Wyndham's Pal

When the fellow bent his head over his work Marston glanced carefully about the engine-room. He saw the condenser; the cover was on, which indicated that the repairs were finished. A chain tackle hung from the beams above the cylinders and some nuts lay about their heads. The pistons had obviously been lifted in order to put on new rings. Other things Marston noted implied that the engines had been given a thorough overhaul. He thought the work was nearly completed, but when one examined a vessel's engines the boiler was generally opened and he crept cautiously to the stokehold.

The ladder came up to a grating on deck and when he had gone down half way he struck a match. He could see the man-hole; the cover had recently been taken off and replaced, for smears of red-lead marked the joint, and Marston went cautiously back to the deck. He knew all he wanted to know. The tug had been put in first-rate order, as if in preparation for some important work, and he thought she could be floated off after another tide. He must now rejoin Wyndham as soon as possible. So far, he had been lucky, but when he went to the rail it looked as if his luck had turned.

A man, singing lustily, crossed the marina and his hoarseness implied that he was returning from a carouse. As he passed the port-captain's office somebody hailed him and Marston heard him answer, "Fogonero."

There was a short colloquy that seemed to get abusive, and then somebody said, "Vaya al diablo!"

The man laughed and came on unsteadily towards the mole. He was a ship's fireman, and Marston, who did not want to meet him, hoped he was not making for the tug. After a few moments he fell down and Marston thought he kicked something savagely when he got up. His figure was now faintly distinguishable and it was plain that he meant to board the tug. Marston crawled round the skylight and crouched against the bulwarks on the other side. A rope ran across the rail and he tried to feel if its end was fast. The rope might help him to reach the ground.

Then the awkward steps stopped at the tug and the ladder shook. Its upper end slipped and a noise below indicated that the fireman had fallen off.

"Pancho, Panchito!" he shouted. "Come out and help, little parrot!"

Marston heard the engineer clatter across the iron platforms and cross the deck. So far as Marston could understand, his remarks were grossly rude, but the other interrupted:

"What is a small bottle of caña to a fireman? It is the ladder that is drunk. If you will not hold it, little parrot, I must sleep in the cold."

To judge by the noise they made, Pancho seized the ladder while the other scrambled up. He jumped on deck, laughing boisterously, a door shut, and when the men's feet rattled on the platform bars in the engine-room Marston crawled across the deck. He found the top of the ladder, but had only gone down a few steps when it slipped across the side and threw him off. Although he did not fall far, the ladder struck the ground with a crash and he lay down in the gloom under the tug's bilge.

After waiting for a few moments he saw the others were not coming back on deck, and he got up and stole along the slip. Crossing the mole with a few quick steps, he climbed the parapet and dropped to the stones on the other side. When he had gone a hundred yards along the beach he whistled softly, and although the gravel rolled about in the languid surf heard Wyndham's answer. Then the gig's white hull appeared indistinctly among the streaks of foam, and he plunged into the backwash as a wave recoiled. Seizing the gig's bow, he pushed her off and got on board while Wyndham sculled her round. For two or three minutes they let her drift off-shore; and then stepped the mast and hoisted sail.

"Well?" said Wyndham. "Did you find the tug?"

Marston related his adventures and added: "I expect they'll float her off next tide, but some of the small jobs I noted would hardly be finished. Then she'll have to coal, fill her tanks, and get up steam. In fact, I don't imagine she could start until sometime after dark to-morrow. Five or six lighters were lying near the slip."

"She'll no doubt bring them across," said Wyndham thoughtfully. "I expect the skipper will go half-speed across the bay. Well, suppose she arrives in the morning? The sea-breeze will freshen as the sun gets high, and towing the loaded boats would be dangerous in broken water; perhaps we can take it for granted the troops won't leave until it's dark. At night they'd get smooth water, because the wind's off the land. This means we have about forty-eight hours' warning. But slack the jib sheet a little. Our first job's to get on board by daybreak."

As they opened up the bay the sea got rougher, but the wind was on the gig's quarter and they let her go. She rolled on the angry combers and the boom that stretched the lugsail's foot tossed up. If she fell off much and the sail lurched across, the shock would capsize her or carry away the mast. Wyndham, however, held her straight and she drove on, with curling foam piled about her side. It was a wild run and they were glad when they got near the land again and found shelter. The sea was smooth now, and the breeze moderate, although it blew in gusts that heeled the boat and set the water splashing against her planks. Once or twice Wyndham made Marston strike a match and look at his watch.

"We may get in, but we have not much time to spare," he said at length.

The breeze fell and the boat rose nearly upright. Marston put out an oar and began to pull, for when he looked east the sky was getting pale. The gig was sailing, but the splash at the bows was faint and at times the canvas hung slack. Half an hour afterwards they pulled down the mast and Wyndham took the other oar.

"A steady stroke! Don't force the pace. But you have got to row!" he said.

The need for speed was plain. The eastern sky was clearing and the mist began to roll back from the coast. Marston saw a belt of surf and shadowy rocks and woods. Ahead, a light marked the harbor mouth, but it was some distance off and the gig was a heavy boat for two men to row. Yet they must reach port before day broke, and, gasping and straining, they labored on. After his hasty glance about, Marston saw nothing but Wyndham's back, swinging to and fro in front with a regularity that he must emulate. He felt the bow lift as he dragged the heavy oar through the water; then there was a faint gurgle, and his heart beat as he swung forward again. His hands blistered and the sweat ran into his eyes.

At length, Wyndham said something hoarsely and a high wall, washed by languid surf, rose above the boat. They were entering the harbor, but Marston dared not turn to look ahead. The light was growing and the wall would guide them to Columbine. He must not miss a stroke, because the port-guard might be able to see them now. Three or four minutes afterwards, Wyndham stopped rowing and said, "Easy! Let her go!"

Marston fell forward with his oar and fought for breath. His heart beat like a hammer, his arms and legs trembled, and he felt he had not strength to lift his head. Then the end of his oar struck something and they were alongside Columbine. Rousing himself with an effort, he leaned out and seized a rope. Wyndham got up and began to lift the mast.

"Find the compass and lantern; then help me put the gear on board," he said.

When the gig was empty of all but the oars they got over the schooner's rail and pulled off their wet clothes. In the tropics, white men, as a rule, do not bathe in cold water, but the galley fire was not lighted and Wyndham filled a bucket over the side. The cool brine braced them, and going to the cabin, they began to take out dry clothes. Wyndham, however, stopped, as if listening, and Marston heard the splash of oars.

"Pyjamas, I think," said Wyndham. "Somebody's coming."

As they put on their pyjamas the oars stopped close by and a man shouted.

"One of us will be enough," Wyndham resumed. "Look as sleepy as you can."

Marston went up, with his pyjamas half buttoned, and leaned on the rail. It was daylight, for on the Caribbean dawn comes swiftly at about six o'clock. A boat carrying two men in the port-guards' uniform floated a few yards off. Marston thought they were looking at the gig, and he waited in keen suspense.

"A note from Señor Larrinaga," said one.

"Don Ramon gets up early," Marston remarked with a yawn, and when the man gave him the note added: "Wait a minute."

Opening the envelope he went to the cabin and said to Wyndham, "We are asked to breakfast at the mission and see the soldiers parade. I imagine we're expected to stop the day. Don Ramon is sending horses; they'll be ready in half an hour."

"Well," said Wyndham, "I suppose we must go."

Marston gave the men a bottle of caña and sent them off. Then he went back and sat down limply.

"If we had been ten minutes longer, they'd have found us out," he said. "I don't feel up to riding far, and their asking us to the mission now is awkward. Still I expect we couldn't sail until it's dark. It's lucky we got our clearance papers."

CHAPTER VIII

AT THE MISSION

Half an hour after the boat pulled away, Marston and Wyndham mounted the horses Larrinaga had sent. The mission was some distance off, but breakfast would not be served until about eleven o'clock and they rode slowly up the hill behind the town. Two soldiers followed thirty or forty yards in the rear, but Marston had found out that they knew no English. Wyndham was quiet and preoccupied.

"The horses are the best I've seen, and I suppose Don Ramon's sending an escort is something of a compliment," Marston said presently. "We are going to the mission like honored guests; I don't know about our coming back. Yet we must get back to-night."

"We calculated the tug would sail with the lighters to-morrow after dark and we need twenty-four hours' start," Wyndham replied. "It ought to be enough, if the breeze is strong; landing the troops will be a long job. However, we must not be late."

Marston agreed. Larrinaga was using every precaution to keep the dispatch of the expedition secret, and no doubt hoped to surprise the Bat. If they were too late, they might be captured with him. If, however, they brought him warning long enough beforehand, he might make a stubborn defense, and this would involve them in fresh entanglements.

"I'd feel happier if I knew the President's plans for to-day," Marston resumed.

"So would I," said Wyndham, smiling. "I imagine they will, to some extent, depend on the line we take. On the whole, his object for sending for us is plain; he wants to keep us away from the port as long as possible."

"If he thought we were spying for the Bat, he might lock us up."

"I think not. He would then have to inform the consul and state the grounds for our arrest. All the same, if he's not satisfied, he may tax us with cheating the customs or something of the kind and keep us until the tug has sailed. In the meantime, perhaps it's lucky we are not about the port, because I think Peters won't offer his help to the Government until he has seen us. If Larrinaga knew what Peters knows, we wouldn't reach the lagoon."

"I expect that is so," said Marston gloomily. "Well, it will be a big relief when all this intrigue is done with and we leave the coast for good."

For the most part they were silent until they reached the mission. The building was old and falling to ruin, but it had a touch of stateliness, for its foundations were laid when the Spanish conquerors were influenced by the austere beauty of Moorish art. The front was pierced by Saracenic arches that led to a cloistered walk on one side of the patio, from which an outside stair went up to the officers' rooms. The rest of the building was plainer and was now used for a barracks. Palms grew round the square in front and in the background dusky forest rolled back to the mountains that cut the sky. Two or three companies of cazadores were drawn up in the square.

The President and Larrinaga received their guests at the central arch, where chairs had been put in the shade. There was another gentleman, whom Wyndham imagined belonged to the President's cabinet, and he thought the minister quietly studied him and Marston. It was possible Señor Villar had joined the party with this object. If so, it looked as if the others had not yet decided if they were dangerous or not.

"Now you have arrived, we will go on with the drill," the President remarked. "Afterwards, Señor Marston will tell us what he thinks about my soldiers."

"My opinion is not worth much; I am a sailor," Marston replied with some awkwardness, because he thought the President was amused.

"You are modest," the latter rejoined. "Well, we cannot ask what you think about our fleet. Our gunboat, the Campeador, has stranded, and this only leaves us the tug."

"I have seen the tug," said Marston, and stopping for a moment, went on: "A very fine boat! She looks powerful and ought to steam fast."

Wyndham wondered whether the others had noted Marston's pause. It was not long and perhaps his frank admission would satisfy them.

"Let us try to turn kilometers into what you call knots," said the President. "It is a complicated sum; you must help me, Don Ramon."

"About twelve knots," Wyndham interposed when they began the calculation. "However, you must not indulge my comrade by letting him talk about ships. We came to see the soldiers."

The President signed to an officer, who shouted, and the cazadores wheeled and formed on a new front. The bands and muzzles of their rifles sparkled in the searching light and dust rolled about them as they moved. They were little, wiry men, and although they did not drill remarkably well and their white uniforms were not clean, Wyndham noted that their rifles were good. Moreover, their equipment was up to date and new.

The officer, shouting savagely, kept the men moving about, and when at length he dismissed them came back, hot and sprinkled by dust, with a look of disgust. Wyndham, allowing something for the German character, thought the disgust was rather marked.

"Then you are not satisfied yet?" the President asked.

"They are your Excellency's subjects," the other replied with a shrug. "I do my best, but we do not make much progress. Perhaps, with extra drill for two or three months – "

The President laughed. "One must use patience, and in this country one goes slowly. Besides, I do not know if speed is needed." He turned to Wyndham. "Now we will leave you to Don Arnoldo for a few minutes. I promised Señor Villar I would examine the quartermaster's books. There are people who grumble about our military extravagance."

He went off with the others and the officer sat down. Wyndham imagined him a soldier of fortune whose main object was to earn his pay. For all that, it looked as if he had been given a part in the plot and had played up well.

"I expect you find drilling these fellows a tiresome job," Marston said in English.

"It is so," the other agreed. "The President is too ambitious; I think he wastes his money. His people have no military feeling; they are stupid individualists and one cannot give them mass-consciousness. One might make them brigands, but not soldiers. Yet I think they would fight, and after all, the best school for soldiers is war."

"You don't want a war for the sake of drilling your men!" Marston exclaimed, and the officer laughed.

"In my country, we are no longer sentimentalists and I do not pretend to be humanitarian. In the meantime, there is no war, and I am satisfied to draw my pay. Playing with soldiers is expensive, and some of the people grumble, but so far the pay is regular. When it stops I give up my post."

Soon afterwards, the President came back and breakfast was served behind the pillars. For a time he talked to Marston about the soldiers and then remarked: "I understand you do not stop long."

"Our business is nearly finished and we expect to sail very soon," Wyndham replied. "Now our visit to the coast is over, I feel there is much for which we must thank you and Don Ramon."

"We hope your visit has been prosperous enough to bring you back," Villar interposed. "You paid us some duties. All foreigners are not so honest."

"I expect foreigners are something of a nuisance. It is strange, but when one goes abroad one feels justified in breaking rules."

Villar smiled. "This is illogical. Have you broken our rules?"

"Not many; my partner is scrupulous, and if I have given way to temptation, it was not from greediness."

"Then what persuaded you?"

"Perhaps it was British impatience with other people's regulations. In a way, we are rather an arrogant lot, and it flatters our self-importance to know that if we do get into trouble our Consuls will probably save us from the punishment we deserve. You cannot lock up a drunken British sailor without inquiries being made. Don Arnoldo's people are proud of their army, but our fleet is ubiquitous."

"Señor Wyndham is frank, although I doubt if he is just to himself," the President remarked with a twinkle. "I will confess it is sometimes hard to bear with foreigners philosophically, but we make the effort. My country is poor and we need the trade and money they bring. If we do not always love them, we make allowances." He paused and gave Wyndham a thoughtful glance. "There is, however, one thing about which we are firm; no stranger must meddle with our politics. It is our Monroe doctrine and is sternly enforced."

"A good rule," Wyndham agreed. "After all, your people do not need much help from strangers; they have some talent for political intrigue. How many antagonistic parties have you just now?"

"Six," said the President dryly. "They hate each other, but to gain an advantage all will combine against my Government. Moreover, in this country, the vote is not the only way of marking one's disapproval. But we will let this go. You will stop with us to-night and Don Ramon will give you some shooting when the evening gets cool."

Wyndham thought quickly. He had expected something like this and it was obvious that much depended on his reply.

"We ought to go back," he said, with pretended hesitation. "You see, we want to sail as soon as the wind is fair and must get water and stores on board. It might, however, help if you would let us leave port at night. The land-breeze would carry us some distance off the coast before it dropped when the sun got up."

"Very well," said Larrinaga. "I will send the port-captain orders, and if you tell him when you want to sail he will let you go."

Wyndham allowed himself to be persuaded, and soon afterwards the President went off and Larrinaga took them to a shady room. He said dinner would be served at four o'clock and then they would go to a lake and shoot. When he left them Marston looked at Wyndham.

"Why did you agree to stop?"

"I did not think there was much use in refusing. Their urging us to stop was an experiment. If I had insisted on going, they'd have known why."

"Then, d'you imagine they'd keep us by force?" asked Marston.

"It's possible. I studied the President when I made my boast about our British citizenship. He stated they would allow no meddling with their politics, and he meant this. Anyhow, if I'd shown him his suspicions were well-grounded, he would have found a plausible excuse for keeping Columbine in port."

"All the same, we have got to get away," said Marston in a resolute voice.

Wyndham nodded. "That's plain. Well, if we go to bed soon after shooting and are lucky, they won't miss us until somebody brings our early breakfast. I don't know if we can get the horses. Now I'm going to sleep."

He got into a hammock and Marston lay down in a long chair. They had been strenuously occupied all night and did not expect much rest the next. Nobody would bother them until dinner, and although they were disturbed and anxious they went to sleep.

After dinner Larrinaga took them to a lake, where they shot some ducks. The President was occupied when they returned at dark, and for a time they sat on the arcade, playing cards. The cards were Spanish and Marston could not remember their value and the rules of the game. Mosquitoes hovered about them, the night was gloomy and very hot. Something in the still air made one strangely languid. Moreover, he was tired and anxious, and he did not feel much relief when Villar put the cards away and they began to talk.

Marston suspected the others' remarks were not as careless as they looked and might lead him to some awkward statements. It was like fencing with a clever antagonist when all one could do was to stand clumsily on guard. For the most part, he left the talk to Wyndham, and although Harry played up well, Marston thought the effort was difficult. He wondered whether their companions saw this. There was one comfort; in the tropics, people got up early and he imagined their hosts would not sit very long.

At length Larrinaga pushed back his chair. "Time goes and my duties begin at sunrise. Then I think you would like to make an early start?"

Wyndham said they must get off as soon as possible, and Larrinaga nodded.

"Don Arnoldo will give the necessary orders about the horses. They belong to the soldiers and nobody else is allowed about the stable. I believe he posts a guard at night. The Germans are like that, and the mission is now under military rule. It has drawbacks, but the army is the President's hobby and we submit."

The officer laughed and said the horses would be ready soon after daybreak, and when the others went off Marston and Wyndham climbed the outside stairs to their room.

"Looks as if they meant to keep us. Don Ramon's hint was plain," Marston observed.

"It's lucky white men don't walk much in this country," Wyndham replied. "A pasear round the plaza while the band plays is about all the exercise people take, and I don't imagine anybody above the rank of a peon has ever walked from the mission to the port. In fact, it's very possible Don Ramon hasn't calculated that we might set off on foot." He paused and went to the window. "The night's dark but very calm. A noise would carry; we must wait for some time."

CHAPTER IX

COLUMBINE STEALS AWAY

All was quiet at the mission but for the soft rustle of the palms when a puff of wind came down the hill. The last light had gone out behind the narrow windows across the patio, and Wyndham, looking at his watch, got up.

"We must chance it now," he said. "If all goes well, we ought to reach the port two or three hours before dawn and our hosts won't miss us until the major-domo sends our breakfast."

Marston pulled himself together. The port was a long way off and since he had left England he had not walked much, but it was obvious that he must make good speed to-night. Opening the door quietly, they stole downstairs, carrying their boots, and stopped for a few moments in the gloom of an arch. It was very dark; the palms across the square hardly showed against the sky. There was a sentry on the terrace, but they could not see him and waited until they heard his measured steps.

When the sentry passed the arch, they crept out and started across the square. Small stones hurt their feet, but they went on as fast as possible, until they heard a soft rattle of leather and jingle of steel. The sentry had wheeled round at the end of his beat and was coming back, and they lay down on the sand and waited until the steps receded. They must reach the gloom of the trees before he turned again, and they pushed on, listening hard. Marston's heart beat and his hands trembled as he clutched his boots. The measured steps stopped for a moment and then began to get louder, but Bob drew a deep breath when he distinguished the long branches of the palms overhead. Nobody could see him now.

A few minutes afterwards they set off down hill at the fastest pace they could make. The road was rough, one could not see the holes, and Marston was soon wet with perspiration. He had got soft in the tropics and his legs began to ache, but he thought he was going nearly five miles an hour. Since time was valuable, he must try to keep it up. He had no breath to talk and Wyndham said nothing; with clenched hands and eyes fixed straight in front they labored on. Half-seen palms went by, but in places the gloom was impenetrable, and now and then they fell into a hole.