously back to the stables, wet +and capering, and shaking their long ears, all the life of the land +seemed to take refuge in this vivid colouring. As I looked at it from +the outer balcony above the great gate, the small group of __Lugareños__ +turned about to look at the Casa Riego. + +They recognized me, no doubt, and one of them flourished, threateningly, +an arm from under his cloak. I retreated indoors. + +This was the only menacing sign, absolutely the only sign that marked +this day. It was a day of pause. Seraphina did not leave her apartments; +Don Balthasar did not show himself; Father Antonio, hurrying towards the +sick room, greeted me with only a wave of the hand. I was not admitted +to see Carlos; the nun came to the door, shook her head at me, and +closed it gently in my face. Castro, sitting on the floor not very far +away, seemed unaware of me in so marked a manner that it inspired me +with the idea of not taking the slightest notice of him. Now and then +the figure of a maid in white linen and bright petticoat flitted in the +upper gallery, and once I fancied I saw the black, rigid carriage of the +duenna disappearing behind a pillar. + +Señor O’Brien, old Cesar whispered, without looking at me, was extremely +occupied in the _Cancillería_. His midday meal was served him there. +I had mine all alone, and then the sunny, heat-laden stillness of +siesta-time fell upon the Castilian dignity of the house. + +I sank into a kind of reposeful belief in the work of accident. +Something would happen. I did not know how soon and how atrociously +my belief was to be justified. I exercised my ingenuity in the most +approved lover-fashion--in devising means how to get secret speech +with Seraphina. The confounded silly maids fled from my most distant +appearance, as though I had the pest. I was wondering whether I should +not go simply and audaciously and knock at her door, when I fancied I +heard a scratching at mine. It was a very stealthy sound, quite capable +of awakening my dormant emotions. + +I went to the door and listened. Then, opening it the merest crack, I +saw the inexplicable emptiness of the gallery. Castro, on his hands and +knees, startled me by whispering at my feet: + +“Stand aside, Señor.” + +He entered my room on all-fours, and waited till I got the door closed +before he stood up. + +“Even he may sleep sometimes,” he said. “And the balustrade has hidden +me.” + +To see this little saturnine bandit, who generally stalked about +haughtily, as if the whole Casa belonged to him by right of fidelity, +crawl into my room like this was inexpressibly startling. He shook the +folds of his cloak, and dropped his hat on the floor. + +“Still, it is better so. The very women of the house are not safe,” he +said. “Señor, I have no mind to be delivered to the English for hanging. +But I have not been admitted to see Don Carlos, and, therefore, I must +make my report to you. These are Don Carlos’ orders. ‘Serve him, Castro, +when I am dead, as if my soul had passed into his body.’” + +He nodded sadly. “_Si!_ But Don Carlos is a friend to me and you--you.” + He shook his head, and drew me away from the door. “Two __Lugareños__,” + he said, “Manuel and another one, did go last night, as directed by the +friar”--he supposed--“to meet the _Juez_ in the bush outside Rio Medio.” + +I had guessed that much, and told him of Manuel’s behaviour under my +window. How did they know my chamber? + +“Bad, bad,” muttered Castro. “La Chica told her lover, no doubt.” He +hissed, and stamped his foot. + +She was pretty, but flighty. The lover was a silly boy of decent, +Christian parents, who was always hanging about in the low villages. No +matter. + +What he could not understand was why some boats should have been held in +readiness till nearly the morning to tow a schooner outside. Manuel came +along at dawn, and dismissed the crews. They had separated, making a +great noise on the beach, and yelling, “Death to the _Inglez!_” + +I cleared up that point for him. He told me that O’Brien had the duenna +called to his room that morning. Nothing had been heard outside, but the +woman came out staggering, with her hand on the wall. He had terrified +her. God knows what he had said to her. The widow--as Castro called +her--had a son, an _escrivano_ in one of the Courts of Justice. No doubt +it was that. + +“There it is, Señor,” murmured Castro, scowling all round, as if every +wall of the room was an enemy. “He holds all the people in his hand in +some way. Even I must be cautious, though I am a humble, trusted friend +of the Casa!” + +“What harm could he do you?” I asked. + +“He is civil to me. _Amigo Castro_ here, and _Amigo Castro_ there. Bah! +The devil, alone, is his friend! He could deliver me to justice, and get +my life sworn away. He could------_Quien sabe?_ What need he care what +he does--a man that can get absolution from the archbishop himself if he +likes.” + +He meditated. “No! there is only one remedy for him.” He tiptoed to my +ear. “The knife!” + +He made a pass in the air with his blade, and I remembered vividly the +cockroach he had impaled with such accuracy on board the _Thames_. His +baneful glance reminded me of his murderous capering in the steerage, +when he had thought that the only remedy for _me_ was the knife. + +He went to the loop-hole, and passed the steel thoughtfully on the stone +edge. I had not moved. + +“The knife; but what would you have? Before, when I talked of this +to Don Carlos, he only laughed at me. That was his way in matters of +importance. Now they will not let me come in to him. He is too near +God--and the Señorita--why, she is too near the saints for all the +great nobility of her spirit. But, _que dia-bleria_, when I--in my +devotion--opened my mouth to her I saw some of that spirit in her +eyes....” + +There was a slight irony in his voice. “No! Me--Castro! to be told that +an English Señora would have dismissed me forever from her presence for +such a hint. ‘Your Excellency,’ I said, ‘deign, then, to find it good +that I should avoid giving offence to that man. It is not my desire to +run my neck into the iron collar.’” + +He looked at me fixedly, as if expecting me to make a sign, then +shrugged his shoulders. + +“_Bueno_. You see this? Then look to it yourself, Señor. You are to +me even as Don Carlos--all except for the love. No English body is big +enough to receive his soul. No friend will be left that would risk his +very honour of a noble for a man like Tomas Castro. Let me warn you not +to leave the Casa, even if a shining angel stood outside the gate and +called you by name. The gate is barred, now, night and day. I have +dropped a hint to Cesar, and that old African knows more than the Señor +would suppose. I cannot tell how soon I may have the opportunity to talk +to you again.” + +He peeped through the crack of the door, then slipped out, suddenly +falling at once on his hands and knees, so as to be hidden by the stone +balustrade from anybody in the _patio_. He, too, did not think himself +safe. + +Early in the evening I descended into the court, and Father Antonio, +walking up and down the _patio_ with his eyes on his breviary, muttered +to me: + +“Sit on this chair,” and went on without stopping. + +I took a chair near the marble rim of the basin with its border of +English flowers, its splashing thread of water. The goldfishes that had +been lying motionless, with their heads pointing different ways, glided +into a bunch to the fall of my shadow, waiting for crumbs of bread. + +Father Antonio, his head down, and the open breviary under his nose, +brushed my foot with the skirt of his cassock. + +“Have you any plan?” + +When he came back, walking very slowly, I said, “None.” + +At this next turn I pronounced rapidly, “I should like to see Carlos.” + +He frowned over the edge of the book. I understood that he refused to +let me in. And, after all, why should I disturb that dying man? The news +about him was that he felt stronger that day. But he was preparing for +eternity. Father Antonio’s business was to save souls. I felt horribly +crushed and alone. The priest asked, hardly moving his lips: “What do +you trust to?” + +I had the time to meditate my reply. “Tell Carlos I think of escape by +sea.” + +He made a little sign of assent, turned off towards the staircase, and +went back to the sick room. + +“The folly of it,” I thought. How could I think of it? Escape where? I +dared not even show myself outside the Casa. My safety within depended +on old Cesar more than on anybody else. He had the key of the gate, and +the gate was practically the only thing between me and a miserable death +at the hands of the first ruffian I met outside. And with the thought I +seemed to stifle in that _patio_ open to the sky. + +That gate seemed to cut off the breath of life from me. I was there, as +if in a trap. Should I--I asked myself--try to enlighten Don Balthasar? +Why not? He would understand me. I would tell him that in his own town, +as he always called Rio Medio, there lurked assassination for his guest. +That would move him if anything could. + +He was then walking with O’Brien after dinner, as he had walked with me +on the day of my arrival. Only Seraphina had not appeared, and we three +men had sat out the silent meal alone. + +They stopped as I approached, and Don Balthasar listened to me +benignantly. “Ah, yes, yes! Times have changed.” But there was no reason +for alarm. There were some undesirable persons. Had they not arrived +lately? He turned to O’Brien, who stood by, in readiness to resume +the walk, and answered, “Yes, quite lately. Very undesirable,” in a +matter-of-fact tone. The excellent Don Patricio would take measures +to have them removed, the old man soothed me. But it was not really +dangerous for any one to go out. Again he addressed O’Brien, who only +smiled gently, as much as to say, “What an absurdity!” I must not +forget, continued the old man, the veneration for the very name of Riego +that still, thank Heaven, survived in these godless and revolutionary +times in the Riegos’ own town. He straightened his back a little, +looking at me with dignity, and then glanced at the other, who inclined +his head affirmatively. The utter and complete hopelessness of the +position appalled me for a moment. The old man had not put foot outside +his door for years, not even to go to church. Father Antonio said +Mass for him every day in the little chapel next the dining room. +When O’Brien--for his own purposes, and the better to conceal his own +connection with the Rio Medio piracies--had persuaded him to go to +Jamaica officially, he had been rowed in state to the ship waiting +outside. For many years now it had been impossible to enlighten him as +to the true condition of affairs. He listened to people’s talk as though +it had been children’s prattle. I have related how he received Carlos’ +denunciations. If one insisted, he would draw himself up in displeasure. +But in his decay he had preserved a great dignity, a grave firmness that +intimidated me a little. + +I did not, of course, insist that evening, and, after giving me +my dismissal in a gesture of blessing, he resumed his engrossing +conversation with O’Brien. It related to the services commemorating his +wife’s death, those services that, once every twelve months, draped in +black all the churches in Havana. A hundred masses, no less, had to +be said that day; a distribution of alms had to be made. O’Brien was +charged with all the arrangements, and I caught, as they crept past me +up and down the _patio_, snatches of phrases relating to this mournful +function, when all the capital was invited to pray for the soul of the +illustrious lady. The priest of the church of San Antonio had said this +and that; the grand vicar of the diocese had made difficulties about +something; however, by the archbishop’s special grace, no less than +three altars would be draped in the cathedral. + +I saw Don Balthasar smile with an ineffable satisfaction; he thanked +O’Brien for his zeal, and seemed to lean more familiarly on his arm. His +voice trembled with eagerness. “And now, my excellent Don Patricio, as +to the number of candles....” + +I stood for a while as if rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by my +insignificance. O’Brien never once looked my way. Then, hanging my head, +I went slowly up the white staircase towards my room. + +Cesar, going his rounds along the gallery, shuffled his silk-clad shanks +smartly between two young negroes balancing lanthorns suspended on +the shafts of their halberds. That little group had a mediaeval and +outlandish aspect. Cesar carried a bunch of keys in one hand, his staff +of office in the other. He stood aside, in his maroon velvet and gold +lace, holding the three-cornered hat under his arm, bowing his gray, +woolly head--the most venerable and deferential of majordomos. His +attendants, backing against the wall, grounded their halberds heavily at +my approach. + +He stepped out to intercept me, and, with great discretion, “Señor, a +word,” he said in his subdued voice. “A moment ago I have been called +within the door of our senorita’s apartments. She has given me this for +your worship, together with many compliments. It is a seal. The Señor +will understand.” + +I took it; it was a tiny seal with her monogram on it. “Yes,” I said. + +“And Señorita Dona Seraphina has charged me to repeat”--he made a +stealthy sign, as if to counteract an evil influence--“the words, ‘Two +lives--one death.’ The Señor will understand.” + +“Yes,” I said, looking away with a pang at my heart. He touched my +elbow. “And to trust Cesar. Señor, I dandled her when she was quite +little. Let me most earnestly urge upon your worship not to go near the +windows, especially if there is light in your worship’s room. Evil men +are gazing upon the house, and I have seen myself the glint of a musket +at the end of the street. The moon grows fast, too. The senorita begs +you to trust Cesar.” + +“Are there many men?” I asked. + +“Not many in sight; I have seen only one. But by signs, open to a man of +my experience, I suspect many more to be about.” Then, as I looked down +on the ground, he added parenthetically, “They are poor shots, one and +all, lacking the very firmness of manhood necessary to discharge a +piece with a good aim. Still, Señor, I am ordered to entreat you to be +cautious. Strange it is that to-night, from the great revelry at the +Aldea Bajo, one might think they had just visited an English ship +outside.” + +A ship! a ship! of any sort. But how to get out of the Casa? Murder +forbade me even as much as to look out of the windows. Was there a ship +outside? Cesar was positive there was not--not since I had arrived. +Besides, the empty sea itself was unattainable, it seemed. I pressed the +seal to my lips. “Tell the senorita how I received her gift,” I said; +and the old negro inclined his head lower still. “Tell her that as the +letters of her name are graved on this, so are all the words she has +spoken graven on my heart.” + +They went away busily, the lanthorns swinging about the ax-heads of the +halberds, Cesar’s staff tapping the stones. + +I shut my door, and buried my face in the pillows of the state bed. My +mental anguish was excessive; action, alone, could relieve it. I had +been battling with my thoughts like a man fighting with shadows. I could +see no issue to such a struggle, and I prayed for something tangible to +encounter--something that one could overcome or go under to. I must +have fallen suddenly asleep, because there was a lion in front of me. It +lashed its tail, and beyond the indistinct agitation of the brute I saw +Seraphina. I tried to shout to her; no voice came out of my throat. And +the lion produced a strange noise; he opened his jaws like a door. I sat +up. It was like a change of dream. A glare filled my eyes. In the wide +doorway of my room, in a group of attendants, I saw a figure in a short +black cloak standing, hat on head, and an arm outstretched. It was Don +Balthasar. He held himself more erect than I had ever seen him before. +Stifled sounds of weeping, a vast, confused rumour of lamentations, +running feet and flamming doors, came from behind him; his aged, dry +voice, much firmer and very distinct, was speaking to me. + +“You are summoned to attend the bedside of Don Carlos Riego at the hour +of death, to help his soul struggling on the threshold of eternity, with +your prayers--as a kinsman and a friend.” + +A great draught swayed the lights about that black and courtly figure. +All the windows and doors of the palace had been flung open for the +departure of the struggling soul. Don Balthasar turned; the group of +attendants was gone in a moment, with a tramp of feet and jostling of +lights in the long gallery. + +I ran out after them. A wavering glare came from under the arch, and, +through the open gate, I saw the bulky shape of the bishop’s coach +waiting outside in the moonlight. A strip of cloth fell from step +to step down the middle of the broad white stairs. The staircase was +brilliantly lighted, and quite empty. The household was crowding the +upper galleries; the sobbing murmurs of their voices fell into the +deserted _patio_. The strip of crimson cloth laid for the bishop ran +across it from the arch of the stairway to the entrance. + +The door of Carlos’ room stood wide open; I saw the many candles on +a table covered with white linen, the side of the big bed, surpliced +figures moving within the room. There was the ringing of small bells, +and sighing groans from the kneeling forms in the gallery through which +I was making my way slowly. + +Castro appeared at my side suddenly. “Señor,” he began, with saturnine +stoicism, “he is dead. I have seen battlefields------” His voice broke. + +I saw, through the large portal of the death-chamber, Don Balthasar +and Seraphina standing at the foot of the bed; the bowed heads of +two priests; the bishop, a tiny old man, in his vestments; and Father +Antonio, burly and motionless, with his chin in his hand, as if left +behind after leading that soul to the very gate of Eternity. All about +me, women and men were crossing themselves; and Castro, who for a moment +had covered his eyes with his hand, touched my elbow. + +“And you live,” he said, with sombre emphasis; then, warningly, “You are +in great danger now.” + +I looked around, as if expecting to see an uplifted knife. I saw only a +lot of people--household negroes and the women--rising from their knees. +Below, the _patio_ was empty. + +“The house is defenceless,” Castro continued. We heard tumultuous voices +under the gate. O’Brien appeared in the doorway of Carlos’ room with an +attentive and dismayed expression on his face. I do not really think he +had anything to do with what then took place. He meant to have me killed +outside; but the rabble, excited by Manuel’s inflammatory speeches, +had that night started from the villages below with the intention of +clamouring for my life. Many of their women were with them. Some of the +__Lugareños__ carried torches, others had pikes; most of them, however, +had nothing but their long knives. They came in a disorderly, shouting +mob along the beach, intending this not for an attack, but as a simple +demonstration. + +The sight of the open gate struck them with wonder. The bishop’s coach +blocked the entrance, and for a time they hesitated, awed by the mystery +of the house and by the rites going on in there. Then two or three +bolder spirits stole closer. The bishop’s people, of course, did not +think of offering any resistance. The very defencelessness of the house +restrained the mob for a while. A few more men from outside ran in. +Several women began to clamour scoldingly to them to bring the _Inglez_ +out. Then the men, encouraging each other in their audacity, advanced +further under the arch. + +A solitary black, the only guard left at the gate, shouted at them, +“_Arria!_ Go back!” It had no effect. More of them crowded in, though, +of course, the greater part of that mob remained outside. The black +rolled big eyes. He could not stop them; he did not like to leave his +post; he dared not fire. “Go back! Go back!” he repeated. + +“Not without the _Inglez_,” they answered. + +The tumult we had heard arose when the _Lugareños_ suddenly fell upon +the sentry, and wrenched his musket from him. + +This man, when disarmed, ran away. I saw him running across the +_patio_, on the crimson pathway, to the foot of the staircase. His +shouting, “The _Lugareños_ have risen!” broke upon the hush of mourning. +Father Antonio made a brusque movement, and Seraphina sent a startled +glance in my direction. + +The cloistered court, with its marble basin and a jet of water in the +centre, remained empty for a moment after the negro had run across; a +growing clamour penetrated into it. In the midst of it I heard O’Brien’s +voice saying, “Why don’t they shut the gate?” Immediately afterwards a +woman in the gallery cried out in surprise, and I saw the _Lugareños_ +pour into the _patio_. + +For a time that motley group of bandits stood in the light, as if +intimidated by the great dignity of the house, by the mysterious +prestige of the Casa whose interior, probably, none of them had +ever seen before. They gazed about silently, as if surprised to find +themselves there. + +It looked as if they would have retired if they had not caught sight of +me. A murmur of “the _Inglez_” arose at once. By that time the household +negroes had occupied the staircase with what weapons they could find +upstairs. + +Father Antonio pushed past O’Brien out of the room, and shook his arms +over the balustrade. + +“Impious men,” he cried, “begone from this house of death.” His eyes +flashed at the ruffians, who stared stupidly from below. + +“Give us the _Inglez_,” they growled. Seraphina, from within, cried, +“Juan.” I was then near the door, but not within the room. + +“The _Inglez!_ The heretic! The traitor!” came in sullen, subdued +mutter. A hoarse, reckless voice shouted, “Give him to us, and we shall +go!” + +“You are putting in danger all the lives in this house!” O’Brien hissed +at me. “Señorita, pray do not.” He stood in the way of Seraphina, who +wished to come out. + +“It is you!” she cried. “It is you! It is your voice, it is your hand, +it is your iniquity!” + +He was confounded by her vehemence. + +“Who brought him here?” he stammered. “Am I to find one of that accursed +brood forever in my way? I take him to witness that for your sake------” + +A formidable roar, “Throw us down the _Inglez!_” filled the _patio_. +They were gaining assurance down there; and the ferocious clamouring of +the mob outside came faintly upon our ears. + +O’Brien barred the way. Don Balthasar leaned on his daughter’s arm--she +very straight, with tears still on her face and indignation in her eye, +he bowed, and with his immovable fine features set in the calmness of +age. Behind that group there were two priests, one with a scared, white +face, another, black-browed, with an exalted and fanatical aspect. The +light of the candles from the improvised altar fell on the bishop’s +small, bald head, emerging with a patient droop from the wide spread of +his cope, as though he had been inclosed in a portable gold shrine. He +was ready to go. + +Don Balthasar, who seemed to have heard nothing, as if suddenly waking +up to his duty, left his daughter, and muttering to O’Brien, “Let me +precede the bishop,” came out, bare-headed, into the gallery. Father +Antonio had turned away, and his heavy hand fell on O’Brien’s shoulder. + +“Have you no heart, no reverence, no decency?” he said. “In the name +of everything you respect, I call upon you to stop this sacrilegious +outbreak.” + +O’Brien shook off the priestly hand, and fixed his eyes upon Seraphina. +I happened to be looking at his face; he seemed to be ready to go out +of his mind. His jealousy, the awful torment of soul and body, made him +motionless and speechless. + +Seeing Don Balthasar appear by the balustrade, the ruffians below had +become silent for a while. His aged, mechanical voice was heard asking +distinctly: + +“What do these people want?” + +Seraphina, from within the room, said aloud, “They are clamouring for +the life of our guest.” She looked at O’Brien contemptuously, “They are +doing this to please you.” + +“Before God, I have nothing to do with this.” + +It was true enough, he had nothing to do with this outbreak; and I +believe he would have interfered, but, in his dismay at having lost +himself in the eyes of Seraphina, in his rage against myself, he did +not know how to act. No doubt he had been deceiving himself as to his +position with Seraphina. He was a man who in his wishes. His desire of +revenge on me, the downfall of his hopes (he could no longer deceive +himself), a desperate striving of thought for their regaining, his +impulse towards the impossible--all these emotions paralyzed his will. + +Don Balthasar beckoned to me. + +“Don’t go near him,” said O’Brien, in a thick, mumbling voice. “I +shall------I must------” + +I put him aside. Don Balthasar took my arm. “Misguided populace,” he +whispered. “They have been a source of sorrow to me lately. But this +wicked folly is incredible. I shall call upon them to come to their +senses. My voice------” + +The court below was strongly lighted, so that I saw the bearded, +bronzed, wild faces of the _Lugareños_ looking up. We, also, were +strongly shown by the light of the doorway behind us, and by the torches +burning in the gallery. + +That morning, in my helplessness, I had come to put my trust in +accident--in some accident--I hardly knew of what nature--my own death, +perhaps--that would find a solution for my responsibilities, put an end +to my tormenting thoughts. And now the accident came with a terrible +swiftness, at which I shudder to this day. + +We were looking down into the _patio_. Don Balthasar had just said, +“You are nowhere as safe as by my side,” when I noticed a _Lugareño_ +withdrawing himself from the throng about the basin. His face came to me +familiarly. He was the pirate with the broken nose, who had had a taste +of my fist. He had the sentry’s musket on his shoulder, and was slinking +away towards the gate. + +Don Balthasar extended his hand over the balustrade, and there was +a general movement of recoil below. I wondered why the slaves on the +stairs did not charge and clear the _patio_; but I suppose with such a +mob outside there was a natural hesitation in bringing the position to +an issue. The _Lugareños_ were muttering, “Look at the _Inglez!_” then +cried out together, “Excellency, give up this _Inglez!_” + +Don Balthasar seemed ten years younger suddenly. I had never seen him so +imposingly erect. + +“Insensate!” he began, without any anger. + +“He is going to fire!” yelled Castro’s voice somewhere in the gallery. + +I saw a red dart in the shadow of the gate. The broken-nosed pirate had +fired at me. The report, deadened in the vault, hardly reached my +ears. Don Balthazar’s arm seemed to swing me back. Then I felt him lean +heavily on my shoulder. I did not know what had happened till I heard +him say: + +“Pray for me, gentlemen.” + +Father Antonio received him in his arms. + +For a second after the shot, the most dead silence prevailed in the +court. It was broken by an affrighted howl below: and Seraphina’s voice +cried piercingly: + +“Father!” + +The priest, dropping on one knee, sustained the silvery head, with its +thin features already calm in death. Don Balthasar had saved my life; +and his daughter flung herself upon the body. O’Brien pressed his hands +to his temples, and remained motionless. + +I saw the bishop, in his stiff cope, creep up to the group with the +motion of a tortoise. And, for a moment, his quavering voice pronouncing +the absolution was the only sound in the house. + +Then a most fiendish noise broke out below. The negroes had charged, and +the _Lugareños_, struck with terror at the unforeseen catastrophe, were +rushing helter-skelter through the gate. The screaming of the maids was +frightful. They ran up and down the galleries with their hair streaming. +O’Brien passed me by swiftly, muttering like a madman. + +I, also, got down into the courtyard in time to strike some heavy blows +under the gateway; but I don’t know who it was that thrust into my hands +the musket which I used as a club. The sudden burst of shrieks, +the cries of terror under the vault of the gate, yells of rage and +consternation, silenced the mob outside. The _Lugareños_, appalled at +what had happened, shouted most pitifully. They squeaked like the vermin +they were. I brought down the clubbed musket; two went down. Of two I am +sure. The rush of flying feet swept through between the walls, bearing +me along. For a time a black stream of men eddied in the moonlight round +the bishop’s coach, like a torrent breaking round a boulder. The great +heavy machine rocked, mules plunged, torches swayed. + +The archway had been cleared. Outside, the slaves were forming in the +open space before the Casa, while Cesar, with a few others, laboured +to swing the heavy gates to. Hats, torn cloaks, knives strewed the +flagstones, and the dim light of the lamps, fastened high up on the +walls, fell on the faces of three men stretched out on their backs. +Another, lying huddled up in a heap, got up suddenly and rushed out. + +The thought of Seraphina clinging to the lifeless body of her father +upstairs came to me; it came over me in horror, and I let the musket +fall out of my hand. A silence like the silence of despair reigned in +the house. She would hate me now. I felt as if I could walk out and give +myself up, had it not been for the sight of O’Brien. + +He was leaning his shoulders against the wall in the posture of a man +suddenly overcome by a deadly disease. No one was looking at us. It came +to me that he could not have many illusions left to him now. He looked +up wearily, saw me, and, waking up at once, thrust his hands into the +pockets of his breeches. I thought of his pistol. No wild hope of love +would prevent him, now, from killing me outright. The fatal shot that +had put an end to Don Balthasar’s life must have brought to him an +awakening worse than death. I made one stride, caught him by both arms +swiftly, and pinned him to the wall with all my strength. We struggled +in silence. + +I found him much more vigorous than I had expected; but, at the same +time, I felt at once that I was more than a match for him. We did not +say a word. We made no noise. But, in our struggle, we got away from the +wall into the middle of the gateway I dared not let go of his arms to +take him by the throat. He only tried to jerk and wrench himself away. +Had he succeeded, it would have been death for me. We never moved our +feet from the spot, fairly in the middle of the archway but nearer to +the gate than to the _patio_. The slaves, formed outside, guarded the +bishop’s coach, and I do not know that there was anybody else actually +with us under the vault of the entrance. We glared into each other’s +faces, and the world seemed very still around us. I felt in me a +passion--not of hate, but of determination to be done with him; and from +his face it was impossible to guess his suffering, his despair, or his +rage. + +In the midst of our straining I heard a sibilant sound. I detached my +eyes from his; his struggles redoubled, and, behind him, stealing in +towards us from the court, black on the strip of crimson cloth, I saw +Tomas Castro. He flung his cloak back. The light of the lanthorn under +the keystone of the arch glimmered feebly on the blade of his maimed +arm. He made a discreet and bloodcurdling gesture to me with the other. + +How could I hold a man so that he should be stabbed from behind in my +arms? Castro was running up swiftly, his cloak opening like a pair of +sable wings. Collecting all my strength, I forced O’Brien round, and +we swung about in a flash. Now he had his back to the gate. My effort +seemed to have uprooted him. I felt him give way all over. + +As soon as our position had changed, Castro checked himself, and stepped +aside into the shadow of the guardroom doorway. I don’t think O’Brien +had been aware of what had been going on. His strength was overborne +by mine. I drove him backwards. His eyes blinked wildly. He bared his +teeth. He resisted, as though I had been forcing him over the brink of +perdition. His feet clung to the flagstones. I shook him till his head +rolled. + +“Viper brood!” he spluttered. + +“Out you go!” I hissed. + +I had found nothing heroic, nothing romantic to say--nothing that would +express my desperate resolve to rid the world of his presence. All I +could do was to fling him out. The Casa Riego was all my world--a World +full of great pain, great mourning, and love. I saw him pitch headlong +under the wheels of the bishop’s enormous carriage. The black coachman +who had sat aloft, unmoved through all the tumult, in his white +stockings and three-cornered hat, glanced down from his high box. And +the two parts of the gate came together with a clang of ironwork and a +heavy crash that seemed as loud as thunder under that vault. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +Not even in memory am I willing to live over again those three days when +Father Antonio, the old major-domo, and myself would meet each other +in the galleries, in the _patio_, in the empty rooms, moving in the +stillness of the house with heavy hearts and desolate eyes, which seemed +to demand, “What is there to do?” + +Of course, precautions were taken against the Lugareños. They were +besieging the Casa from afar. They had established a sort of camp at the +end of the street, and they prowled about amongst the old, barricaded +houses in their pointed hats, in their rags and finery; women, with +food, passed constantly between the villages and the panic-stricken +town; there were groups on the beach; and one of the schooners had been +towed down the bay, and was lying, now, moored stem and stern opposite +the great gate. They did nothing whatever active against us. They lay +around and watched, as if in pursuance of a plan traced by a superior +authority. They were watching for me. But when, by some mischance, they +burnt the roof off the outbuildings that were at some distance from the +Casa, their chiefs sent up a deputation of three, with apologies. +Those men came unarmed, and, as it were, under Castro’s protection, +and absolutely whimpered with regrets before Father Antonio. “Would his +reverence kindly intercede with the most noble senorita?...” + +“Silence! Dare not pronounce her name!” thundered the good priest, +snatching away his hand, which they attempted to grab and kiss. + +I, in the background, noted their black looks at me even as they +cringed. The man who had fired the shot, they said, had expired of his +wounds after great torments. Their other dead had been thrust out of +the gate before. A long fellow, with slanting eyebrows and a scar on his +cheek, called El Rechado, tried to inform Cesar, confidentially, that +Manuel, his friend, had been opposed to any encroachment of the Casa’s +offices, only: “That Domingo------” + +As soon as we discovered what was their object (their apparent object, +at any rate), they were pushed out of the gate unceremoniously,--still +protesting their love and respect--by the Riego negroes. Castro followed +them out again, after exchanging a meaning look with Father Antonio. To +live in the two camps, as it were, was a triumph of Castro’s diplomacy, +of his saturnine mysteriousness. He kept us in touch with the outer +world, coming in under all sorts of pretences, mostly with messages from +the bishop, or escorting the priests that came in relays to pray by the +bodies of the two last Riegos lying in state, side by side, rigid in +black velvet and white lace ruffles, on the great bed dragged out into +the middle of the room. + +Two enormous wax torches in iron stands flamed and guttered at the door; +a black cloth draped the emblazoned shields; and the wind from the sea, +blowing through the open casement, inclined all together the flames of +a hundred candles, pale in the sunlight, extremely ardent in the night. +The murmur of prayers for these souls went on incessantly; I have it in +my ears now. There would be always some figure of the household kneeling +in prayer at the door; or the old major-domo would come in to stand at +the foot, motionless for a time; or, through the open door, I would see +the cassock of Father Antonio, flung on his knees, with his forehead +resting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped above his tonsure. + +Apart from what was necessary for defence, all the life of the house +seemed stopped. Not a woman appeared; all the doors were closed; and +the numbing desolation of a great bereavement was symbolized by Don +Bal-thasar’s chair in the _patio_, which had remained lying overturned +in full view of every part of the house, till I could bear the sight +no longer, and asked Cesar to have it put away. “_Si, Señor_,” he said +deferentially, and a few tears ran suddenly down his withered cheeks. +The English flowers had been trampled down; an unclean hat floated on +the basin, now here, now there, frightening the goldfish from one side +to the other. + +And Seraphina. It seems not fitting that I should write of her in these +days. I hardly dared let my thoughts approach her, but I had to think of +her all the time. Her sorrow was the very soul of the house. + +Shortly after I had thrown O’Brien out the bishop had left, and then I +learned from Father Antonio that Seraphina had been carried away to her +own apartments in a fainting condition. The excellent man was almost +incoherent with distress and trouble of mind, and walked up and down, +his big head drooping on his capacious chest, the joints of his entwined +fingers cracking. I had met him in the gallery, as I was making my way +back to Carlos’ room in anxiety and fear, and we had stepped aside into +a large saloon, seldom used, above the gateway. I shall never forget +the restless, swift pacing of that burly figure, while, feeling utterly +crushed, now the excitement was over, I leaned against a console. Three +long bands of moonlight fell, chilly bluish, into the vast room, with +its French Empire furniture stiffly arranged about the white walls. + +“And that man?” he asked me at last. + +“I could have killed him with my own hands,” I said. “I was the +stronger. He had his pistols on him, I am certain, only I could not be a +party to an assassination....” + +“Oh, my son, it would have been no sin to have exerted the strength +which God had blessed you with,” he interrupted. “We are allowed to kill +venomous snakes, wild beasts; we are given our strength for that, our +intelligence....” And all the time he walked about, wringing his hands. + +“Yes, your reverence,” I said, feeling the most miserable and helpless +of lovers on earth; “but there was no time. If I had not thrown him out, +Castro would have stabbed him in the back in my very hands. And that +would have been------” Words failed me. + +I had been obliged not only to desist myself, but to save his life from +Castro. I had been obliged! There had been no option. Murderous enemy as +he was, it seemed to me I should never have slept a wink all the rest of +my life. + +“Yes, it is just, it is just. What else? Alas!” Father Antonio repeated +disconnectedly. “Those feelings implanted in your breast----I have +served my king, as you know, in my sacred calling, but in the midst of +war, which is the outcome of the wickedness natural to our fallen state. +I understand; I understand. It may be that God, in his mercy, did not +wish the death of that evil man--not yet, perhaps. Let us submit. He +may repent.” He snuffled aloud. “I think of that poor child,” he said +through his handkerchief. Then, pressing my arm with his vigorous +fingers, he murmured, “I fear for her reason.” + +It may be imagined in what state I spent the rest of that sleepless +night. At times, the thought that I was the cause of her bereavement +nearly drove me mad. + +And there was the danger, too. + +But what else could I have done? My whole soul had recoiled from the +horrible help Castro was bringing us at the point of his blade. No love +could demand from me such a sacrifice. + +Next day Father Antonio was calmer. To my trembling inquiries he said +something consolatory as to the blessed relief of tears. When not +praying fervently in the mortuary chamber, he could be seen pacing the +gallery in a severe aloofness of meditation. In the evening he took +me by the arm, and, without a word, led me up a narrow and winding +staircase. He pushed a small door, and we stepped out on a flat part of +the roof, flooded in moonlight. + +The points of land dark with the shadows of trees and broken ground +clasped the waters of the bay, with a body of shining white mists in +the centre; and, beyond, the vast level of the open sea, touched with +glitter, appeared infinitely sombre under the luminous sky. + +We stood back from the parapet, and Father Antonio threw out a thick arm +at the splendid trail of the moon upon the dark water. + +“This is the only way,” he said. + +He had a warm heart under his black robe, a simple and courageous +comprehension of life, this priest who was very much of a man; a certain +grandeur of resolution when it was a matter of what he regarded as his +principal office. + +“This is the way,” he repeated. + +Never before had I been struck so much by the gloom, the vastness, +the emptiness of the open sea, as on that moonlight night. And Father +Antonio’s deep voice went on: + +“My son, since God has made use of the nobility of your heart to save +that sinner from an unshriven death------” + +He paused to mutter, “Inscrutable! inscrutable!” to himself, sighed, and +then: + +“Let us rejoice,” he continued, with a completely unconcealed +resignation, “that you have been the chosen instrument to afford him an +opportunity to repent.” + +His tone changed suddenly. + +“He will never repent,” he said with great force. “He has sold his +soul and body to the devil, like those magicians of old of whom we have +records.” + +He clicked his tongue with compunction, and regretted his want of +charity. It was proper for me, however, as a man having to deal with a +world of wickedness and error, to act as though I did not believe in his +repentance. + +“The hardness of the human heart is incredible; I have seen the most +appalling examples.” And the priest meditated. “He is not a common +criminal, however,” he added profoundly. + +It was true. He was a man of illusions, ministering to passions +that uplifted him above the fear of consequences, Young as I was, I +understood that, too. There was no safety for us in Cuba while he lived. +Father Antonio nodded dismally. + +“Where to go?” I asked. “Where to turn? Whom can we trust? In whom can +we repose the slightest confidence? Where can we look for hope?” + +Again the _padre_ pointed to the sea. The hopeless aspect of its moonlit +and darkling calm struck me so forcibly that I did not even ask how he +proposed to get us out there. I only made a gesture of discouragement. +Outside the Casa, my life was not worth ten minutes’ purchase. And how +could I risk her there? How could I propose to her to follow me to an +almost certain death? What could be the issue of such an adventure? +How could we hope to devise such secret means of getting away as would +prevent the _Lugareños_ pursuing us? I should perish, then, and she... + +Father Antonio seemed to lose his self-control suddenly. + +“Yes,” he cried. “The sea is a perfidious element, but what is it to +the blind malevolence of men?” He gripped my shoulder. “The risk to her +life,” he cried; “the risk of drowning, of hunger, of thirst--that is +all the sea can do. I do not think of that. I love her too much. She +is my very own spiritual child; and I tell you, Señor, that the unholy +intrigue of that man endangers not her happiness, not her fortune +alone--it endangers her innocent soul itself.” + +A profound silence ensued. I remembered that his business was to save +souls. This old man loved that young girl whom he had watched growing +up, defenceless in her own home; he loved her with a great strength of +paternal instinct that no vow of celibacy can extinguish, and with a +heroic sense of his priestly duty. And I was not to say him nay. The +sea--so be it. It was easier to think of her dead than to think of her +immured; it was better that she should be the victim of the sea than of +evil men; that she should be lost with me than to me. + +Father Antonio, with that naïve sense of the poetry of the sky he +possessed, apostrophized the moon, the “gentle orb,” as he called it, +which ought to be weary of looking at the miseries of the earth. His +immense shadow on the leads seemed to fling two vast fists over the +parapet, as if to strike at the enemies below, and without discussing +any specific plan we descended. It was understood that Seraphina and I +should try to escape--I won’t say by sea, but to the sea. At best, to +ask the charitable help of some passing ship, at worst to go out of the +world together. + +I had her confidence. I will not tell of my interview with her; but I +shall never forget my sensations of awe, as if entering a temple, the +melancholy and soothing intimacy of our meeting, the dimly lit loftiness +of the room, the vague form of La Chica in the background, and the +frail, girlish figure in black with a very pale, delicate face. Father +Antonio was the only other person present, and chided her for giving way +to grief. “It is like rebellion--like rebellion,” he denounced, turning +away his head to wipe a tear hastily; and I wondered and thanked God +that I should be a comfort to that tender young girl, whose lot on earth +had been difficult, whose sorrow was great but could not overwhelm her +indomitable spirit, which held a promise of sweetness and love. + +Her courage was manifest to me in the gentle and sad tones of her voice. +I made her sit in a vast armchair of tapestry, in which she looked +lost like a little child, and I took a stool at her feet. This is an +unforgettable hour in my life in which not a word of love was spoken, +which is not to be written of. The burly shadow of the priest lay +motionless from the window right across the room; the flickering flame +of a silver lamp made an unsteady white circle of light on the lofty +ceiling above her head. A clock was beating gravely somewhere in the +distant gloom, like the unperturbed heart of that silence, in which our +understanding of each other was growing, even into a strength fit to +withstand every tempest. + +“Escape by the sea,” I said aloud. “It would be, at least, like two +lovers leaping hand in hand off a high rock, and nothing else.” + +Father Antonio’s bass voice spoke behind us. + +“It is better to jeopardize the sinful body that returns to the dust of +which it is made than the redeemed soul, whose awful lot is eternity. +Reflect.” + +Seraphina hung her head, but her hand did not tremble in mine. + +“My daughter,” the old man continued, “you have to confide your fate to +a noble youth of elevated sentiments, and of a truly chivalrous +heart....” + +“I trust him,” said Seraphina. + +And, as I heard her say this, it seemed really to me as if, in very +truth, my sentiments were noble and my heart chivalrous. Such is the +power of a girl’s voice. The door closed on us, and I felt very humble. + +But in the gallery Father Antonio leaned heavily on my shoulder. + +“I shall be a lonely old man,” he whispered faintly. “After all these +years! Two great nobles; the end of a great house--a child I had seen +grow up.... But I am less afraid for her now.” + +I shall not relate all the plans we made and rejected. Everything seemed +impossible. We knew from Castro that O’Brien had gone to Havana, either +to take the news of Don Balthasar’s death himself, or else to prevent +the news spreading there too soon. Whatever his motive for leaving Rio +Medio, he had left orders that the house should be respected under the +most awful penalties, and that it should be watched so that no one left +it. The Englishman was to be killed at sight. Not a hair on anybody +else’s head was to be touched. + +To escape seemed impossible; then on the third day the thing came to +pass. The way was found. Castro, who served me as if Carlos’ soul had +passed into my body, but looked at me with a saturnine disdain, had +arranged it all with Father Antonio. + +It was the day of the burial of Carlos and Don Balthasar. That same day +Castro had heard that a ship had been seen becalmed a long way out to +sea. It was a great opportunity; and the funeral procession would give +the occasion for my escape. There was in Rio Medio, as in all Spanish +towns amongst the respectable part of the population, a confraternity +for burying the dead, “The Brothers of Pity,” who, clothed in black +robes and cowls, with only two holes for the eyes, carried the dead to +their resting-place, unrecognizable and unrecognized in that pious work. +A “Brother of Pity” dress would be brought for me into Father Antonio’s +room. Castro was confident as to his ability of getting a boat. It would +be a very small and dangerous one, but what would I have, if I neither +killed my enemy, nor let any one else kill him for me, he commented with +sombre sarcasm. + +A truce of God had been called, and the burial was to take place in the +evening when the mortal remains of the last of the Riegos would be +laid in the vault of the cathedral of what had been known as their +own province, and had, in fact, been so for a time under a grant from +Charles V. + +Early in the day I had a short interview with Seraphina. She was +resolute. Then, long before dark, I slipped into Father Antonio’s room, +where I was to stay until the moment to come out and mingle with the +throng of other Brothers of Pity. Once with the bodies in the crypt of +the cathedral, I was to await Seraphina there, and, together, we should +slip through a side door on to the shore. Cesar, to throw any observer +off the scent (three _Lugareños_ were to be admitted to see the bodies +put in their coffins), posted two of the Riego negroes with loaded +muskets on guard before the door of my empty room, as if to protect me. + +Then, just as dusk fell, Father Antonio, who had been praying silently +in a corner, got up, blew his nose, sighed, and suddenly enfolded me in +his powerful arms for an instant. + +“I am an old man--a poor priest,” he whispered jerkily into my ear, “and +the sea is very perfidious. And yet it favours the sons of your nation. +But, remember--the child has no one but you. Spare her.” + +He went off; stopped. “Inscrutable! inscrutable!” he murmured, lifting +upwards his eyes. He raised his hand with a solemn slowness. “An old +man’s blessing can do no harm,” he said humbly. I bowed my head. My +heart was too full for speech, and the door closed. I never saw him +again, except later on in his surplice for a moment at the gate, his +great bass voice distinct in the chanting of the priests conducting the +bodies. + +The _Lugareños_ would respect the truce arranged by the bishop. + +No man of them but the three had entered the Casa. Already, early in the +night, their black-haired women, with coarse faces and melancholy eyes, +were kneeling in rows under the black _mantillas_ on the stone floor of +the cathedral, praying for the repose of the soul of Seraphina’s +father, of that old man who had lived among them, unapproachable, almost +invisible, and as if infinitely removed. They had venerated him, and +many of them had never set eyes on his person. + +It strikes me, now, as strange and significant of a mysterious human +need, the need to look upwards towards a superiority inexpressibly +remote, the need of something to idealize in life. They had only that +and, maybe, a sort of love as idealized and as personal for the mother +of God, whom, also, they had never seen, to whom they trusted to save +them from a devil as real. And they had, moreover, a fear even more real +of O’Brien. + +And, when one comes to think of it, in putting on the long spectacled +robe of a Brother of Pity, in walking before the staggering bearers +of the great coffin with a tall crucifix in my hand, in thus taking +advantage of their truce of God, I was, also, taking advantage of what +was undoubtedly their honour--a thing that handicapped them quite as +much as had mine when I found myself unable to strike down O’Brien. At +that time, I was a great deal too excited to consider this, however. I +had many things to think of, and the immense necessity of keeping a cool +head. + +It was, after all, Tomas Castro to whom all the credit of the thing +belonged. Just after it had fallen very dark, he brought me the black +robes, a pair of heavy pistols to gird on under them, and the heavy +staff topped by a crucifix. He had an air of sarcastic protest in the +dim light of my room, and he explained with exaggeratedly plain words +precisely what I was to do--which, as a matter of fact, was neither more +nor less than merely following in his own footsteps. + +“And, oh, Señor,” he said sardonically, “if you desire again to pillow +your head upon the breast of your mother; if you would again see your +sister, who, alas! by bewitching my Carlos, is at the heart of all our +troubles; if you desire again to see that dismal land of yours, which +politeness forbids me to curse, I would beg of you not to let the +mad fury of your nation break loose in the midst of these thieves and +scoundrels.” + +He peered intently into the spectacled eyeholes of my cowl, and laid +his hand on his sword-hilt. His small figure, tightly clothed in black +velvet from chin to knee, swayed gently backwards and forwards in the +light of the dim candle, and his grotesque shadow flitted over the +ghostly walls of the great room. He stood gazing silently for a minute, +then turned smartly on his heels, and, with a gesture of sardonic +respect, threw open the door for me. + +“Pray, Señor,” he said, “that the moon may not rise too soon.” + +We went swiftly down the colonnades for the last time, in the pitch +darkness and into the blackness of the vast archway. The clumping staff +of my heavy crucifix drew hollow echoes from the flagstones. In the deep +sort of cave behind us, lit by a dim lanthorn, the negroes waited to +unbar the doors. Castro himself began to mutter over his beads. Suddenly +he said: + +“It is the last time I shall stand here. Now, there is not any more a +place for me on the earth.” + +Great flashes of light began to make suddenly visible the tall pillars +of the immense mournful palace, and after a long time, absolutely +without a sound, save the sputter of enormous torches, an incredibly +ghostly body of figures, black-robed from head to foot, with large +eyeholes peering fantastically, swayed into the great arch of the hall. +Above them was the enormous black coffin. It was a sight so appalling +and unexpected that I stood gazing at them without any power to move, +until I remembered that I, too, was such a figure. And then, with an +ejaculation of impatience, Tomas Castro caught at my hand, and whirled +me round. + +The great doors had swung noiselessly open, and the black night, +bespangled with little flames, was framed in front of me. He suddenly +unsheathed his portentous sword, and, hanging his great hat upon his +maimed arm, stalked, a pathetic and sinister figure of grief, down the +great steps. I followed him in the vivid and extraordinary compulsion of +the sinister body that, like one fabulous and enormous monster, swayed +impenetrably after me. + +My heart beat till my head was in a tumultuous whirl, when thus, at +last, I stepped out of that house--but I suppose my grim robes cloaked +my emotions--though, seeing very clearly through the eyeholes, it was +almost incredible to me that I was not myself seen. But these Brothers +of Pity were a secret society, known to no man except their spiritual +head, who chose them in turn, and not knowing even each other. Their +good deeds of charity were, in that way, done by pure stealth. And it +happened that their spiritual director was the Father Antonio himself. +At that foot of the palace steps, drawn back out of our way, stood the +great glass coach of state, containing, even then, the woman who was +all the world to me, invisible to me, unattainable to me, not to be +comforted by me, even as her great griefs were to me invisible and +unassuageable. And there between us, in the great coffin, held on +high by the grim, shadowy beings, was all that she loved, invisible, +unattainable, too, and beyond all human comfort. Standing there, in the +midst of the whispering, bare-headed, kneeling, and villainous crowd, I +had a vivid vision of her pale, dim, pitiful face. Ah, poor thing! she +was going away for good from all that state, from all that seclusion, +from all that peace, mutely, and with a noble pride of quietness, into +a world of dangers, with no head but mine to think for her, no arm but +mine to ward off all the great terrors, the immense and dangerous weight +of a new world. + +In the twinkle of innumerable candles, the priceless harness of the +white mules, waiting to draw the great coach after us, shone like +streaks of ore in an infinitely rich silver mine. A double line of +tapers kept the road to the cathedral, and a crowd of our negroes, the +bell muzzles of their guns suggested in the twinkling light, massed +themselves round the coach. Outside the lines were the crowd of +rapscallions in red jackets, their women and children--all the +population of the Aldea Bajo, groaning. The whole crowd got into motion +round us, the white mules plunging frantically, the coach swaying. Ahead +of me inarched the sardonic, gallantly grotesque figure of true Tomas, +his sword point up, his motions always jaunty. Ahead of him, again, +were the white robes of many priests, a cluster of tall candles, a great +jewelled cross, and a tall saint’s figure swaying, more than shoulder +high, and disappearing up above into the darkness. For me, under my +cowl, it was suffocatingly hot; but I seemed to move forward, following, +swept along without any volition of my own. It appeared an immensely +long journey; and then, as we went at last up the cathedral steps, a +voice cried harshly, “Death to the heretic!” My heart stood still. +I clutched frantically at the handle of a pistol that I could not +disengage from folds of black cloth. But, as a matter of fact, the cry +was purely a general one; I was supposed to be shut up in the palace +still. + +The sudden glow, the hush, the warm breath of incense, and the blaze +of light turned me suddenly faint; my ears buzzed, and I heard strange +sounds. + +The cathedral was a mass of heads. Everyone in Rio Medio was present, +or came trooping in behind us. The better class was clustered near the +blaze of gilding, mottled marble, wax flowers, and black and purple +drapery that vaulted over the two black coffins in the choir. Down in +the unlit body of the church the riff-raff of O’Brien kept the doors. + +I followed the silent figure of Tomas Castro to the bishop’s own stall, +right up in the choir, and we became hidden from the rest by the forest +of candles round the catafalque. Up the centre of the great church, +and high over the heads of the kneeling people, came the great coffin, +swaying, its bearers robbed of half their grimness by the blaze of +lights. Tomas Castro suddenly caught at my sleeve whilst they were +letting the coffin down on to the bier. He drew me unnoticed into +the shadow behind the bishop’s stall. In the swift transit, I had a +momentary glance of a small, black figure, infinitely tiny in that +quiet place, and infinitely solitary, veiled in black from head to foot, +coming alone up the centre of the nave. + +I stood hidden there beside the bishop’s stall for a long time, and then +suddenly I saw the black figure alone in the gallery, looking down upon +me--from the _loggia_ of the Riegos. I felt suddenly an immense calm; +she was looking at me with unseeing eyes, but I knew and felt that she +would follow me now to the end of the world. I had no more any doubts +as to the issue of our enterprise; it was open to no unsuccess with a +figure so steadfast engaged in it; it was impossible that blind fate +should be insensible to her charm, impossible that any man could strike +at or thwart her. + +Monks began to sing; a great brass instrument grunted lamentably; in the +body of the building there was silence. The bishop and his supporters +moved about, as if aimlessly, in front of the altar; the chains of the +gold censors clicked ceaselessly. Seraphina’s head had sunk forward out +of my sight. All the heads of the cathedral bowed down, and suddenly, +from round the side of the stall, a hand touched mine, and a voice said, +“It is time.” Very softly, as if it were part of the rite, I was drawn +round the stall through a door in the side of the screen. As we went +out, in his turnings, the old bishop gave us the benediction. Then the +door closed on the glory of his robes, and in a minute, in the darkness +we were rustling down a circular narrow staircase into the dimness of +a crypt, lit by the little blue flame of an oil lamp. From above came +sounds like thunder, immense, vibrating; we were immediately under the +choir. Through the cracks round a large stone showed a parallelogram of +light. + +In the dimness I had a glimpse of the face of my conductor--a thin, +wonderfully hollow-cheeked lay brother. He began, with great gentleness, +to assist me out of my black robes, and then he said: + +“The senorita will be here very soon with the Señor Tomas,” and then +added, with an infinitely sad and tender, dim smile: + +“Will not the Señor Caballero, if it is not repugnant, say a prayer for +the repose of...” He pointed gently upwards to the great flagstone above +which was the coffin of Don Balthasar and Carlos. The priest himself was +one of those very holy, very touching---perhaps, very stupid--men that +one finds in such places. With his dim, wistful face he is very present +in my memory. He added: “And that the good God of us all may keep it +in the Señor Caballero’s heart to care well for the soul of the dear +senorita.” + +“I am a very old man,” he whispered, after a pause. He was indeed an +old man, quite worn out, quite without hope on earth. “I have loved the +senorita since she was a child. The Señor Caballero takes her from us. I +would have him pray--to be made worthy.” + +Whilst I was doing it, the place began to be alive with whispers of +garments, of hushed footsteps, a small exclamation in a gruff voice. +Then the stone above moved out of its place, and a blaze of light fell +down from the choir above. + +I saw beside me Seraphina’s face, brilliantly lit, looking upwards. +Tomas Castro said: + +“Come quickly... come quickly... the prayers are ending; there will be +people in the street.” And from above an enormous voice intoned: + +“_Tu.. u.. ba mi.. i.. i..rum..._” And the serpent groaned discordantly. +The end of a great box covered with black velvet glided forward above +our heads; ropes were fastened round it. The priest had opened a door in +the shadowy distance, beside a white marble tablet in the thick walls. +The coffin up above moved forward a little again; the ropes were +readjusted with a rattling, wooden sound. A dry, formal voice intoned +from above: + +“_Èrit... Justus Ab auditione..._” + +From the open door the priest rattled his keys, and said, “Come, come,” + impatiently. + +I was horribly afraid that Seraphina would shriek or faint, or refuse +to move. There was very little time. The pirates might stream out of the +front of the cathedral as we came from the back; the bishop had promised +to accentuate the length of the service. But Seraphina glided towards +the open door; a breath of fresh air reached us. She looked back once. +The coffin was swinging right over the hole, shutting out the light. +Tomas Castro took her hand and said, “Come... come,” with infinite +tenderness. + +He had been sobbing convulsedly. We went up some steps, and the door +shut behind us with a sound like a sigh of relief. + +We walked fast, in perfect blackness and solitude, on the deserted beach +between the old town and the village. Every soul was near the cathedral. +A boat lay half afloat. To the left in the distance the light of the +schooner opposite the Casa Riego wavered on the still water. + +Suddenly Tomas Castro said: + +“The senorita never before set foot to the open ground.” + +At once I lifted her into the boat. “Shove off, Tomas,” I said, with a +beating heart. + + + + +PART FOURTH -- BLADE AND GUITAR + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +There was a slight, almost imperceptible jar, a faint grating noise, a +whispering sound of sand--and the boat, without a splash, floated. + +The earth, slipping as it were away from under the keel, left us borne +upon the waters of the bay, which were as still as the windless night +itself. The pushing off of that boat was like a launching into space, as +a bird opens its wings on the brow of a cliff, and remains poised in +the air. A sense of freedom came to me, the unreasonable feeling of +exultation--as if I had been really a bird essaying its flight for the +first time. Everything, sudden and evil and most fortunate, had been +arranged for me, as though I had been a lay figure on which Romance +had been wreaking its bewildering unexpectedness; but with the floating +clear of the boat, I felt somehow that this escape I had to manage +myself. + +It was dark. Dipping cautiously the blade of the oar, I gave another +push against the shelving shore. Seraphina sat, cloaked and motionless, +and Tomas Castro, in the bows, made no sound. I didn’t even hear him +breathe. Everything was left to me. The boat, impelled afresh, made +a slight ripple, and my elation was replaced in a moment by all the +torments of the most acute anxiety. + +I gave another push, and then lost the bottom. Success depended upon +my resource, readiness, and courage. And what was this success? +Immediately, it meant getting out of the bay, and into the open sea in +a twelve-foot dinghy looted from some ship years ago by the Rio Medio +pirates, if that miserable population of sordid and ragged outcasts of +the Antilles deserved such a romantic name. They were sea-thieves. + +Already the wooded shoulder of a mountain was thrown out intensely +black by the glow in the sky behind. The moon was about to rise. A great +anguish took my heart as if in a vice. The stillness of the dark shore +struck me as unnatural. I imagined the yell of the discovery breaking +it, and the fancy caused me a greater emotion than the thing itself, I +flatter myself, could possibly have done. The unusual silence in which, +through the open portals, the altar of the cathedral alone blazed with +many flames upon the bay, seemed to enter my very heart violently, like +a sudden access of anguish. The two in the boat with me were silent, +too. I could not bear it. + +“Seraphina,” I murmured, and heard a stifled sob. + +“It is time to take the oars, Señor,” whispered Castro suddenly, as +though he had fallen asleep as soon as he had scrambled into the bows, +and only had awaked that instant. “The mists in the middle of the bay +will hide us when the moon rises.” + +It was time--if we were to escape. Escape where? Into the open sea? With +that silent, sorrowing girl by my side! In this miserable cockleshell, +and without any refuge open to us? It was not really a hesitation; she +could not be left at the mercy of O’Brien. It was as though I had for +the first time perceived how vast the world was; how dangerous; how +unsafe. And there was no alternative. There could be no going back. + +Perhaps, if I had known what was before us, my heart would have failed +me utterly out of sheer pity. Suddenly my eyes caught sight of the moon +making like the glow of a bush fire on the black slope of the mountain. +In a moment it would flood the bay with light, and the schooner anchored +off the beach before the Casa Riego was not eighty yards away. I dipped +my oar without a splash. Castro pulled with his one hand. + +The mists rising on the lowlands never filled the bay, and I could see +them lying in moonlight across the outlet like a silvery white ghost +of a wall. We penetrated it, and instantly became lost to view from the +shore. + +Castro, pulling quickly, turned his head, and grunted at a red blur +very low in the mist. A fire was burning on the low point of land where +Nichols--the Nova Scotian--had planted the battery which had worked such +havoc with Admiral Rowley’s boats. It was a mere earthwork and some of +the guns had been removed. The fire, however, warned us that there were +some people on the point. We ceased rowing for a moment, and Castro +explained to me that a fire was always lit when any of these thieves’ +boats were stirring. There would be three or four men to keep it up. On +this very night Manuel-del-Popolo was outside with a good many rowboats, +waiting on the _Indiaman_. The ship had been seen nearing the shore +since noon. She was becalmed now. Perhaps they were looting her already. + +This fact had so far favoured our escape. There had been no strollers on +the beach that night. Since the investment of the Casa Riego, Castro had +lived amongst the besiegers on his prestige of a superior person, of +a _caballero_ skilled in war and diplomacy. No one knew how much the +tubby, saturnine little man was in the confidence of the Juez O’Brien; +and there was no doubt that he was a good Catholic. He was a very grave, +a very silent _caballero_. In reality his heart had been broken by the +death of Carlos, and he did not care what happened to him. His action +was actuated by his scorn and hate of the Rio Medio population, rather +than by any friendly feeling towards myself. + +On that night Domingo’s partisans were watching the Casa Riego, while +Manuel (who was more of a seaman) had taken most of his personal +friends, and all the larger boats that would float, to do a bit of +“outside work,” as they called it, upon the becalmed West Indiaman. + +This had facilitated Castro’s plan, and it also accounted for the +smallness of the boat, which was the only one of the refuse lot left +on the beach that did not gape at every seam. She was not tight by any +means, though. I could hear the water washing above the bottom-boards, +and I remember how concern about keeping Seraphina’s feet dry mingled +with the grave apprehensions of our enterprise. + +We had been paddling an easy stroke. The red blurr of the fire on the +point was growing larger, while the diminished blaze of lights on the +high altar of the cathedral pierced the mist with an orange ray. + +“The boat should be baled out,” I remarked in a whisper. + +Castro laid his oar in and made his way to the thwart. It shows how well +we were prepared for our flight, that there was not even a half-cocoanut +shell in the boat. A gallon earthenware jar, stoppered with a bunch of +grass, contained all our provision of fresh water. Castro displaced it, +and, bending low, tried to bale with his big, soft hat. I should imagine +that he found it impracticable, because, suddenly, he tore off one +of his square-toed shoes with a steel buckle. He used it as a scoop, +blaspheming at the necessity, but in a very low mutter, out of respect +for Seraphina. + +Standing up in the stern-sheets by her side, I kept on sculling gently. +Once before I had gone desperately to sea--escaping the gallows, +perhaps--in a very small boat, with the drunken song of Rangsley’s uncle +heralding the fascination of the unknown to a very callow youth. That +night had been as dark, but the danger had been less great. The boat, it +is true, had actually sunk under us, but then it was only the sea that +might have swallowed me who knew nothing of life, and was as much a +stranger to fate as the animals on our farm. But now the world of men +stood ready to devour us, and the Gulf of Mexico was of no more account +than a puddle on a road infested by robbers. What were the dangers +of the sea to the passions amongst which I was launched--with my high +fortunes in my hand, and, like all those who live and love, with a sword +suspended above my head? + +The danger had been less great on that old night, when I had heard +behind me the soft crash of the smugglers’ feet on the shingle. It had +been less great, and, if it had had a touch of the sordid, it had led me +to this second and more desperate escape--in a cockleshell, carrying +off a silent and cloaked figure, which quickened my heart-beats at each +look. I was carrying her off from the evil spells of the Casa Riego, +as a knight a princess from an enchanted castle. But she was more to me +than any princess to any knight. + +There was never anything like that in the world. Lovers might have gone, +in their passion, to a certain death; but never, it seemed to me, in +the history of youth, had they gone in such an atmosphere of cautious +stillness upon such a reckless adventure. Everything depended upon +slipping out through the gullet of the bay without a sound. The men on +the point had no means of pursuit, but, if they heard or saw anything, +they could shout a warning to the boats outside. These were the real +dangers--my first concern. Afterwards... I did not want to think +of afterwards. There were only the open sea and the perilous coast. +Perhaps, if I thought of them, I should give up. + +I thought only of gaining each successive moment and concentrated all +my faculties into an effort of stealthiness. I handled the boat with a +deliberation full of tense prudence, as if the oar had been a stalk of +straw, as if the water of the bay had been the film of a glass bubble an +unguarded movement could have shivered to atoms. I hardly breathed, for +the feeling that a deeper breath would have blown away the mist that was +our sole protection now. + +It was not blown away. On the contrary, it clung closer to us, with the +enveloping chill of a cloud wreathing a mountain crag. The vague shadows +and dim outlines that had hung around us began, at last, to vanish +utterly in an impenetrable and luminous whiteness. And through the +jumble of my thoughts darted the sudden knowledge that there was a +sea-fog outside--a thing quite different from the nightly mists of the +bay. It was rolling into the passage inexplicably, for no stir of air +reached us. It was possible to watch its endless drift by the glow of +the fire on the point, now much nearer us. Its edges seemed to melt +away in the flight of the water-dust. It was a sea-fog coming in. Was +it disastrous to us, or favourable? It, at least, answered our immediate +need for concealment, and this was enough for me, when all our future +hung upon every passing minute. + +The Rio picaroons, when engaged in thieving from some ship becalmed +on the coast, began by towing one of their schooners as far as the +entrance. They left her there as a rallying point for the boats, and to +receive the booty. + +One of these schooners, as I knew, was moored opposite the Casa Riego. +The other might be lying at anchor somewhere right in the fairway ahead, +within a few yards. I strained my ears for some revealing sound from +her, if she were there--a cough, a voice, the creak of a block, or the +fall of something on her deck. Nothing came. I began to fear lest I +should run stem on into her side without a moment’s warning. I could see +no further than the length of our twelve-foot boat. + +To make certain of avoiding that danger, I decided to shave close the +spit of sand that tipped the narrow strip of lowland to the south. I set +my teeth, and sheered in resolutely. + +Castro remained on the after-thwart, with his elbows on his knees. His +head nearly touched my leg. I could distinguish the woeful, bent +back, the broken swaying of the plume in his hat. Seraphina’s perfect +immobility gave me the measure of her courage, and the silence was so +profoundly pellucid that the flutter of the flames that we were nearing +began to come loud out of the blur of the glow. Then I heard the very +crackling of the wood, like a fusillade from a great distance. Even then +Castro did not deign to turn his head. + +Such as he was--a born vagabond, _contrabandista_, spy in armed camps, +sutler at the tail of the _Grande Armée_ (escaped, God only knows how, +from the snows of Russia), beggar, _guerrillero_, bandit, sceptically +murderous, draping his rags in saturnine dignity--he had ended by +becoming the sinister and grotesque squire of our quixotic Carlos. There +was something romantically sombre in his devotion. He disdained to turn +round at the danger, because he had left his heart on the coffin as a +lesser affection would have laid a wreath. I looked down at Seraphina. +She too, had left a heart in the vaults of the cathedral. The edge of +the heavy cloak drawn over her head concealed her face from me, and, +with her face, her ignorance, her great doubts, her great fears. + +I heard, above the crackling of dry wood, a husky exclamation of +surprise, and then a startled voice exclaiming: + +“Look! _Santissima Madre!_ What is this?” + +Sheer instinct altered at once the motion of my hand so as to incline +the bows of the dinghy away from the shore; but a sort of stupefying +amazement seized upon my soul. We had been seen. It was all over. Was it +possible? All over, already? + +In my anxiety to keep clear of the schooner which, for all I know to +this day, may not have been there at all, I had come too close to the +sand, so close that I heard soft, rapid footfalls stop short in the fog. +A voice seemed to be asking me in a whisper: + +“Where, oh, where?” + +Another cried out irresistibly, “I see it.” + +It was a subdued cry, as if hushed in sudden awe. + +My arm swung to and fro; the turn of my wrist went on imparting the +propelling motion of the oar. All the rest of my body was gripped +helplessly in the dead expectation of the end, as if in the benumbing +seconds of a fall from a towering height. And it was swift, too. I felt +a draught at the back of my neck--a breath of wind. And instantly, as if +a battering-ram had been let swing past me at many layers of stretched +gauze, I beheld, through a tattered deep hole in the fog, a roaring +vision of flames, borne down and springing up again; a dance of purple +gleams on the strip of unveiled water, and three coal-black figures in +the light. + +One of them stood high on lank black legs, with long black arms thrown +up stiffly above the black shape of a hat. The two others crouched low +on the very edge of the water, peering as if from an ambush. + +The clearness of this vision was contained by a thick and fiery +atmosphere, into which a soft white rush and swirl of fog fell like a +sudden whirl of snow. It closed down and overwhelmed at once the tall +flutter of the flames, the black figures, the purple gleams playing +round my oar. The hot glare had struck my eyeballs once, and had melted +away again into the old, fiery stain on the mended fabric of the fog. +But the attitudes of the crouching men left no room for doubt that we +had been seen. I expected a sudden uplifting of voices on the shore, +answered by cries from the sea, and I screamed excitedly at Castro to +lay hold of his oar. + +He did not stir, and after my shout, which must have fallen on the +scared ears with a weird and unearthly note, a profound silence attended +us--the silence of a superstitious fear. And, instead of howls, I heard, +before the boat had travelled its own short length, a voice that seemed +to be the voice of fear itself asking, “Did you hear that?” and a +trembling mutter of an invocation to all the saints. Then a strangled +throat trying to pronounce firmly, “The souls of the dead _Inglez_. +Crying from pain.” + +Admiral Rowley’s seamen, so miserably thrown away in the ill-conceived +attack on the bay, were making a ghostly escort for our escape. Those +dead boats’-crews were supposed to haunt the fatal spot, after the +manner of spectres that linger in remorse, regret, or revenge, about +the gates of departure. I had blundered; the fog, breaking apart, had +betrayed us. But my obscure and vanquished countrymen held possession +of the outlet by the memory of their courage. In this critical moment it +was they, I may say, who stood by us. + +We, on our part, must have been disclosed, dark, indistinct, utterly +inexplicable; completely unexpected; an apparition of stealthy shades. +The painful voice in the fog said: + +“Let them be. Answer not. They shall pass on, for none of them died on +the shore--all in the water. Yes, all in the water.” + +I suppose the man was trying to reassure himself and his companions. +His meaning, no doubt, was that, being on shore, they were safe from +the ghosts of those _Inglez_ who had never achieved a landing. From +the enlarging and sudden deepening of the glow, I knew that they were +throwing more brushwood on the fire. + +I kept on sculling, and gradually the sharp fusillade of dry twigs grew +more distant, more muffled in the fog. At last it ceased altogether. +Then a weakness came over me, and, hauling my oar in, I sat down by +Sera-phina’s side. I longed for the sound of her voice, for some tender +word, for the caress of a murmur upon my perplexed soul. I was sure of +her, as of a conquered and rare treasure, whose possession simplifies +life into a sort of adoring guardianship--and I felt so much at her +mercy that an overwhelming sense of guilt made me afraid to speak to +her. The slight heave of the open sea swung the boat up and down. + +Suddenly Castro let out a sort of lugubrious chuckle, and, in low tones, +I began to upbraid him with his apathy. Even with his one arm he should +have obeyed my call to the oar. It was incomprehensible to me that +we had not been fired at. Castro enlightened me, in a few moody and +scornful words. The Rio Medio people, he commented upon the incident, +were fools, of bestial nature, afraid of they knew not what. + +“Castro, the valour of these dead countrymen of mine was not wasted; +they have stood by us like true friends,” I whispered in the excitement +of our escape. + +“These insensate English,” he grumbled.... + +“A dead enemy would have served the turn better. If the _caballero_ had +none other than dead friends....” + +His harsh, bitter mumble stopped. Then Sera-phina’s voice said softly: + +“It is you who are the friend, Tomas Castro. To you shall come a +friend’s reward.” + +“Alas, Señorita!” he sighed. “What remains for me in this world--for me +who have given for two masses for the souls of that illustrious man, and +of your cousin Don Carlos, my last piece of silver?” + +“We shall make you very rich, Tomas Castro,” she said with decision, as +if there had been bags of gold in the boat. + +He returned a high-flown phrase of thanks in a bitter, absent whisper. +I knew well enough that the help he had given me was not for money, not +for love--not even for loyalty to the Riegos. It was obedience to the +last recommendation of Carlos. He ran risks for my safety, but gave me +none of his allegiance. + +He was still the same tubby, murderous little man, with a steel blade +screwed to the wooden stump of his forearm, as when, swelling his +breast, he had stepped on his toes before me like a bloodthirsty pigeon, +in the steerage of the ship that had brought us from home. I heard him +mumble, with almost incredible, sardonic contempt, that, indeed, +the senor would soon have none but dead friends if he refrained +from striking at his enemies. Had the senor taken the very excellent +opportunity afforded by Providence, and that any sane Christian man +would have taken--to let him stab the Juez O’Brien--we should not then +be wandering in a little boat. What folly! What folly! One little thrust +of a knife, and we should all have been now safe in our beds.... + +His tone was one of weary superiority, and I remained appalled by that +truth, stripped of all chivalrous pretence. It was clear, in sparing +that defenceless life, I had been guilty of cruelty for the sake of +my conscience. There was Seraphina by my side; it was she who had to +suffer. I had let her enemy go free, because he had happened to be near +me, disarmed. Had I acted like an Englishman and a gentleman, or only +like a fool satisfying his sentiment at other people’s expense? Innocent +people, too, like the Riego servants, Castro himself; like Seraphina, +on whom my high-minded forbearance had brought all these dangers, these +hardships, and this uncertain fate. + +She gave no sign of having heard Castro’s words. The silence of women +is very impenetrable, and it was as if my hold upon the world--since she +was the whole world for me--had been weakened by that shade of decency +of feeling which makes a distinction between killing and murder. But +suddenly I felt, without her cloaked figure having stirred, her small +hand slip into mine. Its soft warmth seemed to go straight to my heart +soothing, invigorating--as it she had slipped into my palm a weapon of +extraordinary and inspiring potency. + +“Ah, you are generous,” I whispered close to the edge of the cloak +overshadowing her face. + +“You must now think of yourself, Juan,” she said. + +“Of myself,” I echoed sadly. “I have only you to think of, and you +are so far away--out of my reach. There are your dead--all your loss, +between you and me.” + +She touched my arm. + +“It is I who must think of my dead,” she whispered. “But you, you must +think of yourself, because I have nothing of mine in this world now.” + +Her words affected me like the whisper of remorse. It was true. There +were her wealth, her lands, her palaces; but her only refuge was that +little boat. Her father’s long aloofness from life had created such an +isolation round his closing years that his daughter had no one but me to +turn to for protection against the plots of her own Intendente. And, +at the thought of our desperate plight, of the suffering awaiting us in +that small boat, with the possibility of a lingering death for an end, +I wavered for a moment. Was it not my duty to return to the bay and give +myself up? In that case, as Castro expressed it, our throats would be +cut for love of the _Juez_. + +But Seraphina, the rabble would carry to the Casa on the palms of their +hands--out of veneration for the family, and for fear of O’Brien. + +“So, Señor,” he mumbled, “if to you to-morrow’s sun is as little as to +me let us pull the boat’s head, round.” + +“Let us set our hands to the side and overturn it, rather,” Seraphina +said, with an indignation of high command. + +I said no more. If I could have taken O’Brien with me into the other +world, I would have died to save her the pain of so much as a pinprick. +But because I could not, she must even go with me; must suffer because I +clung to her as men cling to their hope of highest good--with an exalted +and selfish devotion. + +Castro had moved forward, as if to show his readiness to pull round. +Meantime I heard a click. A feeble gleam fell on his misty hands under +the black halo of the hat rim. Again the flint and blade clicked, and a +large red spark winked rapidly in the bows. He had lighted a cigarette. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Silence, stillness, breathless caution were the absolute conditions of +our existence. But I hadn’t the heart to remonstrate with him for the +danger he caused Seraphina and myself. The fog was so thick now that +I could not make out his outline, but I could smell the tobacco very +plainly. + +The acrid odour of _picadura_ seemed to knit the events of three years +into one uninterrupted adventure. I remembered the shingle beach; the +deck of the old _Thames_. It brought to my mind my first vision of +Seraphina, and the emblazoned magnificence of Carlos’ sick bed. It all +came and went in a whiff of smoke; for of all the power and charm that +had made Carlos so seductive there remained no such deep trace in +the world as in the heart of the little grizzled bandit who, like a +philosopher, or a desperado, puffed his cigarette in the face of the +very spirit of murder hovering round us, under the mask and cloak of the +fog. And by the serene heaven of my life’s evening, the spirit of +murder became actually audible to us in hasty and rhythmical knocks, +accompanied by a cheerful tinkling. + +These sounds, growing swiftly louder, at last induced Castro to throw +away his cigarette. Seraphina clutched my arm. The noise of oars rowing +fast, to the precipitated jingling of a guitar, swooped down upon us +with a gallant ferocity. + +“_Caramba_,” Castro muttered; “it is the fool Manuel himself!” + +I said, then: “We have eight shots between us two, Tomas.” + +He thrust his brace of pistols upon my knees. + +“Dispose of them as your worship pleases,” he muttered. + +“You mustn’t _give_ up, yet,” I whispered. + +“What is it that I give up?” he mumbled wearily. “Besides, there grows +from my forearm a blade. If I shall find myself indisposed to quit this +world alone.... Listen to the singing of that imbecile.” + +A carolling falsetto seemed to hang muffled in upper space, above the +fog that settled low on the water, like a dense and milky sediment of +the air. The moonlight fell into it strangely. We seemed to breathe at +the bottom of a shallow sea, white as snow, shining like silver, and +impenetrably opaque everywhere, except overhead, where the yellow disc +of the moon glittered through a thin cloud of steam. The gay truculence +of the hollow knocking, the metallic jingle, the shrill trolling, went +on crescendo to a burst of babbling voices, a mad speed of tinkling, a +thundering shout, “_Altro, Amigos!_” followed by a great clatter of oars +flung in. The sudden silence pulsated with the ponderous strokes of my +heart. + +To escape now seemed impossible. At least it seemed impossible while +they talked. A dark spot in the shining expanse of fog swam into view. +It shifted its place after I had first made it out, and then remained +motionless, astern of the dinghy. It was the shadow of a big boat full +of men, but when they were silent, I was not sure that I saw anything +at all. I made no doubt, had they been aware of our nearness, there were +amongst them eyes that could have detected us in the same elusive way. +But how could they even dream of anything of the kind? They talked +noisily, and there must have been a round dozen of them, at the least. + +Sometimes they would fall a-shouting all together, and then keep quiet +as if listening. By-and-by I began to hear answering yells, that seemed +to converge upon us from all directions. + +We were in the thick of it. It was Manuel’s boat, as Castro had guessed, +and the other boats were rallying upon it gropingly, keeping up a +succession of yells: + +“_Ohe! Ohe!_ Where, where?” + +And the people in Manuel’s boat howled back at them, “_Ohe! Ohe...e!_ +This way; here!” + +Suddenly he struck the guitar a mighty blow, and chanted in an inspired +and grandiose strain: + +“Steer--for--the--song.” + +His fingers ran riot among the strings, and above the jingling his +voice, forced to the highest pitch, declaimed, as in the midst of a +tempest: + + “I adore the saints in the glory of heaven + And, on the dust of the earth, + The print of her footsteps.” + +He was improvising. Sometimes he gasped; the rill of softened tinkle ran +on, and, glaring watchfully, I fancied I could detect his shape in the +white vapour, like a shadow thrown from afar by a tallow dip upon a +snowy sheet--the lank droop of his posturing, the greasy locks, the +attentive poise of his head, the sentimental rolling of his lustrous and +enormous eyes. + +I had not forgotten his astonishing display in the cabin of the schooner +when, after the confiding of his woes and his ambitions, he had favoured +me with a sample of his art. As at that time, when he had been nursing +his truculent conceit, he sang, and the unsteady twanging of his guitar +lurched and staggered far behind his voice, like a drunken slave in the +footsteps of a raving master. Tinkle, tinkle, twang! A headlong rush of +muddled fingering; a sudden bang, like a heavy stumble. + +“She is the proud daughter of the old Castile! _Olà! Olà!_” he chanted +mysteriously at the beginning of every stanza in a rapturous and soft +ecstasy, and then would shriek, as though he had been suddenly cast up +on the rock. The poet of Rio Medio was rallying his crew of thieves to a +rhapsody of secret and unrequited passion. _Twang, ping, tinkle tinkle_. +He was the _Capataz_ of the valiant _Lugareños_! The true _Capataz!_ +The only _Capataz. Olà! Olà! Twang, twang_. But he was the slave of +her charms, the captive of her eyes, of her lips, of her hair, of her +eyebrows, which, he proclaimed in a soaring shriek, were like rainbows +arched over stars. + +It was a love-song, a mournful parody, the odious grimacing of an ape to +the true sorrow of the human face. I could have fled from it, as from +an intolerable humiliation. And it would have been easy to pull away +unheard while he sang, but I had a plan, the beginning of a plan, +something like the beginning of a hope. And for that I should have to +use the fog for the purpose of remaining within earshot. + +Would the fog last long enough to serve my turn? That was the only +question, and I believed it would, for it settled lower; it settled +down denser, almost too heavy to be stirred by the fitful efforts of the +breeze. It was a true night fog of the tropics, that, born after sunset, +tries to creep back into the warm bosom of the sea before sunrise. Once +in Rio Medio, taking a walk in the early morning along the sand-dunes, +I had stood watching below me the heads of some people, fishing from a +boat, emerge strangely in the dawn out of such a fog. It concealed their +very shoulders more completely than water could have done. I trusted it +would not come so soon to our heads, emerging, though it seemed to me +that already, by merely clambering on Castro’s shoulders, I could attain +to clear moonlight; see the highlands of the coast, the masts of the +English ship. She could not be very far off if only one could tell +the direction. But an unsteady little dinghy was not the platform for +acrobatic exercises, and Castro not exactly the man. + +The slightest noise would have betrayed us, and moreover, the thing +was no good, for even supposing I had got a hurried sight of the ship’s +spars, I should have to get down into the fog to pull, and there would +be nothing visible to keep us from going astray, unless at every +dozen strokes I clambered on Castro’s shoulders again to rectify the +direction--an obviously impracticable and absurd proceeding. + +“She is the proud daughter of old Castile, _Olà, Olà_,” Manuel sang +confidentially with a subdued and gallant lilt... Obviously +impracticable. But I had another idea. + + “_Tinkle tinkle pinnnng... Brrroum. Brrrroum_. + My soul yearns for the alms of a smile. + For a forgiving glance yearns my lofty soul...” + +he sang. Ah, if one could have added another four feet to one’s stature. +Four or five feet only. There seemed to be nothing but a thin veil +between me and the moon. No more than a thin haze. But at the level +of my eyes everything was hidden. From behind the white veil came +the crying of the strings, a screeching, lugubrious and fierce in its +artificial transport, as if it were mocking my sad and ardent conviction +of un-worthiness, the crowning torment, and the inward pride of pure +love. In the breathless pauses I could hear the hollow bumping of +gunwales knocking against each other; faint splashings of oars; the +distant hail of some laggards groping their way on the shrouded sea. + +The note of cruel passion that runs in the blood held these cut-throats +profoundly silent in their boats, as at home I could imagine a party of +smugglers (they would not stick at a murder or two, either) listening, +with pensive faces, to a sentimental ditty of some “sweet Nancy,” howled +dismally within the walls of a wayside taproom in the smoke of pipes. I +seemed to understand profoundly the difference of races that brings with +it the feeling of romance or awakens hate. My gorge rose at Manuel’s +song. I hated his lamentations. “Alas, alas; in vain, in vain.” He +strummed with vertiginous speed, with fury, and the distracted clamour +of his voice, wrestling madly with the ringing madness of the strings, +ended in a piercing and supreme shriek. + +“Finished. It is finished.” A low and applauding murmur flowed to +my ears, the austere acclamations of connoisseurs. “Viva, viva, +Manuele!”--a squeak of fervid admiration. “Ah, our _Manuelito_.”... But +a gruff voice discoursed jovially, “Care not, Manuel. What of Paquita +with the broken tooth? Is she not left to thee? And _por Dios, hombres_, +in the dark all women are alike.” + +“I will cram thy unclean mouth with live coals,” Manuel drawled +spitefully. + +They roared with laughter at this sally. I depicted to myself their +shapes, their fierce gesticulations, their earrings, bound heads, rags, +and weapons, the vile scowls on their swarthy, grimacing faces. My +anxiety beheld them as plainly as anything seen with the eyes of +the body. And, with my sharpened hearing catching every word with +preternatural distinctness, I felt as if, the ring of Gyges on my +finger, I had sat invisible at the council of my enemies. + +It was noisy, animated, with an issue of supreme interest for us. +The ship, seen at midday standing inshore with a light wind, had not +approached the bay near enough to be conveniently attacked till just +after dusk. They had waited for her all the afternoon, sleeping and +gambling on the spit of sand. But something heavy in her appearance had +excited their craven suspicions, and checked their ardour. She appeared +to them dangerous. What if she were an English man-of-war disguised? +Some even pretended to recognize in her positively one of the lighter +frigates of Rowley’s squadron. Night had fallen whilst they squabbled, +and their flotilla hung under the land, the men in a conflict of +rapacity and fear, arguing among themselves as to the ship’s character, +but all unanimously goading Manuel--since he _would_ call himself their +only _Capataz_--to go boldly and find out. + +It seems he had just been doing this with the help of a few choicer +spirits, and under cover of the fog. They had managed to steal near +enough to hear Englishmen conversing on board, orders given, and the +yo-hoing of invisible sailors, trimming the yards of the ship to the +fitful airs. This last, of course, was decisive. Such sounds are not +heard on a man-of-war. She was a merchant ship: she would be an easy +prey. And Manuel, in a state of exaltation at his venturesome bravery, +had pulled back inshore, to rally all the boats round his own, and lead +them to certain plunder. They would soon find out, he declaimed, what +it was to have at their head their own valiant Manuel, instead of that +vagabond, that stranger, that Andalusian starveling; that traitor, that +infidel, that Castro. Hidden away, he seemed to spout all this for +our ears alone, as though he could see us in our boat.... Patience; +patience! Some day he would cut off that interloper’s eyelids, and lay +him on his back under a nice clear sun. Castro made a brusque movement; +a little shudder of disgust escaped Seraphina.... Meantime, Manuel +declared, by his audacity, that ship was as good as theirs already. +“_Viva el Capataz!_” they cheered. + +The cloud-like vapours resting on the sea muffled the short roar; we +heard grim laughter, excited cries. He began to make a set speech, and +his voice, haranguing with vehement inflections in the shining whiteness +of a cloud, had an amazing and uncorporeal character; the quality of +abstract surprise; of phenomenal emotion shouted into empty space. And +for me it had, also, the fascination of a revealed depth. + +It was like the oration of an ambitious leader in a farce; he held his +hearers with his eloquence, as much as he had done with the song of his +grotesque and desecrating love. He vaunted his sagacity and his valour, +and overwhelmed with invective all sorts of names--my own and +Castro’s among them. He revealed the unholy ideals of all that band +of scoundrels--ideals that he said should find fruition under his +captaincy. He boasted of secret conferences with O’Brien. There were +murmurs of satisfaction. + +I don’t wonder at Seraphina’s shudder of horror, of disgust, of dismay, +and indignation. Robbed of the inexpugnable shelter of the Casa Riego, +she, too, was made to look into the depths; upon the animalism, the +lusts, and the reveries of that sordid, vermin-haunted crowd. I felt for +her a profound and shamed sorrow. It was like a profaning touch on the +sacredness of her mourning for the dead, and on her clear and passionate +vision of life. + +“_Hombres de Rio Medio! Amigos! Valientes!..._” Manuel was beginning +his peroration. He would lead them, now, against the English ship. The +terrified heretics would surrender. There was always gold in English +ships. He stopped his speech, and then called loudly, “Let the boats +keep touch with each other, and not stray in that fog.” + +“The dog,” grunted Castro. We heard a resolute bustle of preparation; +oars were being shipped. + +“Make ready, Tomas,” I whispered. + +“Ready for what?” he grumbled. “Where shall your worship run from these +swine?” + +“We must follow them,” I answered. + +“The madness of the senor’s countrymen descends upon him,” he whispered +with sardonic politeness. “Wherefore follow?” + +“To find the English ship,” I answered swiftly. + +This, from the moment we had heard Manuel’s guitar, had been my +idea. Since the fog that concealed us from their sight made us, too, +hopelessly blind, those wretches must guide us themselves out of their +own clutches, as it were. I don’t put this forward as an inspired +conception. It was a most risky and almost hopeless expedient; but the +position was so critical that there was no other alternative to sitting +still and waiting with folded hands for discovery. Castro seemed more +inclined for the latter. + +Fortunately, the bandits wasted some time in blasphemous bickerings as +to the order of the boats in the procession of attack. I urged my views +upon Castro in hurried whispers. His assent was of importance, since he +could use an oar very well, and, if left to myself, I could not hope to +scull fast enough to keep within hearing of the flotilla. + +“Of what use to us would be a ship in Manuel’s power?” he argued +morosely. On the other hand, if we waited near her till she had been +plundered and released, neither the fog nor the night would last +forever. + +“My countrymen will beat them off,” I affirmed confidently. “At any +rate, let us be on the spot. We may take a hand. And remember, Tomas, +they are not led by you, this time.” + +“True,” he said, mollified. “But one thing more deserves the +consideration of your worship... If we follow this plan, we take the +senorita among flying bullets. And lead, alas! unlike steel, is blind, +or that illustrious man would not now be dead. If we wait here, the +senorita, at least, shall take no harm from these ruffians, as I have +said.” + +“Are you afraid of the bullets?” I asked Seraphina. + +Before she had answered, Castro hissed at me: + +“Oh, you unspeakable English. Would you sacrifice the daughter, too, +only because she is brave?” + +His sinister allusion made my blood boil with rage, and suddenly run +cold in my veins. Swathed in the brilliant cloud, we heard the sounds +of quarrelling and scrambling die away; cries of “Ready! ready!” an +unexpected and brutal laugh. Seraphina leaned forward. + +“Tomas, I wish this thing. I command it,” she whispered imperiously. “We +shall help these English on the ship. We must; I command it. For these +are now my people.” + +I heard him mutter to himself, “h, dear shade of my Carlos. Her people. +Where are now mine?” But he shipped his oar, and sat waiting. + +In the moment before the picaroons actually started, I became the prey +of the most intense anxiety. I knew we were to seaward of the cluster. +But of our position relatively to the boats, and to the English ship +they would make for, I was profoundly ignorant. The dinghy might be +lying right in the way. Before I could master the sort of disorder I was +thrown into by that thought--which, strange to say, had not occurred to +me till then--with a shrill whistle Manuel led off. + +We are always incited to trust, our eyes rather than our ears; and such +is the conventional temper in which we receive the impression of our +senses that I had no idea they were so near us. The destruction of my +illusory feeling of distance was the most startling thing in the world. +Instantly, it seemed, with the second swing and plash of the oars, the +boats were right upon us. They went clear. It was like being grazed by a +fall of rocks. I seemed to feel the wind of the rush. + +The rapid clatter of rowing, the excited hum of voices, the violent +commotion of the water, passed by us with an impetuosity that took my +breath away. They had started in a bunch. There must have been amongst +them at least one crew of negroes, because somebody was beating +a tambourine smartly, and the rowers chorused in a quick, panting +undertone, “_Ho, ho, talibambo.... Ho, ho, talibambo_.” One of the +boats silhouetted herself for an instant, a row of heads swaying back +and forth, towered over astern by a full-length figure as straight as an +arrow. A retreating voice thundered, “Silence!” The sounds and the forms +faded together in the fog with amazing swiftness. + +Seraphina, her cloak off, her head bare, stared forward after the +fleeting murmurs and shadows we were pursuing. Sometimes she warned us, +“More to the left”; or, “Faster!” We had to put forth our best, for +Manuel, as if in the very wantonness of confidence, had set a tremendous +pace. + +I suppose he took his first direction by the light on the point. I +cannot tell what guided him after that feeble sheen had become buried in +the fog; but there was no check in the speed, no sign of hesitation. +We followed in the track of the sound, and, for the most part, kept in +sight of the elusive shadow of the sternmost boat. Often, in a denser +belt of fog, the sounds of rowing became muffled almost to extinction; +or we seemed to hear them all round and, startled, checked our speed. +Dark apparitions of boats would surge up on all sides in a most +inexplicable way; to the right; to the left; even coming from behind. +They appeared real, unmistakable, and, before we had time to dodge them, +vanished utterly. Then we had to spurt desperately after the grind of +the oars, caught, just in time, in an unexpected direction. + +And then we lost them. We pulled frantically. Seraphina had been urging +us, “Faster! faster!” From time to time I would ask her, “Can you see +them?” “Not yet,” she answered curtly. The perspiration poured down +my face. Castro’s panting was like the wheezing of bellows at my back. +Suddenly, in a despairing tone, she said: + +“Stop! I can neither see nor hear anything now.” + +We feathered our oars at once, and fell to listening with lowered heads. +The ripple of the boat’s way expired slowly. A great white stillness +hung slumbrously over the sea. + +It was inconceivable. We pulled once or twice with extreme energy for +a few minutes after imaginary whistles or shouts. Once I heard them +passing our bows. But it was useless; we stopped, and the moon, from +within the mistiness of an immense halo, looked dreamily upon our heads. + +Castro grunted, “Here is an end of your plan, Señor Don Juan.” + +The peculiar and ghastly hopelessness of our position could not +be better illustrated than by this fresh difficulty. We had lost +touch--with a murderous gang that had every inducement not to spare our +lives. And positively it was a misfortune; an abandonment. I refused to +admit to myself its finality, as if it had reflected upon the devotion +of tried friends. I repeated to Castro that we should become aware of +them directly--probably even nearer than we wished. And, at any rate, +we were certain of a mighty loud noise when the attack on the ship +began. She, at least, could not be very far now. “Unless, indeed,” + I admitted with exasperation, “we are to suppose that your imbecile +_Lugareños_ have missed their prey and got themselves as utterly lost as +we ourselves.” + +I was irritated--by his nodding plume; by his cold, perfunctory, as if +sleepy mutters, “Possibly, possibly, _puede ser_.” He retorted: “Your +English generosity could wish your countrymen no better luck than that +my _Lugareños_, as your worship pleases to call them, should miss their +way. They are hungry for loot--with much fasting. And it is hunger that +makes your wolf fly straight at the throat.” + +All the time Seraphina breathed no word. But when I raised my voice, she +put out a hushing hand to my arm. And, from her intent pose, from the +turn of her shadowy head, I knew that she was peering and listening +loyally. + +Minutes passed--very few, I dare say--and brought no sound. The +restlessness of waiting made us dip our oars in a haphazard stroke, +without aim, without the means of judging whether we pulled to seaward, +inshore, north, or south, or only in a circle. Once we went excitedly +in chase of some splashing that must have been a leaping fish. I was +hanging my head over my idle oar when Seraphina touched me. + +“I see!” she said, pointing over the bows. + +Both Castro and I, peering horizontally over the water, did not see +anything. Not a shadow. Moreover, if they were so near, we ought to have +heard something. + +“I believe it is land!” she murmured. “You are looking too low, Juan.” + +As soon as I looked up I saw it, too, dark and beetling, like the +overhang of a low cliff. Where on earth had we blundered to? For a +moment I was confounded. Fiery reflections from a light played faintly +above that shape. Then I recognized what I was looking at. We had found +the ship. + +The fog was so shallow that up there the upper bulk of a heavy, square +stern, the very rails and stanchions crowning it like a balustrade, +jutted out in the misty sheen like the balcony of an invisible edifice, +for the lines of her run, the sides of her hull, were plunged in the +dense white layer below. And, throwing back my head, I traced even +her becalmed sails, pearly gray pinnacles of shadow uprising, tall and +motionless, towards the moon. + +A redness wavered over her, as from a blaze on her deck. Could she be +on fire? And she was silent as a tomb. Could she be abandoned? I had +promised myself to dash alongside, but there was a weirdness in that +fragment of a dumb ship hanging out of a fog. We pulled only a stroke or +two nearer to the stern, and stopped. I remembered Castro’s warning--the +blindness of flying lead; but it was the profound stillness that checked +me. It seemed to portend something inconceivable. I hailed, tentatively, +as if I had not expected to be answered, “Ship, ahoy!” + +Neither was I answered by the instantaneous, “Hallo,” of usual +watchfulness, though she was not abandoned. Indeed, my hail made a good +many men jump, to judge by the sounds and the words that came to me from +above. “What? What? A hail?” “Boat near?” “In English, sir.” + +“Dive for the captain, one of you,” an authoritative voice directed. +“He’s just run below for a minute. Don’t frighten the missus. Call him +out quietly.” + +Talking, in confidential undertones, followed. + +“See him?” “Can’t, sir.” “What’s the dodge, I wonder.” “Astern, I think, +sir.” “D------n this fog, it lies as thick as pea-soup on the water.” + +I waited, and after a perplexed sort of pause, heard a stern “Keep off.” + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +They did not suspect how close I was to them. And their temper struck +me at once as unsafe. They seemed very much on the alert, and, as I +imagined, disposed to precipitate action. I called out, deadening my +voice warily: + +“I am an Englishman, escaping from the pirates here. We want your help.” + +To this no answer was made, but by that time the captain had come on +deck. The dinghy must have drifted in a little closer, for I made +out behind the shadowy rail one, two, three figures in a row, looming +bulkily above my head, as men appear enlarged in mist. + +“‘Englishman,’ he says.” “That’s very likely,” pronounced a new voice. +They held a hurried consultation up there, of which I caught only +detached sentences, and the general tone of concern. “It’s perfectly +well known that there _is_ an Englishman here.... Aye, a runaway second +mate.... Killed a man in a Bristol ship.... What was his name, now?” + +“Won’t you answer me?” I called out. + +“Aye, we will answer you as soon as we see you.... Keep your eyes +skinned fore and aft on deck there.... Ready, boys?” + +“All ready, sir”; voices came from further off. + +“Listen to me,” I entreated. + +Someone called out briskly, “This is a bad place for pretty tales of +Englishmen in distress. We know very well where we are.” + +“You are off Rio Medio,” I began anxiously; “and I-------” + +“Speaks the truth like a Briton, anyhow,” commented a lazy drawl. + +“I would send another man to the pump,” a reflective voice suggested. +“To make sure of the force, Mr. Sebright, you know.” + +“Certainly, sir.... Another hand to the brakes, bo’sun.” + +“I have been held captive on shore,” I said. “I escaped this evening, +three hours ago.” + +“And found this ship in the fog? You made a good shot at it, didn’t +you?” + +“It’s no time for trifling, I swear to you,” I continued. “They are out +looking for you, in force. I’ve heard them. I was with them when they +started.” + +“I believe you.” + +“They seem to have missed the ship.” + +“So you came to have a friendly chat meantime. That’s kind. Beastly +weather, aint it?” + +“I want to come aboard,” I shouted. “You must be crazy not to believe +me.” + +“But we do believe every single word you say,” bantered the Sebright +voice with serenity. + +Suddenly another struck in, “Nichols, I call to mind, sir.” + +“Of course, of course. This is the man.” + +“My name’s not Nichols,” I protested. + +“Now, now. You mustn’t begin to lie,” remonstrated Sebright. Somebody +laughed discreetly. + +“You are mistaken, on my honour,” I said. “Nichols left Rio Medio some +time ago.” + +“About three hours, eh?” came the drawl of insufferable folly in these +precious minutes. + +It was clear that Manuel had gone astray, but I feared not for long. +They would spread out in search. And now I had found this hopeless ship, +it seemed impossible that anybody else could miss her. + +“You may be boarded any moment by more than a dozen boats. I warn you +solemnly. Will you let me come?” + +A low whistle was heard on board. They were impressed, “Why should he +tell us this?” an undertone inquired. + +“Why the devil shouldn’t he? It’s no great news, is it? Some scoundrelly +trick. This man’s up to any dodge. Why, the ‘_Jane_’ was taken in broad +day by two boats that pretended they were going to sell vegetables.” + +“Look out, or by heavens you’ll be taken by surprise. There’s a lot of +them,” I said as impressively as I could. + +“Look out, look out. There’s a lot of them,” someone yelled in a sort of +panic. + +“Oh, that’s your game,” Sebright’s voice said to me. “Frighten us, eh? +Never you mind what this skunk says, men. Stand fast. We shall take a +lot of killing.” He was answered by a sort of pugnacious uproar, a clash +of cutlasses and laughter, as if at some joke. + +“That’s right, boys; mind and send them away with clean faces, you +gunners. Jack, you keep a good lookout for that poor distressed +Englishman. What’s that? a noise in the fog? Stand by. Now then, +cook!...” + +“All ready to dish up, sir,” a voice answered him. + +It was like a sort of madness. Were they thinking of eating? Even at +that the English talk made my heart expand--the homeliness of it. I +seemed to know all their voices, as if I had talked to each man before. +It brought back memories, like the voices of friends. + +But there was the strange irrelevancy, levity, the enmity--the +irrational, baffling nature of the anguishing conversation, as if with +the unapproachable men we meet in nightmares. + +We in the dinghy, as well as those on board, were listening anxiously. A +profound silence reigned for a time. + +“I don’t care for myself,” I tried once more, speaking distinctly. “But +a lady in the boat here is in great danger, too. Won’t you do something +for a woman?” + +I perceived, from the sort of stir on board, that this caused some +sensation. + +“Or is the whole ship’s company afraid to let one little boat come +alongside?” I added, after waiting for an answer. + +A throat was cleared on board mildly, “Hem... you see, we don’t know who +you are.” + +“I’ve told you who I am. The lady is Spanish.” + +“Just so. But there are Englishmen and Englishmen in these days. Some of +them keep very bad company ashore, and others afloat. I couldn’t think +of taking you on board, unless I know something more of you.” + +I seemed to detect an intention of malice in the mild voice. The more +so that I overheard a rapid interchange of mutterings up there. “See him +yet?” “Not a thing, sir.” “Wait, I say.” + +Nothing could overcome the fixed idea of these men, who seemed to enjoy +so much the cleverness of their suspicions. It was the most dangerous of +tempers to deal with. It made them as untrustworthy as so many lunatics. +They were capable of anything, of decoying us alongside, and stoving +the bottom out of the boat, and drowning us before they discovered their +mistake, if they ever did. Even as it was, there was danger; and yet I +was extremely loath to give her up. It was impossible to give her up. +But what were we to do? What to say? How to act? + +“Castro, this is horrible,” I said blankly. That he was beginning to +chafe, to fret, and shuffle his feet only added to my dismay. He might +begin at any moment to swear in Spanish, and that was sure to bring a +shower of lead, blind, fired blindly. “We have nothing to expect from +the people of that ship. We cannot even get on board.” + +“Not without Manuel’s help, it seems,” he said bitterly. “Strange, is +it not, Señor? Your countrymen--your excellent and virtuous countrymen. +Generous and courageous and perspicacious.” + +Seraphina said suddenly, “They have reason. It is well for them to be +suspicious of us in this place.” She had a tone of calm reproof, and of +faith. + +“They shall be of more use when they are dead,” Castro muttered. “The +senor’s other dead countrymen served us well.” + +“I shall give you great, very great sums of money,” Seraphina suddenly +cried towards the ship. “I am the Señorita Seraphina Riego.” + +“There is a woman--that’s a woman’s voice, I’ll swear,” I heard them +exclaim on board, and I cried again: + +“Yes, yes. There is a woman.” + +“I dare say. But where do you come in? You are a distressed Englishman, +aren’t you?” a voice came back. + +“You shall let us come up on your ship,” Seraphina said. “I shall come +myself, alone--Seraphina Riego.” + +“Eh, what?” the voice asked. + +I felt a little wind on the back of my head. There was desperate hurry. + +“We are escaping to get married,” I called out. They were beginning to +shout orders on the ship. “Oh, you’ve come to the wrong shop. A church +is what you want for _that_ trouble,” the voice called back brutally, +through the other cries of orders to square the yards. + +I shouted again, but my voice must have been drowned in the creaking +of blocks and yards. They were alert enough for every chance of getting +away--for every flaw of wind. Already the ship was less distinct, as if +my eyes had grown dim. By the time a voice on board her cried, “Belay,” + faintly, she had gone from my sight. Then the puff of wind passed away, +too, and left us more alone than ever, with only the small disk of the +moon poised vertically above the mists. + +“Listen,” said Tomas Castro, after what seemed an eternity of +crestfallen silence. + +He need not have spoken; there could be no doubt that Manuel had lost +himself, and my belief is that the ship had sailed right into the midst +of the flotilla. There was an unmistakable character of surprise in the +distant tumult that arose suddenly, and as suddenly ceased for a space +of a breath or two. “Now, Castro,” I shouted. “Ha! _bueno!_” + +We gave way with a vigour that seemed to lift the dinghy out of the +water. The uproar gathered volume and fierceness. + +From the first it was a hand-to-hand contest, engaged in suddenly, as if +the assailants had at once managed to board in a body, and, as it were, +in one unanimous spring. No shots had been fired. Too far to hear the +blows, and seeing nothing as yet of the ship, we seemed to be hastening +towards a deadly struggle of voices, of shadows with leathern throats; +every cry heard in battle was there--rage, encouragement, fury, hate, +and pain. And those of pain were amazingly distinct. They were yells; +they were howls. And suddenly, as we approached the ship, but before we +could make out any sign of her, we came upon a boat. We had to swerve +to clear her. She seemed to have dropped out of the fight in utter +disarray; she lay with no oars out, and full of men who writhed and +tumbled over each other, shrieking as if they had been flayed. Above the +writhing figures in the middle of the boat, a tall man, upright in the +stern-sheets, raved awful imprecations and shook his fists above his +head. + +The blunt dinghy foamed past that vision within an oar’s length, no +more, making straight for the clamour of the fight. The last puff of +wind must have thinned the fog in the ship’s track; for, standing up, +face forward to pull stroke, I saw her come out, stern-on to us, from +truck to water-line, mistily tall and motionless, but resounding with +the most fierce and desperate noises. A cluster of empty boats clung low +to her port side, raft-like and vague on the water. + +We heard now, mingled with the fury and hate of shouts reverberating +from the placid sails, mighty thuds and crashes, as though it had been a +combat with clubs and battle-axes. + +Evidently, in the surprise and haste of the unexpected coming together, +they had been obliged to board all on the same side. As I headed for the +other a big boat, full of men, with many oars, shot across our bows, +and vanished round the ship’s counter in the twinkling of an eye. The +defenders, engaged on the port side, were going to be taken in the rear. +We were then so close to the counter that the cries of “Death, death,” + rang over our heads. A voice on the poop said furiously in English, +“Stand fast, men.” Next moment, we, too, rounded the quarter only twenty +feet behind the big boat, but with a slightly wider sweep. + +I said, “Have the pistols ready, Seraphina.” And she answered quite +steadily: + +“They are ready, Juan.” + +I could not have believed that any handiwork of man afloat could have +got so much way through the water. To this very day I am not rid of +the absurd impression that, at that particular moment, the dinghy was +travelling with us as fast as a cannon-ball. No sooner round than we +were upon them. We were upon them so fast that I had barely the time +to fling away my oar, and close my grip on the butt of the pistols +Seraphina pressed into my hand from behind. Castro, too, had dropped +his oar, and, turning as swift as a cat, crouched in the bows. I saw his +good arm darting out towards their boat. + +They had cast a grapnel cleverly, and, swung abreast of the main chains, +were grimly busied in boarding the undefended side in silence. One had +already his leg over the ship’s rail, and below him three more were +clambering resolutely, one above the other. The rest of them, standing +up in a body with their faces to the ship, were so oblivious of +everything in their purpose, that they staggered all together to the +shock of the dinghy, heavily, as if the earth had reeled under them. + +Castro knew what he was doing. I saw his only hand hop along the +gunwale, dragging our cockle-shell forward very swiftly. The tottering +Spaniards turned their heads, and for a moment we looked at each other +in silence. + +I was too excited to shout; the surprise seemed to have deprived them +of their senses, and they all had the same grin of teeth closed upon +the naked blades of their knives, the same stupid stare fastened upon my +eyes. I pulled the trigger in the nearest face, and the terrific din of +the fight going on above us was overpowered by the report of the pistol, +as if by a clap of thunder. The man’s gaping mouth dropped the knife, +and he stood stiffly long enough for the thought, “I’ve missed him,” to +flash through my mind before he tumbled clean out of the boat without +touching anything, like a wooden dummy tipped by the heels. His headlong +fall sent the water flying high over the stern of the dinghy. With the +second barrel I took a long shot at the man sitting amazed, astride of +the rail above. I saw him double up suddenly, and fall inboard sideways, +but the fellow following him made a convulsive effort, and leapt out of +sight on to the deck of the ship. I dropped the discharged weapon, and +fired the first barrel of the other at the upper of the two men clinging +halfway up the ship’s side. To that one shot they both vanished as if +by enchantment, the fellow I had hit knocking off his friend below. The +crash of their fall was followed by a great yell. + +These had been all nearly point-blank shots, and, anyhow, I had had a +good deal of pistol practice. Macdonald had a little gallery at Horton +Pen. The _Lugareños_, huddled together in the boat, were only able to +moan with terror. They made soft, pitiful, complaining noises. Two or +three took headers overboard, like so many frogs, and then one began to +squeak exactly like a rat. + +By that time, Castro, with his fixed blade, had cut their grapnel rope +close to the ring. As the ship kept forging ahead all the time, the +boat of the pirate bumped away lightly from between the vessel and our +dinghy, and we remained alongside, holding to the end of the severed +line. I sent my fourth shot after them and got in exchange a scream and +a howl of “Mercy! mercy! we surrender!” She swung clear of the quarter, +all hushed, and faded into the mist and moonlight, with the head and +arms of a motionless man hanging grotesquely over the bows. + +Leaving Seraphina with Castro, and sticking the remaining pair of +pistols in my belt, I swarmed up the rope. The moon, the lights of +several lanthorns, the glare from the open doors, mingled violently in +the steamy fog between the high bulwarks of the ship. But the character +of the contest was changing, even as I paused on the rail to get my +bearings. The fellow who had leapt on board to escape my shot had bolted +across the deck to his friends on the other side, yelling: + +“Fly, fly! The heretics are coming, shooting from the sea. All is lost. +Fly, oh fly!” + +He had jumped straight overboard, but the infection of his panic was +already visible. The cries of “_Muerte, muerte!_ Death, death!” had +ceased, and the Englishmen were cheering ferociously. In a moment, under +my eyes, the seamen, who had been holding their own with difficulty in +a shower of defensive blows, began to dart forward, striking out with +their fists, catching with their hands. I jumped upon the main hatch, +and found myself in the skirt ef the final rush. + +A tall _Lugareño_ had possessed himself of one of the ship’s capstan +bars, and, less craven than the others, was flourishing it on high, +aiming at the head of a sailor engaged in throttling a negro whom he +held at the full length of his immense arms. I fired, and the _Lugareño_ +tumbled down with all the appearance of having knocked himself over with +the bar he had that moment uplifted. It rested across his neck as he lay +stretched at my feet. + +I was not able to effect anything more after this, because the sailor, +after rushing his limp antagonist overboard with terrific force, turned +raging for more, caught sight of me--an evident stranger--and flew at +my throat. He was English, but as he squeezed my windpipe so hard that +I couldn’t utter a word I brought the butt of my pistol upon his thick +skull without the slightest compunction, for, indeed, I had to deal with +a powerful man, well able to strangle me with his bare hands, and very +determined to achieve the feat. He grunted under the blow, reeled away +a few steps, then, charging back at once, gripped me round the body, and +tried to lift me off my feet. We fell together into a warm puddle. + +I had no idea spilt blood kept its warmth so much. And the quantity +of it was appalling; the deck seemed to swim with gore, and we simply +weltered in it. We rolled rapidly along the reeking scuppers, amongst +the feet of a lot of men who were hopping about us in the greatest +excitement, the hearty thuds of blows, aimed with all sorts of weapons, +just missing my head. The pistol was kicked out of my hand. + +The horror of my position was very great. Must I kill the man? must I +die myself in this miserable and senseless manner? I tried to shout, +“Drag this maniac off me.” + +He was pinning my arms to my body. I saw the furious faces bending over +me, the many hands murderously uplifted. They, of course, couldn’t tell +that I wasn’t one of the men who had boarded them, and my life had never +been in such jeopardy. I felt all the fury of rage and mortification. +Was I to die like this, villainously trodden underfoot, on the threshold +of safety, of liberty, of love? And, in those moments of violent +struggle I saw, as one sees in moments of wisdom and meditation, my +soul--all life, lying under the shadow of a perfidious destiny. And +Seraphina was there in the boat, waiting for me. The sea! The boat! They +were in another land, and I, I should no more.... never any more.... +A sharp voice called, “Back there, men. Steady. Take him alive.” They +dragged me up. + +I needn’t relate by what steps, from being terribly handled as a +captive, I was promoted to having my arms shaken off in the character of +a saviour. But I got any amount of praise at last, though I was +terribly out of breath--at the very last gasp, as you might say. A man, +smooth-faced, well-knit, very elated and buoyant, began talking to me +endlessly. He was mighty happy, and anyhow he could talk to me, because +I was past doing anything but taking a moment’s rest. He said I had come +in the nick of time, and was quite the best of fellows. + +“If you had a fancy to be called the Archbishop of Canterbury, we’d +‘your Grace’ you. I am the mate, Sebright. The captain’s gone in to +show himself to the missus; she wouldn’t like to have him too much +chipped.... Wonderful is the love of woman. She sat up a bit later +to-night with her fancy-sewing to see what might turn up. I told her at +tea-time she had better go in early and shut her stateroom door, because +if any of the Dagos chanced to come aboard, I couldn’t be responsible +for the language of my crowd. We are supposed to keep clear of profanity +this trip, she being a niece of Mr. Perkins of Bristol, our owner, and +a Methodist. But, hang it all, there’s reason in all things. You can’t +have a ship like a chapel--though _she_ would. Oh, bless you, she would, +even when we’re beating off these picaroons.” + +I was sitting on the afterhatch, and leaning my head on my arms. + +“Feel bad? Do you? Handled you like a bag of shavings. Well, the boys +got their monkey up, hammering the Dagos. Here you, Mike, go look along +the deck, for a double-barrelled pistol. Move yourself a bit. Feel along +under the spars.” + +There was something authoritative and knowing in his personality; +boyishly elated and full of business. + +“We must put the ship to rights. You don’t think they’d come back for +another taste? The blessed old deck’s afloat. That’s my little dodge, +boiling water for these Dagos, if they come. So I got the cook to fire +up, and we put the suction-hose of the fire pump into the boiler, and we +filled the coppers and the kettles. Not a bad notion, eh? But ten times +as much wouldn’t have been enough, and the hose burst at the third +stroke, so that only one boat got anything to speak of. But Lord, _she_ +dropped out of the ruck as if she’d been swept with langridge. Squealed +like a litter of pigs, didn’t they?” + +What I had taken for blood had been the water from the burst hose. I +must say I was relieved. My new friend babbled any amount of joyous +information into me before I quite got my wind back. He rubbed his hands +and clapped me on the shoulder. But his heart was kind, and he became +concerned at my collapsed state. + +“I say, you don’t think my chaps broke some of your ribs, do you? Let me +feel.” + +And then I managed to tell him something of Seraphina that he would +listen to. + +“What, what?” he said. “Oh, heavens and earth! there’s your girl. Of +course.... Hey, bo’sun, rig a whip and chair on the yardarm to take a +lady on board. Bear a hand. A lady! yes, a lady. Confound it, don’t lose +your wits, man. Look over the starboard rail, and you will see a lady +alongside with a Dago in a small boat. Let the Dago come on board, too; +the gentleman here says he’s a good sort. Now, do you understand?” + +He talked to me a good deal more; told me that they had made a +prisoner--“a tall, comical chap; wears his hair like an old aunt of +mine, a bunch of curls flapping on each side of his face”--and then said +that he must go and report to Captain Williams, who had gone into his +wife’s stateroom. The name struck me. I said: + +“Is this ship the _Lion?_” + +“Aye, aye. That’s her. She is,” several seamen answered together, +casting curious glances from their work. + +“Tell your captain my name is Kemp,” I shouted after Sebright with what +strength of lung I had. + +What luck! Williams was the jolly little ship’s captain I was to have +dined with on the day of execution on Kingston Point--the day I had been +kidnapped. It seemed ages ago. I wanted to get to the side to look after +Seraphina, but I simply couldn’t remember how to stand. I sat on the +hatch, looking at the seamen. + +They were clearing the ropes, collecting the lamps, picking up +knives, handspikes, crowbars, swabbing the decks with squashy flaps. +A bare-footed, bare-armed fellow, holding a bundle of brass-hilted +cutlasses under his arm, had lost himself in the contemplation of my +person. + +“Where are you bound to?” I inquired at large, and everybody showed a +friendly alacrity in answer. + +“Havana.” “Havana, sir.” “Havana’s our next port. Aye, Havana.” + +The deck rang with modulations of the name. + +I heard a loud, “Alas,” sighed out behind me. A distracted, stricken +voice repeated twice in Spanish, “Oh, my greatness; oh, my greatness.” + Then, shiveringly, in a tone of profound self-communion, “I have a +greatly parched throat,” it said. Harshly jovial voices answered: + +“Stow your lingo and come before the captain. Step along.” + +A prisoner, conducted aft, stalked reluctantly into the light between +two short, bustling sailors. Dishevelled black hair like a damaged +peruke, mournful, yellow face, enormous stag’s eyes straining down on +me. I recognized Manuel-del-Popolo. At the same moment he sprang back, +shrieking, “This is a miracle of the devil--of the devil.” + +The sailors fell to tugging at his arms savagely, asking, “What’s come +to you?” and, after a short struggle that shook his tatters and his +raven locks tempestuously like a gust of wind, he submitted to be walked +up repeating: + +“Is it you, Señor? Is it you? Is it _you?_” + +One of his shoulders was bare from neck to elbow; at every step one of +his knees and part of a lean thigh protruded their nakedness through a +large rent; a strip of grimy, blood-stained linen, torn right down to +the waist, dangled solemnly in front of his legs. There was a horrible +raw patch amongst the roots of his hair just above his temple; there was +blood in his nostrils, the stamp of excessive anguish on his features, a +sort of guarded despair in his eye. His voice sank while he said again, +twice: + +“Is it you? Is it you?” And then, for the last time, “Is it you?” he +repeated in a whisper. + +The seamen formed a wide ring, and, looking at me, he talked to himself +confidentially. + +“Escaped--the _Inglez!_ Then thou art doomed, Domingo. Domingo, thou art +doomed. Dom... Señor!” + +The change of tone, his effort to extend his hands towards me, surprised +us all. I looked away. + +“Hold hard! Hold him, mate!” + +“Señor, condescend to behold my downfall. I am led here to the +slaughter, Señor! To the slaughter, Señor! Pity! Grace! Mercy! And +only a short while ago--behold. Slaughter... I... Manuel. Señor, I am +universally admired--with a parched throat, Señor. I could compose +a song that would make a priest weep.... A greatly parched throat, +Señor,” he added piteously. + +I could not help turning my head. I had not been used half as hard +as he. It was enough to look at him to believe in the dryness of his +throat. Under the matted mass of his hair, he was grinning in amiable +agony, and his globular eyes yearned upon me with a motionless and +glassy lustre. + +“You have not forgotten me, Señor? Forget Manuel! Impossible! Manuel, +Señor. For the love of God. Manuel. Manuel-del-Popolo. I did sing, deign +to remember. I offered you my fidelity, Señor. As you are a _caballero_, +I charge you to remember. Save me, Señor. Speak to those men.... For the +sake of your honour, Señor.” + +His voice was extraordinarily harsh--not his own. Apparently, he +believed that he was going to be cut to pieces there and then by the +sailors. He seemed to read it in their faces, shuddering and shrinking +whenever he raised his eyes. But all these faces gaped with good-natured +wonder, except the faces of his two guardians, and these expressed a +state of conscientious worry. They were ridiculously anxious to suppress +his sudden contortions, as one would some gross indecency. In the +scuffle they hissed and swore under their breath. They were scandalized +and made unhappy by his behaviour. + +“Are you ready down there?” roared the bo’sun in the waist. + +“Olla raight! Olla raight! Waita a leetle,” I heard Castro’s voice +coming, as if from under the ship. I said coldly a few words about the +certain punishment awaiting a pirate in Havana, and got on to my feet +stiffly. But Manuel was too terrified to understand what I meant. He +attempted to snatch at me with his imprisoned hands, and got for his +pains a severe jerking, which made his head roll about his shoulders +weirdly. + +“Pity, Señor!” he screamed. And then, with low fervour, “Don’t go away. +Listen! I am profound. Perhaps the Señor did not know that? Mercy! I +am a man of intrigue. A _politico_. You have escaped, and I rejoice at +it.”... He bared his fangs, and frothed like a mad dog.... “Señor, I am +made happy because of the love I bore you from the first--and Domingo, +who let you slip out of the Casa, is doomed. He is doomed. Thou art +doomed, Domingo! But the excessive affection for your noble person +inspires my intellect with a salutary combination. Wait, Señor! A +moment! An instant!... A combination!...” + +He gasped as though his heart had burst. The seamen, open-mouthed, were +slowly narrowing their circle. + +“Can’t he gabble!” remarked someone patiently. + +His eyes were starting out of his head. He spoke with fearful rapidity. + +“... There’s no refuge from the anger of the _Juez_ but the grave--the +grave--the grave!... Ha! ha! Go into thy grave, Domingo. But you, +Señor--listen to my supplications--where will you go? To Havana. The +_Juez_ is there, and I call the malediction of the priests on my head if +you, too, are not doomed. Life! Liberty! Señor, let me go, and I shall +run--I shall ride, Señor--I shall throw myself at the feet of the +_Juez_, and say... I shall say I killed you. I am greatly trusted by +the reason of my superior intelligence. I shall say, ‘Domingo let +him go--but he is dead. Think of him no more--of that _Inglez_ who +escaped--from Domingo. Do not look for him. I, your own Manuel, have +killed him.’ Give me my life for yours, Señor. I shall swear I had +killed you with this right hand! Ah!” + +He hung on my lips breathless, with a face so distorted that, though it +might have been death alone he hated, he looked, indeed, as if impatient +to set to and tear me to pieces with his long teeth. Men clutching at +straws must have faces thus convulsed by an eager and despairing hope. +His silence removed the spell--the spell of his incredible loquacity. I +heard the boatswain’s hoarse tones: + +“Hold on well, ma’am. Right! Walk away steady with that whip!” + +I ran limping forward. + +“High enough,” he rumbled; and I received Seraphina into my arms. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +I said, “This is home, at last. It is all over”; and she stood by me on +the deck. She pushed the heavy black cloak from over her head, and her +white face appeared above the dim black shadow of her mourning. She +looked silently round her on the mist, the groups of rough men, the +spatterings of light that were like violence, too. She said nothing, but +rested her hand on my arm. + +She had her immense griefs, and this was the home I offered her. She +looked back at the side. I thought she would have liked to be in the +boat again. I said: + +“The people in this ship are my old friends. You can trust them--and +me.” + +Tomas Castro, clambering leisurely over the side, followed. As soon as +his feet touched the deck, he threw the corner of his cloak across +his left shoulder, bent down half the rim of his hat, and assumed the +appearance of a short, dark conspirator, overtopped by the stalwart +sailors, who had abandoned Manuel to crowd, bare-armed, bare-chested, +pushing, and craning their necks, round us. + +She said, “I can trust you; it is my duty to trust you, and this is now +my home.” + +It was like a definite pronouncement of faith--and of a line of policy. +She seemed, for that moment, quite apart from my love, a thing very +much above me and mine; closed up in an immense grief, but quite +whole-souledly determined to go unflinchingly into a new life, breaking +quietly with all her past for the sake of the traditions of all that +past. + +The sailors fell back to make way for us. It was only by the touch +of her hand on my arm that I had any hope that she trusted me, me +personally, and apart from the commands of the dead Carlos; the dead +father, and the great weight of her dead traditions that could be never +anything any more for her--except a memory. Ah, she stood it very well; +her head was erect and proud. The cabin door opened, and a rigid female +figure with dry outlines, and a smooth head, stood out with severe +simplicity against the light of the cabin door. The light falling on +Seraphina seemed to show her for the first time. A lamentable voice +bellowed: + +“Señorita!... Señorita!” and then, in an insinuating, heart-breaking +tone, “Señorita!...” + +She walked quietly past the figure of the woman, and disappeared in +the brilliant light of the cabin. The door closed. I remained standing +there. Manuel, at her disappearance, raised his voice to a tremendous, +incessant yell of despair, as if he expected to make her hear. + +“_Señorita... proteccion del opprimido; oh, hija de piedad... +Señorita_.” + +His lamentable noise brought half the ship round us; the sailors fell +back before the mate, Sebright, walking at the elbow of a stout man in +loose trousers and jacket. They stopped. + +“An unexpected meeting, Captain Williams,” was all I found to say to +him. He had a constrained air, and shook hands in awkward silence. + +“How do you do?” he said hurriedly. After a moment he added, with a +sort of confused, as if official air, “I hope, Kemp, you’ll be able to +explain satisfactorily...” + +I said, rather off-handedly, “Why, the two men I killed ought to be +credentials enough for all immediate purposes!” + +“That isn’t what I meant,” he said. He spoke rather with a mumble, +and apologetically. It was difficult to see in him any trace of the +roystering Williams who had roared toasts to my health in Jamaica, after +the episode at the Ferry Inn with the admiral. It was as if, now, he had +a weight on his mind. I was tired. I said: + +“Two dead men is more than you or any of your crew can show. And, as far +as I can judge, you did no more than hold your own till I came.” + +He positively stuttered, “Yes, yes. But...” + +I got angry with what seemed stupid obstinacy. + +“You’d be having a rope twisted tight round your head, or red-hot irons +at the soles of your feet, at this very moment, if it had not been for +us,” I said indignantly. + +He wiped his forehead perplexedly. “Phew, how you do talk!” he +remonstrated. “What I mean is that my wife...” He stopped again, then +went on. “She took it into her head to come with me this voyage. For the +first time.... And you two coming alone in an open boat like this! It’s +what she isn’t used to.” + +I simply couldn’t get at what he meant; I couldn’t even hear him very +well, because Manuel-del-Popolo was still calling out to Seraphina in +the cabin. Williams and I looked at each other--he embarrassed, and I +utterly confounded. + +“Mrs. Williams thinks it’s irregular,” Sebright broke in, “you and +your young lady being alone--in an open boat at night, and that sort of +thing. It isn’t what they approve of at Bristol.” + +Manuel suddenly bellowed out, “Señorita--save me from their barbarity. +I am a victim. Behold their bloody knives ready--and their eyes which +gloat.” + +He shrank convulsively from the fellow with the bundle of cutlasses +under his arm, who innocently pushed his way close to him; he threw +himself forward, the two sailors hung back on his arms, nearly sitting +on the deck, and he strained dog-like in his intense fear of immediate +death. Williams, however, really seemed to want an answer to his +absurdity that I could not take very seriously. I said: + +“What do you expect us to do? Go back to our boat, or what?” + +It seemed to affect him a good deal. “Wait till you are caught by a good +woman yourself,” he mumbled wretchedly. + +Was this the roystering Williams? The jolly good fellow? I wanted to +laugh, a little hysterically, because of the worry after great fatigue. +Was his wife such a terrifying virago? “A good woman,” Williams +insisted. I turned my eyes to Sebright, who looked on amusedly. + +“It’s all right,” he answered my questioning look. “She’s a good soul, +but she doesn’t see fellows like us in the congregation she worships +with at home.” Then he whispered in my ear, “Owner’s niece. Older than +the skipper. Married him for love. Suspects every woman--every man, +too, by George, except me, perhaps. She’s learned life in some back +chapel in Bristol. What can you expect? You go straight into the +cabin,” he added. + +At that moment the cabin door opened again, and the figure of the woman +I had seen before reappeared against the light. + +“I was allowed to stand under the gate of the Casa, Excellency, I was +in very truth. Oh, turn not the light of your face from me.” Manuel, +who had been silent for a minute, immediately recommenced his clamour +in the hope, I suppose, that it would reach Seraphina’s ears, now the +door was opened. + +“What is to be done, Owen?” the woman asked, with a serenity I thought +very merciless. + +She had precisely the air of having someone “in the house,” someone +rather questionable that you want, at home, to get rid of, as soon as a +very small charity permitted. + +“Madam,” I said rather coldly, “I appeal to your woman’s +compassion....” + +“Even thus the arch-enemy sets his snares,” she retorted on me a little +tremulously. + +“Señorita, I have seen you grow,” Manuel called again. “Your father, +who is with the saints, gave me alms when I was a boy. Will you let +them kill a man to whom your father...” + +“Snares. All snares. Can she be blessed in going away from her natural +guardians at night, alone, with a young man? How can we, consistently +with our duty...” + +Her voice was cold and gentle. Even in the imperfect light her +appearance suggested something cold and monachal. The thought of what +she might have been saying, or, in the subtle way of women, making +Seraphina feel, in there, made me violently angry, but lucid, too. + +“She comes straight from the fresh grave of her father,” I said. “I am +her only guardian.” + +Manuel rose to the height of his appeal. “Señorita, I worshipped your +childhood, I threw my hat in the air many times before your coach, when +you drove out all in white, smiling, an angel from paradise. +Excellency, help me. Excel...” + +A hand was clapped on his mouth then, and we heard only a great scuffle +going on behind us. The way to the cozy cabin remained barred. My heart +was kindled by resentment, but by the power of love my soul was made +tranquil, for come what absurdity might, I had Sera-phina safe for the +time. The woman in the doorway guarded the respectable ship’s cuddy +from the un-wedded vagabondage of romance. + +“What’s to be done, Owen?” she asked again, but this time a little +irresolutely, I thought. “You know something of this--but I....” + +“My dear, what an idea,” began Williams; and I heard his helpless +mutters, “Like a hero--one evening--admiral--old Topnambo--nothing of +her--on my soul--Lord’s son...” + +Sebright spoke up from the side. “We could drive them overboard +together, certainly, Mrs. Williams, but that wouldn’t be quite proper, +perhaps. Put them each in a bag, separately, and drown them one on each +side of the ship, decently....” + +“You will not put me off with your ungodly levity, Mr. Sebright.” + +“But I am perfectly serious, Mrs. Williams. It may raise a mutiny +amongst these horrid, profane sailors, but I really don’t see how we are +to get rid of them else. The bo’sun has cut adrift their ramshackle, old +sieve of a boat, and she’s now a quarter of a mile astern, half-full +of water. And we can’t give them one of the ship’s boats to go and get +their throats cut ashore. J. Perkins, Esquire, wouldn’t like it. He +would swear something awful, if the boat got lost. Now, don’t say no, +Mrs. Williams. I’ve heard him myself swear a pound’s worth of oaths for +a matter of tenpence. You know very well what your uncle is. A perfect +Turk in that way.” + +“Don’t be scandalous, Mr. Sebright.” + +“But I didn’t begin, Mrs. Williams. It’s you who are raising all this +trouble for nothing; because, as a matter of fact, they did not come +alone. They had a man with them. An elderly, most respectable man. +There he stands yonder, with a feather in his hat. Hey! You! _Señor +caballero_, hidalgo, Pedro--Miguel--José--what’s your particular saint? +Step this way a bit...” + +Manuel managed to jerk a half-choked “Excellency,” and Castro, muffled +up to the eyes, began to walk slowly aft, pausing after each solemn +stride. The dark woman in the doorway was as effectual as an angel with +a flaming sword. She paralyzed me completely. + +Sebright dropped his voice a little. “I don’t see that’s much worse +than going off at six o’clock in the morning to get married on the +quiet; all alone with a man in a hackney coach--you know you did--and +being given away by a perfect stranger.” + +“Mr. Sebright! Be quiet! How dare you?... Owen!” + +Williams made a vague, growling noise, but Sebright, after muttering +hurriedly, “It’s all right, sir,” proceeded with the utmost coolness: + +“Why, all Bristol knows it! There are those who said that you got out of +the scullery window into the back street. I am only telling you...” + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself to believe such tales,” she cried +in great agitation. “I walked out at the gate!” + +“Yes. And the gardener’s wife said you must have sneaked the key off the +nail by the side of the cradle--coming to the lodge the evening before, +to see her poor, ailing baby. You ought to know what love brings the +best of us to. And your uncle isn’t a bloody-handed pirate either. +He’s only a good-hearted, hard-swearing old heathen. And you, too, are +good-hearted. Come, Mrs. Williams. I know you’re just longing to tuck +this young lady up in bed--poor thing. Think what she has gone through! +You ought to be fussing with sherry and biscuits and what not--making +that good-for-nothing steward fly round. The beggar is hiding in the +lazarette, I bet. Now then--allow me.” + +I got hold of the matter there again. I said--because I felt that the +matter only needed making clear: + +“This young lady is the daughter of a great Spanish noble. Her father +was killed by these pirates. I am myself of noble family, and I am +her appointed guardian, and am trying to save her from a very horrible +fate.” + +She looked at me apprehensively. + +“You would be committing a wicked act to try to interfere with this,” I +said. + +I suppose I carried conviction. + +“I must believe what you say,” she said. She added suddenly, with a sort +of tremulous, warm feeling, “There, there. I don’t mean to be unkind. I +knew nothing, and a married woman can’t be too careful. For all I could +have told, you might have been a--a libertine; one of the poor lost +souls that Satan...” + +Manuel, as if struggling with the waves, managed to free his lips. + +“Excellency, help!” he spluttered, like a drowning man. + +“I will give the young lady every care,” Mrs. Williams said, “until +light shall be vouchsafed.” + +She shut the door. + +“You will go too far, Sebright,” Williams remonstrated; “and I’ll have +to give you the sack.” + +“It’s all right, captain. I can turn her round my little finger,” said +the young man cheerily. “Somebody has to do it if you won’t--or can’t. +What shall we do with that yelping Dago? He’s a distressful beast to +have about the decks.” + +“Put him in the coal-hole, I suppose, as far as Havana. I won’t rest +till I see him on his way to the gallows. The Captain-General shall +be made sick of this business, or my name isn’t Williams. I’ll make a +breeze over it at home. You shall help in that, Kemp. You ain’t afraid +of big-wigs. Not you. You ain’t afraid of anything....” + +“He’s a devil of a fellow, and a dead shot,” threw in Sebright. “And +jolly lucky for us, too, sir. It’s simply marvellous that you should +turn up like this, Mr. Kemp. We hadn’t a grain of powder that wasn’t +caked solid in the canisters. Nothing’ll take it out of my head that +somebody had got at the magazine while we lay in Kingston....” + +It did not occur to Williams to ask whether I was wounded, or tired, or +hungry. And yet all through the West Indies the dinners you got on board +the Lion were famous in shipping circles. But festive men of his stamp +are often like that. They do it more for the glory and romance of the +hospitality, and he could not, perhaps, under the circumstances, expect +me to intone “for he is a jolly good fellow” over the wine. He was by +no means a bad or unfeeling man; only he was not hungry himself, and +another’s mere necessity of that sort failed to excite his imagination. +I know he was no worse than other men, and I have reason to remember him +with gratitude; but, at the time, I was surprised and indignant at the +extraordinary way he took my presence for granted, as if I had come off +casually in a shore boat to idle away an hour or two on board. Since his +wife appeared satisfied, he did not seem to desire any explanation. I +felt as if I had for him no independent existence. When I had ceased +to be a source of domestic difficulty, I became a precious sort of +convenience, a most welcome person (“an English gentleman to back me +up,” he repeated several times), who would help him to make “these old +women at the Admiralty sit up!” A burning shame, this! It had gone on +long enough, God knows, but if they were to tackle an old trader, like +the “Lion”, now, it was time the whole country should hear of it. His +owner, J. Perkins, his wife’s uncle, wasn’t the man to go to sleep over +the job. Parliament should hear of it. Most fortunate I was there to +be produced--eye-witness--nobleman’s son. He knew I could speak up in a +good cause. + +“And by the way, Kemp,” he said, with sudden annoyance, recollecting +himself, as it were, “you never turned up for that dinner--sent no word, +nor anything....” + +Williams had been talking to me, but it was with Sebright that I felt +myself growing intimate. The young mate of the “Lion” stood by, very +quiet, listening with a capable smile. Now he said, in a tone of dry +comment: + +“Jolly sight more useful turning up here.” + +“I was kidnapped away from Ramon’s back shop, if that’s a sufficient +apology. It’s rather a long story.” + +“Well, you can’t tell it on deck, that’s very clear,” Sebright had to +shout to me. “Not while this infernal noise--what the deuce’s up? It +sounds more like a dog-fight than anything else.” + +As we ran towards the main hatch I recognized the aptness of the +comparison. It was that sort of vicious, snarling, yelping clamour which +arises all at once and suddenly dies. + +“Castro! Thou Castro!” + +“Malediction... My eyelids...” + +“Thou! Englishman’s dog!” + +“Ha! _Porco_.” + +The voices ceased. Castro ran tiptoeing lightly, mantled in ample folds. +He assumed his hat with a brave tap, crouched swiftly inside his cloak. +It touched the deck all round in a black cone surmounted by a peering, +quivering head. Quick as thought he hopped and sank low again. Everybody +watched with wonder this play, as of some large and diabolic toy. For +my part, knowing the deadly purpose of these preliminaries, I was struck +with horror. Had he chosen to run on him at once, nothing could have +saved Manuel. The poor wretch, vigorously held in front of Castro, was +far too terrified to make a sound. With an immovable sailor on each +side, he scuffled violently, and cowered by starts as if tied up between +two stone posts. His dumb, rapid panting was in our ears. I shouted: + +“Stop, Castro! Stop!... Stop him, some of you! He means to kill the +fellow!” + +Nobody heeded my shouting. Castro flung his cloak on the deck, jumped on +it, kicked it aside, all in the same moment as it seemed, dodged to the +right, to the left, drew himself up, and stepped high, paunchy in his +tight smalls and short jacket, making all the time a low, sibilant +sound, which was perfectly blood-curdling. + +“He has a blade on his forearm!” I yelled. “He’s armed, I tell you!” + +No one could comprehend my distress. A sailor, raising a lamp, had a +broad smile. Somebody laughed outright. Castro planted himself before +Manuel, nodded menacingly, and stooped ready for a spring. I was too +late in my grab at his collar, but Manuel’s guardians, acting with +precision, put out one arm each to meet his rush, and he came flying +backwards upon me, as though he had rebounded from a wall. + +He had almost knocked me down, and while I staggered to keep my feet the +air resounded with urgent calls to shoot, to fire, to bring him down!... +“Kill him, Señor!” came in an entreating yell from Castro. And I became +aware that Manuel had taken this opportunity to wrench himself free. I +heard the hard thud of his leap. Straight from the hatch (as I was told +later by the marvelling sailors) he had alighted with both feet on the +rail. I only saw him already there, sitting on his heels, jabbering and +nodding at us like an enormous baboon. “Shoot, sir! Shoot!” “Kill! Kill, +Señor! As you love your life--kill!” + +Unwittingly, without volition, as if compelled by the suggestion of the +bloodthirsty cries, my hand drew the remaining pistol out of my belt. I +raised it, and found myself covering the strange antics of an infuriated +ape. He tore at his flanks with both hands in the idea, I suppose, +of stripping for a swim. Rags flew from him in all directions; an +astounding eruption of rags round a huddled-up figure crouching, wildly +active, in front of the muzzle. I had him. I was sure of my shot. He was +only an ape. A dead ape. But why? Wherefore? To what end? What could it +matter whether he lived or died. He sickened me, and I pitied him, as I +should have pitied an ape. + +I lowered my arm an almost imperceptible fraction of a second before he +sprang up and vanished. The sound of the heavy plunge was followed by +a regretful clamour all over the decks, and a general rush to the side. +There was nothing to be seen; he had gone through the layer of fog +covering the water. No one heard him blow or splutter. It was as if a +lump of lead had fallen overboard. + +Williams wouldn’t have had this happen for a five-pound note. Sebright +expressed the hope that he wouldn’t cheat the gallows by drowning. The +two men who had held him slunk away abashed. To lower a boat for +the purpose of catching him in the water would have been useless and +imprudent. + +“His friends can’t be far off yet in the boats,” growled the bo’sun; +“and if they don’t pick him up, they would be more than likely to pick +up our chaps.” + +Somebody expectorated in so marked a manner that I looked behind me. +Castro had resumed his cloak, and was draping himself with deliberate +dignity. When this undertaking had been accomplished, he came up very +close to me, and without a word looked up balefully from the heavy folds +thrown across his mouth and chin under the very tip of his hooked nose. + +“I could not do it,” I said. “I could not. It would have been useless. +Too much like murder, Tomas.” + +“Oh! the inconstancy, the fancifulness of these English,” he +generalized, with suppressed passion, right into my face. “I don’t know +what’s worse, their fury or their pity. The childishness of it! The +childishness.... Do you imagine, Señor, that Manuel or the Juez O’Brien +shall some day spare you in their turn? If I didn’t know the courage of +your nation...” + +“I despise the _Juez_ and Manuel alike,” I interrupted angrily. I +despised Castro, too, at that moment, and he paid me back with interest. +There was no mistaking his scathing tone. + +“I know you well. You scorn your friends, as well as your foes. I have +seen so many of you. The blessed saints guard us from the calamity of +your friendship....” + +“No friendship could make an assassin of me, Mr. Castro....” + +“... Which is only a very little less calamitous than your enmity,” he +continued, in a cold rage. “A very little less. You let Manuel go.... +Manuel!... Because of your mercy.... Mercy! Bah! It is all your +pride--your mad pride. You shall rue it, Señor. Heaven is just. You +shall rue it, Señor.” + +He denounced me prophetically, wrapped up with an air of midnight +secrecy; but, after all, he had been a friend in the act, if not in the +spirit, and I contented myself by asking, with some pity for his +imbecile craving after murder: + +“Why? What can Manuel do to me? He at least is completely helpless.” + +“Did the Señor Don Juan ever ask himself what Manuel could do to +me--Tomas Castro? To me, who am poor and a vagabond, and a friend of +Don Carlos, may his soul rest with God. Are all you English like princes +that you should never think of anybody but yourselves?” + +He revolted and provoked me, as if his opinion of the English could +matter, or his point of view signify anything against the authority of +my conscience. And it is our conscience that illumines the romantic side +of our life. His point of view was as benighted and primitive as the +point of view of hunger; but, in his fidelity to the dead architect of +my fortunes, he reflected dimly the light of Carlos’ romance, and I had +taken advantage of it, not so much for the saving of my life as for the +guarding of my love. I had reached that point when love displaces one’s +personality, when it becomes the only ground under our feet, the only +sky over our head, the only light of vision, the first condition of +thought--when we are ready to strive for it, as we fight for the breath +of our body. Brusquely I turned my back on him, and heard the repeated +clicking of flint against his blade. He lighted a cigarette, and crossed +the deck to lean cloaked against the bulwark, smoking moodily under his +slouched hat. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +Manuel’s escape was the last event of that memorable night. Nothing more +happened, and nothing more could be done; but there remained much talk +and wonderment to get through. I did all the talking, of course, under +the cuddy lamps. Williams, red and stout, sat staring at me across the +table. His round eyes were perfectly motionless with astonishment--the +story of what had happened in the Casa Riego was not what he had +expected of the small, badly reputed Cuban town. + +Sebright, who had all the duties of the soiled ship and chipped men +to attend to, came in from the deck several times, and would stand +listening for minutes with his fingers playing thoughtfully about his +slight moustache. The dawn was not very far when he led me into his +own cabin. I was half dead with fatigue, and troubled by an inward +restlessness. + +“Turn in into my berth,” said Sebright. + +I protested with a stiff tongue, but he gave me a friendly push, and +I tumbled like a log on to the bedclothes. As soon as my head felt the +pillow the fresh colouring of his face appeared blurred, and an arm, +mistily large, was extended to put out the light of the lamp screwed to +the bulkhead. + +“I suppose you know there are warrants out in Jamaica against you--for +that row with the admiral,” he said. + +An irresistible and unexpected drowsiness had relaxed all my limbs. + +“Hang Jamaica!” I said, with difficult animation. “We are going home.” + +“Hang Jamaica!” he agreed. Then, in the dark, as if coming after me +across the obscure threshold of sleep, his voice meditated, “I am sorry, +though, we are bound for Havana. Pity. Great pity! Has it occurred to +you, Mr. Kemp, that...” + +It is very possible that he did not finish his sentence; no more +penetrated, at least, into my drowsy ear. I awoke slowly from a +trance-like sleep, with a confused notion of having to pick up the +thread of a dropped hint. I went up on deck. + +The sun shone, a faint breeze blew, the sea sparkled freshly, and the +wet decks glistened. I stood still, touched by the new glory of light +falling on me; it was a new world--new and familiar, yet disturbingly +beautiful. I seemed to discover all sorts of secret charms that I had +never seen in things I had seen a hundred times. The watch on deck +were busy with brooms and buckets; a sailor, coiling a rope over a +pin, paused in his work to point over the port-quarter, with a massive +fore-arm like a billet of red mahogany. + +I looked about, rubbing my eyes. The “Lion”, close hauled, was heading +straight away from the coast, which stood out, not very far yet, +outlined heavily and flooded with light. Astern, and to leeward of us, +against a headland of black and indigo, a dazzling white speck resembled +a snowflake fallen upon the blue of the sea. + +“That’s a schooner,” said the seaman. + +They were the first words I heard that morning, and their friendly +hoarseness brushed away whatever of doubt might seem to mar the +inexplicability of my new glow of my happiness. It was because we were +safe--she and I--and because my undisturbed love let my heart open to +the beauty of the young day and the joyousness of a splendid sea. I took +deep breaths, and my eyes went all over the ship, embracing, like an +affectionate contact, her elongated shape, the flashing brasses, +the tall masts, the gentle curves of her sails soothed into perfect +stillness by the wind. I felt that she was a shrine, for was not +Seraphina sleeping in her, as safe as a child in its cradle? And +presently the beauty, the serenity, the purity, and the splendour of the +world would be reflected in her clear eyes, and made over to me by her +glance. + +There are times when an austere and just Providence, in its march +along the inscrutable way, brings our hearts to the test of their own +unreason. Which of us has not been tried by irrational awe, fear, pride, +abasement, exultation? And such moments remain marked by indelible +physical impressions, standing out of the ghostly level of memory +like rocks out of the sea, like towers on a plain. I had many of these +unforgettable emotions--the profound horror of Don Balthasar’s death; +the first floating of the boat, like the opening of wings in space; the +first fluttering of the flames in the fog--many others afterwards, more +cruel, more terrible, with a terror worse than death, in which the very +suffering was lost; and also this--this moment of elation in the clear +morning, as if the universe had shed its glory upon my feelings as the +sunshine glorifies the sea. I laughed in very lightness of heart, in a +profound sense of success; I laughed, irresponsible and oblivious, as +one laughs in the thrilling delight of a dream. + +“Do I look so confoundedly silly?” asked Sebright, speaking as though +he had a heavy cold. “I am stupid--tired. I’ve been on my feet this +twenty-four hours--about the liveliest in my life, too. You haven’t +slept very long either--none of us have. I’m sure I hope your young lady +has rested.” + +He put his hands in his pockets. He might have been very tired, but +I had never seen a boy fresh out of bed with a rosier face. The black +pin-points of his pupils seemed to bore through distance, exploring the +horizon beyond my shoulder. The man called Mike, the one I had had the +tussle with overnight, came up behind the indefatigable mate, and shyly +offered me my pistol. His head was bound over the top, and under the +chin, as if for toothache, and his bronzed, rough-hewn face looked out +astonishingly through the snowy whiteness of the linen. Only a few hours +before, we had been doing our best to kill each other. In my cordial +glow, I bantered him light-heartedly about his ferocity and his +strength. + +He stood before me, patiently rubbing the brown instep of one thick foot +with the horny sole of the other. + +“You paid me off for that bit, sir,” he said bashfully. “It was in the +way of duty.” + +“I’m uncommon glad you didn’t squeeze the ghost out of me,” I said; “a +morning like this is enough to make you glad you can breathe.” + +To this day I remember the beauty of that rugged, grizzled, hairy +seaman’s eyelashes. They were long and thick, shadowing the eyes softly +like the lashes of a young girl. + +“I’m sure, sir, we wish you luck--to you and the young lady--all of us,” + he said shamefacedly; and his bass, half-concealed mutter was quite as +sweet to my ears as a celestial melody; it was, after all, the sanction +of simple earnestness to my desires and hopes--a witness that he and his +like were on my side in the world of romance. + +“Well, go forward now, Mike,” Sebright said, as I took the pistol. + +“It’s a blessing to talk to one’s own people,” I said, expansively, to +him. “He’s a fine fellow.” I stuck the pistol in my belt. “I trust I +shall never need to use barrel or butt again, as long as I live.” + +“A very sensible wish,” Sebright answered, with a sort of reserve of +meaning in his tone; “especially as on board here we couldn’t find you a +single pinch of powder for a priming. Do you notice the consort we have +this morning?” + +“What do I want with powder?” I asked. “Do you mean that?” I pointed +to the white sail of the schooner. Sebright, looking hard at me, nodded +several times. + +“We sighted her as soon as day broke. D’you know what she means?” + +I said I supposed she was a coaster. + +“It means, most likely, that the fellow with the curls that made me +think of my maiden aunt, has managed to keep his horse-face above +water.” He meant Manuel-del-Popolo. “What mischief he may do yet before +he runs his head into a noose, it’s hard to say. The old Spaniard you +brought with you thinks he has already been busy--for no good, you may +be sure.” + +“You mean that’s one of the Rio schooners?” I asked quickly. + +That, with all its consequent troubles forme, was what he did mean. He +said I might take his word for it that, with the winds we had had, no +craft working along the coast could be just there now unless she came +out of Rio Medio. There was a calm almost up to sunrise, and it looked +as if they had towed her out with boats before daylight.... “Seems a +rather unlikely bit of exertion for the lazy brutes; but if they are as +much afraid of that confounded Irishman as you say they are, that would +account for their energy.” + +They would steal and do murder simply for the love of God, but it would +take the fear of a devil to make them do a bit of honest work--and +pulling an oar _was_ honest work, no matter why it was done. This was +the combined wisdom of Sebright and of Tomas Castro, with whom he had +been in consultation. As to the fear of the devil, O’Brien was very much +like a devil, an efficient substitute. And there was certainly somebody +or something to make them bestir themselves like this.... + +Before my mind arose a scene: Manuel, the night before, pulled out of +the water into a boat--raging, half-drowned, eloquent, inspired. The +contemptible beast _was_ inspired, as a politician is, a demagogue. +He could sway his fellows, as I had heard enough to know. And I felt +a slight chill on the warmth of my hope, because that bright sail, +brilliantly and furtively dodging along in our wake, must be the product +of Manuel’s inspiration, urged to perseverance by the fear of O’Brien. +The mate continued, staring knowingly at it: + +“You know I am putting two and two together, like the old maids that +come to see my aunt when they want to take away a woman’s character. +The Dagos are out and no mistake. The question is, Why? You must know +whether those schooners can sail anything; but don’t forget the old +_Lion_ is pretty smart. Is it likely they’ll attempt the ship again?” + +I negatived that at once. I explained to Sebright that the store of +ammunition in Rio Medio would not run to it; that the _Lugareños_ were +cowardly, divided by faction, incapable, by themselves, of combining +for any length of time, and still less of following a plan requiring +perseverance and hardihood. + +“They can’t mean anything in the nature of open attack,” I affirmed. +“They may have attempted something of the sort in Nichols’ time, but it +isn’t in their nature.” + +Sebright said that was practically Castro’s opinion, too--except that +Castro had emphasized his remarks by spitting all the time, “like an old +tomcat. He seems a very spiteful man, with no great love for you, Mr. +Kemp. Do you think it safe to have him about you? What are all these +grievances of his?” + +Castro seemed to have spouted his bile like a volcano, and had rather +confused Sebright. He had said much about being a friend of the Spanish +lord--Carlos; and that now he had no place on earth to hide his head. + +“As far as I could make out, he’s wanted in England,” said Sebright, +“for some matter of a stolen watch, years ago in Liverpool, I think. And +your cousin, the grandee, was mixed up in that, too. That sounds funny; +you didn’t tell us about that. Damme if he didn’t seem to imply that +you, too... But you have never been in Liverpool. Of course not....” + +But that had not been precisely Castro’s point. He had affirmed he had +enemies in Spain; he shuddered at the idea of going to France, and now +my English fancifulness had made it impossible for him to live in Rio +Medio, where he had had the care of a good _pad-rona_. + +“I suppose he means a landlady,” Sebright chuckled. “Old but good, he +says. He expected to die there in peace, a good Christian. And what’s +that about the priests getting hold of his very last bit of silver? I +must say that sounded truest of all his rigmarole. For the salvation of +his soul, I suppose?” + +“No, my cousin’s soul,” I said gloomily. + +“Humbugs. I only understood one word in three.” + +Just then Tomas himself stalked into sight among the men forward. Coming +round the corner of the deck-house, he stopped at the galley door like +a crow outside a hut, waiting. We watched him getting a light for his +cigarette at the galley door with much dignified pantomime. The negro +cook of the _Lion_, holding out to him in the doorway a live coal in +a pair of tongs, turned his Ethiopian face and white ivories towards +a group of sailors lost in the contemplation of the proceedings.’ And, +when Castro had passed them, spurting jets of smoke, they swung about +to look after his short figure, upon whose draped blackness the sunlight +brought out reddish streaks as if bucketfuls of rusty water had been +thrown over him from hat to toe. The end of his broken plume hung +forward aggressively. + +“Look how the fellow struts! Night and thunder! Hey, Don Tenebroso! +Would your worship hasten hither....” Sebright hailed jocularly. + +Castro, without altering his pace, came up to us. + +“What do you think of her now?” asked Sebright, pointing to the strange +sail. “She’s grown a bit plainer, now she is out of the glare.” + +Castro, wrapping his chin, stood still, face to the sea. After a long +while: + +“Malediction,” he pronounced slowly, and without moving his head shot a +sidelong glance at me. + +“It’s clear enough how _he_ feels about our friends over there. +Malediction. Just so. Very proper. But it seems as though he had a bone +to pick with all the world,” drawled Sebright, a little sleepily. +Then, resuming his briskness, he bantered, “So you don’t want to go to +England, Mr. Castro? No friends there? _Sus. per col._, and that sort of +thing?” + +Castro, contemptuous, staring straight away, nodded impatiently. + +“But this gentleman you are so devoted to is going to England--to his +friends.” + +Castro’s arms shook under the mantle falling all round him straight from +the neck. His whole body seemed convulsed. From his puckered dark lips +issued a fiendish and derisive squeal. + +“Let his friends beware, then. _Por Dios!_ Let them beware. Let them +pray and fast, and beg the intercession of the saints. Ha! ha! ha!...” + +Nothing could have been more unlike his saturnine self-centred +truculence of restraint. He impressed me; and even Sebright’s steady, +cool eyes grew perceptibly larger before this sarcastic fury. Castro +choked; the rusty, black folds encircling him shook and heaved. +Unexpectedly he thrust out in front of the cloak one yellow, dirty +little hand, side by side with the bright end of his fixed blade. + +“What do I hear? To England! Going to England! Ha! Then let him hasten +there straight! Let him go straight there, I say--I, Tomas Castro!” + +He lowered his tone to impress us more, and the point of the knife, as +it were an emphatic forefinger, tapped the open palm forcibly. Did we +think that a man was not already riding along the coast to Havana on +a fast mule?--the very best mule from the stables of Don Balthasar +himself--that murdered saint. The Captain-General had no such mules. +His late excellency owned a sugar estate halfway between Rio Medio and +Havana, and a relay of riding mules was kept there for quickness when +His Excellency of holy memory found occasion to write his commands to +the capital. The news of our escape would reach the _Juez_ next day at +the latest. Manuel would take care of that--unless he were drowned. But +he could swim like a fish. Malediction! + +“I cried out to you to kill!” he addressed me directly; “with all my +soul I cried. And why? Because he had seen you and the senorita, too, +alas! He should have been made dumb--made dumb with your pistol, Señor, +since those two stupid English mariners were too much for an old man +like me. Manuel should have been made dumb--dumb forever, I say. What +mattered he--that gutter-born offspring of an evil _Gitana_, whom I have +seen, Señor! I, myself, have seen her in the days of my adversity in +Madrid, Señor--a red flower behind the ear, clad in rags that did not +cover all her naked skin, looking on while they fought for her with +knives in a wine-shop full of beggars and thieves. Si, senor. That’s his +mother. _Improvisador--politico--capataz_. Ha.... Dirt!” + +He made a gesture of immense contempt. + +“What mattered he? The coach would have returned from the cathedral, and +the Casa Riego could have been held for days--and who could have known +you were not inside. I had conversed earnestly with Cesar the +major-domo--an African, it is true, but a man of much character and +excellent sagacity. Ah, Manuel! Manuel! If I------But the devil himself +fathers the children of such mothers. I am no longer in possession of my +first vigour, and you, Señor, have all the folly of your nation....” + +He bared his grizzled head to me loftily. + +“... And the courage! Doubtless, that is certain. It is well. You may +want it all before long, Señor... And the courage!” + +The broken plume swept the deck. For a time he blinked his creased, +brown eyelids in the sun, then pulled his hat low down over his brows, +and, wrapping himself up closely, turned away from me to look at the +sail to leeward. + +“What an old, old, wrinkled, little, puffy beggar he is!” observed +Sebright, in an undertone... + +“Well, and what is your worship’s opinion as to the purpose of that +schooner?” + +Castro shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?”... He released the gathered +folds of his cloak, and moved off without a look at either of us. + +“There he struts, with his wings drooping like a turkey-cock gone into +deep mourning,” said Sebright. “Who knows? Ah, well, there’s no hurry to +know for a day or two. I don’t think that craft could overhaul the Lion, +if they tried ever so. They may manage to keep us in sight perhaps.” + +He yawned, and left me standing motionless, thinking of Seraphina. I +longed to see her--to make sure, as if my belief in the possession of +her had been inexplicably weakened. I was going to look at the door of +her cabin. But when I got as far as the companion I had to stand aside +for Mrs. Williams, who was coming up the winding stairs. + +From above I saw the gray woollen shawl thrown over her narrow +shoulders. Her parting made a broad line on her brown head. She mounted +busily, holding up a little the front of her black, plain skirt. Her +glance met mine with a pale, searching candour from below. + +Overnight she had heard all my story. She had come out to the saloon +whilst I had been giving it to Williams, and after saying reassuringly, +“The young lady, I am thankful, is asleep,” she had sat with her eyes +fixed upon my lips. I had been aware of her anxious face, and of +the slight, nervous movements of her hands at certain portions of my +narrative under the blazing lamps. We met now, for the first time, in +the daylight. + +Hastily, as if barring my road to Seraphina’s cabin, “Miss Riego, I +would have you know,” she said, “is in good bodily health. I have this +moment looked upon her again. The poor, superstitious young lady is on +her knees, crossing herself.” + +Mrs. Williams shuddered slightly. It was plain that the sight of that +popish practice had given her a shock--almost a scare, as if she had +seen a secret and nefarious rite. I explained that Seraphina, being a +Catholic, worshipped as her lights enjoined, as we did after ours. Mrs. +Williams only sighed at this, and, making an effort, proposed that I +should walk with her a little. We began to pace the poop, she gliding +with short steps at my side, and drawing close the skimpy shawl about +her. The smooth bands of her hair put a shadow into the slight hollows +of her temples. No nun, in the chilly meekness of the habit, had ever +given me such a strong impression of poverty and renunciation. + +But there was in that faded woman a warmth of sentiment. She flushed +delicately whenever caught (and one could not help catching her +continually) following her husband with eyes that had an expression of +maternal uneasiness and the captivated attention of a bride. And after +she had got over the idea that I, as a member of the male British +aristocracy, was dissolute--it was an article of faith with her--that +warmth of sentiment would bring a faint, sympathetic rosiness to her +sunken cheeks. + +She said suddenly and trembling, “Oh, young sir, reflect upon these +things before it is too late. You young men, in your luxurious, worldly, +ungoverned lives...” + +I shall never forget that first talk with her on the poop--her hurried, +nervous voice (for she was a timid woman, speaking from a sense of +duty), and the extravagant forms her ignorance took. With the emotions +of the past night still throbbing in my brain and heart, with the sight +of the sea and the coast, with the Rio Medio schooner hanging on our +quarter, I listened to her, and had a hard task to believe my ears. +She was so convinced that I was “dissolute,” because of my class--as an +earl’s grandson. + +It is difficult to imagine how she arrived at the conviction; it must +have been from pulpit denunciations of the small Bethel on the outskirt +of Bristol. Her uncle, J. Perkins, was a great ruffian, certainly, +and Williams was dissolute enough, if one wished to call his festive +imbecilities by a hard name. But these two could, by no means, be said +to belong to the upper classes. And these two, apart from her favourite +preacher, were the only two men of whom she could be said to have more +than a visual knowledge. + +She had spent her best years in domestic slavery to her bachelor uncle, +an old shipowner of savage selfishness; she had been the deplorable +mistress of his big, half-furnished house, standing in a damp garden +full of trees. The outrageous Perkins had been a sailor in his +time--mate of a privateer in the great French war, afterwards master +of a slaver, developing at last into the owner of a small fleet of West +Indiamen. Williams was his favourite captain, whom he would bring home +in the evening to drink rum and water, and smoke churchwarden pipes with +him. The niece had to sit up, too, at these dismal revels. Old Perkins +would keep her out of bed to mix the grogs, till he was ready to climb +the bare stone staircase, echoing from top to bottom with his stumbles. +However, it seems he dozed a good deal in snatches during the +evening, and this, I suppose, gave their opportunity to the pale, +spiritual-looking spinster with the patient eyes, and to the thick, +staring Williams, florid with good living, and utterly unused to the +company of women of that sort. But in what way these two unsimilar +beings had looked upon each other, what she saw in him, what he imagined +her to be like, why, how, wherefore, an understanding arose between +them, remains inexplicable. It was her romance--and it is even possible +that he was moved by an unselfish sentiment. Sebright accounted for the +matter by saying that, as to the woman, it was no wonder. Anything to +get away from a bullying old ruffian, that would use bad language in +cold blood just to horrify her--and then burst into a laugh and jeer; +but as to Captain Williams (Sebright had been with him from a boy), he +ought to have known he was quite incapable of keeping straight after all +these free-and-easy years. + +He used to talk a lot, about that time, of good women, of settling down +to a respectable home, of leading a better life; but, of course, +he couldn’t. Simply couldn’t, what with old friends in Kingston and +Havana--and his habits formed--and his weakness for women who, as +Sebright put it, could not be called good. Certainly there did not seem +to have been any sordid calculation in the marriage. Williams fully +expected to lose his command; but, as it turned out, the old beast, +Perkins, was quite daunted by the loss of his niece. He found them out +in their lodgings, came to them crying--absolutely whimpering about his +white hairs, talking touchingly of his will, and promising amendment. In +the end it was arranged that Williams should keep his command; and Mrs. +Williams went back to her uncle. That was the best of it. Actually went +back to look after that lonely old rip, out of pure pity and goodness of +heart. Of course old Perkins was afraid to treat her as badly as before, +and everything was going on fairly well, till some kind friend sent +her an anonymous letter about Williams’ goings on in Jamaica. Sebright +strongly suspected the master of another regular trading ship, with whom +Williams had a difference in Kingston the voyage before last--Sebright +said--about a small matter, with long hair--not worth talking about. She +said nothing at first, and nearly worried herself into a brain-fever. +Then she confessed she had a letter--didn’t believe it--but wanted a +change, and would like to come for one voyage. Nothing could be said to +that. + +The worst was, the captain was so knocked over at the idea of his little +sins coming to light, that he--Sebright--had the greatest difficulty in +preventing him from giving himself away. + +“If I hadn’t been really fond of her,” Sebright concluded, “I would have +let everything go by the board. It’s too difficult. And mind, the whole +of Kingston was on the broad grin all the time we were there--but it’s +no joke. She’s a good woman, and she’s jealous. She wants to keep her +own. Never had much of her own in this world, poor thing. She can’t help +herself any more than the skipper can. Luckily, she knows no more of +life than a baby. But it’s a most cruel set out.” + +Sebright had exposed the domestic situation on board the _Lion_ with a +force of insight and sympathy hardly to be expected from his years. No +doubt his attachment to the disparate couple counted for not a little. +He seemed to feel for them both a sort of exasperated affection; but +I have no doubt that in his way he was a remarkable young man with +his contrasted bringing up first at the hands of an old maiden lady; +afterwards on board ship with Williams, to whom he was indentured at the +age of fifteen, when as he casually mentioned--“a scoundrelly attorney +in Exeter had run off with most of the old girl’s money.” Indeed, +looking back, they all appear to me uncommon; even to the round-eyed +Williams, cowed simply out of respect and regard for his wife, and as +if dazed with fright at the conventional catastrophe of being found out +before he could get her safely back to Bristol. As to Mrs. Williams, +I must confess that the poor woman’s ridiculous and genuine misery, +inducing her to undertake the voyage, presented itself to me simply as a +blessing, there on the poop. She had been practically good to Seraphina, +and her talking to me mattered very little, set against that.... And +such talk! + +It was like listening to an earnest, impassioned, tremulous +impertinence. She seemed to start from the assumption that I was +capable of every villainy, and devoid of honour and conscience; only +one perceived that she used the words from the force of unworldly +conviction, and without any real knowledge of their meaning, as a +precocious child uses terms borrowed from its pastors and masters. + +I was greatly disconcerted at first, but I was never angry. What of it, +if, with a sort of sweet absurdity, she talked in great agitation of +the depravity of hearts, of the sin of light-mindedness, of the +self-deception which leads men astray--a confused but purposeful jumble, +in which occasional allusions to the errors of Rome, and to the want of +seriousness in the upper classes, put in a last touch of extravagance? + +What of it? The time was coming when I should remember the frail, +homely, as if starved, woman, and thank heaven for her generous heart, +which was gained for us from that moment. Far from being offended, I +was drawn to her. There is a beauty in the absolute conscience of the +simple; and besides, her distrust was for me, alone. I saw that she +erected* herself not into a judge, but into a guardian, against the +dangers of our youth and our romance. She was disturbed by its origin. + +There was so much of the unusual, of the unheard of in its beginning, +that she was afraid of the end. I was so inexperienced, she said, and +so was the young lady--poor motherless thing--wilful, no doubt--so +very taking--like a little child, rather. Had I comprehended all my +responsibility? (And here one of the hurried side-allusions to the +errors of Rome came in with a reminder, touching the charge of another +immortal soul beside my own.) Had I reflected?... + +It seems to me that this moment was the last of my boyishness. It was as +if the contact with her earnestness had matured me with a power greater +than the power of dangers, of fear, of tragic events. She wanted to know +insistently whether I were sure of myself, whether I had examined my +feelings, and had measured my strength, and had asked for guidance. +I had done nothing of this. Not till brought face to face with her +unanswerable simplicity did I descend within myself. It seemed I had +descended so deeply that, for a time, I lost the sound of her voice. And +again I heard her. + +“There’s time yet,” she was saying. “Think, young sir (she had addressed +me throughout as ‘young sir.’) My husband and I have been talking it +over most anxiously. Think well before you commit the young lady +for life. You are both so young. It looks as if we had been sent +providentially....” + +What was she driving at? Did she doubt my love? It was rather horrible; +but it was too startling and too extravagant to be met with anger. We +looked at each other, and I discovered that she had been, in reality, +tremendously excited by this adventure. This was the secret of her +audacity. And I was also possessed by excitement. We stood there like +two persons meeting in a great wind. Without moving her hands, she +clasped and unclasped her fingers, looking up at me with soliciting +eyes; and her lips, firmly closed, twitched. + +“I am looking for the means of explaining to you how much I love her,” I +burst out. “And if I found a way, you could not understand. What do you +know?--what can you know?...” + +I said this not in scorn, but in sheer helplessness. I was at a loss +before the august magnitude of my feeling, which I saw confronting me +like an enormous presence arising from that blue sea. It was no longer +a boy-and-girl affair; no longer an adventure; it was an immense and +serious happiness, to be paid for by an infinity of sacrifice. + +“I am a woman,” she said, with a fluttering dignity. “And it is because +I know how women suffer from what men say....” + +Her face flushed. It flushed to the very bands of her hair. She was +rosy all over the eyes and forehead. Rosy and ascetic, with something +outraged and inexpressibly sweet in her expression. My great emotion was +between us like a mist, through which I beheld strange appearances. It +was as if an immaterial spirit had blushed before me. And suddenly I saw +tears--tears that glittered exceedingly, falling hard and round, like +pellets of glass, out of her faded eyes. + +“Mrs. Williams,” I cried, “you can’t know how I love her. No one in the +world can know. When I think of her--and I think of her always--it seems +to me that one life is not enough to show my devotion. I love her like +something unchangeable and unique--altogether out of the world; because +I see the world through her. I would still love her if she had made me +miserable and unhappy.” + +She exclaimed a low “Ah!” and turned her head away for a moment. + +“But one cannot express these things,” I continued. “There are no words. +Words are not meant for that. I love her so that, were I to die this +moment, I verily believe my soul, refusing to leave this earth, would +remain hovering near her....” + +She interrupted me with a sort of indulgent horror. “Sh! sh!” I mustn’t +talk like that. I really must not--and inconsequently she declared she +was quite willing to believe me. Her husband and herself had not slept a +wink for thinking of us. The notion of the fat, sleepy Williams, sitting +up all night to consider, owlishly, the durability of my love, cooled +my excitement. She thought they had been providentially thrown into our +way to give us an opportunity of reconsidering our decision. There were +still so many difficulties in the way. + +I did not see any; her utter incomprehension began to weary me, while +she still twined her fingers, wiped her eyes by stealth, as it were, and +talked unflinchingly. She could not have made herself clearly understood +by Seraphina. Moreover, women were so helpless--so very helpless in +such matters. That is why she was speaking to me. She did not doubt my +sincerity at the present time--but there was, humanly speaking, a long +life before us--and what of afterwards? Was I sure of myself--later +on--when all was well? + +I cut her short. Seizing both her hands: + +“I accept the omen, Mrs. Williams!” I cried. “That’s it! When all +is well! And all must be well in a very short time, with you and your +husband’s help, which shall not fail me, I know. I feel as if the worst +of our troubles were over already....” + +But at that moment I saw Seraphina coming out on deck. She emerged from +the companion, bare-headed, and looked about at her new surroundings +with that air of imperious and childlike beauty which made her charm. +The wind stirred slightly her delicate hair, and I looked at her; I +looked at her stilled, as one watches the dawn or listens to a sweet +strain of music caught from afar. Suddenly dropping Mrs. Williams’ hand, +I ran to her.... + +When I turned round, Williams had joined his wife, and she had slipped +her arm under his. Her hand, thin and white, looked like the hand of an +invalid on the brawny forearm of that man bursting with health and good +condition. By the side of his lustiness, she was almost ethereal--and +yet I seemed to see in them something they had in common--something +subtle, like the expression of eyes. It _was_ the expression of their +eyes. They looked at us with commiseration; one of them sweetly, the +other with his owlish fixity. As we two, Seraphina and I, approached +them together, I heard Williams’ thick, sleepy voice asking, “And so +he says he won’t?” To which his wife, raising her tone with a shade of +indignation, answered, “Of course not.” No, I was not mistaken. In their +dissimilar persons, eyes, faces, there was expressed a common trouble, +doubt, and commiseration. This expression seemed to go out to meet us +sadly, like a bearer of ill-news. And, as if at the sight of a +downcast messenger, I experienced the clear presentiment of some fatal +intelligence. + +It was conveyed to me late in the afternoon of that ‘same day out of +Williams’ own thick lips, that seemed as heavy and inert as his voice. + +“As far as we can see,” he said, “you can’t stay in the ship, Kemp. It +would do no one any good--not the slightest good. Ask Sebright here.” + +It was a sort of council of war, to which we had been summoned in the +saloon. Mrs. Williams had some sewing in her lap. She listened, her +hands motionless, her eyes full of desolation. Seraphina’s attitude, +leaning her cheek on her hand, reminded me of the time when I had seen +her absorbed in watching the green-and-gold lizard in the back room of +Ramon’s store, with her hair falling about her face like a veil. Castro +was not called in till later on. But Sebright was there, leaning his +back negligently against the bulkhead behind Williams, and looking down +on us seated on both sides of the long table. And there was present, +too, in all our minds, the image of the Rio Medio schooner, hull down on +our quarter. In all the trials of sailing, we had not been able to shake +her off that day. + +“I don’t want to hide from you, Mr. Kemp,” Sebright began, “that it was +I who pointed out to the captain that you would be only getting the ship +in trouble for nothing. She’s an old trader and favourite with shippers; +and if we once get to loggerheads with the powers, there’s an end of her +trading. As to missing Havana this trip, even if you, Mr. Kemp, could +give a pot of money, the captain could never show his nose in there +again after breaking his charter-party to help steal a young lady. And +it isn’t as if she were nobody. She’s the richest heiress in the island. +The biggest people in Spain would have their say in this matter. I +suppose they could put the captain in prison or something. Anyway, +good-by to the Havana business for good. Why, old Perkins would have +a fit. He got over one runaway match.... All right, Mrs. Williams, not +another word.... What I meant to say is that this is nothing else but +a love story, and to knock on the head a valuable old-established +connection for it..Don’t bite your lip, Mr. Kemp. I mean no disrespect +to your feelings. Perkins would start up to break things--let alone his +heart. I am sure the captain and Mrs. Williams think so, too.” + +The festive and subdued captain of the _Lion_ was staring straight +before him, as if stuffed. Mrs. Williams moved her fingers, compressed +her lips, and looked helplessly at all of us in turn. “Besides altering +his will,” Sebright breathed confidentially at the back of my head. I +perceived that this old Perkins, whom I had never seen, and was never +to see in the body, whose body no one was ever to see any more (he died +suddenly on the echoing staircase, with a flat candlestick in his hand; +was already dead at the time, so that Mrs. Williams was actually sitting +in the cabin of her very own ship)--I perceived that old Perkins +was present at this discussion with all the power of a malignant, +bad-tempered spirit. Those two were afraid of him. They had defied him +once, it is true--but even that had been done out of fear, as it were. + +Dismayed, I spoke quickly to Seraphina. With her head resting on her +hand, and her eyes following the aimless tracings of her finger on the +table, she said: + +“It shall be as God wills it, Juan.” + +“For Heaven’s sake, don’t!” said Sebright, coughing behind me. He +understood Spanish fairly well. “What I’ve said is perfectly true. +Nevertheless the captain was ready to risk it.” + +“Yes,” ejaculated Williams profoundly, out of almost still lips, and +otherwise so motionless all over that the deep sound seemed to have been +produced by some person under the table. Mrs. Williams’ fingers were +clasped on her lap, and her eyes seemed to beg for belief all round our +faces. + +“But the point is that it would have been no earthly good for you +two,” continued Sebright. “That’s the point I made. If O’Brien knows +anything, he knows you are on board this ship. He reckons on it as a +dead certainty. Now, it is very evident that we could refuse to give +_you_ up, Mr. Kemp, and that the admiral (if the flagship’s off Havana, +as I think she must be by now) would have to back us up. How you would +get on afterwards with old Groggy Rowley, I don’t know. It isn’t likely +he has forgotten you tried to wipe the floor with him, if I am to take +the captain’s yarn as correct.” + +“A regular hero,” Williams testified suddenly, in his concealed, +from-under-the-table tone. “He’s not afraid of any of them; +not he. Ha! ha! Old Topnambo must have....” He glanced at his +wife, and bit his tongue--perhaps at the recollection of his +unsafe conjugal position--ending in disjointed words, “In his +chaise--warrant--separationist--rebel,” and all this without moving a +limb or a muscle of his face, till, with a low, throaty chuckle, he +fluttered a stony sort of wink to my address. + +Sebright had paused only long enough for this ebullition to be over. +The cool logic of his surmise appalled me. He didn’t see why O’Brien or +anybody in Havana should want to interfere with me personally. But if +I wanted to keep my young lady, it was obvious she must not arrive in +Havana on board a ship where they would be sure to look for her the very +first thing. It was even worse than it looked, he declared. His firm +conviction was that if the _Lion_ did not turn up in Havana pretty soon, +there would be a Spanish man-of-war sent out to look for her--or else +Mr. O’Brien was not the man we took him for. There was lying in harbour +a corvette called the _Tornado_, a very likely looking craft. I didn’t +expect them to fight a corvette. No doubt there would be a fuss made +about stopping a British ship on the high seas; but that would be a cold +comfort after the lady had been taken away from me. She was a person of +so much importance that even our own admiral could be induced--say, by +the Captain-General’s remonstrances--to sanction such an action. There +was no saying what Rowley would do if they only promised to present him +with half a dozen pirates to take home for a hanging. Why! that was the +very identical thing the flagship was kept dodging off Havana for! And +O’Brien knew where to lay his hands on a gross of such birds, for that +matter. + +“No,” concluded Sebright, overwhelming me from behind, as I sat +looking, not at the uncertainties of the future, but at the paralyzing +hopelessness of the bare to-morrow. “The _Lion_ is no place for you, +whether she goes into Havana or not. Moreover, into Havana she must go +now. There’s no help for it. It’s the deuce of a situation.” + +“Very well,” I gasped. I tried to be resolute. I felt, suddenly, as +if all the air in the cabin had gone up the open skylight. I couldn’t +remain below another moment; and, muttering something about coming back +directly, I jumped up and ran out without looking at any one lest I +should give myself away. I ran out on deck for air, but the great blue +emptiness of the open staggered me like a blow over the heart. I walked +slowly to the side, and, planting both my elbows on the rail, stared +abroad defiantly and without a single clear thought in my head. I had a +vague feeling that the descent of the sun towards the waters, going on +before my eyes with changes of light and cloud, was like some gorgeous +and empty ceremonial of immersion belonging to a vast barren faith +remote from consolation and hope. And I noticed, also, small things +without importance--the hirsute aspect of a sailor; the end of a rope +trailing overboard; and Castro, so different from everybody else on +board that his appearance seemed to create a profound solitude round +him, lounging before the cabin door as if engaged in a deep conspiracy +all by himself. I heard voices talking loudly behind me, too. + +I noted them distinctly, but with perfect indifference. A long time +after, with the same indifference, I looked over my shoulder. Castro had +vanished from the quarter-deck. And I turned my face to the sea again as +a man, feeling himself beaten in a fight with death, might turn his face +to the wall. + +I had fought a harder battle with a more cruel foe than death, with +the doubt of myself; an endless contest, in which there is no peace of +victory or of defeat. The open sea was like a blank and unscalable wall +imprisoning the eternal question of conduct. Right or wrong? Generosity +or folly? Conscience or only weak fear before remorse? The magnificent +ritual of sunset went on palpitating with an inaudible rhythm, with slow +and unerring observance, went on to the end, leaving its funeral fires +on the sky and a great shadow upon the sea. Twice I had honourably +stayed my hand. Twice... to this end. + +In a moment, I went through all the agonies of suicide, which left me +alive, alas, to burn with the shame of the treasonable thought, and +terrified by the revolt of my soul refusing to leave the world in which +a young girl lived! The vast twilight seemed to take the impress of her +image like wax. What did Seraphina think of me? I knew nothing of her +but her features, and it was enough. Strange, this power of a woman’s +face upon a man’s heart--this mastery, potent as witchcraft and +mysterious like a miracle. I should have to go and tell her. I did +not suppose she could have understood all of Sebright’s argumentation. +Therefore, it was for me to explain to what a pretty pass I had brought +our love. + +I was so greatly disinclined to stir that I let Sebright’s voice go on +calling my name half a dozen times from the cabin door. At last I faced +about. + +“Mr. Kemp! I say, Kemp! Aren’t you coming in yet?” + +“To say good-by,” I said, approaching him. + +It had fallen dark already. + +“Good-by? No. The carpenter must have a day at least.” + +Carpenter! What had a carpenter to do in this? However, nothing +mattered--as though I had managed to spoil the whole scheme of creation. + +“You didn’t think of making a start to-night, did you?” Sebright +wondered. “Where would be the sense of it?” + +“Sense,” I answered contemptuously. “There is no sense in anything. +There is necessity. Necessity.” + +He remained silent for a time, peering at me. + +“Necessity, to be sure,” he said slowly. “And I don’t see why you should +be angry at it.” + +I was thinking that it was easy enough for him to keep cool--the +necessity being mine. He continued to philosophize with what seemed to +me a shocking freedom of mind. + +“Must try to put some sense into it. That’s what we are here for, I +guess. Anyhow, there’s some room for sense in arranging the way a thing +is to be done, be it as hard as it may. And I don’t see any sense, +either, in exposing a woman to more hardship than is absolutely +necessary. We have talked it out now, and I can do no more. Do go inside +for a bit. Mrs. Williams is worrying the Señorita, rather, I’m afraid.” + +I paused a moment to try and regain the command of my faculties. But it +was as if a bombshell had exploded inside my skull, scattering all +my wits to the four winds of heaven. Only the conviction of failure +remained, attended by a profound distress. + +I fancy, though, I presented a fairly bold front. The lamp was lit, and +small changes had occurred during my absence. Williams had turned his +bulk sideways to the table. Mrs. Williams had risen from her place, +and was now sitting upright close to Seraphina, holding one little +hand inclosed caressingly between her frail palms, as if she had there +something alive that needed cherishing. And in that position she looked +up at me with a strange air of worn-out youth, cast by a rosy flush +over her forehead and face. Seraphina still leaned her head on her +other hand, and I noted, through the soft shadow of falling hair, the +heightened colour on her cheek and the augmented brilliance of her eye. + +“‘How I wish she had been an English girl,” Mrs. Williams sighed +regretfully, and leaned forward to look into Seraphina’s half-averted +face. + +“My dear, did you quite, quite understand what I have been saying to +you?” + +She waited. + +“_Si Señora_,” said Seraphina. None of us moved. Then, after a time, +turning to me with sudden animation, “This woman asked me if I believed +in your love,” she cried. “She is old. Oh, Juan, can the years change +the heart? your heart?” Her voice dropped. “How am I to know that?” she +went on piteously. “I am young--and we may not live so long. I believe +in mine....” + +The corners of her delicate lips drooped; but she mastered her desire +to cry, and steadied her voice which, always rich and full of womanly +charm, took on, when she was deeply moved, an imposing gravity of +timbre. + +“But I am a Spaniard, and I believe in my lover’s honour; in your--your +English honour, Juan.” + +With the dignity of a supreme confidence she extended her hand. It was +one of the culminating moments of our love. For love is like a journey +in mountainous country, up through the clouds, and down into the shadows +to an unknown destination. It was a moment rapt and full of feeling, in +which we seemed to dwell together high up and alone--till she withdrew +her hand from my lips, and I found myself back in the cabin, as if +precipitated from a lofty place. + +Nobody was looking at us. Mrs. Williams sat with downcast eyelids, with +her hands reposing on her lap: her husband gazed discreetly at a gold +moulding on the deck-beam; and the upward cast of his eyes invested +his red face with an air of singularly imbecile ecstasy. And there was +Castro, too, whom I had not seen till then, though I must have brushed +against him on entering. He had stood by the door a mute, and, as it +were, a voluntarily unmasked conspirator with the black round of the +hat lying in front of his feet. He, alone, looked at us. He looked from +Seraphina to me--from me to Seraphina. He looked unutterable things, +rolling his crow-footed eyes in pious horror and glowering in turns. +When Seraphina addressed him, he hastened to incline his head with his +usual deference for the daughter of the Riegos. + +She said, “There are things that concern this _caballero_, and that you +can never understand. Your fidelity is proved. It has sunk deep here.... +It shall give you a contented old age--on the word of Seraphina Riego.” + +He looked down at his feet with gloomy submission. + +“There is a proverb about an enamoured woman,” he muttered to himself, +loud enough for me to overhear. Then, stooping deliberately to pick up +his hat, he flourished it with a great sweep lower than his knees. His +dumpy black back flitted out of the cabin; and almost directly we heard +the sharp click of his flint and blade outside the door. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +How often the activity of our life is the least real part of it! Life, +looked upon as a whole, presents itself to my fancy as a pursuit with +open arms of a winged and magnificent dream, hovering just over our +heads and casting its glory upon our hopes. It is in this simple vision, +which is one and enduring, and not in the changing facts, that we must +look for meaning and for truth. The three quiet days we spent together +on board the _Lion_ remain to me memorable and full of import, eventless +and containing the very quintessence of existence. We shared the +sunshine, always together, very close, turning hand in hand to the sea, +whose unstained blueness continued under our feet the blue above our +heads, as though we had been snatched up into the sky. The insignificant +words we exchanged seemed informed by a sustaining certitude and an +admirable gravity, as though there had been some quality of unerring +wisdom in the blind love of man and woman. From the inexhaustible +treasure of her feelings she drew words, glances, gestures that appeased +every uneasiness of my heart. In some brief moment of illumination whose +advent my man’s eyes had utterly missed, she had learned all at once +everything there was to know. She knew. She no longer needed to survey +my actions, my words, my thoughts; but she accorded me the sincere +flattery of spell-bound attention, and it was made intoxicating by her +smile. In those short days of a pause, when, like a swimmer turning on +his back, we lived in the trustful confidence of the sustaining depths, +instead of struggling with the agitation of the surface--in these days +we had the time to look at each other profoundly; and I saw her smile +come back again a little changed, more meaning and a little less +mirthful, as if her lips had been made stiff by sorrow. But she was +young; and youth, the time of softness, of tenderness, of enthusiasm, +and of pity, presents a surface as hard as marble to the finality of +death. + +Breathing side by side, drinking in the sunshine, and talking of +ourselves not at all, but casting the sense of our love like a +magnificent garment over the wide significance of a world already +conquered, we could not help being made aware of the currents of +excitement and sympathy that converged upon our essential isolation from +the life of the ship. It was the excitement of the adventure brewing for +our drinking according to Sebright’s recipe. People approached us--spoke +to us. We attended to them as if called down from an elevation; we +were aware of the kind tone; and, remaining indistinct, they retreated, +leaving us free to regain the heights of the lovers’ paradise--a region +of tender whispers and intense silences. Suddenly there would be a +short, throaty laugh behind our backs, and Williams would begin, “I +say, Kemp; do you call to mind so-and-so?” Invariably some planter or +merchant in Jamaica. I never could. + +Williams would grunt, “No? I wonder how you passed your time away these +two years or more. The place isn’t that big.” His purpose was to cheer +me up by some gossip, if only he could find a common acquaintance to +talk over. I believe he thought me a queer fish. He told me once that +everybody he knew in Jamaica had that precise opinion of me. Then with à +chuckle and muttering, “Warrants--assault--Top--nambo--ha, ha!” he would +leave us to ourselves, and continue his waddle up and down the poop. +He wore loose silk trousers, and the round legs inside moved like a +contrivance made out of two gate-posts. + +He was absurd. They all were that before our sweet reasonableness. But +this atmosphere, full of interest and good will, was good to breathe. +The very steward--the same who had been hiding in the lazarette during +the fight--a hunted creature, displaying the most insignificant anatomy +ever inhabited by a quailing spirit, devoted himself to the manufacture +of strange cakes, which at tea-time he would deposit smoking hot in +front of Seraphina’s place. After each such exploit, he appeared amazed +at his audacity in taking so much upon himself. The carpenter took more +than a day, tinkering at an old ship’s boat. He was a Shetlander--a +sort of shaggy hyperborean giant with a forbidding face, an appraising, +contemplative manner, and many nails in his mouth. At last the time came +when he, too, approached our oblivion from behind, with a large hammer +in his hand; but instead of braining us with one sweep of his mighty +arm, he remarked simply in uncouth accents, “There now; I am thinking +she will do well for what ye want her. I can do no more for ye.” + +We turned round, arm-in-arm, to look at the boat. There she was, lying +careened on the deck, with patched sides, in a belt of chips, shavings, +and sawdust; a few pensive sailors stood about, gazing down at her with +serious eyes. Sebright, bent double, circled slowly on a prowl of minute +inspection. Suddenly straightening himself up, he pronounced a curt +“She’ll do”; and, without looking at us at all, went off busily with his +rapid stride. + +A light sigh floated down upon our heads. Williams and his wife appeared +on the poop above us like an allegorical couple of repletion and +starvation, conceived in a fantastic vein on a balcony. A cigar +smouldered in his stumpy red fingers. She had slipped a hand under his +arm, as she would always do the moment they came near each other. She +never looked more wasted and old-maidish than when thus affirming her +wifely rights. But her eyes were motherly. + +“Ah, my dears!” (She usually addressed Seraphina as “miss,” and myself +as “young sir.”) “Ah, my dears! It seems so heartless to be sending you +off in such a small boat, even for your own good.” + +“Never fear, Mary. Repaired. Carry six comfortably,” reassured Williams +in a tremendous mutter, like a bull. + +“But why can’t you give them one of the others, Owen? That big one +there?” + +“Nonsense, Mary. Never see boat again. Wouldn’t grudge it. Only Sebright +is quite right. Didn’t you hear what Sebright said? Very sensible. Ask +Sebright. He will explain to you again.” + +It was Sebright, with his asperity and his tact, with fits of +brusqueness subdued by an almost affectionate contempt, who conducted +all their affairs, as I have seen a trustworthy and experienced old +nurse rule the infinite perplexities of a room full of children. +His clear-sightedness and mental grip seemed independent of age and +experience, like the ability of genius. He had an imaginative eye for +detail, and, starting from a mere hint, would go scheming onwards with +astonishing precision. His plan, to which we were committed--committed +helplessly and without resistance--was based upon the necessity of our +leaving the ship. + +He had developed it to me that evening, in the cabin, directly Castro +had gone out. He had already got Williams and his wife to share his view +of our situation. He began by laying it down that in every desperate +position there was a loophole for escape. Like other great men, he was +conscious of his ability, and was inclined to theorize at large for a +while. You had to accept the situation, go with it in a measure, and as +you had walked into trouble with your eyes shut, you had only to +continue with your eyes open. Time was the only thing that could defeat +one. If you had no time, he admitted, you were at a dead wall. In this +case he judged there would be time, because O’Brien, warned already, +would sit tight for a few days, being sure to get hold of us directly +the _Lion_ came into port. It was only if the _Lion_ failed to turn up +within a reasonable term in Havana, that he would take fright, and take +measures to hunt her up at sea. But I might rest assured that the _Lion_ +was going to Havana as fast as the winds would allow her. + +What was, then, the situation? he continued, looking at me piercingly +above Williams’ cropped head. I had run away for dear life from Cuba +(taking with me what was best in it, to be sure, he interjected, with +a faint smile towards Seraphina). I had no money, no friends (except my +friends in this cabin, he was good enough to say); warrants out against +me in Jamaica; no means to get to England; no safety in the ship. It was +no use shirking that little fact. We must leave the _Lion_. This was a +hopeless enough position. But it was hopeless only because it was +not looked upon in the right way. We assumed that we had to leave her +forever, while the whole secret of the trick was in this, that we need +only leave her for a time. After O’Brien’s myrmidons had gone through +her, and had been hooted away empty-handed, she became again, if not +absolutely safe, then at least possible--the only possible refuge +for us--the only decent means of reaching England together, where, he +understood, our trouble would cease. Williams nodded approval heavily. + +“The friends of Miss Riego would be glad to know she had made the +passage under the care of a respectable married lady,” Sebright +explained, in that imperturbable manner of his, which reflected +faintly all his inner moods--whether of recklessness, of jocularity +or anxiety--and often his underlying scorn. His gravity grew perfectly +portentous. “Mrs. Williams,” he continued, “was, of course, very anxious +to do her part creditably. As it happened, the _Lion_ was chartered for +London this voyage; and notwithstanding her natural desire to rejoin, as +soon as possible, her home and her aged uncle in Bristol, she intended +to go with the young lady in a hackney coach to the very door.” + +I had previously told them that the lately appointed Spanish ambassador +in London was a relation of the Riegos, and personally acquainted with +Seraphina, who, nearly two years before, had been on a short visit to +Spain, and had lived for some months with his family _in_ Madrid, I +believe. No trouble or difficulty was to be apprehended as to proper +recognition, or in the mattei of rights and inheritance, and so on. The +ambassador would make that his own affair. And for the rest I trusted +the decision of her character and the strength of her affection. I was +not afraid she would let any one talk her out of an engagement, the +dying wish of her nearest kinsman, sealed, as it were, with the blood of +her father. This matter of temporary absence from the _Lion_, however, +seemed to present an insuperable difficulty. We could not, obviously, be +left for days floating in an open boat outside Havana harbour, waiting +till the ship came out to pick us up. Sebright himself admitted that at +first he did not see how it could be contrived. He didn’t see at all. +He thought and thought. It was enough to sicken one of every sort of +thinking. Then, suddenly, the few words Castro had let drop about the +sugar estate and the relay of mules came into his head--providentially, +as Mrs. Williams would say. He fancied that the primitive and grandiose +manner for a gentleman to keep a relay of mules--any amount of mules--in +case he should want to send a letter or two, caused the circumstance to +stick in his mind. At once he had “our little _hidalgo_” in, and put him +through an examination. + +“He turned fairly sulky, and tried constantly to break out against you, +till Dona Seraphina here gave him a good talking to,” Sebright said. + +Otherwise it was most satisfactory. The place was accessible from the +sea through a narrow inlet, opening into a small, perfectly sheltered +basin at the back of the sand-dunes. The little river watering the +estate emptied itself into that basin. One could land from a boat there, +he understood, as if in a dock--and it was the very devil if I and Miss +Riego could not lie hidden for a few days on her own property, the more +so that, as it came out in the course of the discussion, while I had +“rushed out to look at the sunset,” that the manager, or whatever they +called him--the fellow in charge--was the husband of Dona Seraphina’s +old nurse-woman. Of course, it behoved us to make as little fuss as +possible--try to reach the house along by-paths early in the morning, +when all the slaves would be out at work in the fields. Castro, who +professed to know the locality very well indeed, would be of use. +Meantime, the _Lion_ would make her way to Havana, as if nothing was the +matter. No doubt all sorts of confounded _alguazils_ and custom-house +hounds would be ready to swarm on board in full cry. They would be made +very welcome. Any strangers on board? Certainly not. Why should there +be?... Rio Medio? What about Rio Medio? Hadn’t been within miles and +miles of Rio Medio; tried this trip to beat up well clear of the coast. +Search the ship? With pleasure--every nook and cranny. He didn’t suppose +they would have the cheek to talk of the pirates; but if they did +venture--what then? Pirates? That’s very serious and dishonourable to +the power of Spain. Personally, had seen nothing of pirates. Thought +they had all been captured and hanged quite lately. Rumours of +the _Lion_ having been attacked obviously untrue. Some other ship, +perhaps.... That was the line to take. If it didn’t convince them, it +would puzzle them altogether. Of course, Captain Williams, in his great +regard for me, had abandoned the intention of making an affair of state +of the outrage committed on his ship. He would not lodge any complaint +in Havana--nothing at all. The old women of the Admiralty wouldn’t be +made to sit up this time. No report would be sent to the admiral either. +Only, if the ship were interfered with, and bothered under any pretence +whatever, once they had been given every facility to have one good +look everywhere, the admiral would be asked to stop it. And the Spanish +authorities would have not a leg to stand on either, for this simple +reason, that they could not very well own to the sources of their +information. Meantime, all hands on board the _Lion_ had to be taken +into confidence; that could not be avoided. He, Sebright, answered for +their discretion while sober, anyhow; and he promised me that no leave +or money would be given in Havana, for fear they should get on a spree, +and let out something in the grogshops on shore. We all knew what a +sailor-man was after a glass or two. So that was settled. Now, as to our +rejoining the _Lion_. This, of necessity, must be left to me. Counting +from the time we parted from her to land on the coast, the _Lion_ would +remain in Havana sixteen days; and if we did not turn up in that time, +and the cargo was all on board by then, Captain Williams would try to +remain in harbour on one pretence or another a few days longer. But +sixteen days should be ample, and it was even better not to hurry up too +much. To arrive on the fifteenth day would be the safest proceeding in a +way, but for the cutting of the thing too fine, perhaps. With all these +mules at our disposal, Sebright didn’t see why we should not make our +way by land, pass through the town at night, or in the earliest morning, +and go straight on board the _Lion_--perhaps use some sort of disguise. +He couldn’t say. He was out of it there. Blackened faces or something. +Anyway, we would be looked out for on board night and day. + +Later on, however, we had learned from Castro that the estate possessed +a sailing craft of about twenty tons, which made frequent trips to +Havana. These sugar _droghers_ belonging to the plantations (every +estate on the coast had one or more) went in and out of the harbour +without being taken much notice of. Sometimes the battery at the water’s +edge on the north side or a custom-house guard would hail them, but +not often--and even then only to ask the name, where from, and for the +number of sugar-hogsheads on board. “By heavens! That’s the very thing!” + rejoiced Sebright. And it was agreed that this would be our best way. +We should time our arrival for early morning, or else at dusk. The craft +that brought us in should be made, by a piece of unskillful management, +to fall aboard the _Lion_, and remain alongside long enough to give us +time to sneak in through an open deck-port. + +The whole occurrence must be so contrived as to wear the appearance of +a pure accident to the onlookers, should there be any. Shouting and +an exchange of abuse on both parts should sound very true. Then the +_drogher_, getting herself clear, would proceed innocently to the +custom-house steps, where all such coasters had to report themselves on +arrival. “Never fear. We shall put in some loud and scandalous cursing,” + Sebright assured me. “The boys will greatly enjoy that part, I dare +say.” + +Remained to consider the purpose of the schooner that had come out of +Rio Medio to hang on our skirts. It was doubtful whether it was in our +power to shake her off. Sebright was full of admiration for her sailing +qualities, coupled with infinite contempt for the “lubberly gang on +board.” + +“If I had the handling of her, now,” he said, “I would take my position +as near as I liked, and stick there. It seems almost as if she would do +it of herself, if those imbeciles would only let her have her own way. I +never yet saw a Spaniard, good or bad, that was anything of a sailor. As +it is, we may maintain a distance that would make it difficult for them +to see what we are about. And if not, then--why, you must take your +leave of us at night.” + +He didn’t know that, but for the dismalness of such a departure, it were +not just as well. Who could tell what eyes might be watching on shore? + +“You know I never pretended my plan was quite safe. But have you got +another?” + +I made no answer, because I had no other, and could not think of one. +Incredible as it may appear, not only my heart, but my mind, also, +in the awakened comprehension of my love, refused to grapple with +difficulties. My thoughts raced ahead of ships and pursuing men, into +a dream of cloudless felicity without end. And I don’t think Sebright +expected any suggestion from me. This took place during one of our busy +talks--only he and I--alone in his cabin. He had been washing his hands, +making ready for tea. + +“Do you know,” he said, turning full on me, and wiping his fingers +carefully with a coarse towel--“do you know, I shouldn’t wonder if that +schooner were not keeping watch on us, in suspicion of just some such +move on our part. ’Tis extraordinary how clever the greatest fool may +show himself sometimes. Only, with their lubberly Spanish seamanship, +they would expect us, probably, to make a whole ceremony of your +landing: ship hove to for hours close in shore, a boat going off to land +and returning, and all such pother. ‘We are sure to see their little +show,’ they think to themselves. Eh? What? Whereas we shall keep well +clear of the land when the time comes, and drop you in the dark without +as much check on our way as there is in the wink of an eye. Hey?... +Mind, Mr. Kemp, you take the boat out of sight up that little river, in +case they should have a fancy, as they go along after us, to peep into +that inlet. As I have said it wouldn’t do to trust too much in any +fool’s folly.” + +And now the time was approaching; the time to awake and step forth out +of the temple of sunshine and love--of whispers and silences. It had +come. The night before both Williams and Sebright had been on deck, +working the ship with an anxious care to take the utmost advantage of +every favouring flaw in the contrary breeze. In the morning I was told +there was a norther brewing. A norther is a tempestuous gale. I saw no +signs of it. The realm of the sun, like the vanished one of the stars, +appeared to my senses to be profoundly asleep, and breathing as gently +as a child upon the ship. The _Lion_, too, seemed to lie wrapped in an +enchanted slumber from the water-line to the tops of her upright masts. +And yet she moved with the breath of the world, but so imperceptibly +that it was the coast that seemed to be nearing her like a line of +low vapour blown along the water. Between Williams and Sebright Castro +pointed with his one arm, and a splutter of guttural syllables fell like +hail out of his lips. The other two seemed incredulous. He stamped with +both his feet angrily. Finally they went below together, to look at the +chart, I suppose. They came up again very fast, one after another, and +stood in a row, looking on as before. Three more dissimilar human beings +it would have been difficult to imagine. + +Dazzling white patches, about the size of a man’s hand, came out between +sky and water. They grew in width, and ran together with a hummocky +outline into a continuous undulation of sand-dunes. Here and there this +rampart had a gap like a breach made by guns. Mrs. Williams, behind me, +blew her nose faintly; her eyes were red, but she did not look at us. +No eye was turned our way, and the spell of the coast was on her, too. A +low, dark headland broke out to view through the dunes, and stood +there conspicuous amongst the heaps of dazzling sand, like a small man +frowning. A voice on deck pronounced: + +“That’s right. Here’s his landmark. The fellow knew very well what he +was talking about.” + +It was Sebright’s voice, and Castro, strolling away triumphantly, +affected to turn his back on the land. He had recognized the formation +of the coast about the inlet long before anybody else could distinguish +the details. His word had been doubted. He was offended, and passed us +by, wrapping himself up closely. One of Seraphina’s locks blew against +my cheek, and this last effort of the breeze remained snared in the +silken meshes of her hair. + +“There’s not enough wind to fill the sail of a toy boat,” grumbled +Sebright; “and you can’t pull this heavy gig ashore with only that +one-armed man at the other oar.” He was sorry he could not send us off +with four good rowers. The norther might be coming on before they could +return to the ship, and--apart from the presence of four English sailors +on the coast being sure to get talked about--there was the difficulty +in getting them back on board in Havana. We could, no doubt, smuggle +ourselves in; but six people would make too much of a show. On the other +hand, the absence of four men out of the ship’s company could not be +accounted for very well to the authorities. “We can’t say they all died, +and we threw them overboard. It would be too startling. No; you must go +alone, and leave us at the first breath of wind; and that, I fear, ’ll +be the first of the norther, too.” + +He threw his head back, and hailed, “Do you see anything of that +schooner from aloft there?” + +“Nothing of her, sir,” answered a man perched, with dangling feet, +astride the very end of the topsail yard-arm. He paused, scanned +the space from under the flat of his hand, and added, shouting with +deliberation, “There’s--a--haze--to seaward, sir.” The ship, with her +decks sprinkled over with men in twos and threes, sent up to his ears a +murmur of satisfaction. + +If we could not see her, she could not see us. This was a favourable +circumstance. To the infinite gratification of everyone on board, it +had been discovered at daylight that the schooner had lost touch with +us during the hours of darkness--either through unskillful handling, +or from some accidental disadvantage of the variable wind. I had been +informed of it, directly I showed myself on deck in the morning, by +several men who had radiant grins, as if some great piece of luck had +befallen them, one and all. They shared their unflagging attention +between the land and the sea-horizon, pointing out to each other, +with their tattooed arms, the features of the coast, nodding knowingly +towards the open. At midday most of them brought out their dinners on +deck, and could be seen forward, each with a tin plate in the left hand, +gesticulating amicably with clasp knives. A small white handkerchief +hung from Mrs. Williams’ fingers, and now and then she touched her eyes +lightly, one after the other. Her husband and Sebright, with a grave +mien, stamped busily around the binnacle aft, changing places, making +way for each other, stooping in turns to glance carefully along the +compass card at the low bluff, like two gunners laying a piece of +heavy ordnance for an important shot. The steward, emerging out of the +companion, rang a handbell violently, and remained scared at the failure +of that appeal. After waiting for a moment, he produced a further feeble +tinkle, and sank down out of sight, with resignation. + +A white sun, as if blazing with the pallor of fury, swung past the +zenith in a profound and universal stillness. There was not a wrinkle on +the sea; it presented a lustrous and glittering level, like the +polished facet of a gem. In the cabin we sat down to the meal, not even +pretending a desire to eat, exchanging vague phrases, hanging our heads +over the empty plates. But the regular footsteps of the boatswain +left in charge hesitated, stopped near the skylight. He said in an +imperfectly assured voice, “Seems as if there was a steadier draught +coming now.” At this we rose from the table impetuously, as though he +had shouted an alarm of fire, and Mrs. Williams, with a little cry, ran +round to Seraphina. Leaving the two women locked in a silent embrace, +the captain, Sebright and myself hurried out on deck. + +Every man in the ship had done the same. Even the shiny black cook had +come out of his galley, and was already comfortably seated on the rail, +baring his white teeth to the sunshine. + +“Just about enough to blow out a farthing dip,” said Sebright, in a +disappointed mutter. + +He thought, however, we had better not wait for more. There would be too +much presently. Some sailors hauled the boat alongside, the rest lined +the rail as for a naval spectacle, and Williams stared blankly. We were +waiting for Seraphina, who appeared, attended by Mrs. Williams, looking +more kind, bloodless, and ascetic than ever. But my girl’s cheeks +glowed; her eyes sparkled audaciously. She had done up her hair in some +way that made it fit her head like a cap. It became her exceedingly, and +the decision of her movements, the white serenity of her brow, dazzled +me as if I had never seen her before. She seemed less childlike, older, +ripe for this adventure in a new development of strength and courage. +She inclined her head slowly at the gaping sailors, who had taken their +caps off. + +As soon as she appeared, Castro, who had been leaning against the +bulwark, started up, and with a muttered “_Adios, Señores_,” went down +the overside ladder and ensconced himself in the bow of the boat. The +leave-taking was hurried over. Williams gave no sign of feeling, except, +perhaps, for the greater intensity of his stare, which passed beyond our +shoulders in the very act of handshaking. Sebright helped Seraphina down +into the boat, and ran up again nimbly. Mrs. Williams, with her slim +hand held in both mine, uttered a few incoherent words--about men’s +promises and the happiness of women, as I thought; but, truth to say, +my own suppressed excitement was too considerable for close attention. +I only knew that I had given her my confidence, that complete and utter +confidence which neither wisdom nor power alone, can command. And, +suddenly, it occurred to me that the heiress of a splendid name and +fortune, down in the boat there, had no better friend in the world than +this woman, who had come to us out of the waste of the sea, opening her +simple heart to our need, like a pious and naive hermit in a wilderness +throwing open the door of his cell to strange wayfarers. + +“Mrs. Williams,” I stammered. “If we--if I--there’s no saying what may +happen to any of us. If she ever comes to you--if she ever is in want of +help....” + +“Yes, yes. Always, always--like my own daughter.” + +And the good woman broke down, as if, indeed, I were taking her own +daughter away. + +“Nonsense, Mary!” Williams advanced, muttering tremendously. “They are +not going round the world. Dare say get ashore in time for supper.” + +He stared through her without expression, as if she had been thin air, +but she seized his arm, of course, and he gave me, then, an amazingly +rapid wink which, I suppose, meant that I should go.... + +“All right there?” asked Sebright from above, as soon as I had taken my +seat in the stern sheets by the side of Seraphina. He was standing on +the poop deck ready with a sign for letting go the end of our painter +on deck; but before I could answer in the affirmative, Castro, ensconced +forward under his hat, drew his ready blade across the rope, as it were +a throat. + +At once a narrow strip of water opened between the boat and the ship, +and our long-prepared departure, hastened thus by half a second, seemed +to strike everybody dumb with surprise, as if we had taken wings to +ourselves to fly away. Hastily I grasped the tiller to give the boat a +sheer, and heard a sort of loud gasp in the air above. A row of heads, +posed on chins all along the rail, stared after us with unanimous +fixity. Mrs. Williams averted her face on her husband’s shoulder. Behind +the couple, Sebright raised his cap gravely. + +Our little sail filled to a breeze which was much too feeble to produce +a perceptible effect on the ship, and we left behind us her towering +form, as one recedes from a tall white spire on a plain. I laid the +boat’s head straight for the dwarf headland, marking the mouth of the +inlet on the interminable range of sand-dunes. We drove on with a smart +ripple, but before we felt sufficiently settled to exchange a few words +the animated sound languished suddenly, paused altogether, and, with +a renewed murmur under our feet seemed to lose itself below the glassy +waters. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +The calm had returned. The sea, changing from the warm glitter of a +gem, and attuned to the grays and blacks of space, resembled a monstrous +cinder under a sky of ashes. + +The sun had disappeared, smothered in these clouds that had formed +themselves all at once and everywhere, like some swift corruption of +the upper air. For the best part of the afternoon the ship and the boat +remained lying at right angles, within half a mile of each other. What +light was left in the world, cut off from the source of life, seemed to +sicken with a strange decay. The long stretch of sands and the sails of +the motionless vessel stood out lividly pale in universal gloom. And +yet the state of the atmosphere was such that we could see clear-cut the +very folds in the steep face of the dunes, and the figures of the people +moving on the poop of the _Lion_. There was always somebody there that +had the aspect of watching us. Then, with some excitement, we saw them +on board haul up the mainsail and lower the gig. + +The four oars beat the sombre water, rising and falling apparently +in the same place. She was an interminable time coming on, but as she +neared us I was surprised at her dashing speed. Sebright, who steered, +laid her alongside smartly, and two of his men, clambering over without +a word, lowered our lug at once. + +“We came to reef your sail for you. You couldn’t manage that very well +with a one-armed crew,” said the young mate quietly in the enormous +stillness. In his opinion, we couldn’t expect now any wind till the +first squall came down. This flurry, as he called it, would send us in +smoking, and he was sure it would help the ship, as well, into Havana, +in about twenty-four hours. He didn’t think that it would come _very_ +heavy at first; and, once landed, we need not care how hard it blew. + +He tendered me over the gunwale a pocket-flask covered with leather, +and with a screwed silver stopper in the shape of a cup. It was from the +captain; full of prime rum. We were pretty sure to get wet. He thrust, +also, into my hands a gray woollen shawl. Mrs. Williams thought my young +lady might be glad of it at night. “The dear old woman has shut herself +up inside their stateroom, and is praying for you now,” he concluded. +“Look alive, boys.” + +His men did not answer him, but at some words he addressed to Castro, +the latter, in the bows and looking at the coast, growled with a surly +impatience. He was perfectly sure of the entrance. Had been in and out +several times. Yes. At night, too. Sebright then turned to me. After +all, it was not so difficult. The inlet bore due south from us, and the +wind would come true from the north. Always did in these bursts. I had +only to keep dead before it. “The clouds will light you in at the last,” + he added meaningly, glancing upwards. + +The two sailors, having finished reefing, hoisted, lowered, and hoisted +again the yard to see that the gear ran clear, and without one look +at us, stepped back into the gig, and sat down in their places. For a +moment longer we lay together, touching sides. Sebright extended his +hand from boat to boat. + +“You are in God’s care now, Kemp,” he said, looking up at me, and with +an unexpected depth of feeling in his tone. “Take no turn with the sheet +on any account, and if you feel it coming too heavy, let fly and chance +it. Did I tell you we have sighted the schooner from aloft? No? We can +just make her out from the main-yard away astern under the land. That +don’t matter now.... Señorita, I kiss your hands.” He liked to air his +Spanish.... “Keep cool whatever happens. Dead before it--mind. And count +on sixteen days from to-morrow. Well. No more. Give way, boys.” + +He never looked back. We watched the boat being hoisted and secured. +Shortly afterwards, as we were observing the Lion shortening sail, the +first of the rain descended between her and us like a lowered veil. +For a time she remained mistily visible, dark and gaunt with her bared +spars. The downpour redoubled; she disappeared; and our hearts were +stirred to a faster beat. + +The shower fell on us, around us, descending perpendicularly, with a +steady force; and the thunder rolled far off, as if coming from under +the sea. Sometimes the muffled rumbling stopped, and let us hear plainly +the gentle hiss and the patter of the drops falling upon a vast expanse. +Suddenly, mingled with a loud detonation right over our heads, a burst +of light outlined under the bellying strip of our sail the pointed crown +of Castro’s hat, reposing on a heap of black clothing huddled in the +bows. The darkness swallowed it all. I swung Seraphina in front of me, +and made her sit low on the stern sheets beneath my feet. A lot of foam +boiled up around the boat, and we had the sensation of having been sent +flying from a catapult. + +Everything was black--perfectly black. At intervals, headlong gusts of +rain swept over our heads. I suppose I did keep sufficiently cool, but +in every flash of lightning the wind, the sea, the clouds, the rain, and +the boat appeared to rush together thundering upon the coast. The line +of sands, bordered with a belt of foam, zigzagged dazzlingly upon an +earth as black as the clouds; only the headland, with every vision, +remained sombre and unmoved. At last it rose up right before the boat. +Blue lightning streamed on a lane of tumbling waters at its foot. Was +this the entrance? With the vague notion of shortening sail, I let the +sheet go from my hand. There was a jerk, the crack of snapped wood, +and the next flash showed me Castro emerging from the ruins of mast and +sail. He uprose, hurling the wreck from him overboard, then flickered +out of sight with his arm waving to the left, and I bore accordingly +on the tiller. In a moment I saw him again, erect forward, with the arm +pointing to the right, and I obeyed his signal. The clouds, straining +with water and fire, were, indeed, lighting us on our way. A wave +swelled astern, chasing us in; rocking frightfully, we glanced past a +stationary mass of foam--a sandbar--breakers.... It was terrible.... +Suddenly, the motion of the boat changed, and the flickers of lightning +fell into a small, land-locked basin. The wind tore deep furrows in +it, howling and scuffling behind the dunes. Spray flew from the whole +surface, the entire pool of a bay seemed to heave bodily upwards, and +I saw Castro again, with his face to me this time. His black cloak was +blowing straight out from his throat, his mouth yawned wide; he +shouted directions, but in an instant darkness sealed my eyes with its +impenetrable impress. It was impossible to steer now; the boat swung and +reeled where she listed; a violent shock threw me sideways off my seat. +I felt her turning over, and, gathering Seraphina in my arms, I leaped +out before she capsized. I leaped clear out into shallow water. + +I should never in my life have thought myself capable of such a feat, +and yet I did it with assurance, with no effort that I can remember. +More than that--I managed, after the leap, to keep my feet in the +clinging, staggering clutch of water charged with sand, which swirled +heavily about my knees. It kept on hurling itself at my legs from +behind, while I waded across the narrow strip of sand with an inspired +firmness of step defying all the power of the elements. I felt the +harder ground at last, but not before I had caught a momentary glimpse +of a black and bulky object tumbling over and over in the advancing and +withdrawing liquid flurry of the beach. + +“Sit still here on the ground,” I shouted to Seraphina, though flights +of spray enveloped us completely. “I am going back for Castro.” + +I faced about, putting my head down. He had been undoubtedly knocked +over; and an old man, with only one hand to help himself with, ran a +very serious risk of being buffeted into insensibility, and thus coming +to his death in some four feet of water. The violent glare disclosed a +body, entangled in a cloak, rolling about helplessly between land and +water, as it were. I dashed on in the dark; a wave went over my head +as I stooped, nearly waist-deep, groping. His rotary motion, in that +smother, made it extremely difficult to obtain any sort of hold. A +little more, and he would have knocked my legs from under me, but it +was as if my grim determination were by itself of a saving nature. He +submitted to being hauled up the beach, passively, like a sack. It was +a heavy drag on the sand; I felt him bump behind me on the edge of the +harder ground, and a deluge fell uninterruptedly from above. He lay +prone on his face, like a corpse, between Seraphina and myself. We could +not remain there, however. + +But where to go? What to do? In what direction to look for a refuge? Was +there any shelter near by? How were we to reach it? How were we to +move at all? No doubt he had expired; and the earth, swept, deluged, +glimmering fiercely and devastated with an awful uproar, appeared no +longer habitable. A thunder-clap seemed to crash new life into him; +the world flared all round, as if turning to a spark, and he was seen +sitting up dazedly, like one called up from the dead. Through it all he +had preserved his hat. + +It was fixed firmly down under his chin with a handkerchief, the +side rims over his ears like flaps, and, for the rest, presenting the +appearance of a coal-scuttle bonnet behind, as well as in front. We +followed its peculiar aspect. Driving on under this indestructible +headgear, he flickered in and out of the world, while, with entwined +arms and leaning back against the wind with all our might, Seraphina +and myself were borne along in his train. He knew of a shelter; and this +knowledge, perhaps, and also his evident familiarity with the topography +of the country, made him appear indomitably confident in the storm. + +A small plain of coarse grass was bounded by the steep spur of a rise. +To the left a little river would burst, all at once, in all its windings +into a bluish sulphurous glow; and between the crashes of thunder there +was heard the long-drawn, whistling swish of the rushes and cane-brakes +springing on the boggy ground. We skirted the rise. The rain beat +against it; the lightning showed its streaming and furrowed surface. +We stumbled in the gusts. We felt under our feet, mud, sand, rocky +inequalities of the ground, and the moving stones in the bed of a +torrent, which broke headlong against our ankles. The entrance of a deep +ravine opened. + +Its lower sides palpitated with the ceaseless tossing of dwarf trees +and bushes; and, motionless above the sombre tumult of the slopes, the +monumental stretch of bare rock rose on high, level at the top, and +emitting a ghastly yellow sheen in the flashes. The thunderclaps rolled +ponderously between the narrowing walls of that chasm, that was all +aflame one moment, and all black the next. A torrent springing at its +head, and dashing with inaudible fury along the bottom, seemed to gleam +placidly amongst the rounded forms of inky bushes and pale boulders +below our path. Enormous eddies of wind from above made us stop short +and totter breathless, clinging to each other. + +Castro sustained Seraphina on the other side; but frequently he had +to leave us and move ahead, looking for the way. There was, in fact, a +half-obliterated path winding along the less steep of the two sides; and +we struggled after our guide with the unthinking fortitude of despair. +He was being disclosed to us so suddenly, extinguished so swiftly, that +he appeared, always, as if motionless and posturing in a variety of +climbing attitudes. The rise of the bottom was very steep, and the last +hundred yards really stiff. We did them practically on our hands and +knees. The dislodged stones bounded away from under our feet, unheard, +like puff-balls. + +At the top I tried to make of my body a shelter for Seraphina. The wind +howled and roared over us. “Up! _Vamos!_ The worst is yet before us,” + shrieked Castro in my ear. + +What could he mean by this? The play of lightning opened to view only +a vast and rolling upland. Fire flowed in sheets undulating with the +expanses of long grass amongst the trees, here and there, in coal-black +clumps, and flashed violently against a low edge of forests very dark +and far away. + +“Let us go!” he cried. “Courage, Señorita!” + +Courage! The populace said of her that she had never needed to put +her foot to the ground. If courage consists, for a being so tender, in +toiling and enduring without faltering and plaint,--even to the very +limit of physical power,--then she was the most courageous woman in the +world, as she was the most charming, most faithful, most generous, and +the most worthy of love. I tried not to think of her racked limbs, for +the very pain and pity of it. We retraced our steps, but now following +the edge of that precipice out of which we had emerged. I had +peremptorily insisted on carrying her. She put her arms round my neck +and, to my uplifted heart, she weighed no heavier than a feather. +Castro, grasping my arm, guided my steps and gave me support against the +wind. + +There was a distinct lull. Even the thunder had rolled away, dwindling +to a deep mutter. Castro fell on his knees in front of me. + +“It is here,” I heard him scream. + +I set Seraphina down. A hooked dart of fire tore in two the thick canopy +of clouds. I started back from the edge. + +“What! Here?” I yelled. + +“Señor--_Si!_ There is a cavern below....” + +I had seen a ledge clinging to the face of the rock. + +It was a cornice inclining downwards upon the wall of the precipice, as +you see, sometimes, a flight of stairs built against the outside wall of +a house. And it resembled a stair roughly, with long, sloping steps, wet +with rain. + +“_Por Dios_, Señor, do not let us stay to think here, or we shall perish +in this tempest.” + +He howled, gesticulated, shrieked with all the strength of his lungs. +He knew these tornadoes. Brute beasts would be found lying dead in the +fields in the morning. This was the beginning only. The lightning +showed his kneeling form, the eager upturned face, and a finger pointing +urgently into the abyss. The wind was nothing! Nothing to what would +come after. As he shrieked these words I was feeling the crust of the +earth vibrate, absolutely vibrate, under the soles of my feet, with the +sound of thunder. + +He unfastened his cloak, and was seen to struggle above his head with +the hovering and flapping cloth, as though he had captured a black and +pugnacious bird. We mastered at last a corner each, and then we started +to twist the whole, as if to wring the water out. We produced, thus, a +sort of short rope, the thickness of a cable, and the descent began. + +“Do not look behind you. Do not look,” Castro screeched. + +The first downward steps were terrible, but as soon as our heads had +sunk below the level of the plain it was better, for we had turned about +to the rock, moving sideways, cautiously, one step at a time, as +if inspecting its fractured roughness for traces of a mysterious +inscription. Castro, with one end of the twisted cloak in his hand, +went first; I held the other; and between us, Seraphina, the rope at her +back, imitated our movements, with her loosened hair flying high in +the wind, and her pale, rigid head as if deaf to the crashes. I saw +the drawn stillness of her face, her dilated eyes staring within three +inches of the strata. The strain on our prudence was tremendous. The +knowledge of the precipice behind must have affected me. Explain it as +you will, several times during that descent I felt my brain slip away +from my control, and suggest a desire to fling myself over backwards. +The twigs of the bushes, growing a little below the outer edge of the +path, swished at my calves. Castro stopped. The cornice ended as a +broken stairway hangs upon nothing. A tall, narrow arch stood back in +the rock, with a sill three feet high at least. Castro clambered over; +his head and torso, when he turned about, were lighted up blindingly +between the inner walls at every flash. Seeing me lay hold of Seraphina, +he yelled: + +“Señor, mind! It’s death if you stagger back.” + +I lifted her up, and put her over like a child; and, no sooner in +myself, felt my strength leave all my limbs as water runs out of an +overturned vessel. I could not have lifted up a child’s doll then. +Directly, with a wild little laugh, she said to me: + +“Juan--I shall never dare come out.” + +I hugged her silently to my breast. + +Castro went ahead. It was a narrow passage; our elbows touched the sides +all the way. He struck at his flint regularly, sparks streamed down from +his hand; we felt a freshness, a sense of space, as though we had come +into another world. His voice directed us to turn to the left, then +cried in the dark, “Stand still.” A blue gleam darted after us, and +retired without having done anything against the tenebrous body of +gloom, and the thunder rolled far in, unobstructed, in leisurely, +organ-like peals, as if through an amazingly vast emptiness of a temple. +But where was Castro? We heard snappings, rustlings, mutters; sparks +streamed, now here, now there. We dared not move. There might have been +steep ridges--deep holes in that cavern. And suddenly we discovered him +on all-fours, puffing out his cheeks above a small flame kindled in a +heap of dry sticks and leaves. + +It was an abode of darkness, enormous, without sonority. Feeble currents +of air, passing on our faces, gave us a feeling of being in the open air +on a night more black than any known night had been before. One’s voice +lost itself in there without resonance, as if on a plain; the smoke of +our blaze drove aslant, scintillating with red sparks, and went trailing +afar, as if under the clouds of a starless sky. Ultimately, it must have +escaped through some imperceptible crevices in the roof of rock. In +one place, only, the light of the fire illuminated a small part of the +rugged wall, where the shadows of our bodies would surge up, repeating +our movements, and suddenly be gone from our sight. Everywhere else, +pressing upon the reflection of the flames, the blind darkness of the +vault might have extended away for miles and miles. + +Castro thought it probable. He made me observe the incline of the floor. +It sloped down deep and far. For miles, no doubt. Nobody could tell; +no one had seen the end of it. This cavern had been known of old. +This brushwood, these dead leaves, that would make a couch for her +Excellency, had been stored for years--perhaps by men who had died +long ago. Look at the dry rot. These large piles of branches were found +stacked up when he first beheld this place. _Caramba!_ What toil! What +fatigue! Let us thank the saints, however. + +Nevertheless, he shook his head at the strangeness of it. His cloak, +spread out wide, was drying in the light, while he busied himself with +his hat, turning it before the blaze in both hands, tenderly; and his +tight little figure, lit up in front from head to foot, steamed from +every limb. His round, plump shoulders and gray-shock head smoked +quietly at the top. Suddenly, the fine mesh of wrinkles on his face ran +together, shrinking like a torn cobweb; a spasmodic sound, quite new to +me, was heard. He had laughed. + +The warmth of the fire had penetrated our chilled bodies with a feeling +of comfort and repose. Williams’ flask was empty; and this was a new +Castro, mellowed, discoursive, almost genial. It was obvious to me that, +had it not been for him, we two, lost and wandering in the storm, should +have died from exposure and exhaustion--from some accident, perhaps. +On the other hand I had indubitably saved his life, and he had already +thanked me in high-flown language; very grave, but exaggerating the +horrors of his danger, as a woman might have done for the better +expression of gratitude. He had been greatly shocked. Spaniards, as a +race, have never, for all their conquests, been on intimate terms with +the sea. As individuals I have often observed in them, especially in the +lower classes, a sort of dread, a dislike of salt water, mingled with +contempt and fear. + +Castro, lifting up his right arm, protested that I had given a proof +of very noble devotion in rushing back for an old man into that black +water. Ough! He shuddered. He had given himself up--_por Dios!_ He +hinted that, at his age, he could not have cared much for life; but +then, drowning in the sea was a death abhorrent to an old Christian. You +died brutally--without absolution, and unable, even, to think of your +sins. He had had his mouth filled with horrid, bitter sand, too. Tfui! +He gave me a thousand thanks. But these English were wonderful in their +way.... Ah! _Caramba!_ They were.... + +A large protuberance of the rocky floor had been roughly chipped into +the semblance of a seat, God only knows by what hands and in what +forgotten age. Seraphina’s inclined pose, her torn dress, the wet +tresses lying over her shoulders, her homeless aspect, made me think of +a beautiful and miserable gipsy girl drying her hair before a fire. A +little foot advanced, gleamed white on the instep in front of the ruddy +glare; her clasped fingers nursed one raised knee; and, shivering no +longer, her head drooping in still profile, she listened to us, frowning +thoughtfully upon the flames. + +In the guise of a beggar-maid, and fair, like a fugitive princess of +romance, she sat concealed in the very heart of her dominions. This +cavern belonged to her, as Castro remarked, and the bay of the sea, and +the earth above our heads, the rolling upland, herds of cattle, fields +of sugar-cane--even as far as the forest away there; the forest itself, +too. And there were on that estate, alone, over two hundred Africans, +he was able to tell us. He boasted of the wealth of the Riegos. Her +Excellency, probably, did not know such details. Two hundred--certainly. +The estate of Don Vincente Salazar was on the other side of the river. +Don Vincente was at present suffering the indignity of a prison for +a small matter of a quarrel with another _caballero_--who had died +lately--and all, he understood, through the intrigues of the prior of +a certain convent; the uncle, they said, of the dead _caballero_. Bah! +There was something to get. These fat friars were like the lean wolves +of Russia--hungry for everything they could see. Never enough, _Cuerpo +de Bios!_ Never enough! Like their good friend who helped them in their +iniquities, the Juez O’Brien, who had been getting rich for years on the +sublime generosity of her Excellency’s blessed father. In the greatness +of his nobility, Don Balthasar of holy memory had every right to be +obstinate.... _Basta!_ He would speak no more; only there is a saying in +Castile that fools and obstinate people make lawyers rich.... + +“_Vuestra Señoria_,” he cried, checking himself, slapping his breast +penitently, “deign to forgive me. I have been greatly exalted by the +familiarity of the two last men of your house--allowed to speak freely +because of my fidelity.... Alas! Alas!” + +Seraphina, on the other side of the fire, made a vague gesture, and took +her chin in her hand without looking at him. + +“Patience,” he mumbled to himself very audibly. “He is rich, this +picaro, O’Brien. But there is, also, a proverb--that no riches shall +avail in the day of vengeance.” + +Noticing that we had begun to whisper together, he threw himself before +the fire, and was silent. + +“Promise me one thing, Juan,” murmured Seraphina. + +I was kneeling by the side of her seat. + +“By all that’s holy,” I cried, “I shall force him to come out and fight +fair--and kill him as an English gentleman may.” + +“Not that! Not that!” she interrupted me. She did not mean me to do +that. It was what she feared. It would be delivering myself into that +man’s hands. Did I think what that meant? It would be delivering her, +too, into that man’s power. She would not survive it. And if I desired +her to live on, I must keep out of O’Brien’s clutches. + +“In my thoughts I have bound my life to yours, Juan, so fast that the +stroke which cuts yours, cuts mine, too. No death can separate us.” + +“No,” I said. + +And she took my head in her hands, and looked into my eyes. + +“No more mourning,” she whispered rapidly. “No more. I am too young to +have a lover’s grave in my life--and too proud to submit....” + +“Never,” I protested ardently. “That couldn’t be.” + +“Therefore look to it, Juan, that you do not sacrifice your life which +is mine, either to your love--or--or--to revenge.” She bowed her head; +the falling hair concealed her face. “For it would be in vain.” + +“The cloak is perfectly dry now, Señorita,” said Castro, reclining on +his elbow on the edge of the darkness. + +We two stepped out towards the entrance, leaving her on her knees, +in silent prayer, with her hands clasped on her forehead, and leaning +against the rugged wall of rock. Outside, the earth, enveloped in fire +and uproar, seemed to have been given over to the fury of a devil. + +Yes. She was right. O’Brien was a formidable and deadly enemy. I wished +ourselves on board the _Lion_ chaperoned by Mrs. Williams, and in the +middle of the Atlantic. Nothing could make us really safe from his +hatred but the vastness of the ocean. Meantime we had a shelter, for +that night, at least, in this cavern that seemed big enough to contain, +in its black gloom of a burial vault, all the dust and passions and +hates of a nation.... + +Afterwards Castro and I sat murmuring by the diminished fire. He had +much to say about the history of this cave. There was a tradition that +the ancient buccaneers had held their revels in it. The stone on which +the senorita had been sitting was supposed to have been the throne of +their chief. A ferocious band they were, without the fear of God or +devil--mostly English. The Rio Medio picaroons had used this cavern, +occasionally, up to a year or so ago. But there were always ugly affairs +with the people on the estate--the _vaqueros_. In his younger days Don +Balthasar, having whole leagues of grass land here, had introduced a +herd of cattle; then, as the Africans are useless for that work, he +had ordered some peons from Mexico to be brought over with their +families--ignorant men, who hardly knew how to make the sign of the +cross. The quarrels had been about the cattle, which the _Lugareños_ +killed for meat. The peons rode over them, and there were many wounds +on both sides. Then, the last time a Rio Medio schooner was lying here +(after looting a ship outside), there was some gambling going on (they +played round this very stone), and Manuel--(_Si, Señor_, this same +Manuel the singer--_Bestia!_)--in a dispute over the stakes, killed a +peon, striking him unexpectedly with a knife in the throat. No vengeance +was taken for this, because the _Lugareños_ sailed away at once; but the +widow made a great noise, and some rumours came to the ears of Don +Balthasar himself--for he, Castro, had been honoured with a mission to +visit the estate. That was even the first occasion of Manuel’s hate for +him--Castro. And, as usual, the Intendente after all settled the matter +as he liked, and nothing was done to Manuel. Don Balthasar was old, and, +besides, too great a noble to be troubled with the doings of such +vermin.... And Castro began to yawn. + +At daybreak--he explained--he would start for the _hacienda_ early, and +return with mules for Seraphina and myself. The buildings of the estate +were nearly three leagues away. All this tract of the country on the +side of the sea was very deserted, the sugar-cane fields worked by the +slaves lying inland, beyond the habitations. Here, near the coast, +there were only the herds of cattle ranging the _savannas_ and the peons +looking after them, but even they sometimes did not come in sight of the +sea for weeks together. He had no fear of being seen by anybody on his +journey; we, also, could start without fear in daylight, as soon as he +brought the mules. For the rest, he would make proper arrangements for +secrecy with the husband of Seraphina’s nurse--Enrico, he called him: a +silent Galician; a graybeard worthy of confidence. + +One of his first cares had been to grub out of his soaked clothes +a handful of tobacco, and now he turned over the little drying heap +critically. He hunted up a fragment of maize leaf somewhere upon his +bosom. His face brightened. “_Bueno_,” he muttered, very pleased. + +“Señor--good-night,” he said, more humanized than I had supposed +possible; or was it only that I was getting to know him better? “And +thanks. There’s that in life which even an old tired man.... Here I, +Castro... old and sad, Señor. Yes, Señor--nothing of mine in all the +world--and yet.... But what a death! Ouch! the brute water... _Caramba!_ +Altogether improper for a man who has escaped from a great many battles +and the winter of Russia.... The snow, Señor....” + +He drowsed, garrulous, with the blackened end of his cigarette hanging +from his lower lip, swayed sideways--and let himself go over gently, +pillowing his head on the stump of his arm. The thin, viperish blade, +stuck upwards from under his temple, gleamed red before the sinking +fire. + +I raised a handful of flaring twigs to look at Sera-phina. A terrible +night raged over the land; the inner arch of the opening growled, +winking bluishly time after time, and, like an enchanted princess +enveloped in a beggar’s cloak, she was lying profoundly asleep in the +heart of her dominions. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +The first thing I noted, on opening my eyes, was that Castro had +gone already; I was annoyed. He might have called me. However, we had +arranged everything the evening before. The broad day, penetrating +through the passage, diffused a semicircle of twilight over the +flooring. It extended as far as the emplacement of the fire, black and +cold now with a gray heap of ashes in the middle. Farther away in the +darkness, beyond the reach of light, Seraphina on her bed of leaves did +not stir. But what was that hat doing there? Castro’s hat. It asserted +its existence more than it ever did on the head of its master; black and +rusty, like a battered cone of iron, reposing on a wide flange near the +ashes. Then he was not gone. He would not start to walk three leagues, +bare-headed. He would appear presently; and I waited, vexed at the loss +of time. But he did not appear. “Castro,” I cried in an undertone. The +leaves rustled; Seraphina sat up. + +We were pleased to be with each other in an inexpugnable retreat, to +hear our voices untinged by anxiety; and, going to the outer end of the +short passage, we breathed with joy the pure air. The tops of the bushes +below glittered with drops of rain, the sky was clear, and the sun, to +us invisible, struck full upon the face of the rock on the other side +of the ravine. A great bird soared, all was light and silence, and we +forgot Castro for a time. I threw my legs over the sill, and sitting on +the stone surveyed the cornice. The bright day robbed the ravine of half +its horrors. The path was rather broad, though there was a frightful +sheer drop of ninety feet at least. Two men could have walked abreast on +that ledge, and with a hand-rail one would have thought nothing of it. +The most dangerous part yet was at the entrance, where it ended in a +rounded projection not quite so wide as the rest. I bantered Seraphina +as to going out. She said she was ready. She would shut her eyes, and +take hold of my hand. Englishmen, she had heard, were good at climbing. +Their heads were steady. Then we became silent. There were no signs +of Castro. Where could he have gone? What could he be doing? It was +unimaginable. + +I grew nervous with anxiety at last, and begged Seraphina to go in. +She obeyed without a word, and I remained just within the entrance, +watching. I had no means to tell the time, but it seemed to me that an +hour or two passed. Hadn’t we better, I thought, start at once on foot +for the _hacienda?_ I did not know the way, but by descending the ravine +again to the sea, and walking along the bank of the little river, I was +sure to reach it. The objection to this was that we should miss Castro. +Hang Castro! And yet there was something mysterious and threatening in +his absence. Could he--could he have stepped out for some reason in the +dark, perhaps, and tumbled off the cornice? I had seen no traces of a +slip--there would be none on the rock; the twigs of the growth below the +edge would spring back, of course. But why should he fall? The footing +was good--however, a sudden attack of vertigo.... I tried to look at it +from every side. He was not a somnambulist, as far as I knew. And there +was nothing to eat--I felt hungry already--or drink. The want of water +would drive us out very soon to the spring bubbling out at the head +of the ravine, a mile in the open. Then why not go at once, drink, and +return to our lair as quickly as possible? + +But I did not like to think of her going up and down the cornice. I +remembered that we had a flask, and went in hastily to look for it. +First, I looked near the hat; then, Seraphina and I, bent double with +our eyes on the ground examined every square inch of twilight; we even +wandered a long way into the darkness, feeling about with our hands. +It was useless! I called out to her, and then we desisted, and coming +together, wondered what might have become of the thing. He had taken +it--that was clear. + +But if, as one might suppose, he had taken it away to get some water +for us, he ought to have been back long before. I was beginning to feel +rather alarmed, and I tried to consider what we had better do. It was +necessary to learn, first, what had become of him. Staring out of the +opening, in my perplexity, I saw, on the other side of the ravine, the +lower part of a man from his waist to his feet. + +By crouching down at once, I brought his head into view. This was not +Castro. He wore a black sombrero, and on his shoulder carried a gun. He +turned his back on the ravine, and began to walk straight away, sinking +from my sight till only his hat and shoulders remained visible. He +lifted his arm then--straight up--evidently as a signal, and waited. +Presently another head and shoulders joined him, and they glided across +my line of sight together. But I had recognized their bandit-like aspect +with infinite consternation. _Lu-garenos!_ + +I caught Seraphina’s hand. My first thought was that we should have to +steal out of the cavern with the first coming of darkness. Castro must +be lying low in hiding somewhere above. The thing was plain. We must try +to make our way to the _hacienda_ under the cover of the night, unseen +by those two men. Evidently they were emissaries sent from Rio Medio to +watch this part of the coast against our possible landing. I was to +be hunted down, it seems: and I reproached myself bitterly with the +hardships I was bringing upon her continually. Thinking of the fatigues +she had undergone--(I did not think of dangers--that was another +thing--the romance of dying together like all the lovers in the +tradition of the world)--I shook with rage and exasperation. The firm +pressure of her hands calmed me. She was content. But what if they took +it into their heads to come into the cavern? + +The emptiness of the blue sky above the sheer yellow rock opposite was +frightful. It was a mere strip, stretched like a luminous bandage over +our eyes. They were, perhaps, even now on their way round the head of +the ravine. I had no weapon except the butt of my pistol. The charges +had been spoilt by the salt water, of course, and I had been tempted to +fling it out of my belt, but for the thought of obtaining some powder +somewhere. And those men I had seen were armed. At once we abandoned the +neighbourhood of the entrance, plunging straight away into the profound +obscurity of the cave. The rocky ground under our feet had a gentle +slope, then dipped so sharply as to surprise us; and the entrance, +diminishing at our backs, shone at last no larger than the entrance of +a mouse-hole. We made a few steps more, gropingly. The bead of +light disappeared altogether when we sat down, and we remained there +hand-in-hand and silent, like two frightened children placed at the +centre of the earth. There was not a sound, not a gleam. Sera-phina bore +the crushing strain of this perfect and black stillness in an almost +heroic immobility; but, as to me, it seemed to lie upon my limbs, to +embarrass my breathing like a numbness full of dread; and to shake that +feeling off I jumped up repeatedly to look at that luminous bead, that +point of light no bigger than a pearl in the infinity of darkness. And +once, just as I was looking, it shut and opened at me slowly, like the +deliberate drooping and rising of the lid upon a white eyeball. + +Somebody had come in. + +We watched side by side. Only one. Would he go out? The point of +light, like a white star setting in a coal-black firmament, remained +uneclipsed. Whoever had entered was in no haste to leave. Moreover, we +had no means of telling what another obscuring of the light might mean; +a departure or another arrival. There were two men about, as we knew; +and it was even possible that they had entered together in one wink +of the light, treading close upon each other’s heels. We both felt the +sudden great desire to know for certain. But, especially, we needed to +find out if perchance this was not Castro who had returned. We could +not afford to lose his assistance. And should he conclude, we were +out--should he risk himself outside again, in order to find us and be +discovered himself, and thus lost to us when we felt him so necessary? +And the doubt came. If this man was Castro, why didn’t he penetrate +further, and shout our names? He ought to have been intelligent enough +to guess.... And it was this doubt that, making suspense intolerable, +put us in motion. + +We circled widely in that subterranean darkness, which, unlike the +darkest night on the surface of the earth, had no suggestion of shape, +no horizon, and seemed to have no more limit than the darkness of +infinite space. On this floor of solid rock we moved with noiseless +steps, like a pair of timid phantoms. The spot of light grew in size, +developed a shape--stretching from a pearly bead to a silvery thread; +and, approaching from the side, we scanned from afar the circumscribed +region of twilight about the opening. There was a man in it. We +contemplated for a time his rounded back, his drooping head. It was +gray. The man was Castro. He sat rocking himself sorrowfully over +the ashes. He was mourning for us. We were touched by this silent +faithfulness of grief. + +He started when I put my hand on his shoulder, looked up, then, instead +of giving any signs of joy, dropped his head again. + +“You managed to avoid them, Castro?” I said. + +“Señor, behold. Here I am. I, Castro.” + +His tone was gloomy, and after sitting still for a while under our gaze, +he slapped his forehead violently. He was in his tantrums, I judged, +and, as usual, angry with me--the cause of every misfortune. He was +upset and annoyed beyond reason, as I thought, by this new difficulty. +It meant delay--a certain measure of that sort of danger of which we had +thought ourselves free for a time--night travelling for Seraphina. But +I had an idea to save her this. We did not all want to go. Castro could +start, alone, for the _hacienda_ after dark, and bring, besides the +mules, half a dozen peons with him for an escort. There was nothing +really to get so upset about. The danger would have been if he had let +himself be caught. But he had not. As to his temper, I knew my man; +he had been amiable too long. But by this time we were so sure of +his truculent devotion that Seraphina spoke gently to him, saying how +anxious we had been--how glad we were to see him safe with us.... +He would not be conciliated easily, it seemed, and let out only a +blood-curdling dismal groan. Without looking at her, he tried hastily +to make a cigarette. He was very clever at it generally, rolling it +with one hand on his knee somehow; but this time all his limbs seemed +to shake, he lost several pinches of tobacco, dropped the piece of maize +leaf. Seraphina, stooping over his shoulder, took it up, twisted the +thing swiftly. “Take, _amigo_,” she said. + +He was looking up at her, as if struck dumb, roiling his eye wildly. He +jumped up. + +“You--Señorita! For a miserable old man! You break my heart.” + +And with long strides he disappeared in the darkness, leaving us +wondering. + +We sat side by side on the couch of leaves. With Castro there I felt +we were quite equal to dealing with the two Lugareños if they had the +unlucky idea of intruding upon us. Indeed, a vigilant man, posted on one +side of the end of the passage, could have disputed the entrance against +ten, twenty, almost any number, as long as he kept his strength and had +something heavy enough to knock them over. Faint sounds reached me, as +if at a great distance Castro had been shouting to himself. I called to +him. He did not answer, but unexpectedly his short person showed itself +in the brightest part of the light. + +“Señor!” he called out with a strange intonation. I got up and went +to him. He seemed to be listening intently with his ear turned to the +opening. Then suddenly: + +“Look at me, Señor. Am I Castro--the same Castro? old and friendless?” + +He stood biting his forefinger and looking up at me from under his +knitted eyebrows. I didn’t know what to say. What was this nonsense? + +He ejaculated a sort of incomprehensible babble, and, passing by me, +rushed towards Seraphina; she sat up, startled, on her couch of leaves. +Falling before her on his plump knees, he seized her hand, pressed it +against his ragged moustache. + +“Excellency, forgive me! No--no forgiveness! Ha! old man! Ha--thou old +man....” + +He bowed before her shadowy figure, that sustained the pale oval of +the face, till his forehead struck the rock. Plunging his hand into the +ashes, he poured a fistful with inarticulate low cries over his gray +hairs; and the agitation of that obese little body on its knees had a +lamentable and grotesque inconsequence, as inexplicable in itself as +the sorrow of a madman. Full of wonder before his abject collapse, she +murmured: + +“What have you done?” + +He tried to fling himself upon her feet, but my hand was in his collar, +and after an unmerciful shaking, I sat him down by main force. He +gulped, blinked the whites of his eyes, then, in a whisper full of rage: + +“Horror, shame, misery, and malediction; I have betrayed you.” + +At once she said soothingly, “Tomasr I do not believe this”; while I +thought to myself: How? Why? For what reason? In what manner betrayed? +How was it possible? And, if so, why did he come back to us? But, as +things stood, he would never dare approach a Lugareño. If he had, they +would never have let him go again. + +“You told them we were here?” I asked, so perfectly incredulous that I +was not at all surprised to hear him protest, by all the saints, that +he never did--never would do. Never. Never.... But why should he? Was he +the prey of some strange hallucination? Rocking himself, he struck his +breast with his clenched hand, then suddenly caught at his hair and +remained perfectly motionless. Minutes passed; this despairing +stillness inspired in me a feeling of awe at last--the awe of something +inconceivable. My head buzzed so with the effort to think that I had the +illusions of faint murmurs in the cave, the very shadows of murmurs. +And all at once a real voice--his voice--burst out fearfully rapid and +voluble. + +He had really gone out to get a provision of water. Waking up early, +he saw us sleeping, and felt a great pity for the senorita. As to the +_caballero_--his saviour from drowning, alas!--the senorita would need +every ounce of his strength. He would let us sleep till his return from +the spring; and, there being a blessed freshness in the air, he caught +up the flask and started bare-headed. The sun had just risen. Would to +God he had never seen it! After plunging his face in the running water, +he remained on his knees and busied himself in rinsing and filling the +flask. The torrent, gushing with force, made a loud noise, and after he +had done screwing the top on, he was about to rise, when, glancing about +carelessly, he saw two men leaning on their _escopetas_ and looking at +him in perfect silence. They were standing right over him; he knew +them well; one they called El Rubio; the other, the little one, was +José--squinting José. They said nothing; nothing at all. With a sudden +and mighty effort he preserved his self-command, affected unconcern and, +instead of getting up, only shifted his pose to a sitting position, took +off his shoes and stockings, and proceeded to bathe his feet. But it was +as if a blazing fire had been kindled in his breast, and a tornado had +been blowing in his head. + +He could not tell whence these two had come, with what object, or how +much they knew. They might have been only messengers from Rio Medio to +Havana. They generally went in couples. If Manuel had escaped alive +out of the sea, everything was known in Rio Medio. From where he sat he +beheld the empty, open sea over the dunes, but the edge of the upland, +cleft by many ravines (of which the one we had ascended was the +deepest), concealed from him the little basin and the inlet. He was +certain these men had not come up that way. They had approached him over +the plain. But there was more than one way by which the upland could +be reached from below. The thoughts rushed round and round his head. +He remembered that our boat must be floating or lying stranded in the +little bay, and resolved, in case of necessity, to say that we two were +dead, that we had been drowned. + +It was El Rubio who put the very question to him, in an insolent tone, +and sitting on the ground out of his reach, with his gun across his +knees. His long knife ready in his hand, squinting José remained +standing over Castro. Those two men nodded to each other significantly +at the intelligence. He perceived that they were more than half disposed +to credit his story. They had nearly been drowned themselves pursuing +that accursed heretic of an Englishman. When, from their remarks, he +learned that the schooner was in the bay, he began putting on his shoes, +though the hope of making a sudden dash for his life down the ravine +abandoned him. + +The schooner had been run in at night during the gale, and in such +distress that they let her take the ground. She was not injured, +however, and some of them were preparing to haul her off. Our boat, as +I conceived, after bumping along the beach, had drifted within the +influence of the current created by the little river, or else by the +water forced into the basin by the tempest, seeking to escape, and had +been carried out towards the inlet. She was seen at daylight, knocking +about amongst the breakers, bottom up, and in such shallow water that +three or four men wading out knee-deep managed to turn her over. They +had found Mrs. Williams’ woollen shawl and my cap floating underneath. +At the same time the broken mast and sail were made out, tossing upon +the waves, not very far off to seaward. That the boat had been in the +bay at all did not seem to have occurred to them. It had been concluded +that she had capsized outside the entrance. It was very possible that +we had been drowned under her. Castro hastened to confirm the idea by +relating how he had been clinging to the bottom of the boat for a long +time. Thus he had saved himself, he declared. + +“Manuel will be glad,” observed El Rubio then, with an evil laugh. And +for a long time nobody said a word. + +El Rubio, cross-legged, was observing him with the eyes of a basilisk, +but Castro swore a great oath that, as to himself, he showed no signs +of fear. He looked at the water gushing from the rock, bubbling up, +sparkling, running away in a succession of tiny leaps and falls. Why +should he fear? Was he not old, and tired, and without any hope of peace +on earth? What was death? Nothing. It was absolutely nothing. It comes +to all. It was rest after much vain trouble--and he trusted that, +through his devotion to the Mother of God, his sins would be forgiven +after a short time in purgatory. But, as he had made up his mind not +to fall into Manuel’s hands, he resolved that presently he would stab +himself to the heart, where he sat--over this running water. For it +would not be like a suicide. He was doomed, and surely God did not want +his body to be tormented by such a devil as Manuel before death. + +He would lean far over before he struck his faithful blade into his +breast, so as to fall with his face in the water. It looked deliciously +cool, and the sun was heavy on his bare head. Suddenly, El Rubio sprang +to his feet, saying: + +“Now, José.” + +It is clear that these ruffians stood in awe of his blade. In their +cowardly hearts they did not think it quite safe (being only two to one) +to try and disarm that old man. They backed away a step or two, and, +levelling their pieces, suddenly ordered him to get up and walk before. +He threw at them an obscene word. He thought to himself, “_Bueno!_ They +will blow my head off my shoulders.” No emotion stirred in him, as if +his blood had already ceased to run in his veins. They remained, all +three, in a state of suspended animation, but at last El Rubio hissed +through his teeth with vexation, and grunted: + +“Attention, José. Take aim. We will break his legs and take away the +sting of this old scorpion.” + +Castro’s blood felt chilly in his limbs, but instead of planting +his knife in his breast, he spoke up to ask them where, supposing he +consented, they wished to conduct him. + +“To Manuel--our captain. He would like to embrace you before you die,” + said El Rubio, advancing a stride nearer, his gun to his shoulder. “Get +up! March!” + +And Castro found himself on his feet, looking straight into the black +holes of the barrels. + +“Walk!” they exclaimed together, stepping upon him. + +The time had come to die. + +“Ha! _Canalla!_” he said. + +They made a menacing clamour, “Walk _viejo_, traitor; walk.” + +“Señorita--I walked.” The heartrending effort of the voice, the +trembling of this gray head, the sobs under the words, oppressed our +breast with dismay and dread. Ardently he would have us believe that +at this juncture he was thinking of us only--of us wondering, alone, +ignorant of danger, and hidden blindly under the earth. His purpose was +to provoke the two _Luga-reños_ to shoot, so that we should be warned by +the reports. Besides, an opportunity for escape might yet present itself +in some most unlikely way, perhaps at the very last moment. Had he not +his own life in his own hands? He cared not for it. It was in his power +to end it at any time. And there would be dense thickets on the way; +long grass where one could plunge suddenly--who knows! And overgrown +ravines where one could hide--creep under the bushes--escape--and return +with help.... But when he faced the plains its greatness crushed his +poor strength. The uncovered vastness imprisoned him as effectually as +a wall. He knew himself for what he was: an old man, short of breath, +heavy of foot; nevertheless he walked on hastily, his eyes on the +ground. The footsteps of his captors sounded behind him, and he tried to +edge towards the ravine. When nearly above the opening of the cavern he +would, he thought, swerve inland, and dash off as fast as he was able. +Then they would have to fire at him; we would be sure to hear the shots, +the warning would be clear... and suddenly, looking up, he saw that a +small band of _Lugareños_, having just ascended the brow of the upland, +were coming to meet him. Now was the time to get shot; he turned +sharply, and began to run over that great plain towards a distant clump +of trees. + +Nobody fired at him. He heard only the mingled jeers and shouts of the +two men behind, “Quicker, Castro; quicker!” They followed him, holding +their sides. Those ahead had already spread themselves out over the +plain, yelling to each other, and were converging upon him. That was +the time to stop, and with one blow fall dead at their feet. He doubled +round in front of Manuel, who stood waving his arms and screeching +orders, and ran back towards the ravine. The plain rang with furious +shouts. They rushed at him from every side. He would throw himself over. +It was a race for the precipice. He won it. + +I suppose he found it not so easy to die, to part with the warmth of +sunshine, the taste of food; to break that material servitude to life, +contemptible as a vice, that binds us about like a chain on the limbs of +hopeless slaves. He showered blows upon his chest, sitting before us, he +battered with his fist at the side of his head till I caught his arm. We +could always sell our lives dearly, I said. He would have to defend the +entrance with me. We two could hold it till it was blocked with their +corpses. + +He jumped up with a derisive shriek; a cloud of ashes flew from under +his stumble, and he vanished in the darkness with mad gesticulations. + +“Their corpses--their corpses--their... Ha! ha! ha!” + +The snarling sound died away; and I understood, then, what meant this +illusion of ghostly murmurs that once or twice had seemed to tremble +in the narrow region of gray light around the arch. The sunshine of the +earth, and the voices of men, expired on the threshold of the eternal +obscurity and stillness in which we were imprisoned, as if in a grave +with inexorable death standing between us and the free spaces of the +world. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +For it meant that. Imprisoned! Castro’s derisive shriek meant that. And +I had known it before. He emerged back out of the black depths, with +livid, swollen features, and foam about his mouth, to splutter: + +“Their corpses, you say.... Ha! Our corpses,” and retreated again, where +I could only hear incoherent mutters. + +Seraphina clutched my arm. “Juan--together--no separation.” + +I had known it, even as I spoke of selling our lives dearly. They could +only be surrendered. Surrendered miserably to these wretches, or to the +everlasting darkness in which Castro muttered his despair. I needed not +to hear this ominous and sinister sound--nor yet Seraphina’s cry. She +understood, too. They would never come down unless to look upon us +when we were dead. I need not have gone to the entrance of the cave +to understand all the horror of our fate. The _Lugareños_ had already +lighted a fire. Very near the brink, too. + +It was burning some thirty feet above my head; and the sheer wall on the +other side caught up and sent across into my face the crackling of +dry branches, the loud excited talking, the arguments, the oaths, the +laughter; now and then a very shriek of joy. Manuel was giving orders. +Some advanced the opinion that the cursed _Inglez_, the spy who came +from Jamaica to see whom he could get for a hanging without a priest, +was down there, too. So that was it! O’Brien knew how to stir their +hate. I should get a short shrift. “He was a fiend, the _Inglez_: look +how many of us he has killed!” they cried; and Manuel would have loved +to cut my flesh, in small pieces, off my bones--only, alas! I was now +beyond his vengeance, he feared. However, somebody was left. + +He must have thrown himself flat, with his head over the brink, for his +yell of “Castro!” exploded, and rolled heavily between the rocks. + +“Castro! Castro! Castro!” he shouted twenty times, till he set the whole +ravine in an uproar. He waited, and when the clamour had quieted down +amongst the bushes below, called out softly, “Do you hear me, Castro, my +victim? Thou art my victim, Castro.” + +Castro had crept into the passage after me. He pushed his head beyond my +shoulder. + +“I defy thee, Manuel,” he screamed. + +A hubbub arose. “He’s there! He is there!” + +“Bravo, Castro,” Manuel shouted from above. “I love thee because thou +art my victim. I shall sing a song for thee. Come up. Hey! Castro! +Castro! Come up.... No? Then the dead to their grave, and the living to +their feast.” + +Sometimes a little earth, detached from the layer of soil covering the +rock, would fall streaming from above. The men told off to guard the +cornice walked to and fro near the edge, and the confused murmur of +voices hung subdued in the air of the cleft, like a modulated tremor. +Castro, moaning gently, stumbled back into the cave. + +Seraphina had remained sitting on the stone seat. The twilight rested +on her knees, on her face, on the heap of cold ashes at her feet. But +Castro, who had stood stock-still, with a hand to his forehead, turned +to me excitedly: + +“The peons, _for Dios!_” Had I ever thought of the peons belonging to +the _estancia?_ + +Well, that was a hope. I did not know exactly how matters stood between +them and the _Lugareños_. There was no love lost. A fight was likely; +but, even if no actual collision took place, they would be sure to visit +the camp above in no very friendly spirit; a chance might offer to make +our position known to these men, who had no reason to hate either me +or Castro--and would not be afraid of thwarting the miserable band of +ghouls sitting above our grave. How our presence could be made known +I was not sure. Perhaps simply by shouting with all our might from the +mouth of the cave. We could offer rewards--say who we were, summon them +for the service of their own Señorita. But, probably, they had never +heard of her. No matter. The news would soon reach the _hacienda_, and +Enrico had two hundred slaves at his back. One of us must always remain +at the mouth of the cave listening to what went on above. There would +be the trampling of horses’ hoofs--quarrelling, no doubt--anyway, much +talk--new voices--something to inform us. Only, how soon would they +come? They were not likely to be riding where there were no cattle. Had +Castro seen any signs of a herd on the uplands near by? + +His face fell. He had not. There were many _savannas_ within the belt +of forests, and the herds might be miles away, stampeded inland by the +storm. Sitting down suddenly, as if overcome, he averted his eyes and +began to scratch the rock between his legs with the point of his blade. + +We were all silent. How long could we wait? How long could people +live?... I looked at Seraphina. How long could she live?... The +thought seared my heart like a hot iron. I wrung my hands stealthily. + +“Ha! my blade!” muttered Castro. “My sting.... Old scorpion! They did +not take my sting away.... Only--bah!” + +He, a man, had not risen to the fortitude of a venomous creature. He was +defeated. He groaned profoundly. Life was too much. It clung to one. A +scorpion--an insect--within a ring of flames, would lift its sting +and stab venom into its own head. And he--Castro--a man--a man, _por +Dios_--had less firmness than a creeping thing. Why--why, did he not +stab this dishonoured old heart? + +“Señorita,” he cried agonizingly, “I swear I did shout to them to +fire--so--in to my breast--and then...” + +Seraphina leaned over him pityingly. + +“Enough, Castro. One lives because of hope. And grieve not. Thy death +would have done no good.” + +Her face had a splendid pallor, the radiant whiteness and majesty of +marble; it had never before appeared to me more beautiful: and her hair +unrolling its dark undulations, as if tinged deep with the funereal +gloom of the background, covered her magnificently right down to her +elbows. Her eyes were incredibly profound. Her person had taken on an +indefinable beauty, a new beauty, that, like the comeliness that comes +from joy, love, or success, seemed to rise from the depths of her being, +as if an unsuspected and sombre quality of her soul had responded to the +horror of our situation. The fierce trials had gradually developed her, +as burning sunshine opens the bud of a flower; and I beheld her now in +the plenitude of her nature. From time to time Castro would raise up to +her his blinking old eyes, full of timidity and distress. + +He had not been young enough to throw himself over--he had worn the +chain for too many years, had lived well and softly too long, was too +old a slave. And yet--if he had had the courage of the act! Who knows? +I rejected the thought far from me. It returned, and I caught myself +looking at him with irritated eyes. But this first day passed not +intolerably. We ignored our sufferings. Indeed, I felt none for my part. +We had kept our thoughts bound to the slow blank minutes. And if we +exchanged a few words now and then, it was to speak of patience, of +resolution to endure and to hope. + +At night, from the hot ravine full of shadows, came the cool fretting +of the stream. The big blaze they kept up above crackled distinctly, +throwing a fiery, restless stain on the face of the rock in front of the +cave, high up under the darkness and the stars of the sky--and a pair +of feet would appear stamping, the shadow of a pair of ankles and feet, +fantastic, sustaining no gigantic body, but enormous, tramping slowly, +resembling two coffins leaping to a slow measure. I see them in my +dreams now, sometimes. They disappeared. + +Manuel would sing; far in the night the monotonous staccato of the +guitar went on, accompanying plaintive murmurs, outbursts of anger and +cries of pain, the tremulous moans of sorrow. My nerves vibrated, I +broke my nails on the rock, and seemed to hear once more the parody of +all the transports and of every anguish, even to death--a tragic and +ignoble rendering of life. He was a true artist, powerful and scorned, +admired with derision, obeyed with jeers. It was a song of mourning; he +sat on the brink with his feet dangling over the precipice that sent him +back his inspired tones with a confused noise of sobs and desolation.... +His idol had been snatched from the humility of his adoring silence, +like a falling star from the sight of the worm that crawls.... He +stormed on the strings; and his voice emerged like the crying of a +castaway in the tumult of the gale. He apostrophized his instrument.... +Woe! Woe! No more songs. He would break it. Its work was done. He +would dash it against the rock.... His palm slapped the hollow wood +furiously.... So that it should lie shattered and mute like his own +heart! + +A frenzied explosion of yells, jests, and applause covered the finale. + +A complete silence would follow, as if in the acclamations they had +exhausted at once every bestial sound. Somebody would cough pitifully +for a long time--and when he had done spluttering and cursing, the world +outside appeared lost in an even more profound stillness. The red stain +of the fire wavered across to play under the dark brow of the rock. The +irritated murmur of the torrent, tearing along below, returned timidly +at first, expanded, filled the ravine, ran through my ears in an angry +babble. The deadened footfalls on the brink sometimes dislodged a +pebble: it would start with a feeble rattle and be heard no more. + +In the daytime, too, there were silences up there, perfect, profound. No +prowl of feet disturbed them; the sun blazed between the rocks, and even +the hum of insects could be heard. It seemed impossible not to believe +that they had all died by a miracle, or else had been driven away by a +silent panic. But two or more were always on the watch, directly above, +with their heads over the edge; and suddenly they would begin to talk +together in drowsy tones. It was as if some barbarous somnambulists had +mumbled in the daytime the bizarre atrocity of their thoughts. + +They discussed Williams’ flask, which had been picked up. Was the cup +made of silver, they wondered. Manuel had appropriated it for his own +use, it seems. Well--he was the _capataz_. The _Inglez_, should he +appear by an impossible chance, was to be shot down at once; but Castro +must be allowed to give himself up. And they would snigger ferociously. +Sometimes quarrels arose, very noisy, a great hubbub of bickerings +touching their jealousies, their fears, their unspeakable hopes of +murder and rapine. They did not feel very safe where they were. Some +would maintain that Castro could not have saved himself, alone. The +_Inglez_ was there, and even the senorita herself... Manuel scouted the +idea with contempt. He advanced the violence of the storm, the fury of +the waves, the broken mast, the position of the boat. How could they +expect a woman!.... No. It was as his song had it. And he defended his +point of view angrily, as though he could not bear being robbed of that +source of poetical inspiration. He emitted profound sighs and superb +declamations. + +Castro and I listened to them at the mouth of the cave. Our tongues were +dry and swollen in our mouths, there was the pressure of an iron clutch +on our windpipes, fire in our throats, and the pangs of hunger that tore +at us like iron pincers. But we could hear that the bandits above were +anxious to be gone; they had but very few charges for their guns, and it +was apparent that they were afraid of a collision with the peons of the +_hacienda_. Glaring at each other with bloodshot, uncertain eyes, Castro +and I imagined longingly a vision of men in _ponchos_ spurring madly out +of the woods, bent low, and swinging _riatas_ over the necks of their +horses--with the thunder of the galloping hoofs in the cave. Seraphina +had withdrawn further into the darkness. And, with a shrinking fear, I +would join her, to eat my heart out by the side of her tense and mute +contemplation. + +Sometimes Manuel would begin again, “Castro! Castro! Castro!” till he +seemed to stagger the rocks and disturb the placid sunshine with an +immense wave of sound. He called upon his victim to drink once more +before he died. Long shrieks of derision rent the air, as if torn out +of his breast by far greater torments than any his fancy delighted to +invent. There was something terrible and weird in the abundance of words +screeched continuously, without end, as if in desperation. No wonder +Castro fled from the passage. And Seraphina and I, within, would be +startled out of our half-delirious state by the sudden appearance of +that old man, disordered, sordid, with a white beard sprouting, who +wandered, weeping aloud in the twilight. + +More than once I would stagger off far away into the depths of the +cavern in an access of rage, fling myself on the floor, bite my arms, +beat my head on the rock. I would give myself up. She must be saved from +this tortured death. She had said she would throw herself over if I left +her. But would she have the strength? It was impossible to know. For +days it seemed she had been lying perfectly still, on her side, one hand +under her wan cheek, and only answering “Juan” when I pronounced her +name. There was something awful in our dry whispers. They were lifeless, +like the tones of the dead, if the dead ever speak to each other across +the earth separating the graves. The moral suffering, joined to the +physical torture of hunger and thirst, annihilated my will in a measure, +but also kindled a vague, gnawing feeling of hostility against her. She +asked too much of me. It was too much. And I would drag myself back to +sit for hours, and with an aching heart look towards her couch from a +distance. + +My eyes, accustomed to obscurity, traced an indistinct and recumbent +form. Her forehead was white; her hair merged into the darkness which +was gathering slowly upon her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. She was +perfectly still. It was cruel, it was odious, it was intolerable to be +so still. This must end. I would carry her out by main force. She said +no word, but there was in the embrace of those arms instantly thrown +around my neck, in the feel of those dry lips pressed upon mine, in +the emaciated face, in the big shining eyes of that being as light as a +feather, a passionate mournfulness of seduction, a tenacious clinging to +the appointed fate, that suddenly overawed my movement of rage. I laid +her down again, and covered my face with my hands. She called out to +Castro. He reeled, as if drunk, and waited at the head of her couch, +with his chin dropped on his breast. “_Vuestra, Señoria_,” he muttered. + +“Listen well, Castro.” Her voice was very faint, and each word came +alone, as if shrunk and parched. “Can my gold--the promise of much +gold--you know these men--save the lives...?” + +He uttered a choked cry, and began to tremble, groping for her hand. + +“_Si, Señorita_. Excellency, _si_. It would. Mercy. Save me. I am too +old to bear this. Gold, yes; much gold. Manuel....” + +“Listen, Castro.... And Don Juan?” His head fell again. “Speak the +truth, Castro.” + +He struggled with himself; then, rattling in his throat, shrieked “No!” +with a terrible effort. “No. Nothing can save thy English lover.” +“Why?” she breathed feebly. He raged at her in his weakness. Why? +Because the order had gone forth; because they dared not disobey. +Because she had only gold in the palm of her hand, while Señor O’Brien +held all their lives in his. The accursed _Juez_ was for them like +death itself that walks amongst men, taking this one, leaving another. + +He was their life, and their law, and their safety, and their +death--and the _caballero_ had not killed him.... + +His voice seemed to wither and dry up gradually in his throat. He +crawled away, and we heard him chuckling horribly somewhere, like a +madman. Seraphina stretched out her hand. + +“Then, Juan--why not together--like this?” + +If she had the courage of this death, I must have even more. It was a +point of honour. I had no wish, and no right, to seek for some easier +way out of life. But she had a woman’s capacity for passive endurance, +a serenity of mind in this martyrdom confessing to something sinister in +the power of love that, like faith, can move mountains and order cruel +sacrifices. She could have walked out in perfect safety--and it was +that thought that maddened me. And there was no sleep; there were only +intervals in which I could fall into a delirious reverie of still lakes, +of vast sheets of water. I waded into them up to my lips. Never +further. They were smooth and cold as ice; I stood in them shivering and +straining for a draught, burning within with the fire of thirst, while +a phantom all pale, and with its hair streaming, called to me “Courage!” + from the brink in Seraphina’s voice. As to Castro, he was going mad. He +was simply going mad, as people go mad for want of food and drink. +And yet he seemed to keep his strength. He was never still. It was a +factitious strength, the restlessness of incipient insanity. Once, while +I was trying to talk with him about our only hope--the peons--he gave +me a look of such sombre distraction that I left off, intimidated, +to wonder vaguely at this glimpse of something hidden and excessive +springing from torments which surely could be no greater than mine. + +He had the strength, and sometimes he could find the voice, to hurl +abuse, curses, and imprecations from the mouth of the cave. Great shouts +of laughter exploded above, and they seemed to hold their breath to +hear more; or Manuel, hanging over, would praise in mocking, mellifluous +accents the energy of his denunciations. I tried to pull him away from +there, but he turned upon me fiercely; and from prudence--for all hope +was not dead in me yet--I left him alone. + +That night I heard him make an extraordinary sound chewing; at the same +time he was sobbing and cursing stealthily. He had found something to +eat, then! I could not believe my ears, but I began to creep towards +the sound, and suddenly there was a short, mad scuffle in the darkness, +during which I nearly spitted myself on his blade. At last, trembling in +every limb, with my blood beating furiously in my ears, I scrambled to +my feet, holding a small piece of meat in my hands. Instantly, without +hesitating, without thinking, I plunged my teeth into it only to fling +it far away from me with a frantic execration. This was the first sound +uttered since we had grappled. Lying prone near me, Castro, with a +rattle in his throat, tried to laugh. + +This was a supreme touch of Manuel’s art; they were pressed for time, +and he had hit upon that deep and politic invention to hasten the +surrender of his beloved victim. I nearly cried with the fiery pain +on my cracked lips. That piece of half-putrid flesh was salt--horribly +salt--salt like salt itself. Whenever they heard him rave and mutter at +the mouth of the cave, they would throw down these prepared scraps. It +was as if I had put a live coal into my mouth. + +“Ha!” he croaked feebly. “Have you thrown it away? I, too; the first +piece. No matter. I can no more swallow anything, now.” + +His voice was like the rustling of parchment at my feet. + +“Do not look for it, Don Juan. The sinners in hell.... Ha! Fiend. I +could not resist.” + +I sank down by his side. He seemed to be writhing on the floor +muttering, “Thirst--thirst--thirst.” His blade clicked on the rock; then +all was still. Was he dead? Suddenly he began with an amazingly animated +utterance. + +“Señor! For this they had to kill cattle.” + +This thought had kept him up. Probably, they had been firing shots. But +there was a way of hamstringing a stalked cow silently; and the plains +were vast, the grass on them was long; the carcasses would lie hidden +out of sight; the herds were rounded up only twice every year. His +despairing voice died out in a mournful fall, and again he was as still +as death. + +“No! I can bear this no longer,” he uttered with force. He refused to +bear it. He suffered too much. There was no hope. He would overwhelm +them with maledictions, and then leap down from the ledge. “_Adios, +Señor_.” + +I stretched out my arm and caught him by the leg. It seemed to me I +could not part with him. It would have been disloyal, an admission that +all was over, the beginning of the end. We were exhausting ourselves by +this sort of imbecile wrestling. Meantime, I kept on entreating him to +be a man; and at last I managed to clamber upon his chest. “A man!” he +sighed. I released him. For a space, unheard in the darkness, he seemed +to be collecting all his remaining strength. + +“Oh, those strange _Inglez!_ Why should I not leap? and whom do you love +best or hate more, me or the senorita? Be thou a man, also, and pray +God to give thee reason to understand men for once in thy life. Ha! +Enamoured woman--he is a fool! But I, Castro....” + +His whispering became appallingly unintelligible, then ceased, passing +into a moan. My will to restrain him abandoned me. He had brought this +on us. And if he really wished to give up the struggle.... + +“Señor,” he mumbled brokenly, “a thousand thanks. Br-r-r! Oh, the ugly +water--water--water--water--salt water--salt! You saved me. Why? Let God +be the Judge. I would have preferred a malignant demon for a friend. I +forgive you. _Adios!_ And---Her Excellency--poor Castro.... Ha! Thou old +scorpion, encircled by fire--by fire and thirst. No. No scorpion, alas! +Only a man--not like you--therefore--a Mass--or two--perhaps....” + +The freshness of the night penetrated through the arch, as far as the +faint twilight of the day. I heard his tearful muttering creep away from +my side. “Thirst--thirst--thirst.” I did not stir; and an incredulity, +a weariness, the sense of our common fate, mingled with an unconfessed +desire--the desire of seeing what would come of it--a desire that +stirred my blood like a glimmer of hope, and prevented me from making a +movement or uttering a whisper. If his sufferings were so great, who was +I to... Mine, too. I almost envied him. He was free. + +As if an inward obscurity had parted in two I looked to the very bottom +of my thoughts. And his action appeared like a sacrifice. It could +liberate us two from this cave before it was too late. He, he alone, was +the prey they had trapped. They would be satisfied, probably. Nay! There +could be no doubt. Directly he was dead they would depart. Ah! he wanted +to leap. He must not be allowed. Now that I understood perfectly what +this meant, I had to prevent him. There was no choice. I must stop him +at any cost. + +The awakening of my conscience sent me to my feet; but before I had +stumbled halfway through the passage I heard his shout in the open air, +“Behold me!” + +A man outside cried excitedly, “He is out!” + +An exulting tumult fell into the arch, the clash of twenty voices +yelling in different keys, “He is out--the traitor! He is out!” I was +too late, but I made three more hesitating steps and stood blinded. +The flaming branches they were holding over the precipice showered a +multitude of sparks, that fell disappearing continuously in the lurid +light, shutting out the night from the mouth of the cave. And in this +light Castro could be seen kneeling on the other side of the sill. + +With his fingers clutching the edge of the slab, he hung outwards, his +head falling back, his spine arched tensely, like a bow; and the red +sparks coming from above with the dancing whirl of snowflakes, vanished +in the air before they could settle on his face. + +“Manuel! Manuel!” + +They answered with a deep, confused growl, jostling and crowding on the +edge to look down into his eyes. Meantime I stared at the convulsive +heaving of his breast, at his upturned chin, his swelling throat. He +defied Manuel. He would leap. Behold! he was going to leap--to his own +death--in his own time. He challenged them to come down on the ledge; +and the blade of the maimed arm waved to and fro stiffly, point up, like +a red-hot weapon in the light. He devoted them to pestilence, to English +gallows, to the infernal powers: while all the time commenting +murmurs passed over his head, as though he had extorted their sinister +appreciation. + +“_Canalla!_ dogs, thieves, prey of death, vermin of hell--I spit on +you--like this!” + +He had not the force, nor the saliva, and remained straining mutely +upwards while they laughed at him all together, with something sombre, +and as if doomed in their derision.... “He will jump! No, he will not!” + “Yes! Leap, Castro! Spit, Castro!” “He will run back into the cave! +_Maladetta!_”... Manuel’s voiced cooed lovingly on the brink: + +“Come to us and drink, Castro.” + +I waited for his leap with doubt, with disbelief, in the helpless +agitation of the weak. Gradually he seemed to relax all over. + +“Drink deep; drink, and drink, and drink, Castro. Water. Clear water, +cool water. Taste, Castro!” + +He called on him in tones that were almost tender in their urgency, to +come and drink before he died. His voice seemed to cast a spell, like +an incantation, upon the tubby little figure, with something yearning in +the upward turn of the listening face. + +“Drink!” Manuel repeated the word several times; then, suddenly he +called, “Taste, Castro, taste,” and a descending brightness, as of a +crystal rod hurled from above, shivered to nothing on the upturned face. +The light disappearing from before the cave seemed scared away by the +inhuman discord of his shriek; and I flung myself forward to lick +the splash of moisture on the sill. I did not think of Castro, I had +forgotten him. I raged at the deception of my thirst, exploring with my +tongue the rough surface of the stone till I tasted my own blood. Only +then, raising my head to gasp, and clench my fists with a baffled and +exasperated desire, I noticed how profound was the silence, in which the +words, “Take away his sting,” seemed to pronounce themselves over the +ravine in the impersonal austerity of the rock, and with the tone of a +tremendous decree. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +He had surrendered to his thirst. What weakness! He had not thrown +himself over, then. What folly! One splash of water on his face had been +enough. He was contemptible; and lying collapsed, in a sort of tormented +apathy, at the mouth of the cave, I despised and envied his good +fortune. It could not save him from death, but at least he drank. I +understood this when I heard his voice, a voice altogether altered--a +firm, greedy voice saying, “More,” breathlessly. And then he drank +again. He was drinking. He was drinking up there in the light of the +fire, in a circle of mortal enemies, under Manuel’s gloating eyes. +Drinking! O happiness! O delight! What a miserable wretch! I clawed the +stone convulsively; I think I would have rushed out for my share if I +had not heard Manuel’s cruel and caressing voice: + +“How now? You do not want to throw yourself over, my Castro?” + +“I have drunk,” he said gloomily. + +I think they must have given him something to eat then. In my mind there +are many blanks in the vision of that scene, a vision built upon a few +words reaching me, suddenly, with great intervals of silence between, as +though I had been coming to myself out of a dead faint now and then. +A ferocious hum of many voices would rise sometimes impatiently, the +scrambling of feet near the edge; or, in a sinister and expectant +stillness, Manuel the artist would be speaking to his “beloved victim +Castro” in a gentle and insinuating voice that seemed to tremble +slightly with eagerness. Had he eaten and drunk enough? They had kept +their promises, he said. They would keep them all. The water had been +cool--and presently he, Manuel-del-Popolo, would accompany with his +guitar and his voice the last moments of his victim. Bursts of laughter +punctuated his banter. Ah! that Manuel, that Manuel! Some actually swore +in admiration. But was Castro really at his ease? Was it not good to eat +and drink? Had he quite returned to life? But, _Caramba, amigos_, what +neglect! The _caballero_ who has honoured us must smoke. They shouted +in high glee: “Yes. Smoke, Castro. Let him smoke.” I suppose he did; and +Manuel expounded to him how pleasant life was in which one could eat, +and drink, and smoke. His words tortured me. Castro remained mute--from +disdain, from despair, perhaps. Afterwards they carried him along clear +of the cornice, and I understood they formed a half-circle round him, +drawing their knives. Manuel, screeching in a high falsetto, ordered the +bonds of his feet to be cut. I advanced my head out as far as I dared; +their voices reached me deadened; I could only see the profound shadow +of the ravine, a patch of dark clear sky opulent with stars, and the +play of the firelight on the opposite side. The shadow of a pair of +monumental feet, and the lower edge of a cloak, spread amply like a +skirt, stood out in it, intensely black and motionless, right in front +of the cave. Now and then, elbowed in the surge round Castro, the guitar +emitted a deep and hollow resonance. He was tumultuously ordered to +stand up and, I imagine, he was being pricked with the points of +their knives till he did get on his feet. “Jump!” they roared all +together--and Manuel began to finger the strings, lifting up his voice +between the gusts of savage hilarity, mingled with cries of death. He +exhorted his followers to close on the traitor inch by inch, presenting +their knives. + +“He runs here and there, the blood trickling from his limbs--but in +vain, this is the appointed time for the leap....” + +It was an improvisation; they stamped their feet to the slow measure; +they shouted in chorus the one word “Leap!” raising a ferocious roar; +and between whiles the song of voice and strings came to me from a +distance, softened and lingering in a voluptuous and pitiless cadence +that wrung my heart, and seemed to eat up the remnants of my strength. +But what could I have done, even if I had had the strength of a giant, +and a most fearless resolution? I should have been shot dead before I +had crawled halfway up the ledge. A piercing shriek covered the guitar, +the song, and the wild merriment. + +Then everything seemed to stop--even my own painful breathing. Again +Castro shrieked like a madman: + +“Señorita--your gold. Señorita! Hear me! Help!” + +Then all was still. + +“Hear the dead calling to the dead,” sneered Manuel. + +An awestruck sort of hum proceeded from the Spaniards. Was the senorita +alive? In the cave? Or where? + +“Her nod would have saved thee, Castro,” said Manuel slowly. I got up. I +heard Castro stammer wildly: + +“She shall fill both your hands with gold. Do you hear, hombres? I, +Castro, tell you--each man--both hands------” + +He had done it. The last hope was gone now. And all that there remained +for me to do was to leap over or give myself up, and end this horrible +business. + +“She was a creature born to command the moon and the stars,” Manuel +mused aloud in a vibrating tone, and suddenly smote the strings with +emphatic violence. She could even stay his vengeance. But was it +possible! No, no. It could not be--and yet.... + +“Thou art alive yet, Castro,” he cried. “Thou hast eaten and drunk; life +is good--is it not, old man?--and the leap is high.” + +He thundered “Silence!” to still the excited murmurs of his band. If she +lived Castro should live, too--he, Manuel, said so; but he threatened +him with horrible tortures, with two days of slow dying, if he dared to +deceive. Let him, then, speak the truth quickly. + +“Speak, ‘viejo’. Where is she?” + +And at the opening, fifty yards away, I was tempted to call out, as +though I had loved Castro well enough to save him from the shame and +remorse of a plain betrayal. That the moment of it had come I could have +no doubt. And it was I myself, perhaps, who could not face the certitude +of his downfall. If my throat had not been so compressed, so dry with +thirst and choked with emotion, I believe I should have cried out and +brought them away from that miserable man with a rush. Since we were +lost, he at least should be saved from this. I suffered from his +spasmodic, agonized laugh away there, with twenty knives aimed at his +breast and the eighty-foot drop of the precipice at his back. Why did he +hesitate? + +I was to learn, then, that the ultimate value of life to all of us is +based on the means of self-deception. Morally he had his back against +the wall, he could not hope to deceive himself; and after Manuel had +cried again at him, “Where are they?” in a really terrible tone, I heard +his answer: + +“At the bottom of the sea.” + +He had his own courage after all--if only the courage not to believe in +Manuel’s promises. And he must have been weary of his life--weary enough +not to pay that price. And yet he had gone to the very verge, +calling upon Seraphina as if she could hear him. Madness of fear, no +doubt--succeeded by an awakening, a heroic reaction. And yet sometimes +it seems to me as if the whole scene, with his wild cries for help, had +been the outcome of a supreme exercise of cunning. For, indeed, he could +not have invented anything better to bring the conviction of our death +to the most sceptical of those ruffians. All I heard after his words had +been a great shout, followed by a sudden and unbroken silence. It seemed +to last a very long time. He had thrown himself over! It is like the +blank space of a swoon to me, and yet it must have been real enough, +because, huddled up just inside the sill, with my head reposing wearily +on the stone, I watched three moving flames of lighted branches carried +by men follow each other closely in a swaying descent along the path on +the other side of the ravine. They passed on downwards, flickering out +of view. Then, after a time, a voice below, to the left of the cave, +ascended with a hooting and mournful effect from the depths. + +“Manuel! Manuel! We have found him!... _Es muerte!_” + +And from above Manuel’s shout rolled, augmented, between the rocks. + +“_Bueno!_ Turn his face up--for the birds!” + +They continued calling to each other for a good while. The men below +declared their intention of going on to the sea shore; and Manuel +shouted to them not to forget to send him up a good rope early in the +morning. Apparently, the schooner had been refloated some time before; +many of the _Lugareños_ were to sleep on board. They purposed to set +sail early next day. + +This revived me, and I spent the night between Seraphina’s couch and the +mouth of the cave, keeping tight hold of my reason that seemed to lose +itself in this hope, in this darkness, in this torment. I touched her +cheek, it was hot--while her forehead felt to my fingers as cold as +ice. I had no more voice, but I tried to force out some harsh whispers +through my throat. They sounded horrible to my own ears, and she +endeavoured to soothe me by murmuring my name feebly. I believe she +thought me delirious. I tried to pray for my strength to last till I +could carry her out of that cave to the side of the brook--then let +death come. “Live, live,” I whispered into her ear, and would hear a +sigh so faint, so feeble, that it swayed all my soul with pity and fear, +“Yes, Juan.”... And I would go away to watch for the dawn from the mouth +of the cave, and curse the stars that would not fade. + +Manuel’s voice always steadied me. A languor had come over them above, +as if their passion had been exhausted; as if their hearts had been +saddened by an unbridled debauch. There was, however, their everlasting +quarrelling. Several of them, I understood, left the camp for the +schooner, but avoiding the road by the ravine as if Castro’s dead body +down there had made it impassable. And the talk went on late into the +night. There was some superstitious fear attached to the cave--a legend +of men who had gone in and had never come back any more. All they knew +of it was the region of twilight; formerly, when they used the shelter +of the cavern, no one, it seems, ever ventured outside the circle of +the fire. Manuel disdained their fears. Had he not been such a profound +politico, a man of stratagems, there would have been a necessity to go +down and see.... They all protested. + +Who was going down? Not they.... Their craven cowardice was amazing. + +He begged them to keep themselves quiet. They had him for _Capataz_ +now. A man of intelligence. Had he not enticed Castro out? He had never +believed there was any one else in there. He sighed. Otherwise Castro +would have tried to save his life by confessing. There had been nothing +to confess. But he had the means of making sure. A voice suggested that +the _Inglez_ might have withdrawn himself into the depths. These English +were not afraid of demons, being devils themselves; and this one was +fiendishly reckless. But Manuel observed, contemptuously, that a man +trapped like this would remain near the opening. Hope would keep him +there till he died--unless he rushed out like Castro-Manuel laughed, +but in a mournful tone: and, listening to the craven talk of their +doubts and fears, it seemed to me that if I could appear at one bound +amongst them, they would scatter like chaff before my glance It seemed +intolerable to wait; more than human strength could bear. Would the day +never come? A drowsiness stole upon their voices. + +Manuel kept watch. He fed the fire, and his incomplete shadow, projected +across the chasm, would pass and return, obscuring the glow that fell on +the rock. His footsteps seemed to measure the interminable duration of +the night. Sometimes he would stop short and talk to himself in low, +exalted mutters. A big bright star rested on the brow of the rock +opposite, shining straight into my eyes. It sank, as if it had plunged +into the stone. At last. Another came to look into the cavern. I watched +the gradual coming of a gray sheen from the side of Seraphina’s couch. +This was the day, the last day of pain, or else of life. Its ghostly +edge invaded slowly the darkness of the cave towards its appointed +limit, creeping slowly, as colourless as spilt water on the floor. I +pressed my lips silently upon her cheek. Her eyes were open. It seemed +to me she had a smile fainter than her sighs. She was very brave, but +her smile did not go beyond her lips. Not a feature of her face moved. +I could have opened my veins for her without hesitation, if it had not +been a forbidden sacrifice. + +Would they go? I asked myself. Through Castro’s heroism or through his +weakness, perhaps through both the heroism and the weakness of that man, +they must be satisfied. They must be. I could not doubt it; I could not +believe it. Everything seemed improbable; everything seemed possible. If +they descended I would, I thought, have the strength to carry her off, +away into the darkness. If there was any truth in what I had overheard +them saying, that the depths of the cavern concealed an abyss, we would +cast ourselves into it. + +The feeble, consenting pressure of her hand horrified me. They would +not come down. They were afraid of that place, I whispered to her--and +I thought to myself that such cowardice was incredible. Our fate was +sealed. And yet from what I had heard.... + +We watched the daylight growing in the opening; at any moment it might +have been obscured by their figures. The tormenting incertitudes of that +hour were cruel enough to overcome, almost, the sensations of thirst, +of hunger, to engender a restlessness that had the effect of renewed +vigour. They were like a nightmare; but that nightmare seemed to clear +my mind of its feverish hallucinations. I was more collected, then, than +I had been for the last forty-eight hours of our imprisonment. But I +could not remain there, waiting. It was absolutely necessary that I +should watch at the entrance for the moment of their departure. + +The morning was serenely cool and, in its stillness, their talk filled +with clear-cut words the calm air of the ravine. A party--I could not +tell how many--had already come up from the schooner in a great state +of excitement. They feared that their presence had, in some way, become +known to the peons of the _hacienda_. There was much abuse of a man +called Carneiro, who, the day before, had fired an incautious shot at +a fat cow on one of the inland _savannas_. They cursed him. Last +night, before the moon rose, those on board the schooner had heard the +whinnying of a horse. Somebody had ridden down to the water’s edge in +the darkness and, after waiting a while, had galloped back the way he +came. The prints of hoofs on the beach showed that. + +They feared these horsemen greatly. A vengeance was owing for the man +Manuel had killed; and I could guess they talked with their faces over +their shoulders. “And what about finding out whether the _Inglez_ was +there, dead or alive?” asked some. + +I was sure, now, that they would not come down in a body. It would +expose them to the danger of being caught in the cavern by the peons. +There was no time for a thorough search, they argued. + +For the first time that morning I heard Manuel’s voice, “Stand aside.” + +He came down to the very brink. + +“If the _Inglez_ is down there, and if he is alive, he is listening to +us now.” + +He was as certain as though he had been able to see me. He added: + +“But there’s no one.” + +“Go and look, Manuel,” they cried. + +He said something in a tone of contempt. The Voices above my head sank +into busy murmurs. + +“Give me the rope here,” he said aloud. + +I had a feeling of some inconceivable danger nearing me; and in my state +of weakness I began to tremble, backing away from the orifice. I had no +strength in my limbs. I had no weapons. How could I fight? I would +use my teeth. With a light knocking against the rock above the arch, +Williams’ flask, tied by its green cord to the end of a thick rope, +descended slowly, and hung motionless before the entrance. + +It had been freshly filled with water; it was dripping wet outside, and +the silver top, struck by the sunbeams, dazzled my eyes. + +This was the danger--this bait. And it seems to me that if I had had +the slightest inkling of what was coming, I should have rushed at it +instantly. But it took me some time to understand--to take in the idea +that this was water, there, within reach of my hand. With a great effort +I resisted the madness that incited me to hurl myself upon the flask. I +hung back with all my power. A convulsive spasm contracted my throat. I +turned about and fled out of the passage. + +I ran to Seraphina. “Put out your hand to me,” I panted in the darkness. +“I need your help.” + +I felt it resting lightly on my bowed head. She did not even ask me what +I meant; as if the greatness of her soul was omniscient. There was, in +that silence, a supreme unselfishness, the unquestioning devotion of a +woman. + +“Patience, patience,” I kept on muttering. I was losing confidence in +myself. If only I had been free to dash my head against the rock. I had +the courage for that, yet. But this was a situation from which there was +no issue in death. + +“We are saved,” I murmured distractedly. + +“Patience,” she breathed out. Her hand slipped languidly off my head. + +And I began to creep away from her side. I am here to tell the truth. I +began to creep away towards the flask. I did not confess this to myself; +but I know now. There was a devilish power in it. I have learned +the nature of feelings in a man whom Satan beguiles into selling his +soul--the horror of an irresistible and fatal longing for a supreme +felicity. And in a drink of water for me, then, there was a greater +promise than in universal knowledge, in unbounded power, in unlimited +wealth, in imperishable youth. What could have been these seductions to +a drink? No soul had thirsted after things unlawful as my parched throat +thirsted for water. No devil had ever tempted a man with such a bribe of +perdition. + +I suffered from the lucidity of my feelings. I saw, with indignation, my +own wretched self being angled for like a fish. And with all that, in +my forlorn state, I remained prudent. I did not rush out blindly. No. I +approached the inner end of the passage, as though I had been stalking +a wild creature, slowly, from the side. I crept along the wall of +the cavern, and protruded my head far enough to look at the fiendish +temptation. + +There it was, a small dark object suspended in the light, with the +yellow rock across the ravine for a background. The silver top shivered +the sunbeams brilliantly. I had half hopes they had taken it away by +this time. When I drew my head back I lost sight of it, but all my being +went out to it with an almost pitiful longing. I remembered Castro for +the first time in many hours. Was I nothing better than Castro? He had +been angled for with salted meat. I shuddered. A darkness fell into +the passage. I put down my uplifted foot without advancing. The +unexpectedness of that shadow saved me, I believe. Manuel had descended +the cornice. + +He was alone. Standing before the outer opening, he darkened the +passage, through which his talk to the people above came loudly into +my ears. They could see now if he were not a worthy _Capataz_. If the +_Inglez_ was in there he was a corpse. And yet, of these living hearts +above, of these _valientes_ of Rio Medio, there was not one who would go +alone to look upon a dead body. He had contrived an infallible test, and +yet they would not believe him. Well, his valiance should prove it; his +valiance, afraid neither of light nor of darkness. + +I could not hear the answers he got from up there; but the vague sounds +that reached me carried the usual commingling of derision and applause, +the resentment of their jeers at the admiration he knew how to extort by +the display of his talents. + +They must kill the cattle, these _caballeros_. He scolded ironically. Of +course. They must feed on meat like lions; but their souls were like the +souls of hens born on dunghills. And behold! there was he, Manuel, not +afraid of shadows. + +He was coming in, there could be no doubt. Out there in the full light, +he could not possibly have detected that rapid appearance of my head +darted forward and withdrawn at once; but I had a view of his arm +putting aside the swinging flask, of his leg raised to step over the +high sill. I saw him, and I ran noiselessly away from the opening. + +I had the time to charge Seraphina not to move, on our lives--on the +wretched remnant of our lives--when his black shape stood in the frame +of the opening, edged with a thread of light following the contour of +his hat, of his shoulders, of his whole body down to his feet--whence a +long shadow fell upon the pool of twilight on the floor. + +What had made him come down? Vanity? The exacting demands of his +leadership? Fear of O’Brien? The _Juez_ would expect to hear something +definite, and his band pretended not to believe in the stratagem of the +bottle. I think that, for his part, from his knowledge of human nature, +he never doubted its efficacy. He could not guess how very little, only, +he was wrong. How very little! And yet he seemed rooted in incertitude +on the threshold. His head turned from side to side. I could not make +out his face as he stood, but the slightest of his movements did not +escape me. He stepped aside, letting in all the fullness of the light. + +Would he have the courage to explore at least the immediate +neighbourhood of the opening? Who could tell his complex motives? Who +could tell his purpose or his fears? He had killed a man in there once. +But, then, he had not been alone. If he were only showing off before +his unruly band, he need not stir a step further. He did not advance. +He leaned his shoulders against the rock just clear of the opening. One +half of him was lighted plainly; his long profile, part of his raven +locks, one listless hand, his crossed legs, the buckle of one shoe. + +“Nobody,” he pronounced slowly, in a dead whisper. + +While I looked at him, the profound _politico_, the artist, the +everlastingly questioned _Capataz_, the man of talent and ability, he +thought himself alone, and allowed his head to drop on his breast, as if +saddened by the vanity of human ambition. Then, lifting it with a jerk, +he listened with one ear turned to the passage; afterwards he peered +into the cavern. Two long strides, over the cold heap of ashes, brought +him to the stone seat. + +It was very plain to me from his starting movements and attitudes, that +he shared his uneasy attention between the inside and the outside of the +cave. He sat down, but seemed ready to jump up; and I saw him turn his +eyes upwards to the dark vault, as if on the alert for a noise from +above. I am inclined to think he was expecting to hear the galloping +hoofs of the peons’ horses every moment. I think he did. The words “I +am safer here than they above,” were perfectly audible to me in the +mumbling he kept up nervously. He wished to hear the sound of his own +voice, as a timid person whistles and talks on a lonely road at +night. Only the year before he had killed a man in that cavern, under +circumstances that were, I believe, revolting even to the honour of +these bandits. He sat there between the shadow of his murder and the +reality of the vengeance. I asked myself what could be the outcome of a +struggle with him. He was armed; he was not weakened by hunger; but he +stood between us and the water. My thirst would give me strength; the +desire to end Seraphina’s sufferings would make me invincible. On the +other hand, it was dangerous to interfere. I could not tell whether they +would not try to find out what became of him. It was safest to let him +go. It was extremely improbable that they would sail without him. + +I am not conscious of having stirred a limb; neither had Seraphina +moved, I am ready to swear; but plainly something, some sort of sound, +startled him. He bounded out of his seated immobility, and in one leap +had his shoulders against the rock standing at bay before the darkness, +with his knife in his hand. I wonder he did not surprise me into an +exclamation. I was as startled as himself. His teeth and the whites of +his eyes gleamed straight at me from afar; he hissed with fear; for an +instant I was firmly convinced he had seen me. All this took place so +quickly that I had no time to make one movement towards receiving his +attack, when I saw him make a great sign of the cross in the air with +the point of his dagger. + +He sheathed it slowly, and sidled along the few feet to the entrance, +his shoulders rubbing the wall. He blocked out the light, and in a +moment had backed out of sight. + +Before he got to the further end I was already, at the inner, creeping +after him. I had started at once, as if his disappearance had removed a +spell, as though he had drawn me after him by an invisible bond. Raising +myself on my forearms I saw him, from his knees up, standing outside the +sill, with his back to the precipice and his face turned up. + +“There is nobody in there,” he shouted. + +I sank down and wriggled forward on my stomach, raising myself on my +elbows, now and then, to look. Manuel was looking upwards conversing +with the people above, and holding Williams’ flask in both his hands. He +never once glanced into the passage; he seemed to be trying to undo the +cord knotted to the end of the thick rope, which hung in a long bight +before him. The flask captured my eyes, my thought, my energy. I would +tear it away from him directly. There was in me, then, neither fear nor +intelligence; only the desire of possessing myself of the thing; but an +instinctive caution prevented my rushing out violently. I proceeded with +an animal-like stealthiness, with which cool reason had nothing to do. + +He had some difficulty with the knot, and evidently did not wish to cut +the green silk cord. How well I remember his fumbling fingers. He sat +down sideways on the sill, with his legs outside, of course, his face +and hands turned to the light, very absorbed in his endeavour. They +shouted to him from above. + +“I come at once,” he cried to them, without lifting his head. + +I had crept up almost near enough to grab the flask. It never occurred +to me that by flinging myself on him, I could have pushed him off +the sill. My only idea was to get hold. He did not exist for me. The +leather-covered bottle was the only real thing in the world. I was +completely insane. I heard a faint detonation, and Manuel got up quickly +from the sill. The flask was out of my reach. + +There were more popping sounds of shots fired, away on the plain. The +peons were attacking an outpost of the _Lugareños_. A deep voice cried, +“They are driving them in.” Then several together yelled: + +“Come away, Manuel. Come away. _Por Dios...._” + +Stretched at full length in the passage, and sustaining myself on my +trembling arms, I gazed up at him. He stood very rigid, holding the +flask in both hands. Several muskets were discharged together just +above, and in the noise of the reports I remember a voice crying +urgently over the edge, “Manuel! Manuel!” The shadow of irresolution +passed over his features. He hesitated whether to run up the ledge or +bolt into the cave. He shouted something. He was not answered, but the +yelling and the firing ceased suddenly, as if the _Lugareños_ had given +up and taken to their heels. I became aware of a sort of increasing +throbbing sound that seemed to come from behind me, out of the cave; +then, as Manuel lifted his foot hastily to step over the sill, I jumped +up deliriously, and with outstretched hands lurched forward at the flask +in his fingers. + +I believe I laughed at him in an imbecile manner. + +Somebody laughed; and I remember the superior smile on his face passing +into a ghastly grin, that disappeared slowly, while his astonished eyes, +glaring at that gaunt and dishevelled apparition rising before him in +the dusk of the passage, seemed to grow to an enormous size. He drew +back his foot, as though it had been burnt; and in a panic-stricken +impulse, he flung the flask straight into my face, and staggered away +from the sill. + +I made a catch at it with a scream of triumph, whose unearthly sound +brought me back to my senses. + +“In the name of God, retire,” he cried, as though I had been an +apparition from another world. + +What took place afterwards happened with an inconceivable rapidity, in +less time than it takes to draw breath. He never recognized me. I saw +his glare of incredulous awe change, suddenly, to horror and despair. He +had felt himself losing his balance. + +He had stepped too far back. He tried to recover himself, but it was too +late. He hung for a moment in his backward fall; his arms beat the air, +his body curled upon itself with an awful striving. All at once he +went limp all over, and, with the sunlight full upon his upturned face, +vanished downwards from my sight. + +But at the last moment he managed to clutch the bight of the hanging +rope. The end of it must have been lying quite loose on the ground +above, for I saw its whole length go whizzing after him, in the +twinkling of an eye. I pressed the flask fiercely to my breast, raging +with the thought that he could yet tear it out of my hands; but by the +time the strain came, his falling body had acquired such a velocity that +I didn’t feel the slightest jerk when the green cord snapped--no more +than if it had been the thread of a cobweb. + +I confess that tears, tears of gratitude, were running down my face. My +limbs trembled. But I was sane enough not to think of myself any more. + +“Drink! Drink,” I stammered, raising Seraphina’s head on my shoulder, +while the galloping horses of the peons in hot pursuit passed with a +thundering rumble above us. Then all was still. + +Our getting out of the cave was a matter of unremitting toil, through +what might have been a year of time; the recollection is of an arduous +undertaking, accomplished without the usual incentives of men’s +activity. Necessity, alone, remained; the iron necessity without the +glamour of freedom of choice, of pride. + +Our unsteady feet crushed, at last, the black embers of the fires +scattered by the hoofs of horses; and the plain appeared immense to our +weakness, swept of shadows by the high sun, lonely and desolate as +the sea. We looked at the litter of the _Lugareños’ _camp, rags on the +trodden grass, a couple of abandoned blankets, a musket thrown away in +the panic, a dirty red sash lying on a heap of sticks, a wooden +bucket from the schooner, smashed water-gourds. One of them remained +miraculously poised on its round bottom and full to the brim, while +everything else seemed to have been overturned, torn, scattered +haphazard by a furious gust of wind. A scaffolding of poles, for drying +strips of meat, had been knocked over; I found nothing there except bits +of hairy hide; but lumps of scorched flesh adhered to the white bones +scattered amongst the ashes of the camp--and I thanked God for them. + +We averted our eyes from our faces in very love, and we did not speak +from pity for each other. There was no joy in our escape, no relief, +no sense of freedom. The _Lugareños_ and the peons, the pursued and the +pursuers, had disappeared from the upland without leaving as much as a +corpse in view. There were no moving things on the earth, no bird +soared in the pellucid air, not even a moving cloud on the sky. The +sun declined, and the rolling expanse of the plain frightened us, as if +space had been something alive and hostile. + +We walked away from that spot, as if our feet had been shod in lead; and +we hugged the edge of the cruel ravine, as one keeps by the side of +a friend. We must have been grotesque, pathetic, and lonely; like two +people newly arisen from a tomb, shrinking before the strangeness of +the half-forgotten face of the world. And at the head of the ravine we +stopped. + +The sensation of light, vastness, and solitude, rolled upon our souls +emerging from the darkness, overwhelmingly, like a wave of the sea. We +might have been an only couple sent back from the underworld to begin +another cycle of pain on a depopulated earth. It had not for us even the +fitful caress of a breeze; and the only sound of greeting was the angry +babble of the brook dashing down the stony slope at our feet. + +We knelt over it to drink deeply and bathe our faces. Then looking about +helplessly, I discovered afar the belt of the sea inclosed between the +undulating lines of the dunes and the straight edge of the horizon. I +pointed my arm at the white sails of the schooner creeping from under +the land, and Seraphina, resting her head on my shoulder, shuddered. + +“Let us go away from here.” + +Our necessity pointed down the slope. We could not think of another way, +and the extent of the plain with its boundary of forests filled us with +the dread of things unknown. But, by getting down to the inlet of the +sea, and following the bank of the little river, we were sure to reach +the _hacienda_, if only a hope could buoy our sinking hearts long +enough. + +From our first step downwards the hard, rattling noise of the stones +accompanied our descent, growing in volume, bewildering our minds. We +had missed the indistinct beginning of the trail on the side of the +ravine, and had to follow the course of the stream. A growth of wiry +bushes sprang thickly between the large fragments of fallen rocks. On +our right the shadows were beginning to steal into the chasm. Towering +on our left the great stratified wall caught at the top of the glow of +the low sun in a rich, tawny tint, right under the dark blue strip of +sky, that seemed to reflect the gloom of the ravine, the sepulchral arid +gloom of deep shadows and gray rocks, through which the shallow torrent +dashed violently with glassy gleams between the sombre masses of +vegetation. + +We pushed on through the bunches of tough twigs; the massive boulders +closed the view on every side; and Seraphina followed me with her hands +on my shoulders. This was the best way in which I could help her descent +till the declivity became less steep; and then I went ahead, forcing a +path for her. Often we had to walk into the bed of the stream. It was +icy cold. Some strange beast, perhaps a bird, invisible somewhere, +emitted from time to time a faint and lamentable shriek. It was a wild +scene, and the orifice of the cave appeared as an inaccessible black +hole some ninety feet above our heads. + +Then, as I stepped round a large fragment of rock, my eyes fell on +Manuel’s body. + +Seraphina was behind me. With a wave of my hand I arrested her. It had +not occurred to me before that, following the bottom of the ravine, we +must come upon the two bodies. Castro’s was lower down, of course. I +would have spared her the sight, but there was no retracing our steps. +We had no strength and no time. Manuel was lying on his back with his +hands under him, and his feet nearly in the brook. + +The lower portion of the rope made a heap of cordage on the ground near +him, but a great length of it hung perpendicularly above his head. The +loose end he had snatched over the edge of his fall had whipped itself +tight round the stem of a dwarf tree growing in a crevice high up the +rock; and as he fell below, the jerk must have checked his descent, and +had prevented him from alighting on his head. There was not a sign of +blood anywhere upon him or on the stones. His eyes were shut. He might +have lain down to sleep there, in our way; only from the slightly +unnatural twist in the position of his arms and legs, I saw, at a +glance, that all his limbs were broken. + +On the other side of the boulder Seraphina called to me, and I could not +answer her, so great was the shock I received in seeing the flutter of +his slowly opening eyelids. + +He still lived, then! He looked at me! It was an awful discovery to +make, and the contrast of his anxious and feverish stare with the +collapsed posture of his body was full of intolerable suggestions of +fate blundering unlawfully, of death itself being conquered by pain. I +looked away only to perceive something pitiless, belittling, and cruel +in the precipitous immobility of the sheer walls, in the dark funereal +green of the foliage, in the falling shadows, in the remoteness of the +sky. + +The unconsciousness of matter hinted at a weird and mysterious +antagonism. All the inanimate things seemed to have conspired to throw +in our way this man just enough alive to feel pain. The faint and +lamentable sounds we had heard must have come from him. He was looking +at me. It was impossible to say whether he saw anything at all. He +barred our road with his remnant of life; but, when suddenly he spoke, +my heart stood still for a moment in my motionless body. + +“You, too!” he droned awfully. “Behold! I have been precipitated, alive, +into this hell by another ghost. Nothing else could have overcome the +greatness of my spirit.” + +His red shirt was torn open at the throat. His bared breast began to +heave. He cried out with pain. Ready to fly from him myself, I shouted +to Seraphina to keep away. + +But it was too late. Imagining I had seen some new danger in our path, +she had advanced to stand by my side. + +“He is dying,” I muttered in distraction. “We can do nothing.” + +But could we pass him by before he died? “This is terrible,” said +Seraphina. + +My real hope had been that, after driving the _Lugareños_ away, the +peons would off-saddle near the little river to rest themselves and +their horses. This is why I had almost pitilessly hurried Seraphina, +after we had left the cave, down the steep but short descent of the +ravine. I had kept to myself my despairing conviction that we could +never reach the _hacienda_ unaided, even if we had known the way. I +had pretended confidence in ourselves, but all my trust was in the +assistance I expected to get from these men. I understood so well the +slenderness of that hope that I had not dared to mention it to her and +to propose she should wait for me on the upland, while I went down +by myself on that quest. I could not bear the fear of returning +unsuccessful only to find her dead. That is, if I had the strength to +return after such a disappointment. + +And the idea of her, waiting for me in vain, then wandering off, perhaps +to fall under a bush and die alone, was too appalling to contemplate. +That we must keep together, at all costs, was like a point of honour, +like an article of faith with us--confirmed by what we had gone through +already. It was like a law of existence, like a creed, like a defence +which, once broken, would let despair upon our heads. I am sure she +would not have consented to even a temporary separation. She had a sort +of superstitious feeling that, should we be forced apart, even to +the manifest saving of our lives, we would lay ourselves open to some +calamity worse than mere death could be. + +I loved her enough to share that feeling, but with the addition of a +man’s half-unconscious selfishness. I needed her indomitable frailness +to prop my grosser strength. I needed that something not wholly of this +world, which women’s more exalted nature infuses into their passions, +into their sorrows, into their joys; as if their adventurous souls had +the power to range beyond the orbit of the earth for the gathering of +their love, their hate--and their charity. + +“He calls for death,” she said, shrinking with horror and pity before +the mutters of the miserable man at our feet. Every moment of daylight +was of the utmost importance, if we were to save our freedom, our +happiness, our very lives; and we remained rooted to the spot. For it +seemed as though, at last, he had attained the end of his enterprise. He +had captured us, as if by a very cruel stratagem. + +A drowsiness would come at times over those big open eyes, like a film +through which a blazing glance would break out now and then. He had +recognized us perfectly; but, for the most part, we seemed to him to be +the haunting ghosts of his inferno. + +“You came from heaven,” he raved feebly, rolling his straining eyes +towards Seraphina. His internal injuries must have been frightful. +Perhaps he dared not shift his head--the only movement that was in his +power. “I reached up to the very angels in the inspiration of my song,” + he droned, “and would be called a demon on earth. _Manuel el Demonio_. +And now precipitated alive.... Nothing less. There is a greatness in me. +Let some dew fall upon my lips.” + +He moaned from the very bottom of his heart. His teeth chattered. + +“The blessed may not know anything of the cold and thirst of this place. +A drop of dew--as on earth you used to throw alms to the poor from your +coach--for the love of God.” + +She sank on the stones nearer to him than I would willingly have done, +brave as a woman, only, can be before the atrocious depths of human +misery. I leaned my shoulders against the boulder and crossed my arms on +my breast, as if giving up an unequal struggle. Her hair was loose, her +dress stained with ashes, torn by brambles; the darkness of the cavern +seemed to linger in her hollow cheeks, in her sunken temples. + +“He is thirsty,” she murmured to me. + +“Yes,” I said. + +She tore off a strip of her dress, dipped it in the running water at her +side, and approached it, all dripping, to his lips which closed upon +it with avidity. The walls of the rock looked on implacably, but the +rushing stream seemed to hurry away, as if from an accursed spot. + +“Dew from heaven,” he sighed out. + +“You are on earth, Manuel,” she said. “You are given time to repent. +This is earth.” + +“Impossible,” he muttered with difficulty. + +He had forced his human fellowship upon us, this man whose ambition it +had been to be called demon on the earth. He held us by the humanity of +his broken frame, by his human glance, by his human voice. I wonder if, +had I been alone, I would have passed on as reason dictated, or have had +the courage of pity and finished him off, as he demanded. Whenever he +became aware of our presence, he addressed me as “Thou, English ghost,” + and directed me, in a commanding voice, to take a stone and crush his +head, before I went back to my own torments. I withdrew, at last, +where he could not see me; but Seraphina never flinched in her task of +moistening his lips with the strip of cloth she dipped in the brook, +time after time, with a sublime perseverance of compassion. + +It made me silent. Could I have stood there and recited the sinister +detail of that man’s crimes, in the hope that she would recoil from him +to pursue the road of safety? It was not his evil, but his suffering +that confronted us now. The sense of our kinship emerged out of it like +a fresh horror after we had escaped the sea, the tempest; after we had +resisted untold fatigues, hunger, thirst, despair. We were vanquished by +what was in us, not in him. I could say nothing. The light ebbed out of +the ravine. The sky, like a thin blue veil stretched between the earth +and the spaces of the universe, filtered the gloom of the darkness +beyond. + +I thought of the invisible sun ready to set into the sea, of the peons +riding away, and of our helpless, hopeless state. + +“For the love of God,” he mumbled. + +“Yes, for the love of God,” I heard her expressionless voice repeat. And +then there was only the greedy sound of his lips sucking at the cloth, +and the impatient ripple of the stream. + +“Come, death,” he sighed. + +Yes, come, I thought, to release him and to set us free. All my prayer, +now, was that we should be granted the strength to struggle from under +the malignant frown of these crags, to close our eyes forever in the +open. + +And the truth is that, had we gone on, we should have found no one by +the sea. The routed _Lugareños_ had been able to embark under cover of a +fusillade from those on board the schooner. All that would have met our +despair, at the end of our toilsome march, would have been three dead +pirates lying on the sand. The main body of the peons had gone, already, +up the valley of the river with their few wounded. There would have been +nothing for us to do but to stumble on and on upon their track, till we +lay down never to rise again. They did not draw rein once, between the +sea and the _hacienda_, sixteen miles away. + +About the time when we began our descent into the ravine, two of the +peons, detached from the main body for the purpose of observing the +schooner from the upland, had topped the edge of the plain. We had then +penetrated into Manuel’s inferno, too deep to be seen by them. These +men spent some time lying on the grass, and watching over the dunes the +course of the schooner on the open sea. Their horses were grazing near +them. The wind was light; they waited to see the vessel far enough down +the coast to make any intention of return improbable. + +It was Manuel who saved our lives, defeating his own aim to the bitter +end. Had not his vanity, policy, or the necessity of his artistic soul, +induced him to enter the cave; had not his cowardice prevented him +joining the _Lugareños_ above, at the moment of the attack; had he not +recoiled violently in a superstitious fear before my apparition at the +mouth of the cave--we should have been released from our entombment, +only to look once more at the sun. He paid the price of our ransom, to +the uttermost farthing, in his lingering death. Had he killed himself on +the spot, he would have taken our only slender chance with him into +that nether world where he imagined himself to have been “precipitated +alive.” Finding him dead, we should have gone on. Less than ten minutes, +no more than another ten paces beyond the spot, we should have been +hidden from sight in the thickets of denser growth in the lower part +of the ravine. I doubt whether we should have been able to get through; +but, even so, we should have been going away from the only help within +our reach. We should have been lost. + +The two _vaqueros_, after seeing the schooner hull down under the low, +fiery sun of the west, mounted and rode home over the plain, making for +the head of the ravine, as their way lay. And, as they cantered along +the side opposite to the cave, one of them caught sight of the length of +rope dangling down the precipice. They pulled up at once. + +The first I knew of their nearness was the snorting of a horse forced +towards the edge of the chasm. I saw the animal’s forelegs planted +tensely on the very brink, and the body of the rider leaning over his +neck to look down. And, when I wished to shout, I found I could not +produce the slightest sound. + +The man, rising in his stirrups, the reins in one hand and turning up +the brim of his sombrero with the other, peered down at us over the +pricked ears of his horse. I pointed over my head at the mouth of +the cave, then down at Seraphina, lifting my hands to show that I was +unarmed. I opened my lips wide. Surprise, agitation, weakness, had +robbed me of every vestige of my voice. I beckoned downwards with a +desperate energy, Horse and rider remained perfectly still, like an +equestrian statue set up on the edge of a precipice. Sera-phina had +never raised her head. + +The man’s intent scrutiny could not have mistaken me for a _Lugareno_. +I think he gazed so long because he was amazed to discover down there a +woman on her knees, stooping over a prostrate body, and a bareheaded man +in a ragged white shirt and black breeches, reeling between the bushes +and gesticulating violently, like an excited mute. But how a rope came +to hang down from a tree, growing in a position so inaccessible +that only a bird could have attached it there struck him as the most +mysterious thing of all. He pointed his finger at it interrogatively, +and I answered this inquiring sign by indicating the stony slope of the +ravine. It seemed as if he could not speak for wonder. After a while +he sat back in his saddle, gave me an encouraging wave of the hand, and +wheeled his horse away from the brink. + +It was as if we had been casting a spell of extinction on each other’s +voices. No sooner had he disappeared than I found mine. I do not suppose +it was very loud but, at my aimless screech, Seraphina looked upwards +on every side, saw no one anywhere, and remained on her knees with her +eyes, full of apprehension, fixed upon me. + +“No! I am not mad, dearest,” I said. “There was a man. He has seen us.” + +“Oh, Juan!” she faltered out, “pray with me that God may have mercy on +this poor wretch and let him die.” + +I said nothing. My thin, quavering scream after the peon had awakened +Manuel from his delirious dream of an inferno. The voice that issued +from his shattered body was awfully measured, hollow, and profound. + +“You live!” he uttered slowly, turning his eyes full upon my face, and, +as if perceiving for the first time in me the appearance of a living +man. “Ha! You English walk the earth unscathed.” + +A feeling of pity came to me--a pity distinct from the harrowing +sensations of his miserable end. He had been evil in the obscurity of +his life, as there are plants growing harmful and deadly in the shade, +drawing poison from the dank soil on which they flourish. He was as +unconscious of his evil as they--but he had a man’s right to my pity. + +“I am b--roken,” he stammered out. + +Seraphina kept on moistening his lips. + +“Repent, Manuel,” she entreated fervently. “We have forgiven thee the +evil done to us. Repent of thy crimes--poor man.” + +“Your voice, Señorita. What? You! You yourself bringing this blessing +to my lips! In your childhood I cried ‘_viva_’ many times before your +coach. And now you deign--in your voice--with your hand. Ha! I could +improvise--The star stoops to the crushed worm....” + +A rising clatter of rolling stones mingled from afar with the broken +moanings of his voice. Looking over my shoulder, I saw one peon +beginning the descent of the slope, and, higher up, motionless between +the heads of two horses, the head of another man--with the purple tint +of an enlarged sky beyond, reflecting the glow of an invisible sun +setting into the sea. + +Manuel cried out piercingly, and we shuddered. Seraphina shrank close to +my side, hiding her head on my breast. The peon staggered awkwardly +down the slope, descending sideways in small steps, embarrassed by +the enormous rowels of his spurs. He had a striped _serape_ over his +shoulder, and grasped a broad-bladed _machete_ in his right hand. His +stumbling, cautious feet sent into the ravine a crashing sound, as +though we were to be buried under a stream of stones. + +“_Vuestra Señoria_” gasped Manuel. “I shall be silent. Pity me! Do +not--do not withdraw your hand from my extreme pain.” + +I felt she had to summon all her courage to look at him again. She +disengaged herself, resolutely, from my enfolding arms. + +“No, no; unfortunate man,” she said, in a benumbed voice. “Think of thy +end.” + +“A crushed worm, senorita,” he mumbled. + +The peon, having reached the bottom of the slope, became lost to view +amongst the bushes and the great fragments of rocks below. Every sound +in the ravine was hushed; and the darkening sky seemed to cast the +shadow of an everlasting night into the eyes of the dying man. + +Then the peon came out, pushing through, in a great swish of parted +bushes. His spurs jingled at every step, his footfalls crunched heavily +on the pebbles. He stopped, as if transfixed, muttering his astonishment +to himself, but asking no questions. He was a young man with a thin +black moustache twisted gallantly to two little points. He looked up at +the sheer wall of the precipice; he looked down at the group we formed +at his feet. Suddenly, as if returning from an abyss of pain, Manuel +declared distinctly: + +“I feel in me a greatness, an inspiration....” + +These were his last words. The heavy dark lashes descended slowly upon +the faint gleam of the eyeballs, like a lowered curtain. The deep folds +of the ravine gathered the falling dusk into great pools of absolute +blackness, at the foot of the crags. + +Rising high above our littleness, that watched, fascinated, the struggle +of lights and shadows over the soul entangled in the wreck of a man’s +body, the rocks had a monumental indifference. And between their great, +stony faces, turning pale in the gloom, with the amazed peon as +if standing guard, _machete_ in hand, Manuel’s greatness and his +inspiration passed away without as much as an exhaled sigh. I did not +even know that he had ceased to breathe, till Seraphina rose from her +knees with a low cry, and flung far away from her, nervously, the strip +of cloth upon which his parted lips had refused to close. + +My arms were ready to receive her. “Ah! At last!” she cried. There was +something resentful and fierce in that cry, as though the pity of her +woman’s heart had been put to too cruel a test. + +I, too, had been humane to that man. I had had his life on the end of +my pistol, and had spared him from an impulse that had done nothing but +withhold from him the mercy of a speedy death. This had been my pity. + +But it was Seraphina’s cry--this “At last,” showing the stress and pain +of the ordeal--that shook my faith in my conduct. It had brought upon +our heads a retribution of mental and bodily anguish, like a criminal +weakness. I was young, and my belief in the justice of life had received +a shock. If it were impossible to foretell the consequences of our acts, +if there were no safety in the motives within ourselves, what remained +for our guidance? + +And the inscrutable immobility of towering forms, steeped in the shadows +of the chasm, appeared pregnant with a dreadful wisdom. It seemed to me +that I would never have the courage to lift my hand, open my lips, +make a step, obey a thought. A long sun-ray shot to the zenith from the +beclouded west, crossing obliquely in a faint red bar the purple band of +sky above the ravine. + +The young _vaquero_ had taken off his hat before the might of death, and +made a perfunctory sign of the cross. He looked up and down the lofty +wall, as if it could give him the word of that riddle. Twice his spurs +clashed softly, and, with one hand grasping the rope, he stooped low in +the twilight over the body. + +“We looked for this _Lugareño_,” he said, replacing his hat on his head +carelessly. “He was a mad singer, and I saw him once kill one of us very +swiftly. They used to call him in jest, _El Demonio_. Ah! But you... +But you....” + +His wonder overcame him. His bewildered eyes glimmered, staring at us in +the deepening dusk. + +“Speak, _hombre_,” he cried. “Who are you and who is she? Whence came +you? Where are you going with this woman?...” + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +Not a soul stirred in the one long street of the negro village. The +yellow crescent of the diminished moon swam low in the pearly light +of the dawn; and the bamboo walls of huts, thatched with palm leaves, +glistened here and there through the great leaves of bananas. All that +night we had been moving on and on, slowly crossing clear _savannas_, +in which nothing stirred beside ourselves but the escort of our own +shadows, or plunging through dense patches of forest of an obscurity +so impenetrable that the very forms of our rescuers became lost to us, +though we heard their low voices and felt their hands steadying us in +our saddles. Then our horses paced softly on the dust of a road, while +athwart an avenue of orange trees whose foliage seemed as black as coal, +the blind walls of the _hacienda_ shone dead white like a vision of +mists. A Brazilian aloe flowered by the side of the gate; we drooped in +our saddles; and the heavy knocks against the wooden portal seemed to +go on without cause, and stop without reason, like a sound heard in +a dream. We entered Seraphina’s _hacienda_. The high walls inclosed a +square court deep as the yard of a prison, with flat-roofed buildings +all around. It rang with many voices suddenly. Every moment the daylight +increased; young négresses in loose gowns ran here and there, cackling +like chased hens, and a fat woman waddled out from under the shadow of a +veranda. + +She was Seraphina’s old nurse. She was scolding volubly, and suddenly +she shrieked, as though she had been stabbed. Then all was still for a +long time. Sitting high on the back of my patient mount, with my fingers +twisted in the mane, I saw in a throng of woolly heads and bright +garments Seraphina’s pale face. An increasing murmur of sobs and +endearing names mounted up to me. Her hair hung down, her eyes seemed +immense; these people were carrying her off--and a man with a careworn, +bilious face and a straight, gray beard, neatly clipped on the edges, +stood at the head of my horse, blinking with astonishment. + +The fat woman reappeared, rolling painfully along the veranda. + +“Enrico! It is her lover! Oh! my treasure, my lamb, my precious child. +Do you hear, Enrico? Her lover! Oh! the poor darling of my heart.” + +She appeared to be giggling and weeping at the same time. The sky above +the yard brightened all at once, as if the sun had emerged with a leap +from the distant waters of the Atlantic. She waved her short arms at +me over the railing, then plunged her dark fingers in the shock +of iron-gray hair gathered on the top of her head. She turned away +abruptly, a yellow head-kerchief dodged in her way, a slap resounded, a +cry of pain, and a negro girl bolted into the court, nursing her cheek +in the palms of her hands. Doors slammed; other negro girls ran out of +the veranda dismayed, and took cover in various directions. + +I swayed to and fro in the saddle, but faithful to the plan of our +escape, I tried to make clear my desire that these peons should be sworn +to secrecy immediately. Meantime, somebody was trying to disengage my +feet from the stirrups. + +“Certainly. It is as your worship wishes.” + +The careworn man at the head of my horse was utterly in the dark. + +“Attention!” he shouted. “Catch hold, _hombres_. Carry the _caballero_.” + +What _caballero?_ A rosy flush tinged a boundless expanse above my face, +and then came a sudden contraction of space and dusk. There were big +earthen’ ware jars ranged in a row on the floor, and the two _vaqueros_ +stood bareheaded, stretching their arms over me towards a black crucifix +on a wall, taking their oaths, while I rested on my back. A white beard +hovered about my face, a voice said, “It is done,” then called anxiously +twice, “Señor! Señor!” and when I had escaped from the dream of a +cavern, I found myself with my head pillowed on a fat woman’s breast, +and drinking chicken broth out of a basin held to my lips. Her large +cheeks quivered, she had black twinkling eyes and slight moustaches at +the corners of her lips. But where was her white beard? And why did she +talk of an angel, as if she were Manuel? + +“Seraphina!” I cried, but Castro’s cloak swooped on my head like a sable +wing. It was death. I struggled. Then I died. It was delicious to die. +I followed the floating shape of my love beyond the worlds of the +universe. We soared together above pain, strife, cruelty, and pity. +We had left death behind us and everything of life but our love, +which threw a radiant halo around two flames which were ourselves--and +immortality inclosed us in a great and soothing darkness. + +Nothing stirred in it. We drifted no longer. We hung in it quite +still--and the empty husk of my body watched our two flames side by +side, mingling their light in an infinite loneliness. There were two +candles burning low on a little black table near my head. Enrico, with +his white beard and zealous eyes, was bending over my couch, while a +chair, on high runners, rocked empty behind him. I stared. + +“Señor, the night is far advanced,” he said soothingly, “and Dolores, my +wife, watches over Dona Seraphina’s slumbers, on the other side of this +wall.” + +I had been dead to the world for nearly twenty hours, and the awakening +resembled a new birth, for I felt as weak and helpless as an infant. + +It is extraordinary how quickly we regained so much of our strength; but +I suppose people recover sooner from the effects of privation than from +the weakness of disease. Keeping pace with the return of our bodily +vigour, the anxieties of mind returned, augmented tenfold by all the +weight of our sinister experience. And yet, what worse could happen to +us in the future? What other terror could it hold? We had come back from +the very confines of destruction. But Seraphina, reclining back in an +armchair, very still, with her eyes fixed on the high white wall facing +the veranda across the court, would murmur the word “Separation!” + +The possibility of our lives being forced apart was terrible to her +affection, and intolerable to her pride. She had made her choice, and +the feeling she had surrendered herself to so openly must have had +a supreme potency. She had disregarded for it all the traditions of +silence and reserve. She had looked at me fondly through the very tears +of her grief; she had followed me--leaving her dead unburied and her +prayers unsaid. What more could she have done to proclaim her love +to the world? Could she, after that, allow anything short of death to +thwart her fidelity? Never! And if she were to discover that I could, +after all, find it in my heart to support an existence in which she had +no share, then, indeed, it would be more than enough to make her die of +shame. + +“Ah, dearest!” I said, “you shall never die of shame.” + +We were different, but we had read each other’s natures by a fierce +light. I understood the point of honour in her constancy, and she never +doubted the scruples of my true devotion, which had brought so many +dangers on her head. We were flying not to save our lives, but to +preserve inviolate our truth to each other and to ourselves. And if our +sentiments appear exaggerated, violent, and overstrained, I must point +back to their origin. Our love had not grown like a delicate flower, +cherished in tempered sunshine. It had never known the atmosphere of +tenderness; our souls had not been awakened to each other by a gentle +whisper, but as if by the blast of a trumpet. It had called us to a life +whose enemy was not death, but separation. + +The enemy sat at the gate of our shelter, as death sits at the gate of +life. These high walls could not protect us, nor the tearful mumble of +the old woman’s prayers, nor yet the careworn fidelity of Enrico. The +couple hung about us, quivering with emotion. They peeped round the +corners of the veranda, and only rarely ventured to come out openly. +The silent Galician stroked his clipped beard; the obese woman kept on +crossing herself with loud, resigned sighs. She would waddle up, wiping +her eyes, to stroke Seraphina’s head and murmur endearing names. They +waited on us hand and foot, and would stand close together, ready for +the slightest sign, in a rapt contemplation. Now and then she would +nudge her husband’s ribs with her thick elbow and murmur, “Her lover.” + +She was happy when Seraphina let her sit at her feet, and hold her hand. +She would pat it with gentle taps, squatting shapelessly on a low stool. + +“Why go so far from thy old nurse, darling of my heart? Ah! love is +love, and we have only one life to live, but this England is very +far--very far away.” + +She nodded her big iron-gray head slowly; and to our longing England +appeared very distant, too, a fortunate isle across the seas, an abode +of peace, a sanctuary of love. + +There was no plan open to us but the one laid down by Sebright. The +secrecy of our sojourn at the _hacienda_ had, in a measure, failed, +though there was no reason to suppose the two peons had broken their +oath. Our arrival at dawn had been unobserved, as far as we knew, and +the domestic slaves, mostly girls, had been kept from all communication +with the field hands outside. All these square leagues of the estate +were very much out of the world, and this isolation had not been broken +upon by any of O’Brien’s agents coming out to spy. It seemed to be the +only part of Seraphina’s great possessions that remained absolutely her +own. + +Not a whisper of any sort of news reached us in our hiding-place till +the fourth evening, when one of the _vaqueros_ reported to Enrico +that, riding on the inland boundary, he had fallen in with a company of +infantry encamped on the edge of a little wood. Troops were being moved +upon Rio Medio. He brought a note from the officer in command of that +party. It contained nothing but a requisition for twenty head of cattle. +The same night we left the _hacienda_. + +It was a starry darkness. Behind us the soft wailing of the old woman at +the gate died out: + +“So far! So very far!” + +We left the long street of the slave village on the left, and walked +down the gentle slope of the open glade towards the little river. +Seraphina’s hair was concealed in the crown of a wide sombrero and, +wrapped up in a serape, she looked so much like a cloaked vaquero that +one missed the jingle of spurs out of her walk. Enrico had fitted me +out in his own clothes from top to toe. He carried a lanthorn, and we +followed the circle of light that swayed and trembled upon the short +grass. There was no one else with us, the crew of the _drogher_ being +already on board to await our coming. + +Her mast appeared above the roof of some low sheds grouped about a short +wooden jetty. Enrico raised the lamp high to light us, as we stepped on +board. + +Not a word was spoken; the five negroes of the crew (Enrico answered +for their fidelity) moved about noiselessly, almost invisible. Blocks +rattled feebly aloft. + +“Enrico,” said Seraphina, “do not forget to put a stone cross over poor +Castro’s grave.” + +“No, Señorita. May you know years of felicity. We would all have laid +down our lives for you. Remember that, and do not forget the living. +Your childhood has been the consolation of the poor woman there for the +loss of our little one, your foster brother, who died. We have given to +you much of our affection for him who was denied to our old age.” + +He stepped back from the rail. “Go with God,” he said. + +The faint air filled the sail, and the outlines of wharf and roof +fell back into the sombre background of the land, but the lanthorn in +Enrico’s hand glimmered motionless at the end of the jetty, till a bend +of the stream hid it from our sight. + +We glided smoothly between the banks. Now and then a stretch of osiers +and cane brakes rustled alongside in the darkness. All was strange; the +contours of the land melted before our advance. The earth was made of +shifting shadows, and only the stars remained in unchanged groups of +glitter on the black sky. We floated across the land-locked basin, and +under the low headland we had steered for from the sea in the storm. All +this, seen only once under streams of lightning, was unrecognizable to +us, and seemed plunged in deep slumber. But the fresh feel of the +sea air, and the freedom of earth and sky wedded on the sea horizon, +returned to us like old friends, the companions of that time when we +communed in words and silences on board the _Lion_, that fragment +of England found in a mist, boarded in battle, with its absurd and +warmhearted protection. On our other hand, the rampart of white dunes +intruded the line of a ghostly shore between the depth of the sea +and the profundity of the sky; and when the faint breeze failed for a +moment, the negro crew troubled the silence with the heavy splashes +of their sweeps falling in slow and solemn cadence. The rudder creaked +gently; the black in command was old and of spare build, resembling +Cesar, the major-domo, without the splendour of maroon velvet and gold +lace. He was a very good sailor, I believe, taciturn and intelligent. +He had seen the _Lion_ frequently on his trips to Havana, and would +recognize her, he assured me, amongst a whole host of shipping. When +I had explained what was expected of him, according to Sebright’s +programme, a bizarre grimace of a smile disturbed the bony, mournful +cast of his African face. + +“Fall on board by accident, Señor. _Si!_ Now, by St. Jago of +Compostella, the patron cf our _hacienda_, you shall see this old +Pedro--who has been set to sail the craft ever since she was built--as +overcome by an accident as a little rascal of a boy that has stolen a +boat.” + +After this wordy declaration he never spoke to us again. He gave his +short orders in low undertones, and the others, four stalwart blacks, in +the prime of life, executed them in silence. Another night brought the +unchanging stars to look at us in their multitudes, till the dawn put +them out just as we opened the entrance of the harbour. The daylight +discovered the arid colouring of the coast, a castle on a sandy +hill, and a few small boats with ragged sails making for the land. A +brigantine, that seemed to have carried the breeze with her right in, +threw up the Stars and Stripes radiantly to the rising sun, before +rounding the point. The sound of bells came out to sea, and met us while +we crept slowly on, abreast of the battery at the water’s edge. + +“A feast-day in the city,” said the old negro at the helm. “And here is +an English ship of war.” + +The sun-rays struck from afar full at her belted side; the water was +like glass along the shore. She swam into the very shade of the hill, +before she wore round, with great deliberation, in an ample sweep of +her headgear through a complete half-circle. She came to the wind on the +other tack under her short canvas; her lower deck ports were closed, the +hammock cloths like a ridge of unmelted snow lying along her rail. + +It was evident she was kept standing off and on outside the harbour, +as an armed man may pace to and fro before a gate. With the hum of six +hundred wakeful lives in her flanks, the tap-tapping of a drum, and the +shrill modulations of the boatswain’s calls piping some order along her +decks, she floated majestically across our path. But the only living +being we saw was the red-coated marine on sentry by the lifebuoys, +looking down at us over the taffrail. We passed so close to her that +I could distinguish the whites of his eyes, and the tompions in the +muzzles of her stern-chasers protruding out of the ports belonging to +the admiral’s quarters. + +I knew her. She was Rowley’s flagship. She had thrown the shadow of her +sails upon the end of my first sea journey. She was the man-of-war going +out for a cruise on that day when Carlos, Tomas, and myself arrived in +Jamaica in the old _Thames_. And there she was meeting me again, after +two years, before Havana--the might of the fortunate isle to which we +turned our eyes, part and parcel of my inheritance, formidable with the +courage of my countrymen, humming with my native speech--and as foreign +to my purposes as if I had forfeited forever my birthright in her +protection. I had drifted into a sort of outlaw. You may not break the +king’s peace and be made welcome on board a king’s ship. You may not +hope to make use of a king’s ship for the purposes of an elopement. +There was no room on board that seventy-four for our romance. + +As it was, I very nearly hailed her. What would become of us if the +Lion had already left Havana? I thought. But no. To hail her meant +separation--the only forbidden thing to those who, in the strength of +youth and love, are permitted to defy the world together. + +I did not hail; and the marine dwindled to a red speck upon the noble +hull forging away from us on the offshore tack. The brazen clangour of +bells seemed to struggle with the sharp puff of the breeze that sent us +in. + +The shipping in harbour was covered with bunting in honour of the +feast-day; for the same reason, there was not a sign of the usual crowd +of small boats that give animation to the waters of a port; the middle +of the harbour was strangely empty. A solitary bumboat canoe, with a +yellow bunch of bananas in the bow, and an old negro woman dipping +a languid paddle at the stern, were all that met my eye. Presently, +however, a six-oared custom-house galley darted out from the tier of +ships, pulling for the American brigantine. I noticed in her, beside the +ordinary port officials, several soldiers, and a person astonishingly +like the _alguazil_ of the illustrations to Spanish romances. One of the +uniformed sitters waved his hand at us, recognizing an estate _drogher_, +and shouted some directions, of which we only caught the words: + +“Steps--examination--to-morrow.” + +Our steersman took off his old hat humbly, to hail back, “_Muy bien, +Señor_.” + +I breathed freely, for they gave us no more of their attention. +Soldiers, _alguazil_, and custom-house officers were swarming aboard +the American, as if bent on ransacking her from stem to stern in the +shortest possible time, so as not to be late for the procession. + +The absence of movement in the harbour, the festive and idle appearance +of the ships, with the flutter of innumerable flags on the forest +of masts, and the great uproar of church bells in the air, made an +impressive greeting for our eyes and ears. And the deserted aspect of +the harbour front of the city was very striking, too. The feast had +swept the quays of people so completely that the tiny pair of sentries +at the foot of a tall yellow building caught the eye from afar. +Sera-phina crouched on a coil of rope under the bulwark; old Pedro, at +the tiller, peered about from under his hand, and I, trying to expose +myself to view as little as possible, helped him to look for the _Lion_. +There she is. Yes! No! There she was. A crushing load fell off my chest. +We had made her out together, old Pedro and I. + +And then the last part of Sebright’s plan had to be carried out at once. +The foresheet of the _drogher_ appeared to part, our mainsail shook, +and before I could gasp twice, we had drifted stern foremost into the +_Lion’s_ mizzen chains with a crash that brought a genuine expression of +concern to the old negro’s face. He had managed the whole thing with a +most convincing skill, and without even once glancing at the ship. We +had done our part, but the people of the Lion seemed to fail in theirs +unaccountably. Of all the faces that crowded her rail at the shock, not +one appeared with a glimmer of intelligence. All the cargo ports were +down. Their surprise and their swearing appeared to me alarmingly +unaffected; with a most imbecile alacrity they exerted themselves, with +small spars and boathooks, to push the drogher off. Nobody seemed to +recognize me; Seraphina might have been a peon sitting on deck, cloaked +from neck to heels and under a sombrero. I dared not shout to them in +English, for fear of being heard on board the other ships around. At +last Sebright himself appeared on the poop. + +He gave one look over the side. + +“What the devil...” he began. Was he blind, too? + +Suddenly I saw him throw up his arms above his head. He vanished. A port +came open with a jerk at the last moment. I lifted Seraphina up: two +hands caught hold of her, and, in my great hurry to scramble up after +her, I barked my shins cruelly. The port fell; the drogher went on +bumping alongside, completely disregarded. Seraphina dropped the cloak +at her feet and flung off her hat. + +“Good-morning, _amigos_,” she said gravely. + +A hissed “Damn you fools--keep quiet!” from Sebright, stifled the cheer +in all those bronzed throats. Only a thin little poor “hooray” quavered +along the deck. The timid steward had not been able to overcome his +enthusiasm. He slapped his head in despair, and rushed away to bury +himself in his pantry. + +“Turned up, by heavens!... Go in.... Good God!... Bucketfuls of +tears....” stammered Sebright, pushing us into the cuddy. “Go in! Go in +at once!” + +Mrs. Williams rose from behind the table wide-eyed, clasping her hands, +and stumbled twice as she ran to us. + +“What have you done to that child, Mr. Kemp!” she cried insanely at me. +“Oh, my dear, my dear! You look like your own ghost.” + +Sebright, burning with impatience, pulled me away. The cabin door fell +upon the two women, locked in a hug, and, stepping into his stateroom, +we could do nothing at first but slap each other on the back and +ejaculate the most unmeaning exclamations, like a couple of jocular +idiots. But when, in the expansion of my heart, I tried to banter him +about not keeping his word to look out for us, he bent double in trying +to restrain his hilarity, slapped his thighs, and grew red in the face. + +The excellent joke was that, for the past six days, we had been supposed +to be dead--drowned; at least Dona Seraphina had been provided with that +sort of death in her own name; I was drowned, too, but in the disguise +of a piratical young English nobleman. + +“There’s nothing too bad for them to believe of us,” he commented, and +guffawed in his joy at seeing me unscathed. “Dead! Drowned! Ha! Ha! +Good, wasn’t it?” + +Mrs. Williams--he said--had been weeping her eyes out over our desolate +end; and even the skipper had sulked with his food for a day or two. + +“Ha! Ha! Drowned! Excellent!” He shook me by the shoulders, looking me +straight in the eyes--and the bizarre, nervous hilarity of my reception, +so unlike his scornful attitude, proved that he, too, had believed the +rumour. Indeed, nothing could have been more natural, considering my +inexperience in handling boats and the fury of the norther. It had sent +the Lion staggering into Havana in less than twenty hours after we had +parted from her on the coast. + +Suddenly a change came over him. He pushed me on to the settee. + +“Speak! Talk! What has happened? Where have you been all this time? Man, +you look ten years older.” + +“Ten years. Is that all?” I said. + +And after he had heard the whole story of our passages he appeared +greatly sobered. + +“Wonderful! Wonderful!” he muttered, lost in deep thought, till I +reminded him it was his turn, now, to speak. + +“You are the talk of the town,” he said, recovering his elasticity of +spirit as he went on. The death of Don Balthasar had been the first +great sensation of Havana, but it seemed that O’Brien had kept that news +to himself, till he heard by an overland messenger that Sera-phina and I +had escaped from Casa Riego. + +Then he gave it to the world; he let it be inferred that he had the +news of both events together. The story, as sworn to by various suborned +rascals, and put out by his creatures, ran that an English desperado, +arriving in Rio Medio with some Mexicans in a schooner, had incited the +rabble of the place to attack the Casa Riego. Don Balthasar had been +shot while defending his house at the head of his negroes; and Don +Bal-thasar’s daughter had been carried off by the English pirate. + +The amazement and sensation were extreme. Several of the first families +went into mourning. A service for the repose of Don Balthasar’s soul was +sung in the Cathedral. Captain Williams went there out of curiosity, and +returned full of the magnificence of the sight; nave draped in black, an +enormous catafalque, with silver angels, more than life-size, kneeling +at the four corners with joined hands, an amazing multitude of lights. A +demonstration of unbounded grief from the Judge of the Marine Court had +startled the distinguished congregation. In his place amongst the +body of higher magistrature, Don Patricio O’Brien burst into an +uncontrollable paroxysm of sobs, and had to be assisted out of the +church. + +It was almost incredible, but I could well believe it. With the +thunderous strains of _Dies Irae_ rolling over his bowed head, amongst +all these symbols and trappings of woe, he must have seen, in the black +anguish of his baffled passion, the true image of death itself, and +tasted all the profound deception of life. Who could tell how much +secret rage, jealousy, regret, and despair had gone to that outburst of +grief, whose truth had fluttered a distinguished company of mourners, +and had nearly interrupted their official supplications for the repose +of that old man, who had been dead to the world for so many years? I +believe that, on that very day, just as he was going to the service, +O’Brien had received the news of our supposed death by drowning. The +music, the voices, the lights of the grave, the pomp of mourning, awe, +and supplication crying for mercy upon the dead, had been too much for +him. He had presumed too much upon his fortitude. He wept aloud for his +love lost, for his vengeance defeated, for the dreams gone out of his +life, for the inaccessible consummation of his desire. + +“And, you know, with all these affairs, he feels himself wobbling in +his socket,” Sebright began again, after musing for a while. Indeed, the +last events in Rio Medio were endangering his position. He could no +more present his reports upon the state of the province with incidental +reflections upon the bad faith of the English Government (who encouraged +the rebels against the Catholic king), the arrogance of the English +admiral, and concluding with the loyalty and honesty of the Rio Medio +population, “who themselves suffered many acts of molestation from the +Mexican pirates.” The most famous of these papers, printed at that time +in the official _Gazette_, had recommended that the loyal town should +be given a battery of thirty-six pounders for purposes of self-defence. +They had been given them just in time to be turned on Rowley’s boats; it +is known with what deadly effect. O’Brien’s report after that event had +made it clear that that virtuous population of the bay, exasperated by +the intrusions of the Mexicanos upon their peaceful state, and abhorring +in their souls the rebellion trying to lift its envenomed head, etc., +etc.,... heroically manned the battery to defend their town from the +boats which they took to be these very pirates the British admiral +was in search of. He pleaded for them the uncertain light of the early +morning, the ardour of citizens, valorous, but naturally inexperienced +in matters of war, and the impossibility to suppose that the admiral of +a friendly power would dispatch an armed force to land on these shores. +I have read these things with my own eyes; there were old files of the +_Gazette_ on board, and Sebright, who had been reading up his O’Brien, +pointed them out to me with his finger, muttering: + +“Here--look there. Pretty, ain’t it?” + +But that was all over. The bubble had burst. It was reported in town +that the private audience the _Juez_ had lately from the +Captain-General was of a most stormy description. They say old Marshal +What-d’ye-call-’um ended by flinging his last report in his face, and +asking him how dared he work his lawyer’s tricks upon an old soldier. +Good old fighting cock. But stupid. All these old soldiers were stupid, +Sebright declared. Old admirals, too. However, the land troops had +arrived in Rio Medio by this time; the _Tornado_ frigate, too, no doubt, +having sailed four days ago, with orders to burn the villages to the +ground; and the good _Lugareños_ must be catching colds trying to hide +from the carabineers in the deep, damp woods. + +Our admiral was awaiting the issue of that expedition. Returning home +under a cloud, Rowley wanted to take with him the assurance of the +pirate nest being destroyed at last, as a sort of diplomatic feather in +his cap. + +“He may think,” Sebright commented, “that it’s his sailorly bluff that +has done it, but, as far as I can see, nobody but you yourself, Kemp, +had anything to do with bringing it about. Funny, is it not? Old Rowley +keeps his ship dodging outside because it’s cooler at sea than stewing +in this harbour, but he sends in a boat for news every morning. What he +is most anxious for is to get the notorious Nichols into his hands; take +him home for a hanging. It seems clear to me that they are humbugging +him ashore. Nichols! Where’s Nichols? There are people here who say that +Nichols has had free board and lodging in Havana jail for the last +six months. Others swear that it is Nichols who has killed the old +gentleman, run off with Dona Seraphina, and got drowned. Nichols! Who’s +Nichols? On that showing you are Nichols. Anybody may be Nichols. Who +has ever seen him outside Rio Medio? I used to believe in him at one +time, but, upon my word I begin to doubt whether there ever was such a +man.” + +“But the man existed, at any rate,” I said. “I knew him--I’ve talked +with him. He came out second mate in the same ship with me--in the old +_Thames_. Ramon took charge of him in Kingston, and that’s the last +positive thing I can swear to, of him. But that he was in Rio Medio for +two years, and vanished from there almost directly after that unlucky +boat affair, I am absolutely certain.” + +“Well, I suppose O’Brien knows where to lay his hand on him. But no +matter where the fellow is, in jail or out of it, the admiral will never +get hold of him. If they had him they could not think of giving him up. +He knows too much of the game; and remember that O’Brien, if he wobbles +in the socket, is by no means down yet. A man like that doesn’t get +knocked over like a ninepin. You may be sure he has twenty skeletons put +away in good places, that he will haul out one by one, rather than +let himself be squashed. He’s not going to give in. A few days ago, a +priest--your priest, you know--turned up here on foot from Rio Medio, +and went about wringing his hands, declaring that he knew all the truth, +and meant to make a noise about it, too. O’Brien made short work of him, +though; got the archbishop to send him into retreat, as they call it, +to a Franciscan convent a hundred miles from here. These things are +whispered about all along the gutters of this place.” + +I imagined the poor Father Antonio, with his simple resignation, +mourning for us in his forced retreat, brokenhearted, and murmuring, +“Inscrutable, inscrutable.” I should have liked to see the old man. + +“I tell you the town is fairly buzzing with the atrocities of this +business,” Sebright went on. “It’s the thing for fashionable people to +go and see what I may call the relics of the crime. They are on show in +the waiting-hall of the Palace of Justice. Why, I went there myself. You +go through a swing door into a big place that, for cheerfulness, is no +better than a monster coal cellar, and there you behold, laid out on +a little black table, Mrs. Williams’ woollen shawl, your Señorita’s +tortoise-shell comb, that had got entangled in it somehow, and my old +cap that I lent you--you remember. I assure you, it gave me the horrors +to see the confounded things spread out there in that dim religious +light. Dash me, if I didn’t go queer all over. And all the time swell +carriages stopping before the portico, dressed-up women walking up in +pairs and threes, sighing before the missus’ shawl, turning up their +eyes, ‘Ah! _Pobrecita! Pobrecita!_ But what a strange wrap for her +to have. It is very coarse. Perished in the flower of her youth. +Incredible! Oh, the savage, cruel Englishman.’ The funniest thing in the +world.” + +But if this was so, Manuel’s _Lugareños_ were now in Havana. Sebright +pointed out that, as things stood, it was the safest place for them, +under the wing of their patron. Sebright had recognized the schooner +at once. She came in very early one morning, and hauled herself +unostentatiously out of sight amongst a ruck of small craft moored in +the lower part of the harbour. He took the first opportunity to ask one +of the guards on the quay what was that pretty vessel over there, just +to hear what the man would say. He was assured that she was a Porto Rico +trader of no consequence, well known in the port. + +“Never mind the scoundrels; they can do nothing more to you.” + +Sebright dismissed the _Lugareños_ out of my life. The unfavourable +circumstance for us was that the captain had gone ashore. The ship was +ready for sea; absolutely cleared; papers on board; could go in an hour +if it came to that; but, at any rate, next morning at daylight, before +O’Brien could get wind of the Riego _drogher_ arriving. Every movement +in port was reported to the _Juez_; but this was a feast, and he would +not hear of it probably till next day. Even _fiestas_ had their uses +sometimes. In his anxiety to discover Seraphina, O’Brien had played such +pranks amongst the foreign shipping (after the _Lion_ had been drawn +blank) that the whole consular body had addressed a joint protest to the +Governor, and the _Juez_ had been told to moderate his efforts. No ship +was to be visited more than once. Still I had seen, myself, soldiers +going in a boat to board the American brigantine: a garlic-eating +crew, poisoning the cabins with their breath, and poking their noses +everywhere. Of course, since our supposed drowning, there had been a +lull; but the least thing might start him off again. He was reputed to +be almost out of his mind with sorrow, arising from his great attachment +for the family. He walked about as if distracted, suffered from +insomnia, and had not been fit to preside in his court for over a week, +now. + +“But don’t you expect Williams back on board directly?” + +He shook his head. + +“No. Not even to-night. He told the missus he was going to spend the day +out of town with his consignee, but he tipped me the wink. This evening +he will send a note that the consignee detains him for the night, +because the letters are not ready, and I’ll have to go to her and lie, +the best I am able, that it’s quite the usual thing. Damn!” + +I was appalled. This was too bad. And, as I raged against the dissolute +habits of the man, Sebright entreated me to moderate my voice so as not +to be heard in the cabin. Did I expect the man to change his skin? +He had been doing the gay bachelor about here all his life; had never +suspected he was doing anything particularly scandalous either. + +“He married the old girl out of chivalry,--the romantic fat beggar,--and +never realized what it meant till she came out with him,” Sebright went +on whispering to me. “He loves and honours her more than you may think. +That is so, for all your shrugs, Mr. Kemp. It is not so easy to break +the old connection as you imagine. Why, the other evening, two of his +dissolute habits (as you call them) came off, with mantillas over their +heads, in a boat, in company with a male scallawag of sorts, pinching a +mandolin, and serenaded the ship for him. We were all in the cabin after +supper, and poor Mrs. Williams, with her eyes still red from weeping +over you people, says to us, ‘How sweet and melancholy that sounds,’ +says she. You should have seen the skipper rolling his eyes at me. The +perspiration of fright was simply pouring down his face. I rushed on +deck, and it took me all my Spanish to stop them from coming aboard. I +had to swear by all the saints, and the honour of a _caballero_, that +there was a wife. They went away laughing at last. They did not want to +make trouble. They simply had not believed the tale before. Thought it +was some dodge of his. I could hear their peals of laughter all the way +up the harbour. These are the difficulties we have. The old girl must +be protected from that sort of eye-opener, if I’ve to forswear my soul. +I’ve been keeping guard over her ever since we arrived here--besides +looking out for you people, as long as there was any hope.” + +I was greatly cast down. Perhaps Williams was justified in making +concessions to the associates of his former jolly existence to save some +outrage to the feelings of his consort. I did not want to criticise his +motives--but what about getting him back on board at once? + +Sebright was biting his lip. The necessity was pressing, he admitted. + +He had an idea where to find him. But for himself he could not +_go_--that was evident. Neither would I wish him to leave the ship, even +for a moment, now Seraphina was on board. An unexpected visit from some +zealous police understrapper, a momentary want of presence of mind +on the part of the timid steward; there was enough to bring about our +undoing. Moreover, as he had said, he must remain on guard over the +missus. But whom to send? There was not a single boatman about. The +harbour was a desert of water and dressed ships; but even the crews +of most of them were ashore--“on a regular spree of praying,” as he +expressed it vexedly. As to our own crew, not one of them knew anything +more of Spanish than a few terms of abuse, perhaps. Their hearts were in +the right place, but as to their wits, he wouldn’t trust a single one of +them by himself--no, not an inch away from the ship. How could he send +one of them ashore with the wineshops yawning wide on all sides, and not +enough lingo to ask for the way. Sure to get drunk, to get lost, to get +into trouble in some way, and in the end get picked up by the police. +The slightest hitch of that sort would call attention upon the ship--and +with O’Brien to draw inferences.... He rubbed his head. + +“I suppose I’ll have to go,” he grunted. “But I am known; I may be +followed. They may wonder why I rush to fetch my skipper. And yet I feel +this is the time. The very time. Between now and four o’clock to-morrow +morning we have an almost absolute certitude of getting away with you +two. This is our chance and your chance.” + +He was lost in perplexity. Then, as if inspired, I cried: + +“I will go!” + +“The devil!” he said, amazed. “Would you?” + +I rushed at him with arguments. No one would know me. My clothes were +all right and clean enough for a feast-day. I could slip through the +crowds un-perceived. The principal thing was to get Seraphina out of +O’Brien’s reach. At the worst, I could always find means to get away +from Cuba by myself. There was Mrs. Williams to look after her, and if I +missed Williams by some mischance, and failed to make my way back to the +ship in time, I charged them solemnly not to wait, but sail away at the +earliest possible moment. + +I said much more than this. I was eloquent. I became as if suddenly +intoxicated by the nearness of freedom and safety. The thought of being +at sea with her in a few hours away from all trouble of mind or heart, +made my head swim. It seemed to me I should go mad if I was not allowed +to go. My limbs tingled with eagerness. I stuttered with excitement. + +“Well--after all!” Sebright mumbled. + +“I must go in and tell her,” I said. + +“No. Don’t do that,” said that wise young man. “Have you made up your +mind?” + +“Yes, I have,” I answered. “But she’s reasonable.” + +“Still,” he argued, “the old girl is sure to say that nothing of the +kind is necessary. The captain told her that he was coming back for tea. +What could we say to that? We can’t explain the true state of the case, +and if you persist in going, it will look like pig-headed folly on your +part.” + +He threw his writing-desk open for me. + +“Write to her. Write down your arguments--what you have been telling me. +It’s a fact that the door stands open for a few hours. As to the rest,” + he pursued, with a weary sigh, “I’ll do the lying to pass it off with +Mrs. Williams.” + +Thus it came about that, with only two flimsy bulkheads between us, I +wrote my first letter to Seraphina, while Sebright went on deck to make +arrangements to send me ashore. He was some time away; long enough for +me to pour out on paper the exultation of my thought, the confidence of +my hope, my desire to have her safe at last with me upon the blue sea. +One must seize a propitious moment lest it should slip away and never +return, I wrote. I begged her to believe I was acting for the best, and +only from my great love, that could not support the thought of her being +so near O’Brien, the arch-enemy of our union. There was no separation on +the sea. + +Sebright came in brusquely. + +“Come along.” + +The American brigantine was berthed by then, close astern of the _Lion_, +and Sebright had the idea of asking her mate to let his boat (it was in +the water) put ashore a visitor he had on board. His own were hoisted, +he explained, and there were no boatmen plying for hire. + +His request was granted. I was pulled ashore by two American sailors, +who never said a word to each other, and evidently took me for a +Spaniard. + +It was an excellent idea. By borrowing the Yankee’s boat, the track of +my connection with the _Lion_ was covered. The silent seamen landed me, +as asked by Sebright, near the battery on the sand, quite clear of the +city. + +I thanked them in Spanish, and, traversing a piece of open ground, made +a wide circle to enter the town from the land side, to still further +cover my tracks. I passed through a sort of squalid suburb of huts, +hovels, and negro shanties. I met very few people, and these mostly old +women, looking after the swarms of children of all colours and sizes, +playing in the dust. Many curs sunned themselves among heaps of +rubbish, and took not the trouble to growl at me. Then I came out upon +a highroad, and turned my face towards the city lying under a crude +sunshine, and in a ring of metallic vibrations. + +Better houses with plastered fronts washed yellow or blue, and even +pinky red, alternated with tumble-down wooden structures. A crenellated +squat gateway faced me with a carved shield of stone above the open +gloom. A young smooth-faced mulatto, in some sort of dirty uniform, but +wearing new straw slippers with blue silk rosettes over his naked feet, +lounged cross-legged at the door of a kind of guardroom. He held a big +cigar tilted up between his teeth, and ogled me, like a woman, out of +the corners of his languishing eyes. He said not a word. + +Fortunately my face had tanned to a dark hue. Enrico’s clothes would +not attract attention to me, of course. The light colour of my hair was +concealed by the handkerchief bound under my hat; my footsteps echoed +loudly under the vault, and I penetrated into the heart of the city. + +And directly, it seemed to me, I had stepped back three hundred years. I +had never seen anything so old; this was the abandoned inheritance of +an adventurous race, that seemed to have thrown all its might, all its +vigour, and all its enthusiasm into one supreme effort of valour and +greed. I had read the history of the Spanish Conquest; and, looking at +these great walls of stone, I felt my heart moved by the same wonder, +and by the same sadness. With what a fury of heroism and faith had this +whole people flung itself upon the opulent mystery of the New World. +Never had a nation clasped closer to its heart its dream of greatness, +of glory, and of romance. There had been a moment in its destiny, when +it could believe that Heaven itself smiled upon its massacres. I walked +slowly, awed by the solitude. They had conquered and were no more, and +these wrought stones remained to testify gloomily to the death of their +success. Heavy houses, immense walls, pointed arches of the doorways, +cages of iron bars projecting balcony wise around each square window. +And not a soul in sight, not a head looking out from these dwellings, +these houses of men, these ancient abodes of hate, of base rivalries, +of avarice, of ambitions--these old nests of love, these witnesses of +a great romance now past and gone below the horizon. They seemed to +return mournfully my wondering glances; they seemed to look at me and +say, “What do you here? We have seen other men, heard other footsteps!” + The peace of the cloister brooded over these aged blocks of masonry, +stained with the green trails of mosses, infiltrated with shadows. + +At times the belfry of a church would volley a tremendous crash of +bronze into the narrow streets; and between whiles I could hear the +faint echoes of far-off chanting, the brassy distant gasps of trombones. +A woman in black whisked round a corner, hurrying towards the route of +the procession. I took the same direction. From a wine-shop, yawning +like a dirty cavern in the basement of a palatial old building, issued +suddenly a brawny ruffian in rags, wiping his thick beard with the +back of a hairy paw. He lurched a little, and began to walk before me +hastily. I noticed the glitter of a gold earring in the lobe of his huge +ear. His cloak was frayed at the bottom into a perfect fringe and, as he +flung it about, he showed a good deal of naked skin under it. His calves +were bandaged crosswise; his peaked hat seemed to have been trodden upon +in filth before he had put it on his head. Suddenly I stopped short. A +_Lugareño_! + +We were then in the empty part of a narrow street, whose lower end +was packed, close with a crowd viewing the procession which was filing +slowly past, along the wide thoroughfare. It was too late for me to go +back. Moreover, the ruffian paid no attention to me. It was best to +go on. The people, packed between the houses with their backs to us, +blocked our way. I had to wait. + +He took his position near me in the rear of the last rank of the crowd. +He must have been inclined to repentance in his cups, because he began +to mumble and beat his breast. Other people in the crowd were also +beating their breasts. In front of me I had the façade of a building +which, according to the little plan of my route Sebright drew for me, +was the Palace of Justice. It had a peristyle of ugly columns at the top +of a flight of steps. A cordon of infantry kept the roadway clear. The +singing went on without interruption; and I saw tall saints of wood, +gilt and painted red and blue, pass, borne shoulder-high, swaying and +pitching above the heads of the crowd like the masts of boats in a +seaway. Crucifixes were carried, flashing in the sun; an enormous +Madonna, which must have weighed half a ton, tottered across my line of +sight, dressed up in gold brocade and with a wreath of paper roses on +her head. A military band sent a hurricane blast of brasses as it +went by. Then all was still at once, except the silvery tinkling of +hand-bells. The people before me fell on their knees together and left +me standing up alone. + +As a matter of fact I had been caught gaping at the ceremony quite new +to me, and had not expected a move of that sort. The ruffian kneeling +within a foot of me thumped and bellowed in an ecstasy of piety. As to +me, I own I stood there looking with impatience at a passing canopy that +seemed all gold, with three priests in gorgeous capes walking slowly +under it, and I absolutely forgot to take off my hat. The bearded +ruffian looked up from the midst of his penitential exercises, and +before I realized I was outraging his or anybody else’s feelings, leaped +up with a yell, “Thou sacrilegious infidel,” and sent my hat flying off +my head. + +Just then the band crashed again, the bells pealed out, and no one heard +his shout. With one blow of my fist I sent him staggering backwards. The +procession had passed; people were rising from their knees and pouring +out of the narrow street. Swearing, he fumbled under his cloak; I +watched him narrowly; but in a moment he sprang away and lost himself +amongst the moving crowd. I picked up my hat. + +For a time I stood very uneasy, and then retreated under a doorway. +Nothing happened, and I was anxious to get on. It was possible to +cross the wide street now. That _Lugareño_ did not know me. He was a +_Lugareño_, though. No doubt about it. I would make a dash now; but +first I stole a hasty glance at the plan of my route which I kept in the +hollow of my palm. + +“Señor,” said a voice. I lifted my head. + +An elderly man in black, with a white moustache and imperial, stood +before me. The ruffian was stalking up to his side, and four soldiers +with an officer were coming behind. I took in the whole disaster at a +glance. + +“The Señor is no doubt a foreigner--perhaps an Englishman,” said the +official in black. He had a lace collar, a chain on his neck, velvet +breeches, a well-turned leg in black stockings. His voice was soft. + +I was so disconcerted that I nodded at him. + +“The Señor is young and inconsiderate. Religious feelings ought to be +respected.” The official in black was addressing me in sad and measured +tones. “This good Catholic,” he continued, eying the bearded ruffian +dubiously, “has made a formal statement to me of your impious +demonstration.” + +What a fatal accident, I thought, appalled; but I tried to explain the +matter. I expressed regret. The other gazed at me benevolently. + +“Nevertheless, Señor, pray follow me. Even for your own safety. You must +give some account of yourself.” + +This I was firmly resolved not to give. But the _Lugareño_ had been +going through a pantomime of scrutinizing my person. He crouched up, +stepped back, then to one side. + +“This worthy man,” began the official in black, “complains of your +violence, too....” + +“This worthy man,” I shouted stupidly, “is a pirate. He is a Rio Medio +_Lugareño_. He is a criminal.” + +The official seemed astounded, and I saw my idiotic mistake at once--too +late! + +“Strange,” he murmured, and, at the same time, the ruffianly wretch +began to shout: + +“It is he! The traitor! The heretic! I recognize him!” + +“Peace, peace!” said the man in black. + +“I demand to be taken before the Juez Don Patricio for a deposition,” + shrieked the _Lugareño_. A crowd was beginning to collect. + +The official and the officer exchanged consulting glances. At a word +from the latter, the soldiers closed upon me. + +I felt utterly overcome, as if the earth had crumbled under my feet, and +the heavens had been rent in twain. + +I walked between my captors across the street amongst hooting knots of +people, and up the steps of the portico, as if in a frightful dream. + +In the gloomy, chilly hall they made me wait. A soldier stood on each +side of me, and there, absolutely before my eyes on a little table, +reposed Mrs. Williams’ shawl and Sebright’s cap. This was the very hall +of the Palace of Justice of which Sebright had spoken. It was more than +ever like an absurd dream, now. But I had the leisure to collect my +wits. I could not claim the Consul’s protection simply because I should +have to give him a truthful account of myself, and that would mean +giving up Seraphina. The Consul could not protect her. But the _Lion_ +would sail on the morrow. Sebright would understand it if Williams +did not. I trusted Sebright’s sagacity. Yes, she would sail tomorrow +evening. A day and a half. If I could only keep the knowledge of +Seraphina from O’Brien till then--she was safe, and I should be safe, +too, for my lips would be unsealed. I could claim the protection of my +Consul and proclaim the villainy of the _Juez_. + +“Go in there now, Señor, to be confronted with your accuser,” said the +official in black, appearing before me. He pointed at a small door +to the left. My heart was beating steadily. I felt a sort of intrepid +resignation. + + + + +PART FIFTH -- THE LOT OF MAN + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +“Why have I been brought here, your worships?” I asked, with a great +deal of firmness. + +There were two figures in black, the one beside, the other behind a +large black table. I was placed in front of them, between two soldiers, +in the centre of a large, gaunt room, with bare, dirty walls, and the +arms of Spain above the judge’s seat. + +“You are before the _Juez de la Primiera Instancia_,” said the man in +black beside the table. He wore a large and shadowy tricorn. “Be silent, +and respect the procedure.” + +It was, without doubt, excellent advice. He whispered some words in the +ear of the Judge of the First Instance. It was plain enough to me that +the judge was a quite inferior official, who merely decided whether +there were any case against the accused; he had, even to his clerk, an +air of timidity, of doubt. + +I said, “But I insist on knowing....” + +The clerk said, “In good time....” And then, in the same tone of +disinterested official routine, he spoke to the _Lugareño_, who, from +beside the door, rolled very frightened eyes from the judges and the +clerk to myself and the soldiers--“Advance.” + +The judge, in a hurried, perfunctory voice, put questions to the +_Lugareño_; the clerk scratched with a large quill on a sheet of paper. + +“Where do you come from?” + +“The town of Rio Medio, Excellency.” + +“Of what occupation?” + +“Excellency--a few goats....” + +“Why are you here?” + +“My daughter, Excellency, married Pepe of the posada in the Calle....” + +The judge said, “Yes, yes,” with an unsanguine impatience. The +_Lugareño’s_ dirty hands jumped nervously on the large rim of his limp +hat. + +“You lodge a complaint against the senor there.” + +The clerk pointed the end of his quill towards me. + +“I? God forbid, Excellency,” the _Lugareño_ bleated. “The _Alguazil_ of +the Criminal Court instructed me to be watchful.” + +“You lodge an information, then?” the _juez_ said. + +“Maybe it is an information, Excellency,” the _Lugareño_ answered, “as +regards the senor there.” + +The _Alguazil_ of the Criminal Court had told him, and many other men +of Rio Medio, to be on the watch for me, “undoubtedly touching what had +happened, as all the world knew, in Rio Medio.” + +He looked me full in the face with stupid insolence, and said: + +“At first I much doubted, for all the world said this man was +dead--though others said worse things. Perhaps, who knows?” + +He had seen me, he said, many times in Rio Medio, outside the Casa; on +the balcony of the Casa, too. And he was sure that I was a heretic and +an evil person. + +It suddenly struck me that this man--I was undoubtedly familiar with his +face--must be the lieutenant of Manuel-del-Popolo, his boon companion. +Without doubt, he had seen me on the balcony of the Casa. + +He had gained a lot of assurance from the conciliatory manner of the +_Juez_, and said suddenly, in a tentative way: + +“An evil person; a heretic? Who knows? Perhaps it was he who incited +some people there to murder his señoria, the illustrious Don.” + +I said almost contemptuously, “Surely the charge against me is most +absurd? Everyone knows who I am.” + +The old judge made a gentle, tired motion with his hand. + +“Señor,” he said, “there is no charge against you--except that no +one knows who you are. You were in a place where very lamentable +and inexplicable things happened; you are now in Havana: you have no +passport. I beg of you to remain calm. These things are all in order.” + +I hadn’t any doubt that, as far as he knew, he was speaking the truth. +He was a man, very evidently, of a weary and naïve simplicity. Perhaps +it was really true--that I should only have to explain; perhaps it was +all over. + +O’Brien came into the room with the casual step of an official from an +office entering another’s room. + +It was as if seeing me were a thing that he very much disliked--that +he came because he wanted to satisfy himself of my existence, of my +identity, and my being alone. The slow stare that he gave me did not +mitigate the leisureliness of his entry. He walked behind the table; the +judge rose with immense deference; with his eternal smile, and no +word spoken, he motioned the judge to resume the examination; he stood +looking at the clerk’s notes meditatively, the smile still round lips +that had a nervous tremble, and eyes that had dark marks beneath them. +He seemed as if he were still smiling just after having been violently +shaken. + +The judge went on examining the _Lugareño_. + +“Do you know whence the señor came?” + +“Excellency, Excellency....” The man stuttered, his eyes on O’Brien’s +face. + +“Nor how long he was in the town of Rio Medio?” the judge went on. + +O’Brien suddenly drooped towards his ear. “All those things are known, +senor, my colleague,” he said, and began to whisper. + +The old judge showed signs of very naïve astonishment and joy. + +“Is it possible?” he exclaimed. “This man? He is very young to have +committed such crimes.” + +The clerk hurriedly left the room. He returned with many papers. +O’Brien, leaning over the judge’s shoulder, emphasized words with one +finger. What new villainies could O’Brien be meditating? It wasn’t +possibly the _Lugareño’s_ suggestion that I had lured men to murder Don +Balthasar? Was it merely that I had infringed some law in carrying off +Seraphina? + +The old judge said, “How lucky, Don Patricio! We may now satisfy the +English admiral. What good fortune!” + +He suddenly sat straight in his chair; O’Brien behind him scrutinized my +face--to see how I should bear what was coming. + +“What is your name?” the judge asked peremptorily. + +I said, “Juan--John Kemp. I am of noble English family; I am well enough +known. Ask the Señor O’Brien.” + +On O’Brien’s shaken face the smile hardened. + +“I heard that in Rio Medio the senor was called... was called...” He +paused and appealed to the _Lugareño_. + +“What was he called--the _capataz_ the man who led the picaroons?” + +The _Lugareño_ stammered, “Nikola... Nikola el Escoces, Señor Don +Patricio.” + +“You hear?” O’Brien asked the judge. “This villager identifies the man.” + +“Undoubtedly--undoubtedly,” the _Juez_ said. “We need no more +evidence.... You, Señor, have seen this villain in Rio Medio, this +villager identifies him by name.” + +I said, “This is absurd. A hundred witnesses can say that I am John +Kemp....” + +“That may be true,” the _Juez_ said dryly, and then to his clerk: + +“Write here, ‘John Kemp, of noble British family, called, on the scene +of his crimes, Nikola el Escoces, otherwise El Demonio.’” + +I shrugged my shoulders. I did not, at the moment, realize to what this +all tended. + +The judge said to the clerk, “Read the Act of Accusation. Read here....” + He was pointing to a paragraph of the papers the clerk had brought in. +They were the Act of Accusation, prepared long before, against the man +Nichols. + +This particular villainy suddenly became grotesquely and portentously +plain. The clerk read an appalling catalogue of sordid crimes, working +into each other like kneaded dough--the testimony of witnesses who had +signed the record. Nikola had looted fourteen ships, and had apparently +murdered twenty-two people with his own hand--two of them women--and +there was the affair of Rowley’s boats. “The pinnace,” the clerk read, +“of the British came within ten yards. The said Nikola then exclaimed, +‘Curse the bloodthirsty hounds,’ and fired the grapeshot into the boat. +Seven were killed by that discharge. This I saw with my own eyes.... +Signed, Isidoro Alemanno.” And another swore, “The said Nikola was +below, but he came running up, and with one blow of his knife severed +the throat of the man who was kneeling on the deck....” + +There was no doubt that Nikola had committed these crimes; that the +witnesses had sworn to them and signed the deposition.... The old judge +had evidently never seen him, and now O’Brien and the _Lugareño_ had +sworn that I was Nikola el Escoces, alias El Demonio. + +My first impulse was to shout with rage; but I checked it because I knew +I should be silenced. I said: + +“I am not Nikola el Escoces. That I can easily prove.” + +The Judge of the First Instance shrugged his shoulders and looked, with +implicit trust, up into O’Brien’s face. + +“That man,” I pointed at the _Lugareño_, “is a pirate. And, what is +more, he is in the pay of the Señor Juez O’Brien. He was the lieutenant +of a man called Manuel-del-Popolo, who commanded the _Lugareños_ after +Nikola left Rio Medio.” + +“You know very much about the pirates,” the _Juez_ said, with the +sardonic air of a very stupid man. “Without doubt you were intimate with +them. I sign now your order for committal to the _carcel_ of the Marine +Court.” + +I said, “But I tell you I am not Nikola....” + +The _Juez_ said impassively, “You pass out of my hands into those of the +Marine Court. I am satisfied that you are a person deserving of a trial. +That is the limit of my responsibility.” + +I shouted then, “But I tell you this O’Brien is my personal enemy.” + +The old man smiled acidly. + +“The señor need fear nothing of our courts. He will be handed over to +his own countrymen. Without doubt of them he will obtain justice.” He +signed to the _Lugareño_ to go, and rose, gathering up his papers; +he bowed to O’Brien. “I leave the criminal at the disposal of your +worship,” he said, and went out with his clerk. + +O’Brien sent out the two soldiers after him, and stood there alone. He +had never been so near his death. But for sheer curiosity, for my sheer +desire to know what he _could_ say, I would have smashed in his brains +with the clerk’s stool. I was going to do it; I made one step towards +the stool. Then I saw that he was crying. + +“The curse--the curse of Cromwell on you,” he sobbed suddenly. “You send +me back to hell again.” He writhed his whole body. “Sorrow!” he said, “I +know it. But what’s this? What’s _this?_” + +The many reasons he had for sorrow flashed on me like a procession of +sombre images. + +“Dead and done with a man can bear,” he muttered. “But this--Not to +know--perhaps alive--perhaps hidden--She may be dead....” With a change +like a flash he was commanding me. + +“Tell me how you escaped.” + +I had a vague inspiration of the truth. + +“You aren’t fit for a decent man’s speaking to,” I said. + +“You let her drown.” + +It gave me suddenly the measure of his ignorance; he did not know +anything--nothing. His hell was uncertainty. Well, let him stay there. + +“Where is she?” he said. “Where is she?” + +“Where she’s no need to fear you,” I answered. + +He had a sudden convulsive gesture, as if searching for a weapon. + +“If you’ll tell me she’s alive...” he began. + +“Oh, I’m not dead,” I answered. + +“Never a drowned puppy was more,” he said, with a flash of vivacity. +“You hang here--for murder--or in England for piracy.” + +“Then I’ve little to want to live for,” I sneered at him. + +“You let her drown,” he said. “You took her from that house, a young +girl, in a little boat. And you can hold up your head.” + +“I was trying to save her from you,” I answered. + +“By God,” he said. “These English--I’ve seen them, spit the child on the +mother’s breast. I’ve seen them set fire to the thatch of the widow and +childless. But this.... But this.... I can save you, I tell you.” + +“You can’t make me go through worse than I’ve borne,” I answered. Sorrow +and all he might wish on my head, my life was too precious to him till I +spoke. I wasn’t going to speak. + +“I’ll search every ship in the harbour,” he said passionately. + +“Do,” I said. “Bring your _Lugareños_ to the task.” + +Upon the whole, I wasn’t much afraid. Unless he got definite evidence he +couldn’t--in the face of the consul’s protests, and the presence of the +admiral--touch the _Lion_ again. He fixed his eyes intently upon me. + +“You came in the American brigantine,” he said. “It’s known you landed +in her boat.” + +I didn’t answer him; it was plain enough that the _drogher’s_ arrival +had either not been reported to him, or it had been searched in vain. + +“In her boat,” he repeated. “I tell you I know she is not dead; even +you, an Englishman, must have a different face if she were.” + +“I don’t at least ask you for life,” I said, “to enjoy with her.” + +“She’s alive,” he said. “Alive! As for where, it matters little. I’ll +search every inch of the island, every road, every _hacienda_. You don’t +realize my power.” + +“Then search the bottom of the sea,” I shouted. + +“Let’s look at the matter in the right light.” + +He had mastered his grief, his incertitude. He was himself again, and +the smile had returned--as if at the moment he forced his features to +their natural lines. + +“Send one of your friars to heaven--you’ll never go there yourself to +meet her.” + +“If you will tell me she’s alive, I’ll save you.” + +I made a mute, obstinate gesture. + +“If she’s alive, and you don’t tell me, I can’t but find her. And I’ll +make you know the agonies of suspense--a long way from here.” + +I was silent. + +“If she’s dead, and you’ll tell me, I’ll save you some trouble. If she’s +dead and you don’t, you’ll have your own remorse and the rest, too.” + +I said, “You’re too Irish mysterious for me to understand. But you’ve a +choice of four evils for me--choose yourself.” + +He continued with a quivering, taut good-humour: “Prove to me she’s +dead, and I’ll let you die sharply and mercifully.” + +“You won’t believe!” I said; but he took no notice. + +“I tell you plainly,” he smiled. “If we find... if we find her dear +body--and I can’t help; but I’ve men on the watch all along the +shores--I’ll give you up to your admiral for a pirate. You’ll have +a long slow agony of a trial; I know what English justice is. And a +disgraceful felon’s death.” + +I was thinking that, in any case, a day or so might be gained, the +_Lion_ would be gone; they could not touch her while the flagship +remained outside. I certainly didn’t want to be given up to the admiral; +I might explain the mistaken identity. But there was the charge of +treason in Jamaica. I said: + +“I only ask to be given up; but you daren’t do it for your own credit. I +can show you up.” + +He said, “Make no mistake! If he gets you, he’ll hang you. He’s going +home in disgrace. Your whole blundering Government will work to hang +you.” + +“They know pretty well,” I answered, “that there are queer doings in +Havana. I promise you, I’ll clear things up. I know too much....” + +He said, with a sudden, intense note of passion, “Only tell me where her +grave is, I’ll let you go free. You couldn’t, you dare not, dastard that +you are, go away from where she died--without... without making sure.” + +“Then search all the new graves in the island,” I said, “I’ll tell you +nothing.... Nothing!” + +He came at me again and again, but I never spoke after that. He made all +the issues clearer and clearer--his own side involuntarily and all the +griefs I had to expect. As for him, he dared not kill me--and he dared +not give me up to the admiral. In his suspense, since, for him, I was +the only person in the world who knew Seraphina’s fate, he dared not let +me out of his grip. And all the while he had me he must keep the admiral +there, waiting for the surrender either of myself or of some other poor +devil whom he might palm off as Nikola el Escoces. While the admiral was +there the _Lion_ was pretty safe from molestation, and she would sail +pretty soon. + +At the same time, except for the momentary sheer joy of tormenting a +man whom I couldn’t help regarding as a devil, I had more than enough to +fear. I had suffered too much; I wanted rest, woman’s love, slackening +off. And here was another endless coil--endless. If it didn’t end in a +knife in the back, he might keep me for ages in Havana; or he might +get me sent to England, where it would take months, an endless time, to +prove merely that I wasn’t Nikola el Escoces. I should prove it; but, +in the meantime, what would become of Sera-phina? Would she follow me to +England? Would she even know that I had gone there? Or would she think +me dead and die herself? O’Brien knew nothing; his spies might report a +hundred uncertainties. He was standing rigidly still now, as if afraid +to move for fear of breaking down. He said suddenly: + +“You came in some ship; you can’t deceive me, I shall have them all +searched again.” + +I said desperately, “Search and be damned--whatever ships you like.” + +“You cold, pitiless, English scoundrel,” he shrieked suddenly. The +breaking down of his restraint had let him go right into madness. “You +have murdered her. You cared nothing; you came from nowhere. A beggarly +fool, too stupid to be even an adventurer. A miserable blunderer, coming +in blind; coming out blind; and leaving ruin and worse than hell. What +good have you done yourself? What could you? What did you see? What did +you hope?... Sorrow? Ruin? Death? I am acquainted with them. It is in +the blood; ’tis in the tone; in the entrails of us, in our mother’s +milk. Your accursed land has brought always that on our own dear and +sorrowful country.... You waste, you ruin, you spoil. What for?... Tell +me what for? Tell me? Tell me? What did you gain? What will you ever +gain? An unending curse!... But, ah, ye’ve no souls.” + +He called very loudly, as if with a passionate relief, his voice giving +life to an unsuspected, misgiving echo: + +“Guards! Soldiers!... You shall be shot, now!” + +He was going to cut the knot that way. Two soldiers pushed the door +noisily open, their muskets advanced. He took no notice of them; and +they retained an attitude of military stupidity, their eyes upon him. He +whispered: + +“No, no! Not yet!” + +Then he looked at me searchingly, as if he still hoped to get some +certainty from my face, some inkling, perhaps some inspiration of what +would persuade me to speak. Then he shook his wrists violently, as if in +fear of himself. + +“Take him away,” he said. “Away! Out of reach of my hands. Out of reach +of my hands.” + +I was trembling a good deal; when the soldiers entered I thought I had +got to my last minute. But, as it was, he had not learnt a thing +from me. Not a thing. And I did not see where else he could go for +information. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +The entrance to the common prison of Havana was a sort of lofty +tunnel, finished by great, iron-rusted, wooden gates. A civil guard was +exhibiting the judge’s warrant for my committal to a white-haired man, +with a red face and blue eyes, that seemed to look through tumbled +bushes of silver eyebrows--the _alcayde_ of the prison. He bowed, and +rattled two farcically large keys. A practicable postern was ajar on the +yellow wood of the studded gates. It was as if it afforded a glimpse +of the other side of the world. The venerable turnkey, a gnome in +a steeple-crowned hat, protruded a blood-red hand backwards in the +direction of the postern. + +“Señor Caballero,” he croaked, “I pray you to consider this house your +own. My servants are yours.” + +Within was a gravel yard, shut in by portentous lead-white house-sides +with black window holes. Under each row of windows was a vast vaulted +tunnel, caged with iron bars, for all the world like beasts’ dens. It +being day, the beasts were out and lounging about the _patio_. They had +an effect of infinite tranquillity, as if they were ladies and gentlemen +parading in a Sunday avenue. Perhaps twenty of them, in snowy white +shirts and black velvet knee-breeches, strutted like pigeons in a knot, +some with one woman on the arm, some with two. Bundles of variegated +rags lay against the walls, as if they were sweepings. Well, they were +the sweepings of Havana jail. The men in white and black were the great +thieves... and there were children, too--the place was the city +orphanage. For the fifth part of a second my advent made no difference. +Then, at the far end, one of the men in black and white separated +himself, and came swiftly to me across the sunny _patio_. The others +followed slowly, with pea-fowl steps, their women hanging to them +and whispering. The bundles of rags rose up towards me; others slunk +furtively out of the barred dens. The man who was approaching had the +head of a Julius Cæsar of fifty, for all the world as if he had stolen a +bust and endowed it with yellow skin and stubby gray and silver hair. +He saluted me with intense gravity and an imperial glance of yellow +eyes along a hooked nose. His linen was the most spotless broidered and +embossed stuff; from the crimson scarf round his waist protruded the +shagreen and silver handle of a long dagger. He said: + +“Señor, I have the honour to salute you. I am Crisostomo Garcia. I ask +the courtesy of your trousers.” + +I did not answer him. I did not see what he wanted with my trousers, +which weren’t anyway as valuable as his own. The others were closing +in on me like a solid wall. I leant back against the gate; I was not +frightened, but I was mightily excited. The man like Cæsar looked +fiercely at me, swayed a long way back on his haunches, and imperiously +motioned the crowd to recede. + +“Señor Inglesito,” he said, “the gift I have the honour to ask of you is +the price of my protection. Without it these, my brothers, will tear you +limb from limb, there will nothing of you remain.” + +His brothers set up a stealthy, sinister growl, that went round among +the heads like the mutter of an obscene echo among the mountain-tops. I +wondered whether this, perhaps, was the man who, O’Brien said, would +put a knife in my back. I hadn’t any knife; I might knock the fellow’s +teeth down his throat, though. + +The _alcayde_ thrust his immense hat, blood-red face, and long, ragged, +silver locks out of the little door. His features were convulsed with +indignation. He had been whispering with the Civil Guard. + +“Are you mad, gentlemen?” he said. “Do you wish to visit hell before +your times? Do you know who the senor is? Did you ever hear of Carlos el +Demonio? This is the _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!” + +It was plain that my deeds, such as they were, reported by O’Brien +spies, by the _Lugareños_, by all sorts of credulous gossipers, had got +me the devil of a reputation in the _patio_ of the jail. Men detached +themselves from the crowd, and went running about to announce my +arrival. The _alcayde_ drew his long body into the _patio_, and turned +to lock the little door with an immense key. In the crowd all sorts +of little movements happened. Women crossed themselves, and furtively +thrust pairs of crooked, skinny, brown, black-nailed fingers in my +direction. The man like Cæsar said: + +“I ask your pardon, Señor Caballero. I did not know. How could I tell? +You are free of all the _patios_ in this land.” + +The tall _alcayde_ finished grinding the immense key in the lock, and +touched me on the arm. + +“If the senor will follow me,” he said. “I will do the honours of this +humble mansion, and indicate a choice of rooms where he may be free from +the visits of these gentry.” + +We went up steps, and through long, shadowy corridors, with here and +there a dark, lounging figure, like a stag seen in the dim aisles of a +wood. The _alcayde_ threw open a door. + +The room was like a blazing oblong-box, filled with light, but without +window or chimney. Two men were fencing in the illumination of some +twenty candles stuck all round the mildewed white walls on lumps of +clay. There was a blaze of silver things, like an altar of a wealthy +church, from a black, carved table in the far corner. The two men, in +shirts and breeches, revolved round each other, their rapiers clinking, +their left arms scarved, holding buttoned daggers. The _alcayde_ +proclaimed: + +“Don Vincente Salazar, I have the honour to announce an English senor.” + +The man with his face to me tossed his rapier impatiently into a corner. +He was a plump, dark Cuban, with a brooding truculence. The other faced +round quickly. His cheeks shone in the candle-light like polished yellow +leather, his eyes were narrow slits, his face lugubrious. He scrutinized +me intently, then drawled: + +“My! You?... Hang me if I didn’t think it would be you!” + +He had the air of surveying a monstrosity, and pulled the neck of his +dirty print shirt open, panting. He slouched out into the corridor, and +began whispering eagerly to the _alcayde_. The little Cuban glowered at +me; I said I had the honour to salute him. + +He muttered something contemptuous between his teeth. Well, if he didn’t +want to talk to me, I didn’t want to talk to him. It had struck me that +the tall, sallow man was undoubtedly the second mate of the _Thames_. +Nicholas, the real Nikola el Escoces! The Cuban grumbled suddenly: + +“You, Señor, are without doubt one of the spies of that friend of the +priests, that O’Brien. Tell him to beware--that I bid him beware. I, Don +Vincente Salazar de Valdepefias y Forli y...” + +I remembered the name; he was once the suitor of Seraphina--the man +O’Brien had put out of the way. He continued with a grotesque frown of +portentous significance: + +“To-morrow I leave this place. And your compatriot is very much afraid, +Señor. Let him fear! Let him fear! But a thousand spies should not save +him.” + +The tall _alcayde_ came hurriedly back and stood bowing between us. He +apologized abjectly to the Cuban for intruding me upon him. But the room +was the best in the place at the disposal of the prisoners of the Juez +O’Brien. And I was a noted _caballero_. Heaven knows what I had not done +in Rio Medio. Burnt, slain, ravished.... The Señor Juez was understood +to be much incensed against me. The gloomy Cuban at once rushed upon me, +as if he would have taken me into his arms. + +“The _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!” he said. “Ha, ha! Much have I heard of +you. Much of the senor’s valiance! Many tales! That foul eater of the +carrion of the priests wishes your life! Ah, but let him beware! I shall +save you, Señor--I, Don Vincente Salazar.” + +He presented me with the room--a remarkably bare place but for his +properties: silver branch candlesticks, a silver chafing-dish as large +as a basin. They might have been chased by Cellini--one used to find +things like that in Cuba in those days, and Salazar was the person +to have them. Afterwards, at the time of the first insurrection, his +eight-mule harness was sold for four thousand pounds in Paris--by reason +of the gold and pearls upon it. The atmosphere, he explained, was fetid, +but his man was coming to burn sandal-wood and beat the air with fans. + +“And to-morrow!” he said, his eyes rolling. Suddenly he stopped. +“Señor,” he said, “is it true that my venerated friend, my more than +father, has been murdered--at the instigation of that fiend? Is it true +that the senorita has disappeared? These tales are told.” + +I said it was very true. + +“They shall be avenged,” he declared, “to-morrow! I shall seek out the +senorita. I shall find her. I shall find her! For me she was destined by +my venerable friend.” + +He snatched a black velvet jacket from the table and put it on. + +“Afterwards, Señor, you shall relate. Have no fear. I shall save you. I +shall save all men oppressed by this scourge of the land. For the moment +afford me the opportunity to meditate.” He crossed his arms, and dropped +his round head. “Alas, yes!” he meditated. + +Suddenly he waved towards the door. “Señor,” he said swiftly, “I must +have air; I stifle. Come with me to the corridor....” + +He went towards the window giving on to the _patio_; he stood in the +shadow, his arms folded, his head hanging dejectedly. At the moment it +grew suddenly dark, as if a veil had been thrown over a lamp. The sun +had set outside the walls. A drum began to beat. Down below in the +obscurity the crowd separated into three strings and moved slowly +towards the barren tunnels. Under our feet the white shirts disappeared; +the ragged crowd gravitated to the left; the small children strung into +the square cage-door. The drum beat again and the crowd hurried. Then +there was a clang of closing grilles and lights began to show behind the +bars from deep recesses. In a little time there was a repulsive hash of +heads and limbs to be seen under the arches vanishing a long way within, +and a little light washed across the gravel of the _patio_ from within. + +“Señor,” the Cuban said suddenly, “I will pronounce his panegyric. +He was a man of a great gentleness, of an inevitable nobility, of an +invariable courtesy. Where, in this degenerate age, shall we find the +like!” He stopped to breathe a sound of intense exasperation. + +“When I think of these Irish,...” he said. “Of that O’Brien....” + A servant was arranging the shining room that we had left. Salazar +interrupted himself to give some orders about a banquet, then returned +to me. “I tell you I am here for introducing my knife to the spine of +some sort of Madrid _embustero_, a man who was insolent to my _amiga_ +Clara. Do you believe that for that this O’Brien, by the influence of +the priests whose soles he licks with his tongue, has had me inclosed +for many months? Because he feared me! Aha! I was about to expose him to +the noble don who is now dead! I was about to wed the Señorita who +has disappeared. But to-morrow... I shall expose his intrigue to the +Captain-General. You, Señor, shall be my witness! I extend my protection +to you....” He crossed his arms and spoke with much deliberation. +“Señor, this Irishman incommodes me, Don Vincente Salazar de Valdepeñas +y Forli....” He nodded his head expressively. “Señor, we offered these +Irish the shelter of our robe for that your Government was making +martyrs of them who were good Christians, and it behoves us to act in +despite of your Government, who are heretics and not to be tolerated +upon God’s Christian earth. But, Señor, if they incommoded your +Government as they do us, I do not wonder that there was a desire to +remove them. Señor, the life of that man is not worth the price of eight +mules, which is the price I have paid for my release. I might walk free +at this moment, but it is not fitting that I should slink away under +cover of darkness. I shall go out in the daylight with my carriage. And +I will have an offering to show my friends who, like me, are incommoded +by this....” The man was a monomaniac; but it struck me that, if I had +been O’Brien, I should have felt uncomfortable. + +In the dark of the corridor a long shape appeared, lounging. The Cuban +beside me started hospitably forward. + +“_Vamos_,” he said briskly; “to the banquet....” He waved his hand +towards the shining door and stood aside. We entered. + +The other man was undoubtedly the Nova Scotian mate of the _Thames_, the +man who had dissuaded me from following Carlos on the day we sailed into +Kingston Harbour. He was chewing a toothpick, and at the ruminant motion +of his knife-jaws I seemed to see him, sitting naked to the waist in +his bunk, instead of upright there in red trousers and a blue shirt--an +immense lank-length of each. I pieced his history together in a sort of +flash. He was the true Nikola el Escoces; his name was Nichols, and he +came from Nova Scotia. He had been the chief of O’Brien’s _Lugareños_. +He surveyed me now with a twinkle in his eyes, his yellow jaws as +shiny-shaven as of old; his arms as much like a semaphore. He said +mockingly: + +“So you went there, after all?” + +But the Cuban was pressing us towards his banquet; there was _gaspacho_ +in silver plates, and a man in livery holding something in a napkin. It +worried me. We surveyed each other in silence. I wondered what Nichols +knew; what it would be safe to tell him; how much he could help me? One +or other of these men undoubtedly might. The Cuban was an imbecile; but +he might have some influence--and if he really were going out on the +morrow, and really did go to the Captain-General, he certainly could +further his own revenge on O’Brien by helping me.... But as for +Nichols.... + +Salazar began to tell a long, exaggerated story about his cook, whom he +had imported from Paris. + +“Think,” he said; “I bring the fool two thousand miles--and then--not +even able to begin on a land-crab. A fool!” + +The Nova Scotian cast an uninterested side glance at him, and said in +English, which Salazar did not understand: + +“So you went there, after all? And now _he’s_ got you.” I did not answer +him. “I know all about you,” he added. + +“It’s more than I do about you,” I said. + +He rose and suddenly jerked the door open, peered on each side of the +corridor, and then sat down again. + +“I’m not afraid to tell,” he said defiantly. “I’m not afraid of +anything. I’m safe.” + +The Cuban said to me in Spanish: “This senor is my friend. Everyone who +hates that devil is my friend.” + +“I’m safe,” Nichols repeated. “I know too much about our friend the +raparee.” He lowered his voice. “They say you’re to be given up for +piracy, eh?” His eyes had an extraordinarily anxious leer. “You are now, +eh? For how much? Can’t you tell a man? We’re in the same boat! I kin +help you!” + +Salazar accidentally knocked a silver goblet off the table and, at the +sound, Nichols sprang half off his chair. He glared in a wild stare +around him then grasped at a flagon of _aguardiente_ and drank. + +“I’m not afraid of any damn thing” he said. “I’ve got a hold on that +man. He dursen’t give me up. I kin see! He’s going to give you up and +say you’re responsible for it all.” + +“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” I answered. + +“Will you not, Señor,” Salazar said suddenly, “relate, if you can +without distress, the heroic death of that venerated man?” + +I glanced involuntarily at Nichols. “The distress,” I said, “would be +very great. I was Don Balthasar’s kinsman. The Señor O’Brien had a great +fear of my influence in the Casa. It was in trying to take me away +that Don Balthasar, who defended me, was slain by the _Lugareños_ of +O’Brien.” + +Salazar said, “Aha! Aha! We are kindred spirits. Hated and loved by the +same souls. This fiend, Señor. And then....” + +“I escaped by sea--in an open boat, in the confusion. When I reached +Havana, the _Juez_ had me arrested.” + +Salazar raised both hands; his gestures, made for large, grave men, were +comic in him. They reduced Spanish manners to absurdity. He said: + +“That man dies. That man dies. To-morrow I go to the Captain-General. +He shall hear this story of yours, Señor. He shall know of these +machinations which bring honest men to this place. We are a band of +brothers....” + +“That’s what I say.” Nichols leered at me. “We’re all in the same boat.” + +I expect he noticed that I wasn’t moved by his declaration. He said, +still in English: + +“Let us be open. Let’s have a council of war. This O’Brien hates me +because I wouldn’t fire on my own countrymen.” He glanced furtively at +me. “I wouldn’t,” he asserted; “he wanted me to fire into their boats; +but I wouldn’t. Don’t you believe the tales they tell about me! They +tell worse about you. Who says I would fire on my countrymen? Where’s +the man who says it?” He had been drinking more brandy and glared +ferociously at me. “None of your tricks, my hearty,” he said. “None of +your getting out and spreading tales. O’Brien’s my friend; he’ll never +give me up. He dursen’t. I know too much. You’re a pirate! No doubt it +was you who fired into them boats. By God I’ll be witness against you if +they give me up. I’ll show you up.” + +All the while the little Cuban talked swiftly and with a saturnine +enthusiasm. He passed the wine rapidly. + +“My own countrymen!” Nichols shouted. “Never! I shot a Yankee +lieutenant--Allen he was--with my own hand. That’s another thing. I’m +not a man to trifle with. No, sir. Don’t you try it.... Why, I’ve papers +that would hang O’Brien. I sent them home to Halifax. I know a trick +worth his. By God, let him try it! Let him only try it. He dursen’t give +me up....” + +The man in livery came in to snuff the candles. Nichols sprang from his +seat in a panic and drew his knife with frantic haste. He continued, +glaring at me from the wall, the knife in his hand: + +“Don’t you dream of tricks. I’ve cut more throats than you’ve kissed +gals in your little life.” + +Salazar himself drew an immense pointed knife with a shagreen hilt. He +kissed it rapturously. + +“Aha!... Aha!” he said, “bear this kiss into his ribs at the back.” His +eyes glistened with this mania. “I swear it; when I next see this dog; +this friend of the priests.” He threw the knife on the table. “Look,” he +said, “was ever steel truer or more thirsty?” + +“Don’t you make no mistake,” Nichols continued to me. “Don’t you think +to presume. O’Brien’s my friend. I’m here snug and out of the way of the +old fool of an admiral. That’s why he’s kept waiting off the Morro. When +he goes, I walk out free. Don’t you try to frighten me. I’m not a man to +be frightened.” + +Salazar bubbled: “Ah, but now the wine flows and is red. We are a band +of brothers, each loving the other. Brothers, let us drink.” + +The air of close confinement, the blaze, the feel of the jail, pressed +upon me, and I felt sore, suddenly, at having eaten and drunk with those +two. The idea of Seraphina, asleep perhaps, crying perhaps, something +pure and distant and very blissful, came in upon me irresistibly. + +The little Cuban said, “We have had a very delightful conversation. It +is very plain this O’Brien must die.” + +I rose to my feet. “Gentlemen,” I said in Spanish, “I am very weary; I +will go and sleep in the corridor.” + +The Cuban sprang towards me with an immense anxiety of hospitableness. +I was to sleep on his couch, the couch of cloth of gold. It was +impossible, it was insulting, that I should think of sleeping in the +corridor. He thrust me gently down upon it, making with his plump hands +the motions of smoothing it to receive me. I lay down and turned my face +to the wall. + +It wasn’t possible to sleep, even though the little Cuban, with a tender +solicitude, went round the walls blowing out the candles. He might be +useful to me, might really explain matters to the Captain-General, or +might even, as a last resource, take a letter from me to the British +Consul. But I should have to be alone with him. Nichols was an +abominable scoundrel; bloodthirsty to the defenceless; a liar; craven +before the ghost of a threat. No doubt O’Brien did not want to give him +up. Perhaps he _had_ papers. And no doubt, once he could find a trace of +Seraphina’s whereabouts, O’Brien would give me up. All I could do was to +hope for a gain of time. And yet, if I gained time, it could only mean +that I should in the end be given up to the admiral. + +And Seraphina’s whereabouts. It came over me lamentably that I myself +did not know. The _Lion_ might have sailed. It was possible. She might +be at sea. Then, perhaps, my only chance of ever seeing her again lay in +my being given up to the admiral, to stand in England a trial, perhaps +for piracy, perhaps for treason. I might meet her only in England, after +many years of imprisonment. It wasn’t possible. I would not believe in +the possibility. How I loved her! How wildly, how irrationally--this +woman of another race, of another world, bound to me by sufferings +together, by joys together. Irrationally! Looking at the matter now, +the reason is plain enough. Before then I had not lived. I had only +waited--for her and for what she stood for. It was in my blood, in my +race, in my tradition, in my training. We, all of us for generations, +had made for efficiency, for drill, for restraint. Our Romance was just +this very Spanish contrast, this obliquity of vision, this slight +tilt of the convex mirror that shaped the same world so differently to +onlookers at different points of its circle. + +I could feel a little of it even then, when there was only the merest +chance of my going back to England and getting back towards our old +position on the rim of the mirror. The deviousness, the wayward passion, +even the sempiternal abuses of the land were already beginning to take +the aspect of something like quaint impotence. It was charm that, now I +was on the road away, was becoming apparent. The inconveniences of life, +the physical discomforts, the smells of streets, the heat, dropped into +the background. I felt that I did not want to go away, irrevocably from +a land sanctioned by her presence, her young life. I turned uneasily +to the other side. At the heavy black table, in the light of a single +candle, the Cuban and the Nova Scotian were discussing, their heads +close together. + +“I tell you no,” Nichols was saying in a fluent, abominable, literal +translation into Spanish. “Take the knife so... thumb upwards. Stab down +in the soft between the neck and the shoulder-blade. You get right into +the lungs with the point. I’ve tried it: ten times. Never stick the +back. The chances are he moves, and you hit a bone. There are no bones +there. It’s the way they kill pigs in New Jersey.” + +The Cuban bent his brows as if he were reflecting over a chessboard. +“Ma....” he pondered. His knife was lying on the table. He unsheathed +it, then got up, and moved behind the seated Nova Scotian. + +“You say... there?” he asked, pressing his little finger at the base of +Nichols’ skinny column of a neck. “And then...” He measured the length +of the knife on Nichols’s back twice with elaborate care, breathing +through his nostrils. Then he said with a convinced, musing air, “It is +true. It would go down into the lungs.” + +“And there are arteries and things,” Nichols said. + +“Yes, yes,” the Cuban answered, sheathing the knife and thrusting it +into his belt. + +“With a knife that length it’s perfect.” Nichols waved his shadowy hand +towards Salazar’s scarf. Salazar moved off a little. + +“I see the advantages,” he said. “No crying out, because of the blood in +the lungs. I thank yous Señor Escoces.” + +Nichols rose, lurching to his full height, and looked in my direction. I +closed my eyes. I did not wish him to talk to me. I heard him say: + +“Well, _hasta mas ver_. I shall get away from here. Good-night.” + +He swayed an immense shadow through the door. Salazar took the candle +and followed him into the corridor. + +Yes, that was it, why she was so great a part, a whole wall, a whole +beam of my life’s house. I saw her suddenly in the blackness, her full +red lips, her quivering nostrils, the curve of her breasts, her lithe +movements from the hips, the way she set her feet down, the white flower +waxen in the darkness of her hair, and the robin-wing flutter of her +lids over her gray eyes when she smiled. I moved convulsively in my +intense desire. I would have given my soul, my share of eternity, my +honour, only to see that flutter of the lids over the shining gray eyes. +I never felt I was beneath the imponderable pressure of a prison’s wall +till then. She was infinite miles away; I could not even imagine what +inanimate things surrounded her. She must be talking to someone else; +fluttering her lids like that. I recognized with a physical agony that +was more than jealousy how slight was my hold upon her. It was not in +her race, in her blood as in mine, to love me and my type. She had lived +all her life in the middle of Romance, and the very fire and passion +of her South must make me dim prose to her. I remember the flicker +of Salazar’s returning candle, cast in lines like an advancing scythe +across the two walls from the corridor. I slept. + +I had the feeling of appalled horror suddenly invading my sleep; a vast +voice seemed to be exclaiming: + +“Tell me where she is!” + +I looked at the glowing horn of a lanthorn. It was O’Brien who held it. +He stood over me, very sombre. + +“Tell me where she is,” he said, the moment my eyes opened. + +I said, “She’s... she’s------I don’t know.” + +It appalls me even now to think how narrow was my escape. It was only +because I had gone to sleep in the thought that I did not know, that I +answered that I did not know. Ah--he was a cunning devil! To suddenly +wake one; to get one’s thoughts before one had had time to think! I lay +looking at him, shivering. I couldn’t even see much of his face. + +“Where is she?” he said again. “Where? Dead? Dead? God have mercy on +your soul if the child is dead!” + +I was still trembling. If I had told him!--I could hardly believe I had +not. He continued bending over me with an attitude that hideously mocked +solicitude. + +“Where is she?” he asked again. + +“Ransack the island,” I said. He glared at me, lifting the lamp. “The +whole earth, if you like.” + +He ground his teeth, bending very low over me; then stood up, raising +his head into the shadow above the lamp. + +“What do I care for all the admirals?” he was speaking to himself. +“No ship shall leave Havana till....” He groaned. I heard him slap his +forehead, and say distractedly, “But perhaps she is not in a ship.” + +There was a silence in which I heard him breathe heavily, and then he +amazed me by saying: + +“Have pity.” + +I laughed, lying on my back. “On you!” + +He bent down. “Fool! on yourself.” + +A vast and towering shadow ran along the wall. + +There wasn’t a sound. The face of Salazar appeared behind him, and an +uplifted hand grasping a knife. O’Brien saw the horror in my eyes. I +gasped to him: “Look....” and before he could move the knife went softly +home between neck and shoulder. Salazar glided to the door and turned to +wave his hand at me. O’Brien’s lips were pressed tightly together, the +handle of the knife was against his ear, the lanthorn hung at the end of +his rigid arm for a moment. As he lowered it, the blood spurted from +his shoulder as if from a burst stand-pipe, only black and warm. It fell +over my face, over my hands, everywhere. For a minute of eternity his +agonized eyes searched my features, as if to discern whether I had +connived, whether I condoned. + +I had started up, my face coming right against his. I felt an immense +horror. What did it mean? What had he done? He had been such a power for +so long, so inevitably, over my whole life that I could not even begin +to understand that this was not some new subtle villainy of his. He +shook his head slowly, his ear disturbing the knife. + +Then he turned jerkily on his heel, the lanthorn swinging round and +leaving me in his shadow. There were ten paces to reach the door. It +was like the finish of a race whether he would cover the remaining seven +after the first three steps. The dangling lanthorn shed small patches of +light through the holes in the metal top, like sunlight through leaves, +upon the gloom of the remote ceiling. At the fifth step he pressed his +hand spasmodically to his mouth; at the sixth he wavered to one side. +I made a sudden motion as if to save him from falling. He was dying! +He was dying! I hardly realized what it meant. This immense weight was +being removed from me. I had no need to fear him any more. I couldn’t +understand, I could only look. This was his passing. This.... + +He sank, knelt down, placing the Ian thorn on the floor. He covered his +face with his hands and began to cough incessantly, like a man dying of +consumption. The glowing top of the lanthorn hissed and sputtered out in +little sharp blows, like hammer strokes... Carlos had coughed like that. +Carlos was dead. Now O’Brien! He was going. I should escape. It was all +over. Was it all over? He bowed stiffly forward, placing his hands on +the stones, then lay over on his side with his face to the light, his +eyes glaring at it. I sat motionless, watching him. The lanthorn lit +the carved leg of the black table and a dusty circle of the flags. +The spurts of blood from his shoulder grew less long in answer to the +pulsing of his heart; his fists unclenched, he drew his legs up to +his body, then sank down. His eyes looked suddenly at mine and, as the +features slowly relaxed, the smile seemed to come back, enigmatic, round +his mouth. + +He was dead; he was gone; I was free! He would never know where she was; +never! He had gone, with the question on his lips; with the agony of +uncertainty in his eyes. From the door came an immense, grotesque, and +horrible chuckle. + +“Aha!-Aha! I have saved you, Señor, I have protected you. We are as +brothers.” + +Against the tenuous blue light of the dawn Salazar was gesticulating in +the doorway. I felt a sudden repulsion; a feeling of intense disgust. +O’Brien lying there, I almost wished alive again--I wanted to have +him again, rather than that I should have been relieved of him by that +atrocious murder. I sat looking at both of them. + +Saved! By that lunatic? I suddenly appreciated the agony of mind that +alone could have brought O’Brien, the cautious, the all-seeing, into +this place--. to ask me a question that for him was answered now. +Answered for him more than for me. + +Where was Seraphina? Where? How should I come to her? O’Brien was dead. +And I.... Could I walk out of this place and go to her? O’Brien was +dead. But I... + +I suddenly realized that now I was the pirate Nikola el Escoces--that +now he was no more there, nothing could save me from being handed over +to the admiral. Nothing. + +Salazar outside the door began to call boastfully towards the sound of +approaching footsteps.’ + +“Aha! Aha! Come all of you! See what I have done! Come, Señor Alcayde! +Come, brave soldiers...” + +In that way died this man whose passion had for so long hung over my +life like a shadow. Looking at the matter now, I am, perhaps, glad that +he fell neither by my hand nor in my quarrel. I assuredly had injured +him the first; I had come upon his ground; I had thwarted him; I had +been a heavy weight at a time when his fortunes had been failing. +Failing they undoubtedly were. He had run his course too far. + +And, if his death removed him out of my path, the legacy of his intrigue +caused me suffering enough. Had he lived, there is no knowing what he +might have done. He was bound to deliver someone to the British--either +myself or Nichols. Perhaps, at the last moment, he would have kept me in +Havana. There is no saying. + +Undoubtedly he had not wished to deliver Nichols; either because he +really knew too much or because he had scruples. Nichols had certainly +been faithful to him. And, with his fine irony, it was delightful to him +to think that I should die a felon’s death in England. For those reasons +he had identified me with Nikola el Escoces, intending to give up +whichever suited him at the last moment. + +Now that was settled for him and for me. The delivery was to take +place at dawn, and O’Brien not to be found, the old Judge of the First +Instance had been sent to identify the prisoner. He selected me, whom, +of course, he recognized. There was no question of Nichols, who had been +imprisoned on a charge of theft trumped up by O’Brien. + +Salazar, whether he would have gone to the Captain-General or not, was +now entirely useless. He was retained to answer the charge of murder. +And to any protestations I could make, the old _Juez_ was entirely deaf. + +“The senor must make representations to his own authorities,” he said. +“I have warrant for what I have done.” + +It was impossible to expose O’Brien to him. The soldiers of the escort, +in the dawn before the prison gates, simply laughed at me. + +They marched me down through the gray mists, to the water’s edge. Two +soldiers held my arms; O’Brien’s blood was drying on my face and on my +clothes. I was, even to myself, a miserable object. Among the négresses +on the slimy boat-steps a thick, short man was asking questions. He +opened amazed eyes at the sight of me. It was Williams--the _Lion_ was +not yet gone then. If he spoke to me, or gave token of connection with +Seraphina, the Spaniards would understand. They would take her from him +certainly; perhaps immure her in a convent. And now that I was bound +irrevocably for England, she must go, too. He was shouldering his way +towards my guards. + +“Silence!” I shouted, without looking at him. “Go away, make sail.... +Tell Sebright....” + +My guards seemed to think I had gone mad; they laid hands upon me. I +didn’t struggle, and we passed down towards the landing steps, brushing +Williams aside. He stood perturbedly gazing after me; then I saw him +asking questions of a civil guard. A man-of-war’s boat, the ensign +trailing in the glassy water, the glazed hats of the seamen bobbing like +clockwork, was flying towards us. Here was England! Here was home! I +should have to clear myself of felony, to strain every nerve and cheat +the gallows. If only Williams understood, if only he did not make a fool +of himself. I couldn’t see him any more; a jabbering crowd all round +us was being kept at a distance by the muskets of the soldiers. My only +chance was Sebright’s intelligence. He might prevent Williams making a +fool of himself. The commander of the guard said to the lieutenant from +the flagship, who had landed, attended by the master-at-arms: + +“I have the honour to deliver to your worship’s custody the prisoner +promised to his excellency the English admiral. Here are the papers +disclosing his crimes to the justice. I beg for a receipt.” + +A shabby _escrivano_ from the prison advanced bowing, with an inkhorn, +shaking a wet goose-quill. A _guardia civil_ offered his back. The +lieutenant signed a paper hastily, then looking hard at me, gave the +order: + +“Master-at-arms, handcuff one of the prisoner’s hands to your own wrist. +He is a desperate character.” + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +The first decent word I had spoken to me after that for months came +from my turnkey at Newgate. It was when he welcomed me back from my +examination before the Thames Court magistrate. The magistrate, a +bad-tempered man, snuffy, with red eyes, and the air of being a piece of +worn and dirty furniture of his court, had snapped at me when I tried to +speak: + +“Keep your lies for the Admiralty Session. I’ve only time to commit you. +Damn your Spaniards; why can’t they translate their own papers;” had +signed something with a squeaky quill, tossed it to his clerk, and +grunted, “Next case.” + +I had gone back to Newgate. + +The turnkey, a man with the air of an innkeeper, bandy-legged, with +a bulbous, purple-veined nose and watering eyes, slipped out of the +gatehouse door, whilst the great, hollow-sounding gate still shook +behind me. He said: + +“If you hurries up you’ll see a bit of life.... Do you good. Condemned +sermon. Being preached in the chapel now; sheriffs and all. They swing +tomorrow--three of them. Quick with the stumps.” + +He hurried me over the desolate mossy-green cobbles of the great +solitary yard into a square, tall, bare, whitewashed place. Already +from the outside one caught a droning voice. There might have been three +hundred people there, boxed off in pews, with turnkeys at each end. +A vast king’s arms, a splash of red and blue gilt, sprawled above a +two-tiered pulpit that was like the trunk of a large broken tree. The +turnkey pulled my hat off, and nudged me into a box beside the door. + +“Kneel down,” he whispered hoarsely. + +I knelt. A man with a new wig was droning out words, waving his hands +now and then from the top of the tall pulpit. Beneath him a smaller man +in an old wig was dozing, his head bent forward. The place was dirty, +and ill-lighted by the tall, grimy windows, heavily barred. A pair of +candles flickered beside the preacher’s right arm.... + +“They that go down to the sea in ships, my poor brethren,” he droned, +“lying under the shadow...” + +He directed his hands towards a tall deal box painted black, isolated in +the centre of the lower floor. A man with a red head sat in it, his arms +folded; another had his arms covering his head, which leant abjectly +forward on the rail in front. There were large rusty gyves upon his +wrists. + +“But observe, my poor friends,” the chaplain droned on, “the psalmist +saith, ‘At the last He shall bring them unto the desired haven.’ Now...” + +The turnkey whispered suddenly into my ear: “Them’s the condemned he’s +preaching at, them in the black pew. See Roguey Cullen wink at the woman +prisoners up there in the gallery.... Him with the red hair.... All +swings to-morrow.” + +“After they have staggered and reeled to and fro, and been amazed... +observe. After they have been tempted; even after they have fallen....” + +The sheriffs had their eyes decorously closed. The clerk reached up from +below the preacher, and snuffed one of the candles. The preacher paused +to rearrange his shining wig. Little clouds of powder flew out where he +touched it. He struck his purple velvet cushion, and continued: + +“At the last, I say, He shall bring them to the haven they had desired.” + +A jarring shriek rose out of the black pew, and an insensate jangling +of irons rattled against the hollow wood. The ironed man, whose head +had been hidden, was writhing in an epileptic fit. The governor began +signalling to the jailers, and the whole dismal assembly rose to its +feet, and craned to get a sight. The jailers began hurrying them out of +the building. The redheaded man was crouching in the far corner of the +black box. + +The turnkey caught the end of my sleeve, and hurried me out of the door. + +“Come away,” he said. “Come out of it.... Damn my good nature.” + +We went swiftly through the tall, gloomy, echoing stone passages. All +the time there was the noise of the prisoners being marshalled somewhere +into their distant yards and cells. We went across the bottom of a well, +where the weeping December light struck ghastly down on to the +stones, into a sort of rabbit-warren of black passages and descending +staircases, a horror of cold, solitude, and night. Iron door after iron +door clanged to behind us in the stony blackness. After an interminable +traversing, the turnkey, still with his hand on my sleeve, jerked me +into my familiar cell. I hadn’t thought to be glad to get back to that +dim, frozen, damp-chilled little hole; with its hateful stone walls, +stone ceiling, stone floor, stone bed-slab, and stone table; its rope +mat, foul stable-blanket, its horrible sense of eternal burial, out of +sound, out of sight under a mined mountain of black stones. It was so +tiny that the turnkey, entering after me, seemed to be pressed close up +to my chest, and so dark that I could not see the colour of the dirty +hair that fell matted from the bald patch on the top of his skull; so +familiar that I knew the feel of every little worming of rust on the +iron candlestick. He wiped his face with a brown rag of handkerchief, +and said: + +“Curse me if ever I go into that place again.” After a time he added: +“Unless ’tis a matter of duty.” + +I didn’t say anything; my nerves were still jangling to that shrieking, +and to the clang of the iron doors that had closed behind me. I had an +irresistible impulse to get hold of the iron candlestick and smash it +home through the skull of the turnkey--as I had done to the men who had +killed Seraphina’s father... to kill this man, then to creep along the +black passages and murder man after man beside those iron doors until I +got to the open air. + +He began again. “You’d think we’d get used to it--you’d think we +would--but ’tis a strain for us. You never knows what the prisoners will +do at a scene like that there. It drives ’em mad. Look at this scar. +Machell the forger done that for me, ’fore he was condemned, after a +sermon like that--a quiet, gentlemanly man, much like you. Lord, yes, +’tis a strain....” He paused, still wiping his face, then went on: +“_And_ I swear that when I sees them men sit there in that black pew, +an’ hev heard the hammers going clack, clack on the scaffolding outside, +and knew that they hadn’t no more chance than you have to get out of +there...” He pointed his short thumb towards the handkerchief of an +opening, where the little blurr of blue light wavered through the two +iron frames crossed in the nine feet of well. “Lord, you _never_ gets +used to it. You _wants_ them to escape; ’tis in the air through the +whole prison, even the debtors. I tells myself again and again, ‘You’re +a fool for your pains.’ But it’s the same with the others--my mates. You +can’t get it out of your mind. That little kid now. I’ve seen children +swing; but that little kid--as sure to swing as what... as what _you_ +are....” + +“You think I am going to swing?” I asked. + +I didn’t want to kill him any more; I wanted too much to hear him +talk. I hadn’t heard anything for months and months of solitude, of +darkness--on board the admiral’s ship, stranded in the guardship at +Plymouth, bumping round the coast, and now here in Newgate. And it had +been darkness all the time. Jove! That Cuban time, with its movements, +its pettiness, its intrigue, its warmth, even its villainies showed +plainly enough in the chill of that blackness. It had been romance, that +life. + +Little, and far away, and irrevocably done with, it showed all golden. +There wasn’t any romance where I lay then; and there had been irons on +my wrists; gruff hatred, the darkness, and always despair. + +On board the flagship coming home I had been chained down in the +cable-tier--a place where I could feel every straining of the great +ship. Once these had risen to a pandemonium, a frightful tumult. There +was a great gale outside. A sailor came down with a lanthorn, and tossed +my biscuit to me. + +“You d------d pirate,” he said, “maybe it’s you saving us from +drowning.” + +“Is the gale very bad?” I had called. + +He muttered--and the fact that he spoke to me at all showed how great +the strain of the weather must have been to wring any words out of him: + +“Bad--there’s a large Indiaman gone. We saw her one minute and then...” + He went away, muttering. + +And suddenly the thought had come to me. What if the Indiaman were the +_Lion_--the _Lion_ with Seraphina on board? The man would not speak to +me when he came again. No one would speak to me; I was a pirate who had +fired on his own countrymen. And the thought had pursued me right into +Newgate--if she were dead; if I had taken her from that security, from +that peace, to end there.... And to end myself. + +“Swing!” the turnkey said; “you’ll swing right enough.” He slapped the +great key on his flabby hand. “You can tell that by the signs. You, +being an Admiralty case, ought to have been in the Marshalsea. And +you’re ordered solitary cell, and I’m tipped the straight wink against +your speaking a blessed word to a blessed soul. Why don’t they let you +see an attorney? Why? Because they _mean_ you to swing.” + +I said, “Never mind that. Have you heard of a ship called the _Lion?_ +Can you find out about her?” + +He shook his head cunningly, and did not answer. If the _Lion_ had been +here, I must have heard. They couldn’t have left me here. + +I said, “For God’s sake find out. Get me a shipping gazette.” + +He affected not to hear. + +“There’s money in plenty,” I said. + +He winked ponderously and began again. “Oh, you’ll swing all right. A +man with nothing against him has a chance; with the rhino he has it, +even if he’s guilty. But you’ll _swing_. Charlie, who brought you back +just now, had a chat with the ’Torney-General’s devil’s clerk’s clerk, +while old Nog o’ Bow Street was trying to read their Spanish. He says +it’s a Gov’nment matter. They wants to hang you bad, they do, so’s to +go to the Jacky Spaniards and say, ‘He were a nob, a nobby nob.’ (So +you are, aren’t you? One uncle an earl and t’other a dean, if so be what +they say’s true.) ‘He were a nobby nob and we swung ’im. Go you’n do +likewise.’ They want a striking example t’ keep the West India trade +quiet...” He wiped his forehead and moved my water jug of red earth on +the dirty deal table under the window, for all the world like a host in +front of a guest. “They means you to swing,” he said. “They’ve silenced +the Thames Court reporters. Not a noospaper will publish a correct +report t’morrer. And you haven’t see nobody, nor you won’t, not if I can +help it.” + +He broke off and looked at me with an expression of candour. + +“Mind you,” he said, “I’m not uffish. To ’n ornery gentleman--of the +road or what you will--I’m not, if so be he’s the necessary. I’d take a +letter like another. But for you, no--fear. Not that I’ve my knife into +you. What I can do to make you comfor’ble I will do, _both_ now an’ +hereafter. But when I gets the wink, I looks after my skin. So’d any +man. You don’t see nobody, nor you won’t; nor your nobby relations +won’t have the word. Till the Hadmir’lty trile. Charlie says it’s +unconstitutional, you ought to see your ’torney, if you’ve one, or your +father’s got one. But Lor’, I says, ‘Charlie, if they wants it they gets +it. This ain’t no _habeas carpis_, give-the-man-a-chance case. It’s the +Hadmir’lty. And not a man tried for piracy this thirty year. See what +a show it gives them, what bloody Radicle knows or keeres what the +perceedin’s should be? Who’s a-goin’ t’ make a question out of it? Go +away,’ says I to Charlie. And that’s it straight.” + +He went towards the door, then turned. + +“You should be in the Marshalsea common yard; even I knows that. But +they’ve the wink there. ‘Too full,’ says they. Too full be d------d. +I’ve know’d the time--after the Vansdell smash it were--when they found +room for three hundred more improvident debtors over and above what +they’re charted for. Too full! Their common yard! They don’t want you to +speak to a soul, an’ you won’t till this day week, when the Hadmir’lty +Session is in full swing.” He went out and locked the door, snorting, +“Too full at the Marshalsea!... Go away!” + +“Find out about the _Lion_,” I called, as the door closed. + +It cleared the air for me, that speech. I understood that they wanted to +hang me, and I wanted not to be hung, desperately, from that moment. +I had not much cared before; I had--call it, moped. I had not really +believed, really sensed it out. It isn’t easy to conceive that one is +going to be hanged, I doubt if one does even with the rope round one’s +neck. I hadn’t much wanted to live, but now I wanted to fight--one good +fight before I went under for good and all, condemned or acquitted. +There wasn’t anything left for me to live for, Seraphina could not be +alive. The _Lion_ must have been lost. + +But I was going to make a fight for it; curse it, I was going to give +them trouble. My “them” was not so much the Government that meant to +hang me as the unseen powers that suffered such a state of things, that +allowed a number of little meannesses, accidents, fatalities, to hang +me. I began to worry the turnkey. He gave me no help, only shreds of +information that let me see more plainly than ever how set “they” were +on sacrificing me to their exigencies. + +The whole West Indian trade in London was in an uproar over the Pirate +Question and over the Slave Question. Jamaica was still squealing for +Separation before the premonitory grumbles of Abolition. Horton Pen, +over there, came back with astonishing clearness before me. I seemed to +hear old, wall-eyed, sandy-headed Macdonald, agitating his immense bulk +of ill-fitting white clothes in front of his newspaper, and bellowing in +his ox-voice: + +“Abolition, they give us Abolition... or ram it down our throats. _They_ +who haven’t even the spunk to rid us o’ the d------d pirates, not the +spunk to catch and hang one.... Jock, me lahd, we’s abolush them before +they sail touch our neegurs.... Let them clear oor seas, let them hang +_one_ pirate, and then talk.” + +I was the one they were going to hang, to consolidate the bond with the +old island. The cement wanted a little blood in the mixing. Damn them! +I was going to make a fight; they had torn me from Seraphina, to fulfill +their own accursed ends. I felt myself grow harsh and strong, as a tree +feels itself grow gnarled by winter storms. I said to the turnkey again +and again: + +“Man, I will promise you a thousand pounds or a pension for life, if you +will get a letter through to my mother or Squire Rooksby of Horton.” + +He said he daren’t do it; enough was known of him to hang him if he +gave offence. His flabby fingers trembled, and his eyes grew large with +successive shocks of cupidity. He became afraid of coming near me; of +the strain of the temptation. On the next day he did not speak a word, +nor the next, nor the next. I began to grow horribly afraid of being +hung. The day before the trial arrived. Towards noon he flung the door +open. + +“Here’s paper, here’s pens,” he said. “You can prepare your defence. You +may write letters. Oh, hell! why did not they let it come sooner, I’d +have had your thousand pounds. I’ll run a letter down to your people +fast as the devil could take it. I know a man, a gentleman of the road. +For twenty pun promised, split between us, he’ll travel faster’n Turpin +did to York.” He was waving a large sheet of newspaper agitatedly. + +“What does it mean?” I asked. My head was whirling. + +“Radical papers got a-holt of it,” he said. “Trust them for nosing out. +And the Government’s answering them. They say you’re going to suffer +for your crimes. Hark to this... um, um... ‘The wretched felon now in +Newgate will incur the just penalty...’ Then they slaps the West Indies +in the face. ‘When the planters threaten to recur to some other power +for protection, they, of course, believe that the loss of the colonies +would be severely felt. But...’” + +“The _Lion’s_ home,” I said. + +It burst upon me that she was--that she must be. Williams--or +Sebright--he was the man, had been speaking up for me. Or Seraphina had +been to the Spanish ambassador. + +She was back; I should see her. I started up. + +“The _Lion’s_ home,” I repeated. + +The turnkey snarled, “She was posted as overdue three days ago.” + +I couldn’t believe it was true. + +“I saw it in the papers,” he grumbled on. “I dursn’t tell you.” He +continued violently, “Blow my dickey. It would make a cat sick.” + +My sudden exaltation, my sudden despair, gave way to indifference. + +“Oh, coming, coming!” he shouted, in answer to an immense bellowing cry +that loomed down the passage without. + +I heard him grumble, “Of course, of course. I shan’t make a penny.” Then +he caught hold of my arm. “Here, come along, someone to see you in the +press-yard.” + +He pulled me along the noisome, black warren of passages, slamming the +inner door viciously behind him. + +The press-yard--the exercising ground for the condemned--was empty; the +last batch had gone out, _my_ batch would be the next to come in, the +turnkey said suddenly. It was a well of a place, high black walls going +up into the desolate, weeping sky, and quite tiny. At one end was a sort +of slit in the wall, closed with tall, immense windows. From there a +faint sort of rabbit’s squeak was going up through the immense roll and +rumble of traffic on the other side of the wall. The turnkey pushed me +towards it. + +“Go on,” he said. “I’ll not listen; I ought to. But, curse me, I’m not +a bad sort,” he added gloomily; “I dare say you’ll make it worth my +while.” + +I went and peered through the bars at a faint object pressed against +other bars in just another slit across a black passage. + +“What, Jackie, boy; what, Jackie?” Blinking his eyes, as if the dim +light were too strong for them, a thin, bent man stood there in a +brilliant new court coat. His face was meagre in the extreme, the nose +and cheekbones polished and transparent like a bigaroon cherry. A thin +tuft of reddish hair was brushed back from his high, shining forehead. +It was my father. He exclaimed: + +“What, Jackie, boy! How old you look!” then waved his arm towards me. +“In trouble?” he said. “You in trouble?” + +He rubbed his thin hands together, and looked round the place with a +cultured man’s air of disgust. I said, “Father!” and he suddenly began +to talk very fast and agitatedly of what he had been doing for me. My +mother, he said, was crippled with rheumatism, and Rooksby and Veronica +on the preceding Thursday had set sail for Jamaica. He had read to my +mother, beside her bed, the newspaper containing an account of my case; +and she had given him money, and he had started with violent haste for +London. The haste and the rush were still dazing him. He had lived down +there in the farmhouse beneath the downs, with the stackyards under his +eyes, with his books of verse and his few prints on the wall------My +God, how it all came back to me. + +In his disjointed speeches, I could see how exactly the same it all +remained. The same old surly man with a squint had driven him along the +muddy roads in the same ancient gig, past the bare elms, to meet the +coach. And my father had never been in London since he had walked the +streets with the Prince Regent’s friends. + +Whilst he talked to me there, lines of verse kept coming to his lips; +and, after the habitual pleasure of the apt quotation, he felt acutely +shocked at the inappropriateness of the place, the press-yard, with +the dim light weeping downwards between immensely high walls, and the +desultory snowflakes that dropped between us. And he had tried so hard, +in his emergency, to be practical. When he had reached London, before +even attempting to see me, he had run from minister to minister trying +to influence them in my favour--and he reached me in Newgate with +nothing at all effected. + +I seemed to know him then, so intimately, so much better than anything +else in the world. + +He began, “I had my idea in the up-coach last night. I thought, ‘A very +great personage was indebted to me in the old days (more indebted than +you are aware of, Johnnie). I will intercede with him.’ That was why my +first step was to my old tailor’s in Conduit Street. Because... what is +fit for a farm for a palace were low.” He stopped, reflected, then said, +“What is fit for _the_ farm for _the_ palace were low.” + +He felt across his coat for his breast pocket. It was what he had done +years and years ago, and all these years between, inscribe ideas for +lines of verse in his pocket-book. I said: + +“You have seen the king?” + +His face lengthened a little. “Not _seen_ him. But I found one of the +duke’s secretaries, a pleasant young fellow... not such as we used to +be. But the duke was kind enough to interest himself. Perhaps my name +has lived in the land. I was called Curricle Kemp, as I may have told +you, because I drove a vermilion one with green and gilt wheels....” + +His face, peering at me through the bars, had, for a moment, a flush +of pride. Then he suddenly remembered, and, as if to propitiate his own +reproof, he went on: + +“I saw the Secretary of State, and he assured me, very civilly, that +not even the highest personage in the land....” He dropped his voice, +“Jackie, boy,” he said, his narrow-lidded eyes peering miserably across +at me, “there’s not even hope of a reprieve afterwards.” + +I leaned my face wearily against the iron bars. What, after all, was the +use of fighting if the _Lion_ were not back? + +Then, suddenly, as the sound of his words echoed down the bare, +black corridors, he seemed to realize the horror of it. His face grew +absolutely white, he held his head erect, as if listening to a distant +sound. And then he began to cry--horribly, and for a long time. + +It was I that had to comfort him. His head had bowed at the conviction +of his hopeless uselessness; all through his own life he had been made +ineffectual by his indulgence in perfectly innocent, perfectly trivial +enjoyments, and now, in this extremity of his only son, he was rendered +almost fantastically of no avail. + +“No, no, sir! You have done all that any one could; you couldn’t break +these walls down. Nothing else would help.” + +Small, hopeless sobs shook him continually. His thin, delicate white +fingers gripped the black grille, with the convulsive grasp of a very +weak man. It was more distressing to me than anything I had ever seen or +felt. The mere desire, the intense desire to comfort him, made me get +a grip upon myself again. And I remembered that, now that I could +communicate with the outer air, it was absolutely easy; he would save my +life. I said: + +“You have only to go to Clapham, sir.” + +And the moment I was in a state to command him, to direct him, to give +him something to do, he became a changed man. He looked up and listened. +I told him to go to Major Cowper’s. It would be easy enough to find him +at Clapham. Cowper, I remembered, could testify to my having been seized +by Tomas Castro. He had seen me fight on the decks. And what was more, +he would certainly know the addresses of Kingston planters, if any were +in London. They could testify that I had been in Jamaica all the while +Nikola el Escoces was in Rio Medio. I knew there were some. My father +was fidgeting to be gone. He had his name marked for him, and a will +directing his own. He was not the same man. But I particularly told him +to send me a lawyer first of all. + +“Yes, yes!” he said, fidgeting to go, “to Major Cowper’s. Let me write +his address.” + +“And a solicitor,” I said. “Send him to me on your way there.” + +“Yes, yes,” he said, “I shall be able to be of use to the solicitor. As +a rule, they are men of no great perspicacity.” + +And he went hurriedly away. + +The real torture, the agony of suspense began then. I steadied my nerves +by trying to draw up notes for my speech to the jury on the morrow. That +was the turnkey’s idea. + +He said, “Slap your chest, ’peal to the honour of a British gent, and +pitch it in strong.” + +It was not much good; I could not keep to any logical sequence of +thought, my mind was forever wandering to what my father was doing. I +pictured him in his new blue coat, running agitatedly through crowded +streets, his coat-tails flying behind his thin legs. The hours dragged +on, and it was a matter of minutes. I had to hold upon the table edge to +keep myself from raging about the cell. I tried to bury myself again in +the scheme for my defence. I wondered whom my father would have found. +There was a man called Cary who had gone home from Kingston. He had a +bald head and blue eyes; he must remember me. If he would corroborate! +And the lawyer, when he came, might take another line of defence. It +began to fall dusk slowly, through the small barred windows. + +The entire night passed without a word from my father. I paced up and +down the whole time, composing speeches to the jury. And then the day +broke. I calmed myself with a sort of frantic energy. + +Early the jailer came in, and began fussing about my cell. + +“Case comes on about one,” he said. “Grand jury at half after twelve. +No fear they won’t return a true bill. Grand jury, five West India +merchants. They means to have you. ’Torney-General, S’lic’tor-General. +S’r Robert Mead, and five juniors agin you... You take my tip. Throw +yourself on the mercy of the court, and make a rousing speech with +a young ’ooman in it. Not that you’ll get much mercy from them. They +Admir’lty jedges is all hangers. ’S we say, ‘Oncet the anchor goes up +in the Old Bailey, there ain’t no hope. We begins to clean out the +c’ndemned cell, here. Sticks the anchor up over their heads, when it is +Hadmir’lty case,’” he commented. + +I listened to him with strained attention. I made up my mind to miss not +a word uttered that day. It was my only chance. + +“You don’t know any one from Jamaica?” I asked. + +He shook his bullet head, and tapped his purple nose. “Can’t be done,” + he said. “You’d get a ornery hallybi fer a guinea a head, but they’d +keep out of this case. They’ve necks like you and me.” + +Whilst he was speaking, the whole of the outer world, as far as it +affected me, came suddenly in upon me--that was what I meant to the +great city that lay all round, the world, in the centre of which was my +cell. To the great mass, I was matter for a sensation; to them I might +prove myself beneficial in this business. Perhaps there were others who +were thinking I might be useful in one way or another. There were the +ministers of the Crown, who did not care much whether Jamaica separated +or not. But they wanted to hang me because they would be able to say +disdainfully to the planters, “Separate if you like; we’ve done our +duty, we’ve hanged a man.” + +All those people had their eyes on me, and they were about the only ones +who knew of my existence. That was the end of my Romance! Romance! The +broadsheet sellers would see to it afterwards with a “Dying confession.” + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +I never saw my father again until I was in the prisoner’s anteroom at +the Old Bailey. It was full of lounging men, whose fleshy limbs bulged +out against the tight, loud checks of their coats and trousers. These +were jailers waiting to bring in their prisoners. On the other side +of one black door the Grand Jury was deliberating on my case, behind +another the court was in waiting to try me. I was in a sort of tired +lull. All night I had been pacing up and down, trying to bring my brain +to think of points--points in my defence. It was very difficult. I knew +that I must keep cool, be calm, be lucid, be convincing; and my brain +had reeled at times, even in the darkness of the cell. I knew it had +reeled, because I remembered that once I had fallen against the stone +of one of the walls, and once against the door. Here, in the light, with +only a door between myself and the last scene, I regained my hold. I was +going to fight every inch from start to finish. I was going to let no +chink of their armour go untried. I was going to make a good fight. My +teeth chattered like castanets, jarring in my jaws until it was painful. +But that was only with the cold. + +A hubbub of expostulation was going on at the third door. My turnkey +called suddenly: + +“Let the genman in, Charlie. Pal o’ ourn,” and my father ran huntedly +into the room. He began an endless tale of a hackney coachman who had +stood in front of the door of his coach to prevent his number being +taken; of a crowd of caddee-smashers, who had hustled him and filched +his purse. “Of course, I made a fight for it,” he said, “a damn good +fight, considering. It’s in the blood. But the watch came, and, in +short--on such an occasion as this there is no time for words--I passed +the night in the watch-house. Many and many a night I passed there when +I and Lord------But I am losing time.” + +“You ain’t fit to walk the streets of London alone, sir,” the turnkey +said. + +My father gave him a corner of his narrow-lidded eyes. “My man,” he +said, “I walked the streets with the highest in the land before your +mother bore you in Bridewell, or whatever jail it was.” + +“Oh, no offence,” the turnkey muttered. + +I said, “Did you find Cowper, sir? Will he give evidence?” + +“Jackie,” he said agitatedly, as if he were afraid of offending me, “he +said you had filched his wife’s rings.” + +That, in fact, was what Major Cowper _had_ said--that I had dropped into +their ship near Port Royal Heads, and had afterwards gone away with the +pirates who had filched his wife’s rings. My father, in his indignation, +had not even deigned to ask him for the address of Jamaica planters in +London; and on his way back to find a solicitor he had come into contact +with those street rowdies and the watch. He had only just come from +before the magistrates. + +A man with one eye poked his head suddenly from behind the Grand Jury +door. He jerked his head in my direction. + +“True bill against that ’ere,” he said, then drew his head in again. + +“Jackie, boy,” my father said, putting a thin hand on my wrist, and +gazing imploringly into my eyes, “I’m... I’m ... I can’t tell you +how....” + +I said, “It doesn’t matter, father.” I felt a foretaste of how my past +would rise up to crush me. Cowper had let that wife of his coerce +him into swearing my life away. I remembered vividly his blubbering +protestations of friendship when I persuaded Tomas Castro to return him +his black deed-box with the brass handle, on that deck littered with +rubbish.... “Oh, God bless you, God bless you. You have saved me from +starvation....” There had been tears in his old blue eyes. “If you need +it I will go anywhere... do anything to help you. On the honour of a +gentleman and a soldier.” I had, of course, recommended his wife to give +up her rings when the pirates were threatening her in the cabin. The +other door opened, another man said: + +“Now, then, in with that carrion. D’you want to keep the judges +waiting?” + +I stepped through the door straight down into the dock; there was a row +of spikes in the front of it. I wasn’t afraid; three men in enormous +wigs and ermine robes faced me; four in short wigs had their heads +together like parrots on a branch. A fat man, bareheaded, with a gilt +chain round his neck, slipped from behind into a seat beside the highest +placed judge. He was wiping his mouth and munching with his jaws. On +each side of the judges, beyond the short-wigged assessors, were chairs +full of ladies and gentlemen. They all had their eyes upon me. I saw it +all very plainly. I was going to see everything, to keep my eyes open, +not to let any chance escape. I wondered why a young girl with blue eyes +and pink cheeks tittered and shrugged her shoulders. I did not know what +was amusing. What astonished me was the smallness, the dirt, the want of +dignity of the room itself. I thought they must be trying a case of my +importance there by mistake. + +Presently I noticed a great gilt anchor above the judges’ heads. I +wondered why it was there, until I remembered it was an Admiralty Court. +I thought suddenly, “Ah! if I had thought to tell my father to go and +see if the _Lion_ had come in in the night!” + +A man was bawling out a number of names.... “Peter Plimley, gent., any +challenge.... Lazarus Cohen, merchant, any challenge....” + +The turnkey beside me leant with his back against the spikes. He was +talking to the man who had called us in. + +“Lazarus Cohen, West Indian merchant.... Lord, well, I’d challenge....” + +The other man said, “S--sh.” + +“His old dad give me five shiners to put him up to a thing if I could,” + the turnkey said again. + +I didn’t catch his meaning until an old man with a very ragged gown +was handing up a book to a row of others in a box so near that I could +almost have touched them. Then I realized that the turnkey had been +winking to me to challenge the jury. I called out at the highest of the +judges: + +“I protest against that jury. It is packed. Half of them, at least, are +West Indian merchants.” + +There was a stir all over the court. I realized then that what had +seemed only a mass of stuffs of some sort were human beings all looking +at me. The judge I had called to opened a pair of dim eyes upon me, +clasped and unclasped his hands, very dry, ancient, wrinkled. The judge +on his right called angrily: + +“Nonsense, it is too late.... They are being sworn. You should have +spoken when the names were read.” Underneath his wig was an immensely +broad face with glaring yellow eyes. + +I said, “It is scandalous. You want to murder me, How should I know what +you do in your courts? I say the jury is packed.” + +The very old judge closed his eyes, opened them again, then gasped out: + +“Silence. We are here to try you. This is a court of law.” + +The turnkey pulled my sleeve under cover of the planking. “Treat him +civil,” he whispered, “Lord Justice Stowell of the Hadmir’lty. ’Tother’s +Baron Garrow of the Common Law; a beast; him as hanged that kid. You can +sass him; it doesn’t matter.” + +Lord Stowell waved his hand to the clerk with the ragged gown; the book +passed from hand to hand along the faces of the jury, the clerk gabbling +all the while. The old judge said suddenly, in an astonishingly deep, +majestic voice: + +“Prisoner at the bar, you must understand that we are here to give you +an impartial trial according to the laws of this land. If you desire +advice as to the procedure of this court you can have it.” + +I said, “I still protest against that Jury. I am an innocent man, +and------” + +He answered querulously, “Yes, yes, afterwards.” And then creaked, “Now +the indictment....” + +Someone hidden from me by three barristers began to read in a loud voice +not very easy to follow. I caught: + +“For that the said John Kemp, alias Nichols, alias Nikola el Escoces, +alias el Demonio, alias el Diabletto, on the twelfth of May last, did +feloniously and upon the high seas piratically seize a certain ship +called the _Victoria_... um... um, the properties of Hyman Cohen and +others... and did steal and take therefrom six hundred and thirty +barrels of coffee of the value of... um... um... um... one hundred and +one barrels of coffee of the value of... ninety-four half kegs... and +divers others...” + +I gave an immense sigh.... That was it, then. I had heard of the +_Victoria_; it was when I was at Horton that the news of her loss +reached us. Old Macdonald had sworn; it was the day a negro called +Apollo had taken to the bush. I ought to be able to prove that. +Afterwards, one of the judges asked me if I pleaded guilty or not +guilty. I began a long wrangle about being John Kemp but not Nikola el +Escoces. I was going to fight every inch of the way. They said: + +“You will have your say afterwards. At present, guilty or not guilty?” + +I refused to plead at all; I was not the man. The third judge woke up, +and said hurriedly: + +“That is a plea of not guilty, enter it as such.” Then he went to sleep +again. The young girl on the bench beside him laughed joyously, and Mr. +Baron Garrow nodded round at her, then snapped viciously at me: + +“You don’t make your case any better by this sort of foolery.” His eyes +glared at me like an awakened owl’s. + +I said, “I’m fighting for my neck... and you’ll have to fight, too, to +get it.” + +The old judge said angrily, “Silence, or you will have to be removed.” + +I said, “I am fighting for my life.” + +There was a sort of buzz all round the court. + +Lord Stowell said, “Yes, yes;” and then, “Now, Mr. King’s Advocate, I +suppose Mr. Alfonso Jervis opens for you.” + +A dusty wig swam up from just below my left hand, almost to a level with +the dock. + +The old judge shut his eyes, with an air of a man who _is_ going a +long journey in a post-chaise. Mr. Baron Garrow dipped his pen into an +invisible ink-pot, and scratched it on his desk. A long story began to +drone from under the wig, an interminable farrago of dull nonsense, in +a hypochondriacal voice; a long tale about piracy in general; piracy in +the times of the Greeks, piracy in the times of William the Conqueror... +_pirata nequissima Eustachio_, and thanking God that a case of the sort +had not been heard in that court for an immense lapse of years. Below +me was an array of wigs, on each side a compressed mass of humanity, +squeezed so tight that all the eyeballs seemed to be starting out of +the heads towards me. From the wig below, a translation of the florid +phrases of the Spanish papers was coming: + +“His very Catholic Majesty, out of his great love for his ancient friend +and ally, his Britannic Majesty, did surrender the body of the notorious +El Demonio, called also...” + +I began to wonder who had composed that precious document, whether it +was the _Juez de la Primera Instancia_, bending his yellow face and +sloe-black eyes above the paper, over there in Havana--or whether it was +O’Brien, who was dead since the writing. + +All the while the barrister was droning on. I did not listen because +I had heard all that before--in the room of the Judge of the First +Instance at Havana. Suddenly appearing behind the backs of the row of +gentlefolk on the bench was the pale, thin face of my father. I wondered +which of his great friends had got him his seat. He was nodding to me +and smiling faintly. I nodded, too, and smiled back. I was going to show +them that I was not cowed. The voice of the barrister said: + +“M’luds and gentlemen of the jury, that finishes the Spanish evidence, +which was taken on commission on the island of Cuba. We shall produce +the officer of H. M. S. Elephant, to whom he was surrendered by the +Spanish authorities at Havana, thus proving the prisoner to be the +pirate Nikola, and no other. We come, now, to the specific instance, +m’luds and gentlemen, an instance as vile...” + +It was some little time before I had grasped how absolutely the Spanish +evidence damned me. It was as if, once I fell into the hands of the +English officer on Havana quays, the identity of Nikola could by no +manner of means be shaken from round my neck. The barrister came to the +facts. + +A Kingston ship had been boarded... and there was the old story over +again. I seemed to see the Rio Medio schooner rushing towards where I +and old Cowper and old Lumsden looked back from the poop to see her come +alongside; the strings of brown pirates pour in empty-handed, and +out laden. Only in the case of the _Victoria_ there were added the +ferocities of “the prisoner at the bar, m’luds and gentlemen of the +jury, a fiend in human shape, as we shall prove with the aid of the most +respectable witnesses....” + +The man in the wig sat down, and, before I understood what was +happening, a fat, rosy man--the Attorney-General--whose cheerful gills +gave him a grotesque resemblance to a sucking pig, was calling “Edward +Sadler,” and the name blared like sudden fire leaping up all over the +court. The Attorney-General wagged his gown into a kind of bunch behind +his hips, and a man, young, fair, with a reddish beard and a shiny suit +of clothes, sprang into a little box facing the jury. He bowed nervously +in several directions, and laughed gently; then he looked at me and +scowled. The Attorney-General cleared his throat pleasantly... + +“Mr. Edward Sadler, you were, on May 25th, chief mate of the good ship +_Victoria...._” + +The fair man with the beard told his story, the old story of the ship +with its cargo of coffee and dye-wood; its good passage past the Gran +Caymanos; the becalming off the Cuban shore in latitude so and so, and +the boarding of a black schooner, calling itself a Mexican privateer. I +could see all that. + +“The prisoner at the bar came alongside in a boat, with seventeen +Spaniards,” he said, in a clear, expressionless voice, looking me full +in the face. + +I called out to the old judge, “My Lord... I protest. This is perjury. I +was not the man. It Was Nichols, a Nova Scotian.” + +Mr. Baron Garrow roared, “Silence,” his face suffused with blood. + +Old Lord Stowell quavered, “You must respect the procedure....” + +“Am I to hear my life sworn away without a word?” I asked. + +He drew himself frostily into his robes. “God forbid,” he said; “but at +the proper time you can cross-examine, if you think fit.” + +The Attorney-General smiled at the jury-box and addressed himself to +Sadler, with an air of patience very much tried: + +“You swear the prisoner is the man?” + +The fair man turned his sharp eyes upon me. I called, “For God’s sake, +don’t perjure yourself. You are a decent man.” + +“No, I won’t swear,” he said slowly. “I think he was. He had his face +blacked then, of course. When I had sight of him at the Thames Court I +thought he was; and seeing the Spanish evidence, I don’t see where’s the +room....” + +“The Spanish evidence is part of the plot,” I said. + +The Attorney-General snickered. “Go on, Mr. Sadler,” he said. “Let’s +have the rest of the plot unfolded.” + +A juryman laughed suddenly, and resumed an abashed sudden silence. +Sadler went on to tell the old story.... I saw it all as he spoke; only +gaunt, shiny-faced, yellow Nichols was chewing and hitching his trousers +in place of my Tomas, with his sanguine oaths and jerked gestures. And +there was Nichol’s wanton, aimless ferocity. + +“He had two pistols, which he fired twice each, while we were hoisting +the studding-sails by his order, to keep up with the schooner. He fired +twice into the crew. One of the men hit died afterwards....” + +Later, another vessel, an American, had appeared in the offing, and the +pirates had gone in chase of her. He finished, and Lord Stowell moved +one of his ancient hands. It was as if a gray lizard had moved on his +desk, a little toward me. + +“Now, prisoner,” he said. + +I drew a deep breath. I thought for a minute that, after all, there was +a little fair play in the game--that I had a decent, fair, blue-eyed +man in front of me. He looked hard at me; I hard at him; it was as if +we were going to wrestle for a belt. The young girl on the bench had her +lips parted and leant forward, her head a little on one side. + +I said, “You won’t swear I was the man... Nikola el Escoces?” + +He looked meditatively into my eyes; it was a duel between us. + +“I won’t swear,” he said. “You had your face blacked, and didn’t wear a +beard.” + +A soft growth of hair had come out over my cheeks whilst I lay in +prison. I rubbed my hand against it, and thought that he had drawn first +blood. + +“You must not say ‘you,’” I said. “I swear I was not the man. Did he +talk like me?” + +“Can’t say that he did,” Sadler answered, moving from one foot to the +other. + +“Had he got eyes like me, or a nose, or a mouth?” + +“Can’t say,” he answered again. “His face was blacked.” + +“Didn’t he talk Blue Nose--in the Nova Scotian way?” + +“Well, he did,” Sadler assented slowly. “But any one could for a +disguise. It’s as easy as...” + +Beside me, the turnkey whispered suddenly, “Pull him up; stop his +mouth.” + +I said, “Wasn’t he an older man? Didn’t he look between forty and +fifty?” + +“What do _you_ look like?” the chief mate asked. + +“I’m twenty-four,” I answered; “I can prove it.” + +“Well, you look forty and older,” he answered negligently. “So did he.” + +His cool, disinterested manner overwhelmed me like the blow of an +immense wave; it proved so absolutely that I had parted with all +semblance of youth. It was something added to the immense waste of +waters between myself and Seraphina; an immense waste of years. I did +not ask much of the next witness; Sadler had made me afraid. Septimus +Hearn, the master of the _Victoria_, was a man with eyes as blue and +as cold as bits of round blue pebble; a little goat’s beard, iron-gray; +apple-coloured cheeks, and small gold earrings in his ears. He had +an extraordinarily mournful voice, and a retrospective melancholy of +manner. He was just such another master of a trader as Captain Lumsden +had been, and it was the same story over again, with little different +touches, the hard blue eyes gazing far over the top of my head; the +gnarled hands moving restlessly on the rim of his hat. + +“Afterwards the prisoner ordered the steward to give us a drink of +brandy. A glass was offered me, but I refused to drink it, and he said, +‘Who is it that refuses to drink a glass of brandy?’ He asked me what +countryman I was, and if I was an American.” + +There were two others from the unfortunate _Victoria_--a Thomas Davis, +boatswain, who had had one of Nikola’s pistol-balls in his hip; and a +sort of steward--I have forgotten his name--who had a scar of a cutlass +wound on his forehead. + +It was horrible enough; but what distressed me more was that I could +not see what sort of impression I was making. Once the judge who was +generally asleep woke up and began to scratch furiously with his quill; +once three of the assessors--the men in short wigs--began an animated +conversation; one man with a thin, dark face laughed noiselessly, +showing teeth like a white waterfall. A man in the body of the court on +my left had an enormous swelling, blood-red, and looking as if a touch +must burst it, under his chin; at one time he winked his eyes furiously +for a long time on end. It seemed to me that something in the evidence +must be affecting all these people. The turnkey beside me said to his +mate, “Twig old Justice Best making notes in his stud-calendar,” and +suddenly the conviction forced itself upon me that the whole thing, the +long weary trial, the evidence, the parade of fairness, was being gone +through in a spirit of mockery, as a mere formality; that the judges and +the assessors, and the man with the goitre took no interest whatever in +my case. It was a foregone conclusion. + +A tiny, fair man, with pale hair oiled and rather long for those days, +and with green and red signet rings on fingers that he was forever +running through that hair, came mincingly into the witness-box. He +held for a long time what seemed to be an amiable conversation with Sir +Robert Gifford, a tall, portentous-looking man, who had black beetling +brows, like tufts of black horsehair sticking in the crannies of a +cliff. The conversation went like this: + +“You are the Hon. Thomas Oldham?” + +“Yes, yes.” + +“You know Kingston, Jamaica, very well?” + +“I was there four years--two as the secretary to the cabinet of his +Grace the Duke of Manchester, two as civil secretary to the admiral on +the station.” + +“You saw the prisoner?” + +“Yes, three times.” + +I drew an immense breath; I thought for a moment that they had delivered +themselves into my hands. The thing must prove of itself that I had been +in Jamaica, not in Rio Medio, through those two years. My heart began +to thump like a great solemn drum, like Paul’s bell when the king +died--solemn, insistent, dominating everything. The little man was +giving an account of the “’bawminable” state of confusion into which +the island’s trade was thrown by the misdeeds of a pirate called Nikola +el Demonio. + +“I assure you, my luds,” he squeaked, turning suddenly to the judges, +“the island was wrought up into a pitch of... ah... almost disloyalty. +The... ah... planters were clamouring for... ah... separation. And, to +be sure, I trust you’ll hang the prisoner, for if you don’t...” + +Lord Stowell shivered, and said suddenly with haste, “Mr. Oldham, +address yourself to Sir Robert.” + +I was almost happy; the cloven hoof had peeped so damningly out. The +little man bowed briskly to the old judge, asked for a chair, sat +himself down, and arranged his coat-tails. + +“As I was saying,” he prattled on, “the trouble and the worry that this +man caused to His Grace, myself, and Admiral Rowley were inconceivable. +You have no idea, you... ah... can’t conceive. And no wonder, for, as it +turned out, the island was simply honeycombed by his spies and agents. +You have no idea; people who seemed most respectable, people we +ourselves had dealings with...” + +He rattled on at immense length, the barrister taking huge pinches +of yellow snuff, and smiling genially with the air of a horse-trainer +watching a pony go faultlessly through difficult tricks. Every now and +then he flicked his whip. + +“Mr. Oldham, you saw the prisoner three times. If it does not overtax +your memory pray tell us.” And the little creature pranced off in a new +direction. + +“Tax my memory! Gad, I like that. You remember a man who has had your +blood as near as could be, don’t you?” + +I had been looking at him eagerly, but my interest faded away now. It +was going to be the old confusing of my identity with Nikola’s. And yet +I seemed to know the little beggar’s falsetto; it was a voice one does +not forget. + +“Remember!” he squeaked. “Gad, gentlemen of the jury, he came as near as +possible------You have no idea what a ferocious devil it is.” + +I was wondering why on earth Nichols should have wanted to kill such a +little thing. Because it was obvious that it must have been Nichols. + +“As near as possible murdered myself and Admiral Rowley and a Mr. +Topnambo, a most enlightened and loyal... ah... inhabitant of the +island, on the steps of a public inn.” + +I had it then. It was the little man David Mac-donald had rolled down +the steps with, that night at the Ferry Inn on the Spanish Town road. + +“He was lying in wait for us with a gang of assassins. I was stabbed +on the upper lip. I lost so much blood... had to be invalided... cannot +think of horrible episode without shuddering.” + +He had seen me then, and when Ramon (“a Spaniard who was afterwards +proved to be a spy of El Demonio’s--of the prisoner’s. He was hung +since”) had driven me from the place of execution after the hanging of +the seven pirates; and he had come into Ramon’s store at the moment +when Carlos (“a piratical devil if ever there was one,” the little man +protested) had drawn me into the back room, where Don Balthasar and +O’Brien and Seraphina sat waiting. The men who were employed to watch +Ramon’s had never seen me leave again, and afterwards a secret tunnel +was discovered leading down to the quay. + +“This, apparently, was the way by which the prisoner used to arrive and +quit the island secretly,” he finished his evidence in chief, and the +beetle-browed, portly barrister sat down. I was not so stupid but what +I could see a little, even then, how the most innocent events of my past +were going to rise up and crush me; but I was certain I could twist him +into admitting the goodness of my tale which hadn’t yet been told. He +knew I had been in Jamaica, and, put what construction he liked on it, +he would have to admit it. I called out: + +“Thank God, my turn’s come at last!” + +The faces of the Attorney-General, the King’s Advocate, Sir Robert +Gifford, Mr. Lawes, Mr. Jervis, of all the seven counsel that were +arrayed to crush me, lengthened into simultaneous grins, varying at the +jury-box. But I didn’t care; I grinned, too. I was going to show them. + +It was as if I flew at the throat of that little man. It seemed to me +that I must be able to crush a creature whose malice was as obvious and +as nugatory as the green and red rings that he exhibited in his hair +every few minutes. He wanted to show the jury that he had rings; that +he was a mincing swell; that I hadn’t and that I was a bloody pirate. I +said: + +“You know that during the whole two years Nichols was at Rio I was +an improver at Horton Pen with the Macdonalds, the agents of my +brother-in-law, Sir Ralph Rooksby. You must know these things. You were +one of the Duke of Manchester’s spies.” + +We used to call the Duke’s privy council that. “I certainly know +nothing of the sort,” he said, folding his hands along the edge of the +witness-box, as if he had just thought of exhibiting his rings in that +manner. He was abominably cool. I said: + +“You must have heard of me. The Topnambos knew me.” + +“The Topnambos used to talk of a blackguard with a name like Kemp who +kept himself mighty out of the way in the Vale.” + +“You knew I was on the island,” I pinned him down. + +“You used to _come_ to the island,” he corrected. “I’ve just explained +how. But you were not there much, or we should have been able to lay +hands on you. We wanted to. There was a warrant out after you tried to +murder us. But you had been smuggled away by Ramon.” + +I tried again: + +“You have heard of my brother-in-law, Sir Ralph Rooksby?” + +I wanted to show that, if I hadn’t rings, I had relations. + +“Nevah heard of the man in my life,” he said. + +“He was the largest land proprietor on the island,” I said. + +“Dessay,” he said; “I knew forty of the largest. Mostly sharpers in the +boosing-kens.” He yawned. + +I said viciously: + +“It was your place to know the island. You knew Horton Pen--the +Macdonalds?” + +The face of jolly old Mrs. Mac. came to my mind--the impeccable, Scotch, +sober respectability. + +“Oh, I knew the Macdonalds,” he said--“_of_ them. The uncle was a damn +rebellious, canting, planting Scotchman. Horton Pen was the centre of +the Separation Movement. We could have hung _him_ if we’d wanted to. The +nephew was the writer of an odious blackmailing print. He calumniated +all the decent, loyal inhabitants. He was an agent of you pirates, too. +We arrested him--got his papers; know all about your relations with +him.” + +I said, “That’s all nonsense. Let us hear”--the Attorney-General had +always said that--“what you know of myself.” + +“What I know of you,” he sniffed, “if it’s a pleasuah, was something +like this. You came to the island in a mysterious way, gave out that +you were an earl’s son, and tried to get into the very excellent society +of... ah... people like my friends, the Topnambos. But they would not +have you, and after that you kept yourself mighty close; no one ever saw +you but once or twice, and then it was riding about at night with that +humpbacked scoundrel of a blackmailer. + +“You, in fact, weren’t on the island at all, except when you came to +spy for the pirates. You used to have long confabulations with that +scoundrel Ramon, who kept you posted about the shipping. As for the +blackmailer, with the humpback, David Macdonald, you kept him, you... +ah... subsidized his filthy print to foment mutiny and murder among the +black fellows, and preach separation. You wanted to tie our hands, and +prevent our... ah... prosecuting the preventive measures against you. +When you found that it was no good you tried to murder the admiral and +myself, and that very excellent man Topnambo, coming from a ball. After +that you were seen encouraging seven of your... ah... pirate fellows +whom we were hanging, and you drove off in haste with your agent, Ramon, +before we could lay hands on you, and vanished from the island.” + +I didn’t lose my grip; I went at him again, blindly, as if I were boxing +with my eyes full of blood, but my teeth set tight. I said: + +“You used to buy things yourself of old Ramon; bought them for the +admiral to load his frigates with; things he sold at Key West.” + +“That was one of the lies your scoundrel David Macdonald circulated +against us.” + +“You bought things... even whilst you were having his store watched.” + +“Upon my soul!” he said. + +“You used to buy things....” I pinned him. He looked suddenly at the +King’s Advocate, then dropped his eyes. + +“Nevah bought a thing in my life,” he said. + +I knew the man had; Ramon had told me of his buying for the admiral more +than three hundred barrels of damaged coffee for thirty pounds. I was in +a mad temper. I smashed my hand upon the spikes of the rail in front of +me, and although I saw hands move impulsively towards me all over the +court, I did not know that my arm was impaled and the blood running +down. + +“Perjurer,” I shouted, “Ramon himself told me.” + +“Ah, you were mighty thick with Ramon...” he said. + +I let him stand down. I was done. Someone below said harshly, “That +closes our case, m’luds,” and the court rustled all over. Old Lord +Stowell in front of me shivered a little, looked at the window, and then +said: + +“Prisoner at the bar, our procedure has it that if you wish to say +anything, you may now address the jury. Afterwards, if you had a +counsel, he could call and examine your witnesses, if you have any.” + +It was growing very dark in the court. I began to tell my story; it was +so plain, so evident, it shimmered there before me... and yet I knew it +was so useless. + +I remembered that in my cell I had reasoned out that I must be very +constrained; very lucid about the opening. “On such and such a day +I landed at Kingston, to become an improver on the estate of my +brother-in-law. He is Sir Ralph Rooksby of Horton Priory in Kent.” I +_did_ keep cool; I _was_ lucid; I spoke like that. I had my eyes fixed +on the face of the young girl upon the bench. I remember it so well. Her +eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon my hand. I tried to move it, and found +that it was stuck upon the spike on which I had jammed it. I moved it +carelessly away, and only felt a little pain, as if from a pin-prick; +but the blood was dripping on to the floor, pat, pat. Later on, a man +lit the candles on the judge’s desk, and the court looked different. +There were deep shadows everywhere; and the illuminated face of Lord +Stowell looked grimmer, less kind, more ancient, more impossible +to bring a ray of sympathy to. Down below, the barristers of the +prosecution leaned back with their arms all folded, and the air of men +resting in an interval of cutting down a large tree. The barristers who +were, merely listeners looked at me from time to time. I heard one say, +“That man ought to have his hand bound up.” I was telling the story of +my life, that was all I could do. + +“As for Ramon, how could I know he was in the pay of the pirates, even +if he were? I swear I did not know. Everyone on the island had dealings +with him, the admiral himself. That is not calumny. On my honour, the +admiral did have dealings. Some of you have had dealings with forgers, +but that does not make you forgers.” + +I warmed to it; I found words. I was telling the story for that young +girl. Suddenly I saw the white face of my father peep at me between the +head of an old man with an enormous nose, and a stout lady in a brown +cloak that had a number of little watchmen’s capes. He smiled suddenly, +and nodded again and again, opened his eyes, shut them; furtively waved +a hand. It distracted me, threw me off my balance, my coolness was gone. +It was as if something had snapped. After that I remembered very little; +I think I may have quoted “The Prisoner of Chillon,” because he put it +into my head. + +I seemed to be back again in Cuba. Down below me the barristers were +talking. The King’s Advocate pulled out a puce-coloured bandanna, +and waved it abroad preparatorily to blowing his nose. A cloud of the +perfume of a West Indian bean went up from it, sweet and warm. I had +smelt it last at Rio, the sensation was so strong that I could not tell +where I was. + +The candles made a yellow glow on the judge’s desk; but it seemed to be +the blaze of light in the cell where Nichols and the Cuban had fenced. I +thought I was back in Cuba again. The people in the court disappeared +in the deepening shadows. At times I could not speak. Then I would begin +again. + +If there were to be any possibility of saving my life, I had to tell +what I had been through--and to tell it vividly--I had to narrate the +story of my life; and my whole life came into my mind. It was Seraphina +who was the essence of my life; who spoke with the voice of all Cuba, +of all Spain, of all Romance. I began to talk about old Don Balthasar +Riego. I began to talk about Manuel-del-Popolo, of his red shirt, his +black eyes, his mandolin; I saw again the light of his fires flicker on +the other side of the ravine in front of the cave. + +And I rammed all that into my story, the story I was telling to that +young girl. I knew very well that I was carrying my audience with me; +I knew how to do it, I had it in the blood. The old pale, faded, +narrow-lidded father who was blinking and nodding at me had been one of +the best raconteurs that ever was. I knew how. In the black shadows of +the wall of the court I could feel the eyes upon me; I could see the +parted lips of the young girl as she leaned further towards me. I knew +it because, when one of the barristers below raised his voice, someone +hissed “S--sh” from the shadows. And suddenly it came into my head, that +even if I did save my life by talking about these things, it would be +absolutely useless. I could never go back again; never be the boy again; +never hear the true voice of the Ever Faithful Island. What did it +matter even if I escaped; even if I could go back? The sea would be +there, the sky, the silent dim hills, the listless surge; but _I_ should +never be there, I should be altered for good and all. I should never see +the breathless dawn in the pondwater of Havana harbour, never be +there with Seraphina close beside me in the little _drogher_. All +that remained was to see this fight through, and then have done with +fighting. I remember the intense bitterness of that feeling and the +oddity of it all; of the one “I” that felt like that, of the other that +was raving in front of a lot of open-eyed idiots, three old judges, and +a young girl. And, in a queer way, the thoughts of the one “I” floated +through into the words of the other, that seemed to be waving its hands +in its final struggle, a little way in front of me. + +“Look at me... look at what they have made of me, one and the other of +them. I was an innocent boy. What am I now? They have taken my life from +me, let them finish it how they will, what does it matter to me, what do +I care?” + +There was a rustle of motion all round the court. On board Rowley’s +flagship the heavy irons had sawed open my wrists. I hadn’t been ironed +in Newgate, but the things had healed up very little. I happened to look +down at my claws of hands with the grime of blood that the dock spikes +had caused. + +“What sort of a premium is it that you set on sticking to the right? Is +this how you are going to encourage the others like me? What do I care +about your death? What’s life to me? Let them get their scaffold ready. +I have suffered enough to be put out of my misery. God, I have suffered +enough with one and another. Look at my hands, I say. Look at my wrists, +and say if I care any more.” I held my ghastly paws high, and the candle +light shone upon them. + +Out of the black shadows came shrieks of women and curses. I saw my +young girl put her hands over her face and slip slowly, very slowly, +from her chair, down out of sight. People were staggering in different +directions. I had had more to say, but I forgot in my concern for the +young girl. The turnkey pulled my sleeve and said: + +“I say, that ain’t _true_, is it, it ain’t _true?_” Because he seemed +not to want it to have been true, I glowed for a moment with the immense +pride of my achievement. I had made them see things. + +A minute after, I understood how futile it was. I was not a fool even in +my then half-mad condition. The real feeling of the place came back upon +me, the “Court of Law” of it. The King’s Advocate was whispering to the +Attorney-General, he motioned with his hand, first in my direction, then +towards the jury; then they both laughed and nodded. They knew the ropes +too well for me, and there were seven West India merchants up there who +would remember their pockets in a minute. But I didn’t care. I had made +them see things. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +I had shot my bolt and I was going to die; I could see it in the way the +King’s Advocate tossed his head back, fluttered his bands, looked at +the jury-box, and began to play with the seals on his fob. The court +had resumed its stillness. A man in some sort of livery passed a square +paper to the Lord Mayor, the Lord Mayor passed it to Lord Stowell, who +opened it with a jerking motion of an ancient fashion that impressed me +immensely. It was as if I, there at the end of my life, were looking at +a man opening a letter of the reign of Queen Anne. The shadows of his +ancient, wrinkled face changed as he read, raising his eyebrows and +puckering his mouth. He handed the unfolded paper to Mr. Baron Garrow, +then with one wrinkled finger beckoned the Attorney-General to him. The +third judge was still asleep. + +“What the devil’s this?” the turnkey beside me said to his companion. + +I was in a good deal of pain, and felt sickly that every pulse of my +heart throbbed in my mangled hand. The other spat straight in front of +him. + +“Damme if I know,” he said. “This cursed business ought to have been +over and done with an hour agone. I told Jinks to have my rarebit and +noggin down by the gate-house fire at half-past five, and it’s six now.” + +They began an interminable argument under their breaths. + +“It’s that wager of Lord March’s... run a mile, walk a mile, eat five +pounds of mutton, drink five pints of claret. No, it ain’t.. Medmenham +coach ain’t in yet... roads too heavy.... It is. What else would stop +the Court at this time of night? It isn’t, or Justice Best ’d be awake +and hedging his bets.” + +In a dizzy way I noted the Attorney-General making his way carefully +back between the benches to his knot of barristers, and their wigs went +all together in a bunch like ears of corn drawn suddenly into a sheaf. +The heads of the other barristers were like unreaped ears. A man with a +face like a weasel’s called to a man with a face like a devil’s--he was +leaving the court--something about an ambassador. The other stopped, +turned, and deposited his bag again. I heard the deep voice of Sir +Robert Gifford say: “What!... Never!... too infamous...” and then the +interest and the light seemed to flicker out together. I could hardly +see. Voices called out to each other, harsh, dry, as if their owners had +breathed nothing but dust for years and years. + +One loud one barked, “You can’t hear him, m’luds; in _Rex v. +Marsupenstein...._” + +A lot began calling all together, “Ah, but that was different, Mr. +Attorney. You couldn’t subpoena him, he being in the position of _extra +lege commune_. But if he offers a statement....” + +The candles seemed to be waving deliberately like elm-tops in a high +wind. + +Someone called, “Clerk, fetch me volume xiii.... I think we shall find +there.... You recollect the case of _Hildeshein v. Roe...._ Wasn’t it +_Hildegaulen and another_, m’lud?”... “I tried the case myself. The +Prussian Plenipotentiary....” + +I wanted to call out to them that it was not worth while to try their +dry throats any more; that having shot my bolt, I gave in. But I could +not think of any words, I was so tired. “I didn’t sleep at all last +night,” I found myself saying to myself. + +The sleeping judge woke up suddenly and snarled, “Why in Heaven’s name +don’t we get on? We shall be all night. Let him call the second name on +the list. We can take the Spanish ambassador when you have settled. For +my part I think we ought to hear him....” + +Lord Stowell said suddenly, “Prisoner at the bar, some gentlemen have +volunteered statements on your behalf. If you wish it, they can be +called.” + +I didn’t answer; I did not understand; I wanted to tell him I did +not care, because the _Lion_ was posted as overdue and Seraphina was +drowned. The Court seemed to be moving slowly up and down in front of me +like the deck of a ship. I thought I was bound again, and on the sofa in +the gorgeous cabin of the _Madre-de-Dios_. Someone seemed to be calling, +“Prisoner at the bar... Prisoner at the bar....” It was as if the +candles had been lit in front of the Madonna with the pink child, only +she had a gilt anchor instead of the spiky gilt glory above her +head. Somebody was saying, “Hello there.... Hold up!... Here, bring a +chair,...” and there were arms around me. Afterwards I sat down. A very +old judge’s voice said something rather kindly, I thought. I knew it was +the very old judge, because he was called the star of Cuban law. Someone +would be bending over me soon, with a lanthorn, and I should be wiping +the flour out of my eyes and blinking at the red velvet and gilding of +the cabin ceiling. In a minute Carlos and Castro would come... or was it +O’Brien who would come? No, O’Brien was dead; stabbed, with a knife +in his neck; the blood was still sticky between my first and second +fingers. I could feel it. I ought to have been allowed to wash my hands +before I was tried; or was it before I spoke to the admiral? One would +not speak to a man with hands like that. + +A loud, high-pitched voice called from up in the air, “I will give any +of you gentlemen of the robe down there fifty pounds to conduct the +remainder of the case for him. I am the prisoner’s father.” + +My father’s voice broke the spell. I was in the court; the candles were +still burning; all the faces, lit up or in the shadow, were bunched +together in little groups; hands waved. The barrister whose face was +like the devil’s under his wig held in his hands the paper that had been +handed to Lord Stowell; my father was talking to him from the bench. +The barrister, tall, his robes old and ragged, silhouetted against the +light, glanced down the paper, fluttered it in his hand, nodded to my +father, and began a grotesque, nasal drawl: + +“M’luds, I will conduct the case for the prisoner, if your lordships +will bear with me a little. He obviously can’t call his own witnesses. +If he has been treated as he says, it has been one of the most +abominable...” + +Old Lord Stowell said, “Ch’t, ch’t, Mr. Walker; you know you must not +make a speech for the prisoner. Call your witness. It is all that is +needed.” + +I wondered what he meant by that. The barrister was calling a man of the +name of Williams. I seemed to know the name. I seemed to know the man, +too. + +“Owen Williams, Master of the ship _Lion_.... Coffee and dye-wood.... +Just come in under a jury-rig. Had been dismasted and afterwards +becalmed. Heard of this trial from the pilot in Graves-end. Had taken +post-chaises...” + +I only heard snatches of his answers. + +“On the twenty-fifth of August last I was close in with the Cuban +coast.... The mate, Sebright, got boiling water for them.... Afterwards +a heavy fog. They boarded us in many boats....” He was giving all the +old evidence over again, fastening another stone around my neck. But +suddenly he said: “This gentleman came alongside in a leaky dinghy. A +dead shot. He saved all our lives.” + +His bullet-head, the stare of his round blue eyes seemed to draw me out +of a delirium. I called out: + +“Williams, for God’s sake, Williams, where is Seraphina? Did she come +with you?” There was an immense roaring in my head, and the ushers were +shouting, “Silence! Silence!” I called out again. + +Williams was smiling idiotically; then he shook his head and put his +finger to his mouth to warn me to keep silence. I only noted the shake +of the head. Sera-phina had not come. The Havana people must have taken +her. It was all over with me. The roaring noise made me think that I +was on a beach by the sea, with the smugglers, perhaps, at night down +in Kent. The silence that fell upon the court was like the silence of a +grave. Then someone began to speak in measured, portentous Spanish, that +seemed a memory of the past. + +“I, the ambassador of his Catholic Majesty, being here upon my honour +and on my oath, demand the re-surrender of this gentleman, whose +courage equals his innocence. Documents which have just reached my hands +establish clearly the mistake of which he is the victim. The functionary +who is called _Alcayde_ of the _carcel_ at Havana confused the men. +Nikola el Escoces escaped, having murdered the judge whose place it was +to identify. I demand that the prisoner be set at liberty...” + +A long time after a harsh voice said: + +“Your Excellency, we retire, of course, from the prosecution.” + +A different one directed: + +“Gentlemen of the jury, you will return a verdict of ‘Not Guilty’...” + +Down below they were cheering uproariously because my life was saved. +But it was I that had to face my saved life. I sat there, my head bowed +into my hands. The old judge was speaking to me in a tone of lofty +compassion: + +“You have suffered much, as it seems, but suffering is the lot of us +men. Rejoice now that your character is cleared; that here in this +public place you have received the verdict of your countrymen that +restores you to the liberties of our country and the affection of your +kindred. I rejoice with you who am a very old man, at the end of my +life....” + +It was rather tremendous, his deep voice, his weighted words. Suffering +is the lot of us men!... The formidable legal array, the great powers +of a nation, had stood up to teach me that, and they had taught me +that--suffering is the lot of us men! + +It takes long enough to realize that someone is dead at a distance. I +had done that. But how long, how long it needs to know that the life of +your heart has come back from the dead. For years afterwards I could not +bear to have her out of my sight. + +Of our first meeting in London all I remember is a speechlessness that +was like the awed hesitation of our overtried souls before the greatness +of a change from the verge of despair to the opening of a supreme joy. + +The whole world, the whole of life, with her return, had changed all +around me; it enveloped me, it enfolded me so lightly as not to be felt, +so suddenly as not to be believed in, so completely that that whole +meeting was an embrace, so softly that at last it lapsed into a sense of +rest that was like the fall of a beneficent and welcome death. + +For suffering is the lot of man, but not inevitable failure or worthless +despair which is without end--suffering, the mark of manhood, which +bears within its pain a hope of felicity like a jewel set in iron.... + +Her first words were: + +“You broke our compact. You went away from me whilst I was sleeping.” + Only the deepness of her reproach revealed the depth of her love, +and the suffering she too had endured to reach a union that was to be +without end--and to forgive. + +And, looking back, we see Romance--that subtle thing that is +mirage--that is life. It is the goodness of the years we have lived +through, of the old time when we did this or that, when we dwelt here +or there. Looking back, it seems a wonderful enough thing that I who +am this, and she who is that, commencing so far away a life that, after +such sufferings borne together and apart, ended so tranquilly there in a +world so stable--that she and I should have passed through so much, good +chance and evil chance, sad hours and joyful, all lived down and swept +away into the little heap of dust that is life. That, too, is Romance! + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. 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