Wyndham's Pal Part 36

Marston hesitated at the bottom of the ladder. It would be very awkward if he were caught on board the tug; but he must find out if she were ready for sea and he wore light, rubber-soled deck shoes. The ladder was not fastened, for the top began to slip along the plates when he climbed, and he was forced to reach up and seize the rail. Next moment he stepped cautiously down on deck. n.o.body seemed to have heard him and all was dark but for the glow from the skylight, which only shone for a few feet on the damp planks. As Marston made for the engine-room his foot struck an iron drum and he stopped. It was a paint-drum, but he must discover if it were empty and what paint the crew had used.

He tilted the drum and its lightness indicated that there was not much inside. Then he turned it round carefully until he could see the bra.s.s label on the top. The letters were obscured by paint, but he distinguished JES--and was satisfied. He knew the famous anti-fouling composition; the crew had put on the last coat and, so far as her being painted went, the tug was ready for sea. Now he must look at her engines, and he put back the drum. Its rim jarred on the deck and Marston thought he heard a movement below. Stooping down, he looked under the tarpaulin and got something of a shock.

A man stood on the floor plates in the engine-room, with his face turned up towards the skylight as if he had been disturbed. Marston could not see him well, because the bars of the top platform were in the way, but the fellow carried a small, bright piece of steel and a ball of waste.

It looked as if he had been cleaning a valve-spindle, and his working at night was significant. Marston's heart beat, but after a few moments the other seemed to be satisfied and sitting down on a locker picked up a file.

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 l.u.s.tily, crossed the _marina_ and his hoa.r.s.eness implied that he was returning from a carouse. As he pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+p'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 _cana_ 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-sh.o.r.e; 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 splas.h.i.+ng 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 hoa.r.s.ely 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 compa.s.s 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 b.u.t.toned, 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 Senor 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 _cana_ 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."