The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"I have done my part and it's Alvarez's business to see the chests get
through. Well, we have both taken some chances since he was a
Customs-clerk and I a _contrabandista_ running the old _Mercedes_, but I
reckon this is my rashest plunge. Anyhow, if I get my money back or not,
I've put up the goods. Now you can tell Mayne to break out the guns."
Mayne gave orders, derrick-booms swung from the stumpy masts, pulleys
rattled, and heavy cases rose from the holds. The boats, however, could
not get abreast of the forward hatch and the cases had to be moved across
slippery iron plates to the after derrick that hoisted them overboard. It
was exhausting work, and the heat was intolerable. The white crew threw
off their soaked clothes and toiled half-naked in the sun that burned
their skin, but Adam left the awning and went about in the glare.
At first, the mates grumbled with indignant surprise. Their employer was
breaking rules; working the cargo was their business and nobody else must
meddle. Besides, they had not met a shipowner able to superintend the
job. One who ventured a protest, however, stopped in awkward
embarrassment when Adam gave him a look, and the others soon admitted
that few captains knew more about derricks and slings. Nevertheless, Kit
was anxious as he watched his uncle. He knew Adam would pay for this and
wondered how long he could keep it up.
At noon, the peons refused another load and when Adam addressed them in
virulent Castilian, coolly pulled the boats away from the ship. When they
had rowed a short distance they stopped and one got up.
"More is not possible, senor," he said. "To work in this sun is not
for flesh and blood. After we have slept for an hour or two, we will
come back."
Adam felt for his pistol, but hesitated, with his hand at his silk belt,
and Kit thought he looked very like a Buccaneer.
"It might pay to plug that fellow, and I'd have risked it when I came
here in the _Mercedes_. Still, I guess Don Hernando has enough trouble."
Mayne, standing behind him, grinned. "I reckon that fixes the thing.
Don't know I'm sorry the dagos have lit out; my crowd are used up and
ready to mutiny."
For two hours the tired crew rested while the water sank and the steamer
resumed her awkward list. Then the boats came back and the men crawled
languidly about the slanted deck, until Adam went among them with bitter
words. The sea breeze was blowing outside, but no wind could enter the
gap in the trees, and foul exhalations from warm mud and slime poisoned
the stagnant air. Kit's head ached, his eyes hurt, and his joints were
sore; he felt strangely limp and it cost him an effort to get about.
All the while the winches hammered and pulleys screamed as the cases came
up and the empty slings went down. The heat got suffocating and the slant
of masts and deck made matters worse, because the men must hold the
derricks back with guys while the heavy goods cleared the coamings of the
hatch. Much judgment was needed to drop them safely in the boats. Men
gasped and choked, quarreled with each other, and growled at the mates,
but somehow held on while the tide ebbed and the sun sank nearer the
mangroves' tops. It dipped when the breathless peons pushed the last boat
away from the _Rio Negro's_ side, and the noisy machines stopped.
Darkness spread swiftly across the lagoon and a white fog, hot and damp
as steam, rose from the forest and hung about the ship. Everything was
very quiet, for the men were too limp to talk, but a murmur came out of
the distance where the long swell beat upon the shoals. Kit and Mayne sat
in the chart-room, with a jug of iced liquor on the table in front.
Sometimes they spoke a few words and sometimes smoked in silence, while
Adam lay on the settee, saying nothing. At length, he got up and a
steward helped him to his room. Somehow the others felt it a relief that
he had gone.
"I can hustle, but your uncle makes me tired," Mayne remarked. "If you
get what I mean, it's like watching a dead man chase the boys about; you
feel it's unnatural to see him on his feet. Well, one has to pay for
fooling with a climate like this, and I'm afraid the bill he'll get will
break him. Can't you make him quit?"
"I can't; I've tried."
"The curious thing is he knows the cost," Mayne resumed. "Knows what's
coming to him unless he goes."
"Yes," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I believe he does know and
doesn't mind. This makes it rough on me. I'm powerless to send him off
and I'm fond of the old man."
Mayne made a sign of agreement. "He's a pretty tough proposition and was
worse when he was young; but I've risked my life to serve him. The
Buccaneer holds his friends."
Kit said nothing. He was anxious and depressed and soon went off to bed.
When work began next morning, Adam was on deck and superintended the
landing of the cargo in spite of Kit's protest. Kit thought the day was
hotter than the last, and after an hour or two's disturbed sleep in his
stifling room, found it hard to drag himself about. When the exhausted
peons stopped at noon, he lay under the awning and kept close to Adam
when they resumed. He did not like his uncle's fixed frown and thought it
was caused by the effort he made to keep at work. If not, it was a hint
of pain he stubbornly tried to overcome. Besides, his step was dragging
and his movements were awkward.
About the middle of the afternoon, Adam stood near the noisy winch while
a case was hoisted. The winch-man looked up when the heavy load, hanging
from the derrick, swung across the slanted deck.
"Hold her while they steady the boom!" Adam shouted and seized the rope
that slipped round the drum.
The winch-driver was watching the others who struggled with the guy, and
perhaps forgot it was not a strong man who had come to his help. For a
moment or two, Adam kept his grip, and then his hands opened and he
staggered back. Somebody shouted, a pulley rattled, and the case, running
down, crashed against the steamer's rail. Kit ran forward, but reached
the spot a moment too late, for Adam lay unconscious on the iron deck.
They picked him up and carried him to the bridge, where it was a little
cooler than his room, but for some time he did not open his eyes. Then he
looked about dully and seeing Kit gave him a feeble smile.
"You're in charge now, partner; keep the boys hustling," he said.
"There's the coffee to load up when you have put the guns ashore. Looks
as if I had got to leave the job to you."
He turned his head, drew a hard breath, as if it had hurt him to speak,
and said nothing more. The work, however, went on until it got dark, and
when the mist rose from the mangroves and a heavy dew began to fall they
carried Adam to his room. He slept for part of the night while Kit
watched, but now and then tossed about with delirious mutterings. When
morning came he did not wake and Kit, looking at his pinched, wet face,
went on deck with a heavy heart. He had sent for the Spanish doctor, but
thought it did not matter much if Senor Martin came or not. In another
day or two he would be alone.
CHAPTER IX
ADAM'S LAST REQUEST
It was nearly full moon, the night was calm, and the flowing tide rippled
among the mangrove roots. Clammy vapor drifted about the ship and big
drops fell from the rigging and splashed upon the deck. A plume of smoke
went nearly straight up from the funnel, and now and then the clang of
furnace-slice and shovel rose from the stokehold, for Mayne hoped to
float the vessel next tide. For the most part, however, the men were
asleep and it was very quiet in the room under the poop. A lamp tilted at
a sharp angle gave a feeble light that touched Adam's face. Kit sat on a
locker opposite, looking anxious and worn.
"You loaded up some of the coffee," Adam remarked in a strained voice.
"Half of it, I think; the rest's on the beach," said Kit. "It's doubtful
if we'll get the next lot, since Senor Martin understands the fighting
has begun."
"The lot you have shipped will be something to score against the account;
it's prime coffee and ought to sell well. I'd like you to get the
rubber, but Alvarez can't wait long for the goods Mackellar has ready for
the boat. Another voyage and you can pull out for the old country. I'd
reckoned on going with you, but that's done with."
Kit said nothing. The doctor had come and gone, for he was needed
elsewhere and could not help the sick man. One could indulge him and make
things comfortable for a few days but that was all, he said, and Kit saw
that Adam knew. By and by the latter resumed:
"I've been thinking about Peter and Ashness. I'd have liked to see the
old place and the fells again, and when I was half asleep I thought I
heard the beck splash among the thorns and the pee-wits crying. Well, you
are going back, and you'll marry that girl. Though it will cost you
something to see Alvarez through, you ought to be rich enough."
"You mustn't talk too much," said Kit. "Senor Martin told you to rest."
Adam smiled. "It doesn't matter now if I rest or not. My brain's clearer
and I'll talk while I can. I never told you much about my early life, but
I'm going to do so, because there's something I want to ask."
"Then, you have only to ask it," Kit replied.
"I know," said Adam, feebly. "You're staunch. Well, you have seen the
despatch-box in the office, marked _Hattie G._, though I lost the old
boat long before you came out. She was a coal-eater and didn't pay to
run, but I kept her going until she hit the reef. My first steamboat--I
got her when she was going cheap; but she was bought with my wife's
money, and called after her.
"I met Hattie in Florida about the year you were born. She was
Vanhuyten's cousin and the finest thing that ever wore a woman's shape.
Northern grit and Southern fire, for she sprang from New England and good
Virginia stock; I've seen no woman with her superb confidence. Well, I
was a _contrabandista_ with some ugly tales against my name, but I fell
in love with Hattie and married her in a month."
Adam was silent for a few minutes, and while Kit mused, shovels clinked
in the stokehold and the vessel began to lift. The tilted lamp
straightened and its light rested on Adam's wasted form. His silk
pyjamas rather emphasized than hid his gauntness; he looked strangely
worn and weak, but Kit could picture the strong passion of his
love-making. There was something fierce and primitive about the old
Buccaneer, and it was not hard to see how he had, so to speak, swept the
romantic girl off her feet by the fiery spirit that had burned him out.
Yet he had never talked about other women, and though he knew the South,
Kit thought he had cared for none.
"I left her in a few weeks," Adam went on. "Alvarez was putting up for
president and my savings were at stake. Hattie went home to Virginia
while I helped Alvarez on the coast. He was hard up against it, though
he's been president three times since. Well, when things looked blackest,
I was knocked out in Salinas swamps, by fever and a bullet that touched
my lungs. They took me to the old Indian mission--we were cut off from
the ship--and Father Herman put the _rurales_ off my track. I've sent him
wine and candles, he's at the mission yet; it stands between thick forest
and swamps like this, and the padre's the only white man who has lived
there long. Get down the chart and I'll show you the landing place."
Kit did so, feeling that he ought to indulge a sick man's caprice, and
Adam, after giving him clear directions, was quiet for some minutes. Then
he began again, with an effort:
"Vanhuyten told Hattie, and I found out afterwards, that she had had
trouble at home. Her folks had never trusted me and wanted to keep her
back, but she had rich friends who sent her out, like an American
princess, on a big steam yacht. She got to the mission when I was at my
worst, and finding I could not be moved, sent the yacht away. It was some
days before I knew she had come. There was no doctor to be got. Alvarez
could not send help, and the government soldiers were hunting for his
friends, but Father Herman knew something about medicine and Hattie
helped him better than a trained nurse. I can see her now, going about
the mud-walled room in her clean, white dress, without a hint of
weariness in her gentle eyes. That was when she thought I was watching,
but sometimes at night her head bent and her figure drooped.
"It was blisteringly hot and when the sun went down the poisonous steam
from the swamps drifted round the spot. Sometimes I begged her not to
stay, and sometimes I raged, but Hattie could not be moved and my weak
anger broke before her smiles. She was strong and would not get fever,
she said; she had come to nurse me, and, if I insisted, would go home
when I was well."
Adam stopped and asked for a drink, and afterwards Kit hoped he had gone
to sleep, but he presently roused himself again.
"I have got to finish, partner, because there's a reason you should hear
it all. By and by Father Herman had to nurse us both, and when I got
better Hattie died. We buried her by torchlight in the dusty mission
yard--she was a Catholic--you'll see the marble cross. I've been lonely
ever since, and that's partly why I sent for you; Peter came next to
Hattie and you are Peter's son. Now I'm ready to pull out and somehow I
think Hattie will find me when I'm wandering in the dark. Love like hers
is strong. But I want you to listen when you have given me another
drink."
Kit held the glass to Adam's cracked lips. He drank and lay still,
breathing hard, and Kit heard the ripple of the tide. The _Rio Negro_ was
getting upright and as the lamp turned in its socket the light moved
across the wall. After a time, Adam resumed in a clearer voice:
"All I have is yours; Mackellar will prove the will, but you'll see
Alvarez out, as I meant to do. Another thing; Mayne will get the old boat
off tomorrow, and when he's loaded up I want you to take me out and land
me on the creek I marked behind Salinas Point. He can fly the flag
half-mast; I'll have started on the lone trail then. You'll hire some
half-breed boys at the _pueblo_ in the swamp, and take me to the mission
and lay me beside my wife. Hattie was a Catholic and you can tell Father
Herman that what she believed was good enough for me. Afterwards, you'll
send him now and then the box of candles he will tell you about. They're
to burn in the little chapel before Our Lady of Sorrows, where Hattie
used to pray I might get well. You'll do this for me?"
"I will," Kit answered with forced quietness. "Then I've finished," said
Adam. "I'm going to sleep now and mayn't talk much again."
He turned his head from the light and presently Kit, hearing him breathe
quietly, went out on deck.
At high-water next day, the _Rio Negro_ floated off the mud and when she
swung to her anchor Kit went into Adam's room. Adam was very weak, but
looked up.
"Get the coffee on board; I'm afraid you won't have time for the next lot
and the rubber," he said. "Tell Finlay to bank his fires. You'll want
steam to take me out."
Kit understood, and nodded because he could not speak, and Adam, giving
him a quiet smile, went to sleep again.
Some hours later, Mayne joined Kit, who had gone on deck for a few
minutes.
"That's the last of the _hacienda Luisa_ coffee," he said, indicating a
boat alongside. "The peons tell me the next lot's coming down, but if we
ship it, we'll miss the tide."
"You can close the hatches. The coffee must wait."
"It's high-grade stuff and brings top price. I sure don't like to leave
it to spoil."
"We must risk that," Kit said quietly.
"There's another thing; Pedro, the clerk, reckons they're fighting near
Salinas and the president's not popular in that neighborhood. Looks as if
you might have some trouble to take the old man to the mission."
"It's possible," said Kit. "I'm going to try. Have everything ready for
us to get off to-night."
Mayne lifted his hand to his cap. "Very well, sir. We'll start as soon as
there's water enough."
He went away, but Kit knew what he meant. The captain had done his duty
by indicating obstacles, but he approved his new master's resolve and
owned his authority. Kit was persuaded he would have Mayne's loyal help
and went back to Adam's room. When it was getting dark, Adam moved his
head as the engines began to throb and the propeller churned noisily in
the shallow water. It stopped after a few turns and steam blew off.
"Finlay's giving her a trial spin," Adam remarked, in a very faint voice.
"I see you've got things fixed and I'm ready to start." He stopped and
shut his eyes for a minute or two, and Kit did not know if he was
conscious or not. Then he resumed in a strained whisper: "All's ready;
ring for full-speed. I'm going to meet my wife."
He drew a hard breath, sighed, and did not speak again. An hour
afterwards, Mayne met Kit coming out of the room, and glancing at his
face took off his cap.
"I guess it hits you hard and I'll miss him, too," he said. "I'll not get
another master like the Buccaneer."
He went off to give some orders and Kit sat down, feeling very desolate.
When the tide had risen and flowed past, oily smooth, under the full
moon, the windlass began to rattle and the cable clanged. The anchor came
up and when the engines shook the ship Mayne pulled the whistle-line and
a long blast rolled across the woods. Next moment a rocket soared and
burst in a shower of colored lights.
"Vanhuyten and Askew's signal! The head of the house is making his last
trip," the captain remarked.
The echoes sank, the colored lights burned out, and the measured beat of
engines jarred upon the silence as the _Rio Negro_ went to sea. For a
time the land breeze blew the steam of the swamps after her, and masts
and funnels reeled through a muggy haze as she lurched across the
surf-swept shoals. She floated high and light, her muddy side rising like
a wall as she steadied between the rolls that dipped her channels in the
foam. Outside, the swell was regular and the roll long and rhythmical;
the haze thinned, the air got sweet and cool, and the hearts of the crew
got lighter as she steamed out to open sea. For all that, men lowered
their voices and trod quietly when they passed the poop cabin where her
dead owner lay.
At sunrise, Mayne hoisted the house-flag, and the Stars and Stripes
drooped languidly half way up the ensign staff, until the glassy calm
broke and the sea breeze straightened the blue and silver folds. By and
by he changed the course and mountains rose ahead, although a bank of
cloud hid the plain and mangrove forest at their feet. In the afternoon,
he searched the haze with his glasses, and getting a bearing stopped the
engines near Salinas Point at dusk.
"If the weather's good, I'll wait three days," he said. "Then, if you
send no word, I'll pull out for Havana and get the engines properly
fixed. Better take this bag of Spanish money; minted silver goes and you
may find the dagos shy of the president's notes."
Kit took the money, a boat was swung out, and four sailors carried the
plain, flag-wrapped coffin down the ladder. They were rough men, but Kit
imagined he could trust them. Another crew picked up the oars, greasy
caps were lifted, the _Rio Negro's_ whistle screamed a last salute, and
the boat stole away. Mayne steamed off to anchor on good holding ground,
and Kit sat at the tiller, with his eyes fixed on the misty coast.
It was dark when he heard breakers and saw the glimmer of surf. There
were shoals all round him, but he had been told about a bay where a creek
flowed through a sheltered channel. He did not know if he could find the
channel, and if not the boat might be wrecked, but something must be left
to luck and they pulled on before the curling swell. She struck, and
stopped until a comber rolled up astern. It broke and half buried her in
rushing foam, but she lifted, lurched ahead, and did not strike again.
The men were nearly knee-deep as they baled the water out and one was
afterwards idle because his oar had gone. In spite of this, they made the
creek and drifted quietly into the gloom of the mangroves with the
flowing tide.
After a time, the water got shallow and they pushed her across the mud
while leaves and rotting branches floated up the creek. No light pierced
the forest, and the feeble beam of Kit's lantern scarcely touched the
shadowy trunks that moved past until they came to an opening. Kit thought
this was the spot he had been told about and turned the boat. She would
not float to the bank and he and his four men got out and lifted the
coffin. They sank in treacherous mud, but reached a belt of sand riddled
by land-crab's holes. All was very quiet except for the ripple of the
tide and the noise made by the scuttling crabs. The sand, however, was
dry and warm and they sat down to wait for morning when the boat went
away.
CHAPTER X
THE ROAD TO THE MISSION
The sun was high when Kit and his tired men reached the village. He was
wet with sweat and the moisture that had dripped upon him from the leaves
in the early morning, and the men gasped when they put down their load.
Two wore greasy engine-room overalls, and two ragged suits of duck; their
soft hats were stained and battered and they looked like ruffians.
Although Mayne paid good wages, respectable seamen avoided the _Rio
Negro_ and her crew were, as a rule, accustomed to fight with knives and
sandbags on disorderly water-fronts. Now they carried pistols, hidden as
far as possible, but ready for use.
Small, square mud houses occupied the hole in the forest. Where the
plaster had not fallen off, their white fronts were dazzling, but they
were dirty and ruinous and the narrow street was strewn with decaying
rubbish. Although the _pueblo_ had once prospered under Spanish rule, it
was now inhabited by languid half-breeds of strangely mixed blood,
engaged in smuggling and revolutionary plots. They stood about the
doorways, barefooted and ragged, watching Kit with furtive black eyes.
"I want porters and a guide to the mission," he told the _patron_, who
lounged against a wall smoking a cigar.
"It is a long way, senor, and the road is bad. Besides, one cannot travel
when the sun is high."
"The road is, no doubt, safer then than in the dark."
"That is true," agreed the other with a philosophic shrug. "The country
is disturbed."
"I must start at once," Kit said firmly. "I am willing to pay for
the risk."
The _patron_ spoke to the others in a harsh dialect, but none of the
loafing figures moved.
"They say the risk is great," he remarked. "There has been fighting and
the president's soldiers are in the woods."
"The president's soldiers will not meddle with us," Kit answered,
incautiously.
For a moment the half-breed's eyes were keen, but his dark face resumed
its inscrutable look.
"Then the senor is a friend of the president's?"
"If we meet his soldiers, they will let me pass."
"The soldiers are not the worst. There are the _rurales_; men without
shame, who shoot and ask no questions. However, we will see if I can find
porters, if the senor will wait until the afternoon."
Kit distrusted the fellow and thought he had an object for putting off
the start. He had been warned that the _Meztisos_ sympathized with the
rebels, and imagined that his party's safety depended on its speed. But
he did not want to look impatient, and, imitating the other's
carelessness, sat down and lighted a cigarette while he pondered. To
begin with, he suspected that the _patron_ would prevent his meeting any
of the president's soldiers who might be about, and it would be prudent
to finish his business and get back to the ship before Galdar knew he was
in the woods. His men claimed to be American citizens and Mayne knew
where he had gone, but the latter's statements might be doubted if the
party disappeared. It was known that Askew was engaged in a risky trade
and the captain's story would look more romantic than plausible.
Kit saw he must depend upon his own resources and presently noted that a
man was leaving the village. The fellow kept behind the group in the
street as far as he could and moved quickly. There was something stealthy
about his movements and when he looked back, as if to see if Kit were
watching, the latter got up.
"Stop that man," he said.
"But he is going to his work, senor," the _patron_ objected.
"In this country, one does not work while the sun is high," said Kit,
who rather ostentatiously pulled out his pistol. "Call him back!"
The _patron_ shouted and the man returned, but Kit kept his pistol
in his hand.
"Nobody must leave the _pueblo_ until I start," he said. "I want porters
and am willing to pay."
"Very well," the patron agreed, shrugging. "Perhaps I can find a few men,
but they will want the money before they go."
For a time, Kit bargained. The sailors were tired, and few white men are
capable of much exertion in the tropic swamps. He must have help, and
doubting if the _Meztisos_ could be trusted, thought it best to offer a
sum that would excite their greed, but stipulated that half would not be
paid until they returned. When the _patron_ was satisfied Kit turned to
the sailors.