The Coast of Adventure Part 22

Grahame stood near by, his hand on a stay, swaying with the movement of the steamer. He was bareheaded and the spray lashed his face, but there was something that rea.s.sured the girl in his tranquillity.

It was useless to speak. The voice would have been drowned by the roar of the gale, while wire-shroud and chain-guy shrilled in wild harmonies.

Evelyn stood fascinated, watching the quick, tense movements of the crew.

Presently Grahame turned his head, and, seeing them against the deckhouse, pointed toward the sea. Following his gesture, Evelyn saw a blurred object leap out of the dark. It grew suddenly into definite form as it drove across the belt of moonlight: a small wooden barque with a deck-load of timber, staggering before the hurricane.

Fluttering rags showed where her maintopsail had blown from the ropes; curved ribands, held fast at head and foot, marked what was left of her fore-course, and puny figures dotted the yards, struggling futilely with clewed-up canvas that bulged out as if inflated hard. She had a torn jib and topsails set--strips of sail that looked absurdly small by comparison with the foam-lapped hull, but they were bearing her on at tremendous speed. Caught, no doubt lightly manned, by the sudden gale, they had had no time to shorten sail and bring her head to sea. She must run with what canvas was left her until the tornado broke, unless she broached to and her heavy deckload rolled her over.

So far, Evelyn had not felt much fear. There was something in the mad fury of the elements that, for a time, banished thought of personal danger. She was overwhelmed and yet conscious of a strange excitement; but the sight of the helpless ship had a daunting effect. Belted with leaping foam, bows up, p.o.o.p down, the dripping hull drove by, plowing a snowy furrow through the tormented sea. When she plunged into the dark Evelyn was glad that she had gone. She wondered what could be done in this wild weather if the _Enchantress_ would not come round. But she had confidence in Grahame. As she looked at him he commandingly raised his hand.

Two men scrambled forward and a dark patch rose at the bows. It swelled and emptied, but the canvas held, and Grahame struggled forward to help the others. The sail might stand if they could hoist it before it split.

It ran higher up the stay; the _Enchantress_ slowly fell off before the wind, and then leaped ahead with her bows lifted out of the foam.

Evelyn drew a deep breath of relief, for the immediate danger was over, and the vessel might run out of the worst of the storm. Cliffe nodded when she looked at him, and with some trouble they made their way into the house, where, with the door shut, they could hear themselves speak.

Evelyn was wet with spray, but there was a high color in her face and her eyes shone. As she sat down, the house shook beneath a blow, and there was a savage flapping on the roof. Then something seemed driven across it, and they could hear only the wind and the sea again.

"The awning!" Cliffe said. "They've managed to cut it loose now that she's before the wind. I guess Grahame would rather have brought her head-on, but he won't have much trouble if they can keep her from broaching to. Were you scared?"

"No," Evelyn answered thoughtfully. "I suppose it was so appalling that I couldn't realize the danger. I really feel that I'd be sorry if I'd missed it."

Cliffe made a sign of comprehension.

"Well, this is the first time you've seen men hard up against a big thing. It's an illuminating experience; though a large number of people never get it. Some of them seem to imagine things go right of themselves, and there's no call now for strength and nerve. Anyhow, I was glad to feel that Grahame knew his business."

Evelyn was silent for a few moments. Her clothes were wet and ought to be changed, but the tension on her nerves had not slackened much, and she felt restless and unwilling to be alone. Besides, there was a mild satisfaction in doing something imprudent, and she thought the storm had roused her father into a talkative mood. While indulgent to her, he was often marked by a certain reserve, which she had noticed her mother never tried to penetrate.

"I wonder why you decided to cross in this little boat, when we could have gone by one of the big pa.s.senger liners?" she said.

"Saved waiting, for one thing," Cliffe answered in a deprecatory tone.

"Then I'll confess that I felt I'd like to do something that wasn't quite usual."

Evelyn laughed.

"It isn't a wish one would suspect you of."

"Well," Cliffe said with a twinkle, "I guess it was boyish, but we all have our weaknesses, though I don't often indulge mine. I find it doesn't pay. I'm a sober business man, but there's a streak of foolishness in me. Sometimes it works out and I feel that I want a frolic, for a change."

"Then you must have exercised some self-control."

"When I was a young man, I found my job square in front of me. I had to sit tight in the office, straighten out a business that had got rather complicated, and expand it if possible. It wasn't quite all I wanted to do, but I'd a notion that I could make my pile and then let myself go.

It took me some years to get things straight, the pile was harder to make than I reckoned, and your mother had a use for all the money I could raise. Her ambition was to put the family high up in the social scale--and she's done it."

"So you stifled your longings and went on making money that we might have every advantage!" Evelyn said with a guilty feeling. "I feel ashamed when I realize it."

"I've been repaid," Cliffe replied. "Then, after a time, my job became congenial and got hold of me. The work became a habit; I didn't really want to break away." He paused and resumed with a humorous air: "It's only at odd moments I play with the notion that I'd like something different. I know it would jar me if I got it; and I'm getting old."

Evelyn mused. Her father's story had its pathetic side. Though they had not much in common, he had been her mother's willing slave: toiling in the city to further plans which Evelyn suspected he would not have made.

In a sense, his life had been bare and monotonous; there was something he had missed. Evelyn thought that he recognized this, though not with regret.

She started as Grahame came in. Salt water dripped from him and gathered in a pool on the floor, but he turned to them with a smile.

"The wind is dropping fast, and the sea hadn't time to get up. We had some trouble at first when the awning blew out of its lashings and stopped her coming round, but she steered all right as soon as we got her before the sea."

"We were on deck most of the time," Evelyn said.

Grahame laughed as he recalled their conversation in the early evening.

"After what you must have seen," he asked, "don't you agree that there are advantages in keeping in smooth water?"

"Oh, one can't deny it. For all that, my experience to-night strengthens my belief that there's something very exhilarating in taking a risk."

She went out on deck and stood for a minute or two, holding on by a shroud. There was now no fury in the wind, and the moon was bright. The swell had gathered itself up into tumbling combers that shook their crests about the rail as the _Enchantress_ lurched over them. A few torn clouds drove across the southern sky, but the rest of the wide sweep was clear and the scene was steeped in harmonies of silver and dusky blue.

By daybreak the vessel would be steaming on an even keel, but Evelyn knew that she would not again be content with gla.s.sy calm and languorous tranquillity. The turmoil of the storm had made a subtle change in her; it was as if she had heard a call in the elemental clamor and her heart had answered.

CHAPTER XVI

THE RUSE

Cliffe and his daughter were landed at Kingston, and three weeks later Grahame put into a Central-American port. The propeller was not running well, and Macallister, suspecting it was working loose on the shaft, declared that he must put the vessel on a beach where she would dry at low-water. Grahame had a few days to spare, for he could not land his cargo before the time Don Martin had fixed; but as the arms were on board he would have preferred to wait at sea, outside the regular steamers' track.

It happened that there was no repair-shop in the town, but while Macallister thought over the difficulty a tramp steamer dropped anchor, and he went off to her, remarking that he might find a friend on board.

In an hour or two the gig came back, and Grahame, hearing _My boat rocks at the pier o' Leith_ sung discordantly, saw that Macallister's expectations had been fulfilled. This did not surprise him, for the Scots engineer is ubiquitous and to have "wrought" at Clydebank or Fairfield is a pa.s.sport to his affection.

Macallister's face was flushed and his air jaunty, but the tall, gaunt man who accompanied him looked woodenly solemn. He began by emptying a basket of greasy tools on the _Enchantress's_ white deck with the disregard for the navigating officers' feelings which the engine-room mechanic often displays. After this, he went down a rope and sat on the sand under the boat's counter, studying the loose screw while he smoked several pipes of rank tobacco, but without making any remark. Then he got up and slowly stretched his lanky frame.

"Weel," he said, "we'll make a start."

It was eleven o'clock on a very hot morning when he and Macallister lighted a blow-lamp, the flame of which showed faint and blue in the strong sunshine, and they labored on until dusk fell between six and seven in the evening. Offers of food and refreshment were uncivilly declined, and Watson ignored Grahame's invitation to spend the evening on board.

"I'll be back the morn," was all he said as he was rowed away.

"A new type!" Grahame laughed.

"He's unique," Walthew agreed. "Only addressed me twice, and then in a very personal strain. But the fellow's an artist in his way. Spent two hours softening and filing up a taper key, but it fitted air-tight when we drove it in. Something Roman about that man; means his work to last forever."

Operations were resumed the next morning, and Grahame had no doubt of the excellence of the job when the Scots seemed satisfied late in the afternoon. Then Watson said he would come back to dine when he had cleaned himself and would bring his skipper, and Grahame dubiously inspected his small stock of wine. He imagined it had not sufficient bite to please his guests.

The tramp skipper presently arrived: a short, stout man, with a humorous eye. When dinner was over and the wine finished, the party adjourned to the cafe Bolivar, but Grahame went with misgivings. He knew something about the habits of tramp captains, and had seen trouble result from the eccentricities of Scotch engineers. The garrison band was playing in the plaza they crossed, and citizens promenaded up and down with their wives and daughters. The clear moonlight fell upon gayly-colored dresses and faces of various shades, while here and there a jingling officer, lavishly decorated with gold-lace, added an extra touch of brightness.

n.o.body, however, showed a friendly interest in Grahame's party, for Americans and English were not just then regarded with much favor in the ports of the Spanish Main. Indeed, Grahame fancied that a group of slouching soldiers meant to get into his way, but as a brawl was not desirable, he tactfully avoided them.

The cafe was situated at the end of the square, and the party, sitting at a small table among the pillars that divided its open front from the pavement, could look down upon the moonlit harbor. The inlet was long and shallow, with an old Spanish fort among the sands at its outer end and another commanding it from a height behind the town. A cathedral stood opposite the cafe; and narrow, dark streets, radiating from the plaza, pierced the square blocks of houses.

Walthew and Grahame drank black coffee; but this had no attraction for the rest. The tramp captain, soon becoming genial, put his feet on a chair and beamed upon his neighbors, while Macallister, as usual, entered into talk with them. He discoursed at random in very bad Castilian, but his remarks were humorous and in spite of the citizens'

prejudices, laughter followed them. Watson sat stonily quiet, drinking fiery _cana_ and frowning at the crowd.