The Pursuit Part 21

Senor Albaceda grunted pessimistically and climbed lumberingly on deck.

Landon threw himself back on the berth again. The Moor looked down at the child with a whimsical expression of pity which changed to a benignant smile as the object of it raised his eyes to his.

"The Sidi Jan has not heard the marvellous tale of the Bashaw of Tripoli and the Afreets of El Mut?" he submitted. "If it is the Sidi's will, his servant will now take the opportunity of relating it to him?"

Little John Aylmer answered with an ecstatic chuckle of delight, and wriggled hurriedly into the encirclement of his friend's arm. Thus supported, he was able to defy the unsettling influence of the waves and give the whole of his attention to the taxing of the Moor's memory or, when this occasionally failed, his very competent imagination. The hours of the afternoon were pa.s.sed agreeably; the difficulties of making a meal without the ordinary appliances of civilization provided a certain amount of diversion when night fell, and afterwards sleep was paramount.

When the child woke he found the boat running slowly upon an even keel, and scrambling on deck was met by the view of a gla.s.sy swell surrounding her, but only visible to the extent of the few square yards which were enclosed in a veil of fog.

The skipper was at the wheel, and Ibrahim, the deck hand, and Muhammed were seated side by side in the bows. They did not peer into the fog--a hopeless task. They sat in a listening att.i.tude, exchanging a brief word now and again.

"It is certainly the drumming of a ship's screw," decided the sailor, after a moment's silence. "It is going at half speed, behind us."

"Let us hope that Allah has not predestined us to be cut in twain," said his companion. "But from port, and very regularly, I hear the beat of breakers. The swell is rolling against a cliff."

"A sh.o.r.e, not a cliff," corrected the other. "If my dead reckoning is right within a score of miles, we are opposite a beach of sand."

Muhammed shook his head.

"Nay, listen to that thud. The crest of the comber meets something flat.

It does not roll, in slowly dying foam, upon a strand."

Ibrahim shrugged his shoulders.

"In a fog we be all blind men," he said pessimistically. "Let us wait for the fulfilment of Allah's plan."

They glanced questioningly upwards. As is common in these west coast fogs, the blanket of vapor was thin. Now and again a faint hint of blue above their heads seemed to presage a lifting of the mist; occasionally, indeed, the sun was to be seen vaguely as a round yellow ball of light, streaked by the slowly drifting scud. But the gray walls on each side of them remained unbroken. At the same time the beat of the breakers was perceptibly near.

Senor Albaceda lifted his head from the hatch and invited the maledictions of innumerable Holy Men upon the weather. He was understood to confess that he did not undertake to gauge their position within a hundred miles.

"If Allah's mercy would send us an offsh.o.r.e wind!" aspired the pious Ibrahim, and lo! with the word came its sudden fulfilment. The fog was rent by a gust, to disclose, not a couple of cable lengths distant, what appeared to be a smooth and painted crag of gray.

The two Moors addressed fervent appeals to the One G.o.d. The Spaniard, impartially apostrophizing the tormented of Purgatory and the celestially blessed to hasten to his a.s.sistance, delivered himself of the opinion that Fate had closed her iron hand upon them. Where else could they be than within a mile of the sea bastions of Casablanca?

That, did they observe, was a cruiser--nay, possibly a battleship by whose watch they had been observed without a shadow of a doubt. As the fog closed in again, he descended to the cabin where he could be heard loudly bewailing the situation to his pa.s.senger, whom he appeared to hold responsible for this and for a fairly extensive list of other inconveniences. The captain of the lateen _Esmeralda_ had obviously been warding off the chill influences of the fog by a liberal dose of _aguardiente_.

Landon lifted himself quickly to the deck. The mist was perceptibly lighter by now. A beam of sunlight pierced it from above and lit the _Esmeralda's_ deck. The gray wall was still unbroken landward, but seaward it thinned, lifted, rolled this way and that, and finally disclosed a shining plain of blue. The central object in this, a couple of miles away, was a white, gleaming yacht.

Landon swore.

"_The Morning Star_--Van Arlen's boat, by G.o.d!" he cried. He made the helmsman a furious gesture. "Into the fog again!" he shouted. "Stick her nose into it, get out of this!"

"To beat out her timbers upon the harbor reef, or be swamped beneath the bows of a warship!" screamed the skipper from the hatch. "Never! Keep her in the light, son of accursed mothers! Do pa.s.sengers who have been born of leprous parents give orders aboard this vessel, or I, Concepcion Albaceda, to whom the law rightly adjudges powers of life and death?"

He came lurching heavily aft, waving a case bottle by the neck to give emphasis to his commands. The bewildered Ibrahim stared at him owlishly.

The next moment he gave a cry of alarm. Landon had tripped the captain's unsteady feet, and, aided by Muhammed, had taken him forward and flung him into the c.o.c.kpit. They closed the hatch, secured it, and came aft again. Imperiously Landon repeated his order.

The unfortunate sailor still hesitated. His compatriot took him firmly by the nape of the neck.

"Into the fog, child of indescribable unfaithfulness," he commanded, "or become immediately bait for sharks! Choose!"

The bewildered Ibrahim brought round the tiller with a jerk. Like a rabbit seeking its burrow, the lateen dived fogwards.

As the gray wall surged up to them again, they turned and stared seaward. Landon cursed loudly. The yacht was turning, too, straight towards them. At a word from his master, Muhammed got out the great sweeps and invited Ibrahim imperiously to join him in working them.

Landon took the helm.

Two minutes later there was a crashing sound forward and the bowsprit splintered with a shock which made the little vessel shiver throughout its length. A m.u.f.fled wail of wrath and despair followed from the depths of the c.o.c.kpit.

The wall of gray was towering above them. Over the bulwarks of the R.

F. Cruiser _Diomede_ a lieutenant looked down and anathematized them with a versatility only acquired by a true son of the sea. Landon bowed, smiled, and in perfect French, asked the liberty of being permitted to come aboard.

The lieutenant, surprised beyond measure to hear the accents of the Faubourg from the decks of such an unpromising craft, hastened to forget the collision between the _Esmeralda's_ bowsprit and the _Diomede's_ paint, and directed his pet.i.tioner to find the companion ladder. A minute's groping in the fog, and Landon stood upon the cruiser's deck.

He bowed elaborately. The lieutenant returned the bow and motioned him towards the quarter-deck. The captain came forward to receive him, smiling amiably.

"I must be perfectly frank with you, Monsieur le Commandant," said Landon, returning the smile. "I come to beg a.s.sistance. My yacht is in harbor here, as you are possibly aware. No? The fog has hidden us; we came in last night. With my little son, I went ash.o.r.e early this morning to leave a card on General d'Amade, to whom I have an introduction. I missed my own boat at the landing-place and was foolish enough to be persuaded to embark with these imbeciles below, of whom one is drunk and the other witless. I have already had an hour of monotonous adventure in the gloom; I am a little tired of being very reasonably cursed by master mariners whose vessels we have been ambitious enough to ram. It struck me that perchance you would be sending a boat ash.o.r.e within the course of an hour or so, and might permit me to wait on deck and be a pa.s.senger in it. If so, my grat.i.tude would be beyond words. It is not only for myself. My little son is delicate; I do not wish to expose him longer than is necessary to the chill of these vile vapors."

Commandant Rattier smiled again, expressed his pleasure in being able to offer a.s.sistance to any Englishman--he himself was united to that nation by ties of blood. He would order away his launch immediately. In the meantime _une limonade Ecossaise_ would combat the effect of chill and mist. Monsieur would descend to the cabin, would accept some small refreshment?

Monsieur overflowed with thanks. He would dismiss the villains who had led him into such a coil, and then hold himself at M. le Commandant's service.

He leaned over and gave his orders. Muhammed turned to Ibrahim.

"Remove yourself and your master, oh, son of dirt, from these surroundings with the utmost speed, or I have the promise of the captain of this warship that he will send you in chains ash.o.r.e to answer for your crime in wilfully colliding with his vessel. Your bowsprit? What have I to do with the results of your own vile seamanship? Have haste or Allah alone knows what will betide from the mouth of one of these guns."

He gathered the child up into his arms and stalked with dignity up the companion.

Ten minutes later a launch fussed away from the side of the _Diomede_.

The commandant waved his handkerchief gaily in farewell to his small guest, who, from the encirclement of his father's arm, waved as gaily back. Half a hundred _matelots_ grinned affably at him as they paused in their toil at cabin lights and bra.s.s-work. Landon saluted punctiliously and Muhammed's brown eyes expressed a grave approval of his entertainment. The launch's prow was thrust into the gloom.

Another gust sang lazily from the sh.o.r.e and the desert and shivered the fog. The patches of blue joined, grew wider, opened a triumphal arch for the descending sunbeams' entrance. A little more than a mile away the walls of the sea bastions shone white. The launch's speed increased.

Before they reached the quayside the last wisp of vapor had disappeared.

Land and sea were swathed in sun. Landon gave a little cackle of amus.e.m.e.nt and pointed behind him.

"My yacht!" he cried gaily. "My over-anxious master has weighed anchor in pursuit of me. Word must have reached him of my having allowed myself to be persuaded into that vile lateen."

The sub-lieutenant in charge swerved the tiller.

"Let me take you straight to her," he said. "Let me signal her!"

Landon appeared to consider.

"Thanks, a thousand times," he said, "but a small matter of victualling which I promised my steward to deal with has just recurred to my mind. I will see to it and then signal for my own boat. After all, too, I might see a little of the town, now we have the sunshine to illuminate it. A couple of hours ago it was London in November, with a few additional smells!"

The lieutenant laughed and turned the prow towards the sh.o.r.e again. He cast another look over his shoulder.

"Is it possible that your master has information of, or suspects, that very lateen? It appears to me that he is chasing it!"