Kit Musgrave's Luck

CHAPTER VII

SHIPPING CAMELS

Mossamedes dropped anchor as near as was safe to the flat-roofed Moorish town. The roadstead was open and the harbour was only deep enough for boats, but so long as the wind did not back to the North one could ship cargo, and the agent sent off a quantity of maize and beans. In the Canaries corn is scarce, and the peons roast and grind such grain as they can get for their coarse gofio meal. Kit was rather disturbed about the cartridges, although Wolf's Jewish agent had so far refused to state when they would go on board. Kit was the steamship company's servant, the ship was British, and he thought he ought to have warned the manager how she might be used. The trouble was, he was Wolf's servant, too. Besides, it was possible Don Ramon was informed.

When the grain was on board Kit went one evening to the agent's house. Yusuf was old and yellow-skinned. His beard was thin and his long hair greasy with scented oil, but he had a touch of dignity. Kit went through a little dark shop to his office and sat on a low, flat-topped couch. An iron chest stood against the opposite wall, and an open lamp hung by chains from the roof. A door with a horseshoe arch and a leather curtain led to the house; the door to the shop was strong and iron-bound. One very narrow window pierced the wall. The Jews have long traded in Morocco, but they know the risk, and Kit generally found it a relief to finish his business and get back to the harbour. Yusuf transacted Wolf's business in the evening, and when Kit arrived the copper lamp was lighted.

Yusuf gave him a little cup of black coffee and a cigarette with a strange, bitter taste. Then he talked about the grain, and presently took a long roll of paper and some documents from the chest.

"This voyage we will give you camels," he said in good Castilian. "You will get them where you got the sheep. Since you will not come back, I will give you the bills of lading for the captain to sign."

"The rule is to sign the bills of lading when the goods are shipped," Kit remarked.

"In this country English rules do not go. A trader must run some risks and you will need proper documents for the Spanish officers."

Kit agreed. Wolf had told him he must trust Yusuf, but he did not, although he was willing to carry out his orders. There was something secretive about the old fellow; one felt strange plans were made in his small dark shop. In fact, Kit would have trusted nobody in the town. The people were a strange, silent lot; the Moors stamped by an inscrutable reserve. The Jews and half-breed Christians looked furtive and afraid. To hear the negroes' noisy talk was a relief, but all was quiet after dark.

"I understand you have some other cargo for us," he remarked.

"That is so. When you go back to your boat you will find the boxes are on board."

Kit thought it strange. His boat lay alongside the little mole, where people could see goods carried down, and since Yusuf had got the cartridges Kit wondered why he had not smuggled them off overland. To use a steamer like Mossamedes to carry a few boxes along the coast was a strange plan; but then the business was all strange.

"Where must we land the goods?" he asked.

"I will show you," said Yusuf, and when he unrolled the long paper Kit saw with some surprise it was a good chart of the African coast.

"You will anchor here and signal," he said, marking a spot. "When you see smoke among the sandhills send off your boat. Afterwards you will steam back to the anchorage you know and wait for the camels."

"But we may wait for some time," Kit objected, noting the distance between the spots.

"I think not. A messenger will be sent and a good camel travels fast," Yusuf replied, and Kit, picking up the chart, started for the harbour.

The night was not dark and when he jumped on board his boat he noted a row of small boxes stowed in the bottom.

"But this stuff is heavy!" said old Miguel, striking a cardboard match.

Kit told him to put out the match, but was relieved to see the boxes were not numerous. Then they had, so to speak, been put on board openly, and Kit felt that after all he need not bother Don Ramon about the thing.

"We will go. Push off," he said.

The men pulled down the harbour. A smooth swell rolled in and two or three anchor lights tossed and swung. By and by engines throbbed in the dark, and Kit saw moving beams of red and green. The French gunboat had arrived the day before, and her launch was coming off from the mole. For a minute or two Kit was disturbed, but the launch steamed by and vanished in the dark. Kit steered for Mossamedes' lights and when he got on board went to the captain's room. Don Erminio, wearing his old English clothes, fronted Macallister in greasy dungarees, and between them some bottles and glasses balanced the swing-table. Kit put down the bills of lading and remarked that he had agreed the captain would sign the documents.

"But of course," said Don Erminio, "when I sign for Señor Wolf, I will sign all you ask. When I sign for me, it is another thing. Then, if I am not cautious, somebody gets my dollars."

"Where are we going?" Macallister asked.

Kit spread out the chart and indicated the spot Yusuf had marked on the curve of a bay. It looked as if landing would not be hard, but although the chart did not give the political frontiers, he imagined the bay was outside the Spanish belt.

"I expect the coast is French. It's awkward; particularly since we carry cartridges."

"Senegal's French," said Macallister. "The rest is nobody's; the strongest tribe uses the ground it wants. Man, they're amusing fellows at the foreign offices. Do they think they can parcel out Africa wi' a gold fountain pen?"

"Sometimes the French foreign office uses the foreign legion."

"Must I teach ye geography? The legion leeves in Algeria, and that's t'ither side the country o' Kaid Maclean."

"It is not important," Don Erminio remarked. "All politicians are animals, and if the Moors shoot somebody with the cartridges, it is not my affair. I will catch fish for baccalao and then my señora will not want much money."

Kit put away the chart and went on deck. He rather envied Don Erminio's philosophical carelessness. The captain did not bother; if he could catch fish and shoot rabbits, he was satisfied. Kit was not like that. His job was to keep things going smoothly, but things did not go smoothly when one left them alone. He was accountable to Wolf and the owners of the ship, and began to see his duties might clash. Walking up and down the boat-deck, he frowned when he heard the clink of glasses and Don Erminio's laugh. Then Macallister began to sing, and Kit went off impatiently to his room.

At daybreak they hove anchor and steamed South along the coast, until one morning a dark line on the port bow indicated land. Then they turned a quarter circle, the line got faint, as if it ran back to the East, and after they took soundings Mossamedes steamed into a wide, shallow bay. Some time after she brought up a plume of smoke blew across the sandhills, a boat was swung out and Kit and the interpreter went ashore. Nothing romantic marked the landing of the cartridges. A few big, dark-skinned men came down the beach, took the boxes from the sailors and vanished in the sand. The boat pulled off and Kit began to think smuggling in Africa was strangely flat.

Then Mossamedes, stopping now and then to use the lead, steamed North dead-slow. They saw no ships, although at times a trail of smoke stained the blue horizon. Liners bound for Cape Town kept deep water, and the captains of the Guinea boats hauled off until they made Cape Verde. The stream of traffic flowed along, but did not touch the forbidding coast.

At length Don Erminio headed cautiously for the beach and Mossamedes dropped anchor in the pool among the sands. For two or three days the captain and Kit went fishing and then, when the smoke signal wavered about the mouth of the wady, Kit went ashore with Miguel in the big cargo launch. In a sense, perhaps, the job was not his, but he felt his responsibility. The camels were his employer's, and he must see them got on board.

The morning was hot, the sea luminous green, streaked by dazzling lines of foam. Sandhills and stony hummocks floated like a mirage in quivering, reflected light. Farther off, dust storms tossed in spirals and dissolved. Now and then the wind got light for a few minutes and Kit felt he could not breathe, but there was no break in the steady beat of the white surge on the beach.

When the rollers began to curl Miguel threw out an anchor, and the boat drove in stern-foremost until the rope brought her up. This was possible because the headland broke the sea, but Kit thought the launch would soon be swamped if the wind backed farther North. The interpreter jumped overboard, and by and by men in fluttering blue and white clothes drove the camels from the wady. When the animals reached the beach all the crew but Miguel went overboard, and the hardest work Kit had known began. The camels knelt while the head-ropes were fixed, but some stretched their long necks and tried to seize his arm with their yellow teeth. They grunted and made savage noises, and when they were driven to the water obstinately stopped.

The single-humped camel can swim, but will not, unless it is forced, and to break the big animal's firm resolve is not easy. Moreover, the launch leaped and plunged and must be hauled off when a large roller came in like a glittering wall. Spray blew about; sometimes the men were knee-deep, and sometimes buried to the shoulders, in angry foam. Now and then Kit was knocked down and washed up the beach among the legs of a floundering camel. In the background, the group of Moors sat on the beach and watched; their dark skins and harshly-coloured clothes distinct in the strong light.

When Miguel was satisfied he could take no more, they hauled off the boat and tied the camels by the short head-ropes along her gunwale. Then the anchor was got up and they began to row, but although they pulled the long oars double-banked, did not make much progress. It looked as if the camels, supported by their halters, were satisfied to be towed. The animals floated awkwardly and their bodies were a heavy drag.

To drive the boat ahead was exhausting labour in the burning sun, and by and by Kit relieved a man whose efforts got slack. His clothes had dried stiff, his hair was full of sand, and the salt had crystallised on his burned skin. At length they stopped abreast of the steamer's gangway and somebody threw a rope. Mossamedes rolled, lifting a long belt of rusty side out of the foam. Sometimes she was high above the boat, and sometimes she sank until the water splashed about the open iron doors. A man, seizing a boathook, stood ready to fend-off the launch; the others got canvas bands under the camels. Then a long derrick swung out and a band was hooked to a wire rope.

"Ahora! Llevadlo!" shouted Miguel and a winch began to rattle.

The rope tightened with a jerk, a camel rose from the water, and for a few moments swung wildly to and fro. The animal looked ridiculous, with its outstretched neck and paddling legs. Then Mossamedes steadied and one heard running wire; the camel sank and vanished and the rope came down again. When all were on board, Miguel started for the beach with a fresh crew, and Kit went to see the animals fastened up and fed. The mate was accountable for their stowing, but camels were worth much at Grand Canary, and Kit imagined his employer's interest was his. Sometimes when he thought about his efforts afterwards, he smiled.

He was occupied until the launch returned and he went ashore again. The tide had risen and the surf was worse, but they got another load. The launch came back half-swamped with the men exhausted and a broken oar, and on her next voyage the crew kept her off the beach until the tide fell. While she rolled and plunged at anchor Kit lay in her bottom and watched the angry combers crash upon the beach.

They brought off the last few animals in the dark and Kit washed away the sand and salt. Three or four dark bruises marked his skin, his hands were blistered and he limped because a camel had stepped upon his foot. All the same, when he put on soft clean clothes he was satisfied. Mossamedes would go to sea at daybreak and it was something to know the job was done.

CHAPTER VIII

AN IDLE AFTERNOON

The veranda was shady, and Kit sat on the top step in the cool breeze that blew between the posts. Olivia occupied a basket-chair farther back; her pose was languidly graceful and sometimes she smiled. It was not for nothing she had put on clothes she liked the best of all she had, but she thought she knew why Kit for the most part looked at the town and not at her. Sometimes his puritanical conscience bothered him. Mrs. Austin's rule was to receive all her friends who liked to come after six o'clock, but Kit had arrived two hours sooner, because Olivia had hinted that he might. She knew Jacinta would not be about, and now thought Kit imagined he ought to go.

The landscape he contemplated had some charm. The sun was behind the mountains, and the dark rocks were a good background for the white town and the cathedral towers. The white was not dead; the shadow had touched it with elusive grey and blue, and the rows of houses glimmered, somehow like pearls. In front the sea was a wonderful ultramarine.

In the meantime, Olivia studied Kit's figure and his face in profile. She thought his profile good, there was something ascetic about its cleanness of line. He was thin, but his white clothes rather emphasised the firm modelling of his neck and shoulders and the curve to his waist. All the same, Olivia thought his quietness tiresome.

"The view from the veranda is rather fine," she said.

Kit looked up with an apologetic smile. "You imply I'm dull? Perhaps I am dull. You see, I was pretty strenuously occupied not long since."

"Catching fish for the captain's señora?"

"We did catch some fish, but we shipped some camels through the surf, and ran into bad weather coming home. To keep the animals alive was an awkward job. The sea came on board, the fodder washed about, and the scuppers were choked. The ship got a list, and two or three feet of water splashed in the angle between her deck and side. Camels can't stand getting wet, you know."

"I don't know," Olivia rejoined. "Besides, I don't see how the bad weather accounts for your absorption in the view."

"Oh, well! After a job like ours you want a rest, and there's something about Grand Canary that makes you satisfied to loaf. The Island of the Golden Apples, the old explorers talked about! Then I think the nicest spot in Grand Canary is Mrs. Austin's veranda. Anyhow, if I had talked, you might have got bored. You are bored sometimes."

Olivia laughed. "You are modest, but if you know when I am bored you are cleverer than I thought. However, when you first arrived you would have been hurt."

"One gets philosophical and no doubt I was very raw. I hadn't known you and Mrs. Austin."

"To know Jacinta is something of an education," Olivia agreed. "But you talked about the old explorers. Have you ever seen the island of San Borondon?"

"I have not," said Kit. "I'm a practical fellow and don't see things like that. All the same, our quartermaster declares he has seen San Borondon, and it's possible. Old Miguel's a mystic and the finest sailor we have on board. The sort of fellow they'd have made a saint in Columbus's days – "

He mused for a few moments and resumed: "Well, the story's curious. If you leave out a few desert rocks, there are six Canary Islands; the first explorers saw seven. The seventh was San Borondon, where it is always calm. When the galleons came back to conquer it, the island was gone, but now and then somebody sees the mountains against the sunset, in the same spot as you steam West to Hierro. A mirage, no doubt, but one can understand the sailors' weaving legends about San Borondon."

"I expect the monks wove the legends," Olivia remarked. "Their business was to point a moral, and the Grail story's old. It looks as if they could not find a knight-adventurer like Galahad. Yet you imagine your quartermaster – "

"Old Miguel is something like Galahad," Kit said quietly, although a touch of colour came to his skin. "Believes in his saints and keeps his rules. As trustful as a child, polite as a Spanish hidalgo, and brave as a lion! One does meet some fine gentlemen. Jefferson's another."

Olivia said nothing, but on the whole she agreed. Although Jefferson had some drawbacks and Kit's were numerous, their puritanical sincerity had charm. As a rule she had not found the type polite, but Kit was getting sophisticated. His touch of colour indicated this.

"I expect you are going back on board Mossamedes?" she said by and by.

"For another run. After that I don't know," Kit replied.

He did not know and was rather disturbed. When he was going to Mrs. Austin's he met Don Ramon, who stopped him.

"Has Wolf talked about his future plans?" the manager asked.

Kit said Wolf had not, and Don Ramon resumed:

"You see, the charter does not run long, and Mossamedes is an expensive boat for the Morocco trade."

Kit had thought this and was bothered about something else. He wondered whether Don Ramon knew about the cartridges. In a way, perhaps, the thing was not important, since the quantity was small, but Kit thought Don Ramon ought to know. Yet so long as he took Wolf's pay he was Wolf's man.

"Before you sailed on your last voyage I sent you a message," Olivia resumed.

"I got the message. You were very kind."

"But this was all. You thought I exaggerated?"

"No," said Kit. "You stated Wolf meant to use Captain Revillon. Well, I thought I saw his object."

"You mean, Wolf meant to cheat him?"

"In a way perhaps – " Kit agreed and stopped.

Olivia laughed. "You are very staunch. In fact, you have a number of qualities one does not at first expect. All the same, I don't think you ought to go to Africa often."

She was sincere, because she instinctively distrusted Wolf, but she wanted to keep Kit about Las Palmas; to some extent because Jacinta had planned to send him away. She did not know if she wanted him to stop for good. His firmness intrigued her, she liked his honesty and his physical attraction was strong. Sometimes she hesitated and sometimes resisted. Olivia was calculating rather than romantic, and frankly did not see herself marrying a steamship sobrecargo.

"I must go for another voyage," Kit replied. "I have engaged to go, and for another thing, Mrs. Austin got me the post. I want her to think I'm making good. It's obvious I owe her much."

Olivia knew he owed her sister less than he thought. Sometimes Kit was very dull, but he had given her an opportunity to experiment.

"Jacinta likes helping people and as a rule it doesn't cost her much. For example, when you told her about Miss Jordan, Harry and Jefferson wanted an English clerk. I think Miss Jordan's satisfied, but I doubt if she's as grateful as you."

"She's altogether satisfied – " Kit declared and stopped. Betty's gratitude to Mrs. Austin was not very marked.

"Oh, well!" Olivia resumed, "Jefferson's a good sort and I think he's lucky. Miss Jordan is a good clerk and an attractive girl. People like her, and Jefferson's patio is getting a fashionable spot in the afternoon. You can study the latest styles in men's light clothes."

"Do you mean the coaling and banana men pretend they have some business and hang about?"

"I don't know if they pretend, but they do hang about. Jefferson declares if he wanted coal he could get an extra bag to the ton, and Ritchie told him an ingenious plan by which he could cut down Cayman's fresh water bill."

"Ritchie's the theatrical fellow with the sombrero and brigand's sash?"

"He is theatrical," Olivia agreed and smiled. "Since he has neglected me, his theatricalness is plainer. No doubt Miss Jordan finds him amusing, but when Cayman is in port he goes to the office. Looking for orders, I believe."

"All the coal Cayman burns goes on the galley fire," Kit remarked with a frown. "A ton a voyage would see her out."

Olivia noted his frown. She admitted that her methods were crude, but cleverness, so to speak, would be wasted on Kit. In some respects, he was like a child.

"After all, I don't see why Miss Jordan should not marry a coaling clerk," she said. "One or two are rather nice."

Kit set his mouth. He had not thought about Betty's marrying and owned that it ought not disturb him, but it did so. His look was sternly thoughtful, and Olivia touched his arm. She had made her experiment and although she did not know if she wanted Kit for herself or not, she resolved he was not for Betty.

"You have no grounds for meddling, and Miss Jordan is not a fool; I think she's fastidious," she said. "When you come back we must try to get you a post at Las Palmas. If you get a proper start, you might go far, and perhaps the post can be got."

Kit's heart beat. Olivia wanted him to go far, and this implied much. He forgot Betty, and then looking up, saw Mrs. Austin and her husband on the steps.

"Hallo!" said Austin. "I imagined you were occupied on board. As a rule, you stick to your job tighter than I stuck to mine. Anyhow, since you have come ashore, you'll dine with us?"

Kit was somewhat embarrassed. He had seen Mrs. Austin give Olivia a keen glance; moreover she had left her husband to ask him to stop. Signing to Olivia, she went into the house.

"Why did you put on that dress?" she asked.

"It's light and cool," Olivia replied and added with a smile: "Sometimes you're romantic and let your imagination go."

"I'd like to think I was romantic, but I doubt. Anyhow, Kit is flesh and blood. Why can't you leave him alone?"

"My dear! You really ought to keep the conventions. The proper line is to argue I oughtn't to let the young man bother me. However, it's obvious you don't mean to be nice."

Mrs. Austin frowned and went off. She had controlled her husband and others, but Olivia baffled her. If the girl resisted from obstinacy, there was perhaps no need for disturbance; the trouble was, Mrs. Austin did not know. Besides, Kit was trustful. She had meant to be his friend and was angry because her plans had not worked.

Kit did not enjoy his dinner. Mrs. Austin was polite, but he felt she was annoyed, and when he tried to talk to Olivia she firmly started another subject. Olivia looked amused and her amusement jarred. Kit was young and if he were being punished, thought Olivia ought to sympathise. Soon after dinner he declared he must go on board and Olivia got up.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Austin asked.

"I'm going to the gate with Kit," Olivia replied carelessly, and Mrs. Austin knew her smile meant she could not meddle when the others were about.

Olivia went down the path with Kit and stopped at the gate. It was getting dark and some tamarisk grew between them and the house.

"You don't look very cheerful," she remarked.

"I'm not cheerful," Kit admitted. "I'm afraid I have annoyed Mrs. Austin."

"Jacinta has her moods," Olivia agreed. "However, if she wasn't very nice to you, she wasn't nice at all to me. Besides, you really ought not to have stopped when she was not at home. Jacinta is conventional, although she pretends she is not. We all are conventional, you know."

Kit looked hard at her and was hurt. Olivia, herself, had fixed the time for him to come, and had kept him when he would have gone. For all that he said nothing and she resumed in a gentle voice: "Well, you are going back with the steamer and I will not see you before you sail. You'll use caution, Kit?"

He thrilled, but said quietly: "I don't think much caution's indicated. We have gone twice and nothing has bothered us."

"Oh well," said Olivia: "you are obstinate and I suppose you must go. Perhaps I'm superstitious, but sometimes the third venture is unlucky." She touched his arm. "I don't want you to run a risk!"

Kit tried to seize her hand but she was gone. He saw her figure melt into the gloom among the tamarisk, and then, looking round, noted Wolf coming up the path.