Latitude 19 degree Part 8

Captain Schuyler sat, his pipe in his mouth, and talked one-sidedly between the puffs.

"The idiots want to walk to Cap Hatien," said the Skipper. "I tell 'em it's worse than foolish, but they seem pretty determined. They say they can do it in two days' time. Must be twenty miles or more, following the sh.o.r.e. They say they can bring back horses for the rest of us."

"That's an excellent idea!" said Cynthia. "I don't believe I shall get tired of pork in two days' time. I don't know about the third. Have we enough food for two days, Uncle?"

"Lord, yes! We'll get along a week easy.--What do you think, Jones?"

"I'd let 'em try it," said I. "Of course, they'll never come back. I've seen 'em start off before this to bring aid and succour. They never returned, except in story-books."

"If I was sure of that, I'd let 'em go mighty quick," said the Skipper.

"We're better off without 'em."

He turned to the group. "How many of you want to go?" He raised his voice, so that it would carry to where they sat.

Tomkins stood up and answered respectfully:

"All but the Bo's'n and the Minion, sir."

There was a certain decision in Tomkins' tone, which revealed the fact to me that they intended going, permission or not.

"The Cook, too?" asked Cynthia.

The Cook looked down and shuffled his feet.

"I can cook, Cap'n, miss, sir, beggin' your pardon, ma'm, Mr. Jones,"

volunteered the Bo's'n.

"Good enough!" said the Skipper. "Let Cook fit you out with vittles, men. What have you got for water?"

Bill Ware spoke up eagerly:

"Tomkins says as there's two or three springs on the way, sir----"

"How does he know?" asked the astonished Skipper.

"Been here before, sir, so he was a-tellin' us last night. Says it's a puffec pair-o-dice."

"Oh, he does, does he?--So you've been here before, have you, Tomkins?"

Tomkins looked daggers at Bill Ware.

"Yessir, I was here some years back."

"Know the coast pretty well?"

"Yessir, pretty well."

"Thought so," muttered the Skipper in a low tone. "Knew it better than I did." Then aloud: "Very well, my man. Now do you think you can get horses from whoever's governor down there, and be back in a week?"

"Sartin sure, sir," answered Tomkins unblushingly.

While Tomkins was speaking, the Skipper was muttering under his breath, "Better get rid of the rascals, anyway."

"You don't think----" said I.

"I do think----" said he.

"What! Wrecked the vessel?" asked Cynthia breathlessly.

"Yes; drove her ash.o.r.e."

"Why?"

"Hush!" said the Skipper.

"Tomkins!" called Cynthia.

"For G.o.d's sake, Cynthia, don't----"

"Miss Archer, I'm usually called, sir! I believe in always going to the root of every matter."

Cynthia arose from her sitting posture. She stood tall and stately. Her dignified air recalled to my mind a young woman by the name of Portia, of whom I had once read somewhere.

"Be quiet!" said the Skipper, pulling her skirt with a rough jerk. "Sit down!"

Cynthia gently disengaged her skirt from the Skipper's hand. She removed her sunbonnet, and with her pure face turned toward the sheepish Tomkins, she looked like a very young Daniel come to judgment.

It was a strange scene, one which I shall never forget. The tropic sh.o.r.e, the shipwrecked crew, the young girl standing forth as the exponent of right--foolhardy, if you like, but fearless in her righteous indignation.

She raised her hand, commanding the attention of the men.

"Tomkins," she said, "as you shall answer at the day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, did you wreck the Yankee Blade?"

The man shifted from one foot to the other, his head hanging down. He looked up with ferret eyes from under his spa.r.s.e eyebrows.

"'Fore G.o.d----" began Tomkins.

"You are before G.o.d!" said Cynthia sternly.

He ground his feet restlessly, making little pools in the gravel of the sh.o.r.e.

"O Lord!" groaned the Skipper helplessly.

"Well, then, miss, 'fore G.o.d, I didn't!"

"Remember you're on oath, Tomkins. Well, then, who did?"

"Beg his pardon, ma'm, it was Mr. Jones!"