The Flag of Distress Part 59

But surely He will not permit the innocent to suffer with the guilty?

Let us hope--pray, He will not.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

LONG-SUFFERING.

"_Virgen Santissima_! Mother of G.o.d, have mercy!"

The cry is heard in the cabin of the _Condor_--Don Gregorio Montijo giving utterance to it.

Several days have elapsed since the desertion of her crew, and she is still afloat, drifting in a south-westerly direction, with all sail set, just as when the pirates put away from her.

Why she has not gone to the bottom is known but to two men--they entrusted with the scuttling.

And just as when left, are the three unfortunate beings aboard: the black cook on his galley bench, the captain and his pa.s.senger _vis-a-vis_ at the cabin-table, bound to and bolt upright in their chairs.

But though the att.i.tudes of all three are unchanged, there is a marked change in their appearance, especially of those in the cabin. For the white man shown the effects of physical suffering sooner than the Ethiopian.

For over five days Don Gregorio and Lantanas have been enduring agony great as ever tortured Tantalus. It has made fearful inroad on their strength--on their frames. Both are reduced almost to skeletons; cheekbones protruding, eyes sunken in their sockets. Were the cords that confine them suddenly taken off, they would sink helpless on the floor!

Not all this time have they been silent. At intervals they had conversed upon their desperate situation. For the first day, with some lingering hope of being released; but afterwards despairingly, as the hours pa.s.sed and nothing occurred to change it.

Now and then they have heard cries on deck; knowing they are from the cook; whom they now believe to be, as themselves, bound up somewhere in the forward part of the vessel.

At first they made some attempt to communicate with him, by answering them; but found it an idle effort. He may have heard, but could not help them. And now their feeble strength forbids even such exertion of their voices.

Long since have the two men given up all hope of being able to untie the cords keeping them to their chairs. The knots made by the hands of a sailor would defy the efforts of the most skilled _presti-digitateur_.

And at length also have they ceased to converse, or only at periods long apart. Lantanas, after his first throes of fierce rage, has sunk into a sort of stupor, and, with head drooping down to his breast, appears as if life had left him.

Don Gregorio, on the contrary, holds his erect--at least during most part of the day. For before him is something to be seen--the sea through the stern windows, still open.

On this he keeps his eyes bent habitually; though not with much hope of their seeing aught to cheer him. On its blue expanse he beholds but a streak of white, the frothing water in the vessel's wake, now and then a "school" of tumbling porpoises, or the "spout" of a cachalot whale.

Once, however, an object came within his field of vision, which caused him to start, writhe in his ropes, and cry out to the utmost of his strength. For it was a ship in full sail crossing the _Condor's_ track, and scarce a cable's length astern!

He heard a hail and called out in response, Lantanas joining him.

And the two kept on shouting for hours after, till their feeble voices failed them; and they again resigned themselves to a despondency, hopeless as ever.

All their shouts have ever brought them were the Bornean apes, that they often hear scampering up and down the cabin-stair, dashing their uncouth bodies against the closed door.

The Chilian has now quite surrendered to despair; while Don Gregorio, who had also lost hope of help from man, still has faith in Heaven.

Hence the prayerful appeal; which with unabated fervour he once more sends up:--

"_Virgen Santissima_! Mother of G.o.d, have mercy!"

All at once Lantanas, catching the words, and raising his head, cries out:

"Virgin! Hach! There's no virgin!--No mother of G.o.d, nor G.o.d neither!"

"Captain Lantanas!"

"Don't captain me! I'm not a captain. I'm a poor miserable creature-- starving with hunger--dying of thirst. Merciful Virgin, indeed!

Where's her mercy? If she has it, let her show. Let her find me food and drink. Cakes and fruit there! Nothing of the sort. Stones, painted stones! And those other things! Bottles they call them-- bottles and decanters. All a deception. They're imps--some demiG.o.ds!

See how they dance. Let's join them! Come, old Zanzibar! Bring your fiddle! And my Bornean beauties, come you. We'll have a grand _fandango_. We'll make a dancing room of the _Condor's_ deck, and kick up our heels high as the cuddy head. That's the way we'll do it. Ha-- ha--ha! Ha--ha--ha!"

"O G.o.d!" groans Don Gregorio, "Lantanas has lost his reason!"

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

HELP FROM HEAVEN.

For long, the Chilian skipper continues to rave, rolling his eyes about, now and then glaring fiercely at Don Gregorio, as though he wished to stretch across the table and tear him. Fortunate he is confined now.

At first the ex-haciendado spoke kindly, endeavouring to soothe him; but seeing it idle, he has ceased; and now makes no further attempt.

To converse with him would be only painful, and indeed the sight is sufficiently so, suggesting to Don Gregorio what may be his own fate.

At times he almost fancies himself the same, as sweeps through his soul the thought of his acc.u.mulated calamities.

He wishes that death would relieve him, and has prayed for it more than once. He prays for it again, silently, with his eyes resting on the sea. He awaits the final hour, longing for it to come, his features set in calm, Christian resignation.

Suddenly their expression changes, a ray of renewed hope shooting athwart his face. Not a ray, but a beam, which spreads over his whole countenance, while his eyes kindle into cheerfulness, and his lips become parted in a smile!

Is he about to echo the mad laugh of Lantanas?

No! In that look there is no sign of unseated reason.

On the contrary, he gazes with intelligent earnestness, as at something outside demanding investigation.

Soon his lips part farther, not now to smile, but speak words that involuntarily issue from them. Only two little words, but of large import and greatest cheer:

"A sail!"

For such he has espied; a white speck away off on the line that separates the two blues, but distinguishable from waif of floating foam or wing of gull. Beyond doubt, a sail--a ship!

Once more, hope is in his heart, which bounding up, beats audibly within his breast.

Higher and louder, as the white speck shows larger, and a.s.sumes shape.

For the tall narrow disc, rising tower-like against the sky, can only be the spread canvas of a ship.

And gradually growing taller, he at length sees she is standing towards the barque!

Intently he continues to watch the distant sail! Silently, without saying aught of it to his companion, or in any way communicating with him. It would be of no use; the mind of the Chilian is closed against outward impressions, and now is not the time to attempt opening it.