For Jacinta

The man went back. He had done what he felt was his duty, though he had not expected that it would be of very much use, and Jefferson started the winch. It hammered and rattled, and the barrels came up, slimy and dripping, with patches of whitewash still clinging to them. The glare of it dazzled Jefferson until he could scarcely see them as they swung beneath the derrick-boom, but he managed to drop them into the surfboat alongside and pile the rest on deck, when she slid down the creek with a row of negroes paddling on either side. The steamer had struck the forest at the time of highest water, and it was necessary to take everything out of her if she was to be floated during the coming rainy season.

He toiled on for another hour, with a racking pain in his head, and the Canarios toiled in the stifling hold below, until there was a jar and a rattle, and a big puncheon that should have gone into the surfboat came down with a crash amidst them, and, bursting, splashed them with yellow oil. Then the man who had remonstrated with Jefferson went up the ladder in haste. The winch had stopped, and Jefferson lay across it, amidst a coil of slack wire, with a suffused face. The man, who stooped over him, shouted, and the rest who came up helped to carry him to his room beneath the bridge. The floor was slanted so that one could scarcely stand on it, and as the berth took the same list, they laid him where the side of it met the bulkhead. He lay there, speechless, with half-closed eyes, and water and palm oil soaking from him.

"Now," said the man who had given Jefferson good advice, "you'll get these Spaniards out of this, Bill. Then you'll go on breaking the puncheons out. Wall-eye, here, can run the winch for you, but you can come back in half an hour when I've found out what's wrong with the skipper."

Bill seemed to recognise that his comrade had risen to the occasion. "Well," he said, "I s'pose there's no use in me sayin' anything. All I want to know is, how you're going to do it?"

"See that?" and the other man pointed to a chest beneath the settee. "It's full of medicines, an' there's a book about them. Good ole Board of Trade!"

"How d'you know those medicines arn't all gorn?" asked Bill.

"They arn't. I've been in. There's a bottle of sweet paregoricky stuff I came round for a swigg of when Mr. Jefferson wasn't there now and then. It warms you up kind of comfortin'."

Bill went away with the Spaniards, and, in place of improving the occasion by looking for liquor, as he might, perhaps, have been expected to do, went on with his task. The English sailorman does not always express himself delicately, but he is, now, at least, very far from being the dissolute, unintelligent ruffian he is sometimes supposed to be. There is no doubt of this, for shipowners know their business, and while there is no lack of Teutons and cheerful, sober Scandinavians, a certain proportion of English seamen still go to sea in English ships. The man who sat in Jefferson's room could, at least, understand the treatise in the medicine chest, although it was one approved by the Board of Trade, which august body has apparently no great fondness for lucid explanations. He was, however, still pouring over it when his comrade thrust his head into the doorway again, and it is possible that Jefferson had not suffered greatly from the fact that he had not as yet quite decided on any course of treatment.

"Well," said the newcomer, "I s'pose you know what he – has – got?"

"Come in, an' sit down there," said the other. "It's fever, for one thing – I've seen it coming on – an' sunstroke for another. What I'm stuck at is if I'm to treat them both together."

Bill looked reflective. "I think I'd take them one at a time. Get the sunstroke out of him, an' then go for the fever. How d' you start on it, Tom?"

"Undo his clothes. That's easy. The buttons is mostly off them, an' he has hardly any on. Then you put cold water on his head."

"That's not easy, anyway! Where the blazes are you going to get cold water from?"

It was somewhat of a paradox, for while there is plenty of water in Western Africa, none of it is cold. Tom, however, was once more equal to the occasion.

"We could get a big spanner from the engine room, an' put it on his head," he said. "There's plenty of them. S'pose you go an' bring one. Any way, we'll swill him with the coldest water we can get."

They laid a soaked singlet upon his head with a couple of iron spanners under it, and then sat down to watch the effect. Somewhat to their astonishment, it did not appear to do him any appreciable good. Darkness closed down as they waited, and it seemed to grow hotter than ever, while the thick white steam rose from the swamps. Tom stood up and lighted the lamp.

"The fever's easier," he said. "I've had it. You give him the mixture – it's down in the book – though I don't know what the meaning of all these sign things is. That starts him perspiring, an' then it's thick blankets. We used to give them green-lime water in the mailboats."

"Where's the green limes?" said Bill. "Any way, I'd give the sunstroke a decent chance first. Perhaps he'll come out of it himself. I don't know that it wouldn't be better if he did."

Jefferson came out of his limp unconsciousness into a raving delirium that night, and they rolled him in two blankets, while Bill, being left on watch, wisely threw away the draught his comrade had concocted. Jefferson was also very little more sensible during the next few days, and, though the work went on, before the week was over the two lonely Englishmen found they had another difficulty to grapple with. The sun was almost overhead, and the iron deck, insufferably hot, when the surfboat negroes, who had just finished their meal, came forward together, eight or nine big, naked men, with animal faces and splendid muscles. Nobody knew where they came from, but when two or three of them appeared in a canoe, Jefferson had managed to make them understand that he was willing to pay them for their services, and they forthwith went away, and came back with several comrades and a man of shorter stature who had apparently worked on a steamboat or at a white man's factory. They had worked tolerably well while Jefferson was about to watch them, but they had now apparently decided on another mode of behaviour, for the attitude of their leader was unmistakably truculent. The man called Bill, sitting on the fore hatch, turned at the patter of naked feet, and looked at him.

"Well," he said sharply, "what the – are you wanting?"

"Two bokus them green gin," said the negro. "Two lil' piece of cloff every boy."

Tom laughed ironically. "There isn't any green gin bokus in the ship, for one thing. You'll get your cloth-piece when the work is done. That's all I've got to say to you. Get out of this!"

The negro made a little forceful gesture. "You no cappy."

"Well," said Bill, drily, "he figures he's a bloomin' admiral in the meanwhile, and that's good enough for you. Go home again, and don't worry me."

"Two cloff-piece," said the negro. "Two cloff-piece every boy. You no lib for get them, we come down too much boy an' take them 'teamboat from you."

The white men looked at one another, and it was evident that they were uncertain how far the negro might be able to make good his threat. There was, as it happened, very little to prevent him doing it, and stockaded factories, as well as stranded steamboats, have been looted in Western Africa. Still, they remembered that they had the prestige of their colour to maintain.

"Oh, get out one time!" said Tom.

The negro turned upon him. "You no cappy. You low, white 'teamboat bushman. Too much boy he lib for come down one night an' cut you big fat t'roat."

Bill, who was big and brawny, rose with an air of sorrowful resignation. "This – nonsense has got to be stopped," he said, and walked tranquilly towards the negro. "You wouldn't listen to reason, Black-funnel-paint."

Then, before the latter quite realised what had happened to him, a grimy fist descended upon his jaw, and as he staggered backwards somebody seized his shoulders and whirled him round. In another moment Bill kicked with all his might, and the negro went out headlong through the open gangway into the creek alongside. In the meanwhile the Spaniards came tumbling from the hatch, and, though they were quiet men, they carried long Canary knives. The sight of them was enough for the negroes, and they followed their leader, plunging from the gangway or over the rail. Their canoes still lay beneath the quarter, and though Tom hurled a few big lumps of coal on them as they got under way, they were flying up the creek in another minute, with paddles flashing.

Then Bill explained the affair to the Canarios as well as he could, and afterward drew his comrade back into the shadow of the deck-house to hold a council. Both of them felt somewhat lonely as they blinked at the desolation of dingy mangroves which hemmed them in. There was, so far as they knew, not a white man in that part of Africa, and the intentions of the negroes were apparently by no means amicable.

"Funnel-paint may come back an' bring his friends," said Tom. "I don't know what's to stop him if he wants to. There's not a gun in the ship except Mr. Jefferson's pistol, an' those Canary fellows' knives, an' we can't worry Mr. Jefferson about the thing when he's too sick to understand. If I'd only begun on him for fever he might have been better."

"I'm thankful," said Bill, "as he isn't dead. It wouldn't be very astonishing, but that don't matter."

"You'd think it mattered a good deal if you was Mr. Jefferson. If I wasn't that anxious about him I'd let you try your hand an' see how easy it is worrying out that book. As it is, one of us is enough."

"I'm thinking," said Bill sourly, "as it's a – sight too much!"

Tom glared at him a moment, for one of the effects that climate has upon a white man's nerves is to keep him in a state of prickly irritation; but he was more anxious than he cared to confess, too anxious, indeed, to force a quarrel.

"Well," he said, "I'll ask you what you mean another time. Just now, we've got to do a little for Mr. Jefferson and a little for ourselves. Eight pound a month, all found, and a fifty-pound bonus when he gets her off, isn't to be picked up everywhere, and, of course, there's no telling when you an' me may get the fever. Now, then, we want a boss who isn't sick, an' more men, as well as a doctor."

"Of course. How're you goin' to get 'em?"

"Not here. They don't grow in the swamps. Somebody's got to go for them, an' Las Palmas is the best place. You could find a West-coast mailboat goin' home if you went down the creek in the launch. They've a man or two sick in the engine room most trips, an' they'd be glad to take you firin'. Now, before Mr. Jefferson got that sunstroke he showed me two envelopes. If he was to peg out sudden I was to see the men in Las Palmas got them, and they'd tell me what to do. Men do peg out at any time in this country. Well, you look for a liner an' take those letters. If it's a good boat she'll only be four or five days steaming up the trades. Mr. Jefferson deserves a chance for his life."

"What's wrong with takin' him, too; or all of us goin', for that matter?" asked his companion.

"Eight pounds a month, an' a bonus! Besides, Mr. Jefferson put all his money into getting this ship off. If he comes round an' finds it thrown away he's not going to be grateful to either of us."

Bill sat silent, evidently thinking hard for a minute or two. "Well," he said, "there's sense in the thing, an' I'll try it. You'll be all right with those Canariers. They're nice quiet men, an' if you make 'em say it over lots of times you can generally understand 'em. Wall-eye can bring the launch back. I'll get out of this when we've steam up."

It was two hours later when he and one of the Canarios who had worked on board the coaling company's tug departed, and the rest, clustering along the Cumbria's rail, watched them wistfully as the little clanking craft slid down the creek. They would very much have liked to have gone in her, and might have done so had not Jefferson had the forethought to promise them a small share of the profit when the work was done, and fed them well. There are also men who inspire confidence in those they lead, and sailormen capable of carrying out a bargain. Thus there were no open expressions of regret or misgivings when the last of the launch's smoke-trail melted above the mangroves, though Tom looked very grave as he clawed the shoulder of an olive-faced Canario seaman who did not understand him.

"If that man goes on the loose with what he gets for firin', an' forgets all about those letters, it won't be nice for us," he said. "In the meanwhile, we've just got to buck up and lighten the blame old scrap-iron tank between us."

He called her a few other names while the Spaniard watched him, smiling, and, having so relieved himself, went softly into the skipper's room, where Jefferson lay, a worn-out shadow of a man, wrapped in very dirty blankets, and babbling incoherently.

CHAPTER IX

AUSTIN MAKES A VENTURE

It was late one hot night when Austin first met Captain Farquhar of the S.S. Carsegarry in a calle of Santa Cruz, and the worthy shipmaster, being then in a somewhat unpleasant position, was sincerely pleased to see him. The Carsegarry had reached Las Palmas with three thousand tons of steam coal some ten days earlier, and, because there are disadvantages attached to living on board a vessel that is discharging coal, Farquhar had taken up his abode at the Metropole. He had, as usual, made friends with almost everybody in the hotel during the first few days, which said a good deal for his capabilities, considering that most of them were Englishmen; and then, finding their society pall on him, went across to Santa Cruz in search of adventure and more congenial company.

As it happened, he found the latter in the person of another Englishman with similar tastes; and one or two of their frolics are remembered in that island yet. On the night Farquhar came across Austin they had amused themselves not altogether wisely in a certain café, from which its proprietor begged them to depart when they had broken one citizen's guitar and damaged another's clothes. Then, as it was getting late, they adjourned to the mole, where the Englishman had arranged that a boat at his command should meet them, and convey Farquhar, who was going back to Las Palmas next day, on board the Estremedura. The boat was not forthcoming, and the Englishman's temper deteriorated while they waited half an hour for it, until when at last the splash of oars came out of the soft darkness he was not only in a very unpleasant humour, but determined upon showing his companion that he was not a man with whom a Spanish crew could take liberties.

There was also a pile of limestone on the mole, and when a shadowy launch slid into the blackness beneath it he hurled down the biggest lumps he could find, as well as a torrent of Castilian vituperation. Then, however, instead of the excuses he had expected, there were wrathful cries, and the Englishman gasped when he saw dim, white-clad figures clambering in portentous haste up the adjacent steps.

"We'll have to get out of this – quick!" he said. "I've made a little mistake. It's somebody else's boat."

They set about it without waste of time, but there was a good deal of merchandise lying about the mole, and the Englishman, who fell over some of it, lay still until a peon came across him peacefully asleep behind a barrel next morning. Farquhar, however, ran on, snatching up a handspike as he went, with odd lumps of limestone hurtling behind him; and as he and his pursuers made a good deal of noise as they sped across the plaza at the head of the mole, the citizens still left in the cafés turned out to enjoy the spectacle. English seafarers are tolerated in that city, but it is, perhaps, their own fault that they are not regarded with any particular favour, and when Farquhar turned at bay in a doorway and proceeded to defy all the subjects of Spain, nobody was anxious to stand between him and the barelegged sailors, who had nasty knives. It might, in fact, have gone hard with him had not two civiles, with big revolvers strapped about them, arrived.

They heard the crowd's explanations with official unconcern, and then, though it was, perhaps, their duty to place Farquhar in safe custody in the cuartel, decided on sending for Austin, who was known to be staying that night in a neighbouring hotel. He had befriended English skippers already under somewhat similar circumstances, and the civiles, who knew their business, were quite aware that nobody would thank them for forcing the affair upon the attention of the English Consul. Austin came, and saw Farquhar gazing angrily at the civiles and still gripping his bar, while the crowd stood round and made insulting remarks about him in Castilian. He at once grasped the position, and made a sign of concurrence when one of the civiles spoke to him.

"You take him to his steamer," said the officer. "One of us will come round in the morning when he understands."

Austin turned to Farquhar. "Give the man that bar," he said. "Come along, and I'll send you off to your steamer."

"I'm going to have satisfaction out of some of them first," and Farquhar made an indignant gesture of protest. "Then I'll knock up the Consul. I'll show them if a crowd of garlic-eating pigs can run after me."

"If you stop here you'll probably get it, in the shape of a knife between your ribs," said Austin, who seized his arm. "A wise man doesn't drag in the Consul when he wants to keep his berth."

He forced Farquhar, who still protested vigorously, along, and, because the civiles marched behind, conveyed him to the mole, where a boat was procured to take them off to the Estremedura. Farquhar had cooled down a little by the time they reached her, and appeared grateful when Austin put him into his berth.

"Perhaps you did save me some trouble, and I'll not forget you," he said. "Take you round all the nice people in Las Palmas and tell them you're a friend of mine."

"I'm not sure it would be very much of a recommendation," said Austin, drily.

Farquhar laughed. "That's where you're mistaken. When I've been a week in a place I'm friends with everybody worth knowing."

"If to-night's affair is anything to go by, it's a little difficult to understand how you manage it," said Austin.

"It's quite easy to be looked up to, and still have your fun," and Farquhar lowered his voice confidentially. "When folks think a good deal of you in one place you have only to go somewhere else when you feel the fit coming on."

The Estremedura sailed for Las Palmas next morning, and on arriving there Austin was somewhat astonished to discover that Farquhar had, in fact, acquired the good-will of a good many people of consequence in that city. He was a genial, frolic-loving man, and Austin, who became sensible of a liking for him, spent a good deal of his leisure on board the Carsegarry, while, when the Estremedura came back there, he also consented to advise Farquhar about the getting up of a dance to which everybody was invited. It was a testimony to the latter's capacity for making friends that a good many of them came, and among the rest were Pancho Brown, his daughter, Muriel Gascoyne, and Mrs. Hatherly, as well as the commander of a Spanish warship, and several officers of artillery.

The night was soft and still, and clear moonlight shone down upon the sea. The trade breeze had fallen away, and only a little cool air came down from the black Isleta hill, while fleecy mists drifted ethereally athwart the jagged peaks of the great cordillera. An orchestra of guitars and mandolins discoursed Spanish music from the poop, and there was room for bolero and casucha on the big after-hatch, while, when the waltzers had swung round it, the Carsegarry's engineer made shift to play the English lancers on his fiddle. Everybody seemed content, and the genial Farquhar diffused high spirits and good humour.

Austin had swung through a waltz with Jacinta, though the guitars were still twinging softly when they climbed the ladder to the bridge-deck, where canvas chairs were laid out. It was a curious waltz, tinged with the melancholy there is in most Spanish music, but the crash of a gun broke through it, and while the roar of a whistle drowned the drowsy murmur of the surf, the long black hull of an African mailboat slid into the harbour ringed with lights. Then there followed the rattle of cable, and Austin fancied that the sight of the steamer had, for no very apparent reason, its effect upon his companion. She had been cordial during the evening, but there was a faint suggestion of hardness in her face as she turned to him.

"I am especially fond of that waltz," she said. "You may have noticed there's a trace of what one might call the bizarre in it. No doubt, it's Eastern. They got it from the Moors."

"It only struck me as very pretty," said Austin, who surmised by her expression that Jacinta was preparing the way for what she meant to say. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a musician."

"You, at least, dance rather well. There are not many Englishmen who really do, which is, perhaps, no great disadvantage, after all."

Austin laughed, though he was a trifle perplexed. "Well," he said, "though you don't overwhelm me with compliments, as a rule, you have told me that I could dance before. Now, however, one could almost fancy that the fact didn't meet with your approval."

Jacinta looked at him reflectively over her fan. "I scarcely supposed you would understand, and one does not always feel in the mood to undertake a logical exposition of their views. Still, here's Muriel, and she, at least, generally seems to know just what she means. Suppose you ask her what she thinks of dancing."

Austin did so, and Miss Gascoyne, who was crossing the deck-bridge with Farquhar, stopped beside them.

"I don't think there is any harm in dancing, in itself – in fact, I have just been waltzing with Captain Farquhar," she said. "Of course, the disadvantage attached to amusements of any kind is that they may distract one's attention from more serious things. Don't you think so, Captain Farquhar?"

Farquhar caught Austin's eye, and grinned wickedly, but Miss Gascoyne, who failed to notice this, glanced towards the steamer which had just come in.

"That must be the African boat, but I suppose there is no use expecting any news?" she said quietly, though there was a faint suggestive tremour in her voice.

She passed on with Farquhar, and Jacinta glanced at Austin with a little enquiring smile.

"If I had a sister who persisted in talking in that aggravatingly edifying fashion, I should feel tempted to shake her," he said. "Still, one could forgive her a good deal if only for the way she looked at the West-coast boat. It suggested that she has as much humanity in her as there is in the rest of us, after all."

"Still, don't you think there was a little reason in what she said?"

"Of course. That is, no doubt, why one objects to it. Well, since it's difficult to keep the personal equation out, I suppose dancing and sailing about these islands on board the Estremedura is rather a wasteful life. Painting little pictures probably comes to much the same thing, too, though there are people who seem to take art seriously."

Jacinta looked at him steadily. "When one has really an artistic talent it is different," she said.

Austin, who hoped she did not notice that he winced, sat silent a space, gazing out across the glittering sea, and it was not altogether a coincidence that his eyes were turned eastwards towards Africa, where Jefferson was toiling in the fever swamps. He wondered if Jacinta knew his thoughts had also turned in that direction somewhat frequently of late.

"Well," he said, "I suppose it is. Some of those pictures must be pretty, or the tourists wouldn't buy them, but that doesn't go very far, after all." He stopped a moment, and then went on with a little wry smile. "No doubt some patients require drastic treatment, and there are cases where it is necessary to use the knife."

Jacinta rose, and, dropping her fan to her side, gravely met his gaze.

"If it wasn't, it would probably not be tried," she said. "One could fancy that it was, now and then, a little painful to the surgeon."