Wyndham's Pal Part 38

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 n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed 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. n.o.body 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.

By-and-by Marston's boot began to gall his foot. The smart got worse and sometimes he limped. When he did so, he dropped behind Wyndham, and setting his mouth tight he trod squarely. One could not walk fast on the side of one's foot; he must push on and bear the pain. It was ridiculous that he should lose time because his boot sc.r.a.ped his toe. Yet long afterwards he remembered the effort to keep up his speed.

When the first white houses of the town came out of the gloom his clothes were sticking to his skin and his wet hair was flat on his head.

He stopped and sat down in a dusty gutter.

"I've got to take off my boots. There's a pavement of sorts," he gasped.

Wyndham nodded and looked about. The houses were indistinct and the sky was dark. He could not see his watch, but he calculated it was about four o'clock and day would not break for two hours yet. Puffs of wind touched his wet face and he heard it in the trees behind the town. They were in time, but had none to waste.

"Be quick!" he said. "We're a mile from the harbor."

Marston got up and they set off. Straight and nearly blank walls now shut them in, for the houses got light from the patios. Wyndham's steps echoed in the dark, but except for this all was quiet. It looked as if n.o.body were about. A strange smell hung about the houses, for the street was narrow and the land-breeze did not sweep it clean.

By-and-by they crossed a square and kept back from a lamp at the end of another street. To meet one of the armed police would be awkward, for although the fellow's curiosity might be appeased by a bribe, to persuade him would occupy some time. They met n.o.body, but after some minutes Wyndham thought it prudent to cross the _alameda_, where shady paths wound among tall trees. The gloom would hide them and from one end a dark street ran down to the harbor. Marston agreed and set his lips as he struggled on, for the walks were covered by sharp, fresh gravel.

Stealing along the dark street, they reached the mole and stopped for a moment. So far as they could see, the tug had not arrived, and although they distinguished _Columbine_'s masts against the sky, she was moored to a buoy some distance from the wall. Wyndham had warned the crew to keep a watch, but there was a risk in hailing them.

"One of the port-guards is generally about this side of the harbor," he said.

They listened, but only heard the sea splash against the wall and the wind in a neighboring vessel's rigging. The land-breeze was fresh and blew down the harbor. If they could get on board, it would not be long before _Columbine_ was at sea.

"We might swim," Marston suggested.

"I think not," said Wyndham. "There's a nasty, splas.h.i.+ng ripple that would break in our faces; besides, the gig would be quicker. We must chance a hail."

He shouted and Marston clenched his fist when no answer came. It was unthinkable that they should be stopped by the negligence of a sleepy look-out. Before long the port-guard would walk up the mole, and if they were not gone, would take them to the captain's office. One must get leave to go on board, because the port was closed at night.

They waited for two or three minutes, since Wyndham dared not shout again, and then a soft rattle came out of the dark. Marston started and thrilled.

"I believe that's somebody jumping into the gig," he said.

"It is," said Wyndham softly, and after a few moments added: "She's coming."

They could not see the boat and she made very little noise. There was no splash; it looked as if somebody sculled her cautiously. By and by a dark object glided out of the gloom beside the wall and they went to the steps.

"Go back softly, softly," Wyndham said to the indistinct figure in the stern as they got on board.

In a few minutes they reached the schooner and Marston's spirits rose.

He had done with tracks and plots; now his job was straightforward.

Moreover, he knew it well.

"I'll cast off the bow mooring," he said when Wyndham got on board.

"Give me a line and you can haul the chain up quietly. It mustn't run through the pipe."

Shoving the gig forward, he jumped out on the buoy; then he unscrewed the shackle and, fastening on the line he brought, waved his hand. The chain slipped gently into the water and did not make much noise when the men on board pulled it up. _Columbine_ was free now and had begun to drift when Marston seized her rail. He made the gig's painter fast and left her alongside, because the blocks on the Burton tackle would clatter if they tried to hoist her in. It was something to feel the schooner's deck under his galled feet, but there was much to be done before he could indulge his relief. Although they could not see the tug, she might have reached the port, and they must pa.s.s the three-mile limit before they would be safe. In the meantime, _Columbine_ was drifting slowly down the harbor.

"We must chance hoisting the staysail," Wyndham remarked. "Get it up handsomely; stop if the chain clinks much."

The staysail had chain halyards and Marston sent a man aloft with a grease-swab. For all that, the halyard made some noise and the sail thrashed in the fresh breeze, until they hauled the sheets and Wyndham got her round. _Columbine_, with a small triangle of canvas set, stole down the harbor, and if the port-guards did not keep a keen look out, she might get away.

Marston, sitting on the bowsprit loosing the jib, watched the shadowy wall move back. They were pa.s.sing the Cuban barque and she was not far from the end of the mole. _Columbine_ moved faster; he heard the water ripple at her bows, and the beam of the lighthouse ahead got near. It was a sector light, screened on one bearing, and they could keep outside its illumination.

In a few minutes they would clear the end of the mole, and when the jib was loose Marston looked aft. Shadowy figures moved about the deck, getting the canvas ready to hoist. Not long since, he had doubted if they could steal out of the harbor. When one studied the plan coolly, it looked ridiculous, but they had tried and he began to hope they would succeed. Then he turned his head and thrilled as he saw the end of the mole slip by.

"Hoist the outer jib," said Wyndham when Marston joined him. "We must be cautious. The captain's launch has steam up and could catch us yet."

They got to work. The blocks rattled as the jib went up, but the wind blew the noise away. The splash at the bows was louder, and Wyndham waited, measuring the distance from the receding mole.

"Boom-foresail," he said sharply.

The tall dark canvas rose and swelled. _Columbine_ began to list and trailed a white line astern. The mole faded and the light looked farther off.

"Mainsail next," said Wyndham. "Hoist handsomely."

The winch by the mast began to clink; the big sail shook and thudded while its slack folds blew out, and the Kroos started a wild paddling song. The tension was over; they were running out to sea and n.o.body could hear them now. The song, however, soon got breathless; it was hard to drag up the heavy canvas while she was before the wind and Wyndham would not round her to. He braced himself against the wheel and steered off-sh.o.r.e for the three-mile limit.

They set the sail, and got more wind as they left the land. She rolled and foam ran level with her dipping rail. The long main boom lurched up and groaned; one heard the masts creak and the rigging hum. Her wake ran back into the dark like a white cataract.

"Hoist gaff-topsail," said Wyndham. "Trim the squaresail-yard."

Marston gave him a quick glance and then got to work. He doubted if the gear would stand the strain, but Harry knew the boat. Although the Krooboys looked surprised, it was obvious that they trusted him. It cost them a struggle to cover her with sail, and she drove along almost too fast to roll. A white wave stood up above her waist, another curled astern, and the hollow squaresail swelled like a balloon. Although the sea was smooth, water foamed on board and spray swept the deck in savage showers. The men crouched behind the bulwarks and when Marston went aft he got an exhilarating sense of speed.