Lister’s Great Adventure by Harold Bindloss (page 4)

Their feet made no noise; for a moment one saw their sweat-streaked faces and then they vanished. Lister sat on a tool-box, an old pipe in his mouth, and was happier than he had been for long. For one thing, his men were getting sober and he saw they knew their job; then he was satisfied with his engines and relished the sense of control. He was _chief_, and until the tug came back from Africa the engines were his.

In the meantime he need not move about. It was like listening to an orchestra of which he knew all the instruments, and he heard no jarring notes. The harmony was good and the rhythm well marked. The clash and clang rose and fell with a measured beat; but the smooth running of his engines did not account for all Lister’s satisfaction. In a sense, Barbara had given him his job, he was her servant, doing her work, and this was much, although he scarcely durst hope for another reward.

Cartwright had not without careful thought sent Lister on board. He knew the young fellow’s staunchness as he knew Barbara’s, and, because his need was great, had not hesitated to use him and the girl. He was old and must be resigned to sit at his desk and plan, but, as a rule, his plans worked, and he had a talent for choosing his tools. When it was possible, he used his tools carefully; he hated to overstrain fine material.

_Terrier’s_ regular lurch and roll indicated that she was steaming along the coast, in some shelter from the wind that blew obliquely off the land. By and by, however, the lurches got violent, and when Lister heard the thud of water on deck he went up, and opening the door on the lee side, looked out. Water splashed against the ledge that protected the engine-room; the stack of coal worked and he heard big lumps fall. Spray blew across the bulwarks and fell in heavy showers from a boat on the skids. For a few moments this was all he could distinguish, and then he saw slopes of water slanting away from the tug’s low side. A half-moon shone for a few moments between ragged clouds and was hidden.

Lister stepped across the ledge and went aft. _Terrier_ felt the drag of the hulk astern, and he wanted to see how she was towing. He heard the iron ring clang on the hook, and when he stopped by the horse, the big tow-rope surged to and fro across the arch. The hulk steered wildly, and if the sea got worse, he doubted if they could hold her. He knew where he was, because he had steamed along the coast on board the cattle boat. The Anglesey shore was fringed by reefs, the tide-races ran in white turmoil across the ledges. The tide had now nearly run out, but when they turned the corner at Carmel Point they would meet the flood stream and the big combers the gale drove up channel. Going to the pilot-house, Lister lighted his pipe.

“A fierce night!” he remarked to Brown, who peered through the spray-swept glass. “I reckon you’ll want to slow down when we make Carmel.”

The house was dark, but Lister saw the captain turn. “I’m bothered,” Brown admitted. “We ought to push on, but while we might tow the hulk under, we can’t tow her down channel. We can’t turn and run; it’s blowing down the Menai Strait like a bellows spout, and there’s all the Mersey sands to leeward. We have got to face the sea and try to make Holyhead. Will your engines shove her through?”

“They’ll give you six or seven knots, head to wind. Will your tow rope hold?”

“I doubt. We have a steel hawser ready, but if she breaks the hemp rope she’ll probably break the wire.”

Lister agreed. The thick hemp rope stretched and absorbed the strain; the wire was less elastic. They were approaching Carmel Point, and Holyhead was not far, but they must front the gale when they got round the corner. In the meantime, the engines were running smoothly, and Lister smoked and waited while the sea got worse. Flashing lights ahead and the violent lurching indicated that they crept round the point. Then _Terrier_ plunged into a white sea and deck and bulwarks vanished. Her bows swung out of the foam and Lister ran to the door. He felt the tug leap forward and knew the rope had gone.

He got out in front of Brown and plunged down the ladder. Since _Terrier_ must be stopped and turned, he was needed. Water ran from his clothes when he reached a slanted platform and seized a greasy wheel. The telegraph gong was clanging and the beat of engines slackened as he followed the orders. Then the spinning cranks stopped altogether and for a minute or two there was a strange quietness. One heard the wind, and water splashed in the bilges.

Lister got the signal _Ahead slow_, and when he restarted his engines ran up the ladder. He could trust the man he left, and wanted to see what was happening. It was a moment or two before he could satisfy his curiosity, and then a bright beam illuminated the tug and angry water. Brown was burning a blue-light while _Terrier_ crept up to the hulk. He meant to pass the fresh hawser, but could not launch a boat, and Lister doubted if the men on the hulk could heave the heavy wire rope on board. Although one must get near to throw a line, it looked as if Brown were going alongside.

Two dark figures, crouched on _Terrier’s_ rail like animals ready to spring, cut against the blaze. Brown was going alongside; anyhow, he was going near enough for the men to jump, but the thing was horribly risky. If the rolling hulk struck the tug planks and iron plates would be beaten in; moreover the men must jump from the slanted rail, and if they jumped short, their long boots and oilskins would drag them down.

It looked as if Cartwright knew how to choose men for an awkward job, for as the tug got nearer Lister saw the men meant to go. She swung up on the top of a white sea; the hulk, swept by spray, rolled down, with her deck close below the steamer’s rail. One felt they must shock, but they did not. The dark figures leaped, there was a faint shout, a line whirled out from _Terrier’s_ bridge and the hulk drove astern. Then the blue light vanished and Lister plunged into the engine-room. Somehow the thing was done.

The gong signaled _Half-speed_, the rhythmic clash of engines began, and Lister felt _Terrier_ tremble as she tightened the rope. Brown had played his part and Lister’s had begun. He wondered whether they could keep the water out of the engine-room. They had drifted off-shore, and now they had opened up the channel the combers leaped on board. The seas were not regular; they ran in short, steep ridges, and gave the tug no time to lift. While she swung her bows from the foaming turmoil the next swept her deck. But to watch the seas and keep the hulk in line was the captain’s business, and Lister was occupied by his.

Standing on a slanted platform with his hand on the throttle, he waited for the lurch that lifted the spinning screw. When the blades left the water, the engines raced with a horrible din and he must cut off steam. If he let the engines go, something might break when the propeller got hold again. The work demanded a firm but delicate touch, since the pressure must change with the swiftly-changing load. One could not argue when the bows would plunge and the stern swing clear; one must know instinctively. The muscular effort was not hard, but Lister’s face was wet with sweat, and when he was slow and the engine-room rang with the clash of machinery his heart beat. The big columns that held the cylinders rocked; crank and connecting-rod spun too fast for him to see. There was a confusing flash of steel and a daunting uproar.

For the most part, he was able to get control before the stern came down. Moreover, he was not using full steam; to let her go would swamp the boat and wash the men off the laboring hulk. Lister knew the rope held because he felt the heavy drag. Although she rolled and plunged, there was no life in _Terrier’s_ movements. She was sluggish, embarrassed by the load she hauled.

Lister thought about the men on board the hulk. Two, buffeted by wind and spray, must hold the wheel on the short quarter-deck that lifted them above the shelter of the bulwarks. Forward of this, the water rolled about, washing on board and pouring out. The men could not for a moment slack their watchfulness. Sweating and straining at the spokes, they must hold her straight. To let her sheer when she crossed a comber’s top would break the rope.

The strain on the laboring engines indicated that the men held out and Lister fixed his thoughts on his machinery. One could not see much, but while he turned the valve-wheel he listened. If a bearing got hot or a brass shook loose, he would hear the jar. An engine running as it ought to run was like a well-tuned instrument.

He heard no discord. The heavy thud of the cross-heads, flashing between their guides, beat time to the clang of the valve-gear, a pump throbbed like a kettledrum, and something tinkled like a high-pitched triangle. All went well, the engines were good and _Terrier_ stubbornly forged ahead.

By and by the strain was less marked. The load was getting lighter and after a time Lister let go the wheel and wiped his wet face. He could stand on the platform without support, the plunges were easy and regular. Calling a man to relieve him, he went to the door.

The sea was white, but it no longer ran in crested ridges and a vague dark line crossed the foam ahead. Sometimes part of the line vanished and reappeared like a row of dots with broad gaps between. Lister knew it was breakwater. On the other side anchor-lights tossed, and in the background a dull, reflected illumination indicated a town. Then the gong rang and Lister went back to the platform. In a few minutes he would get the signal to stop his engines. The first struggle was over; Brown had made Holyhead.

CHAPTER II

THE WRECK

The night was calm, but now and then a faint, hot wind blew from the shadowy coast, and rippling the water, brought a strange, sour smell. Lister did not know the smell; Brown knew and frowned, for he had been broken by the malaria that haunts West African river mouths. Heavy dew dripped from the awnings on _Terrier’s_ bridge and in places trickled through the material, since canvas burns in the African sun. Brown searched the dark coast with his glasses, trying to find the marks he had noted on the chart. Lister leaned against the rails and mused about the voyage.

They had ridden out a winter’s gale in the Bay of Biscay and for a night had lost the hulk and the men on board. Then they went into Vigo, where Lister’s firemen wrecked a wine shop and it cost him much in bribes to save them from jail. He had another taste of their quality at Las Palmas, where they made trouble with the port guards and Brown brawled in the cheap wine shops behind the cathedral. In fact, it was some relief when the captain fell off the steam tram that runs between town and port, and a cut on his head stopped his adventures.

Then they steamed for fourteen-hundred miles before the Northeast Trades, with a misty blue sky overhead and long, white-topped seas rolling up astern. The Trade breeze was cool and bracing, but they lost it near the coast, and now the air was hot and strangely heavy. One felt languid and cheerfulness cost an effort. The men had begun to grumble and Lister was glad the voyage was nearly over and it was time to get to work.

Lightning flickered on the sea, touching the back of the smooth swell, and then for a few moments left all very dark. The moon was new, the sky was cloudy, and the swell ran high, for it rolled, unbroken and gathering momentum, from the Antarctic ice. When the lightning was bright, one saw a low cloud that looked like steam, with a white streak beneath that marked the impact of the big rollers on the sandy coast. The crash of breakers came out of the dark, like the rattle of a goods train crossing an iron bridge.

“Four fathoms at spring tides, and a shifting channel!” Brown remarked, quoting from a pilot-book. “The depth, however, varies with the wind, and a stranger must use caution when entering the lagoon.” He stopped, and laughed as he resumed: “If this was a sober undertaking I’d steam off and wait for daylight.”

“I reckon it would be prudent,” said Lister dryly.

“We have nothing to do with prudence,” Brown rejoined. “Our job’s to work in a sun that knocks a white man down, and stew in the hot malaria damp the land breeze brings off at night. Cartwright’s orders are to lose no time and I want to finish before the fever finishes me. Very well! When the moon is new, high-water’s at twelve o’clock, and along this coast sunset’s about six hours later. If we wait for noon-to-morrow, it will be four or five o’clock before we get on board the wreck–I understand the tide doesn’t leave her until about four hours’ ebb. If we push across the bar to-night, we’ll see her at daybreak and can make our plans for getting to work.”

Lister agreed. Expenses were heavy and it was important they should not lose a day. Moreover, Cartwright had hinted that he expected them to run risks, and Lister had promised Barbara to help him out. If Brown touched bottom steaming in, tug and barge would soon break up; but Lister was not going to be daunted.

“I’ll go down and raise some extra steam,” he said. “You’ll need full pressure to shove her through the surf.”

He was occupied for some time, but when a plume of steam blew from the escape-pipe he came up to the door and looked about. _Terrier’s_ languid roll was getting sharper; mast and funnel swung into a wide sweep. Sometimes the dark hull lurched up high above the tug’s stern, and sometimes sank in a hollow. The rollers had angry white tops, and a belt of filmy vapor that looked luminous closed the view ahead. Lister knew the vapor was phosphorescent spray, flung up by the turmoil on the bar, through which they must go. If the tug struck and stopped, the white seas would beat her down into the sand. In the meantime, she was using full steam, because, since tide and surf carried her on, one must have speed to steer.

The spray cloud got thick, and wavered with luminous tremblings when the long rollers broke. They came up, spangled with green and gold flashes, from astern, shook their fiery crests about the tug, and vanished ahead, but one heard them crash. Lister thought the tug throbbed to the savage concussion. He could not hear his engines; one heard nothing but the daunting uproar.

By and by he felt a shock; not a violent shock, but as if the boat had touched, and was pushing through, something soft. She slowed and Lister saw the black hulk swing up and ride forward on a giant roller’s top. It looked as if she were coming on board the tug, and Lister jumped through and slammed the iron door. Brown would need him now.

He heard the roar of water on deck, there was a crash of broken glass, and a shower fell on his head. A cloud of steam and a loud hissing came from the stokehold, and he knew the sea that swept the tug had covered the gratings. If she stuck, the next sea would swamp her and drown the fires, but she had not altogether stopped. The propeller was beating hard and he opened the throttle wide. He felt her move and tremble, as if she struggled in the grip of the sand, and then lift buoyantly. The water that pressed her down had rolled off the deck and the oncoming comber had picked her up and was carrying her along.

Her progress was obvious. One felt the headlong rush, and Lister thought about a toboggan speeding down an icy slope. The roller would bear her on until it broke, but if she struck the sand she might not lift again. She did not strike; there was another wild leap forward, a savage plunge, and a comber crashed astern. It looked as if she had crossed the shoal and Lister let go the wheel and got his breath. He had used no effort, but he gasped and his hand shook.

The gong signaled _half-speed_, and when he slowed his engines the roar of escaping steam pierced the turmoil of the surf. This was significant, because he could not have heard the steam a few minutes earlier. _Terrier_ rolled, but the rolling was not violent and began to get easy. The gong signaled _stand by, stop_; he shut the valve and presently heard the anchor plunge and the rattle of running chain. Then _Terrier_ swung languidly and all was quiet but for the monotonous rumble in the background. Lister gave some orders and went to his room.

In the morning, he put a greasy jacket over his pajamas and went on deck. The land breeze had dropped and it was very calm. Vague trees loomed in the fog that hid the beach; there was a belt of dull, heaving water, and then the spray cloud closed the view. The air was heavy, the men on deck moved slackly, and Lister’s skin was wet by sweat. He felt dull and shrank from effort, but when he saw Brown in a boat alongside he jumped on board.

The light was getting brighter and the wreck lay about a hundred yards off. The stump of her broken funnel, a bare iron mast, a smashed deckhouse, and a strip of slanted side rose from the languid swell. The rows of plates were red with rust and encrusted by shells. When the smooth undulations sank, long weed swung about in the sandy water. Lister thought the story of the wreck was, on the surface, plain. Steaming out with a heavy load, _Arcturus_ had struck the bar. The surf had beaten in her hatches, broken some plates, and afterwards washed her back across the sand. Then, while the captain tried to reach the beach, she had sunk in deeper water. The story was plausible, but, if Cartwright had found the proper clew, it did not account for all.

They rowed round _Arcturus_. She lay with a sharp list and her other side was under water. The tide was beginning to rise and when it crept up her slanted deck they pulled back to the tug.

“We’ll moor the hulk alongside and rig the diving pumps. I think that’s all to-day,” Brown remarked. “When the sun is low I’ll go to the factory up the creek and try to hire some native boys. On this coast, a white man who does heavy work soon gets fever.”

In the afternoon they took two men and rowed up a muddy creek that flowed into the lagoon, but the factory was farther than they thought and when they landed dusk was falling. The white-washed wooden house stood near the bank, with a stockaded compound between it and the water. It was built on piles and at the top of the outside stairs a veranda ran along the front. The compound was tunneled by land-crabs’ holes, and light mist crept about the giant cotton woods behind. There was no movement of air, a sickly smell rose from the creek, and all was very damp.

Lister and Brown went up the stairs and were received by a white man in a big damp room. A lamp hung from a beam and the light touched the patches of mildew on the discolored walls. There was not much furniture; a few canvas chairs, a desk and a table. Flies crawled about the table and hovered in a black swarm round the lamp. The room smelt of palm oil and river mud. The white man was young, but his face was haggard and he looked worn. His rather long hair was wet and his duck jacket was dirty. It was obvious that he did not bother about his clothes.

“Good of you to look me up! I expect you know I’m Montgomery; the house is Montgomery and Raeburn,” he said. “However, to begin with, you had better have a drink. I’ll call my boy.”

A negro came in and got a bottle and some glasses. He was a strongly-built fellow with a blue stripe on his forehead, and muscular arms and chest, but his legs, which stuck out from short cotton trousers, were ridiculously thin. He beat up some frothy liquor in a jug and when he filled the big glasses Lister felt disturbed, for he knew Brown and had noted the quantity of gin the negro used. The captain, however, was cautious and they began to talk. Lister asked Montgomery if he carried on the factory alone.

“I’m doing so for a time. My clerk died two or three weeks since and I haven’t got another yet.”

“Fever?” said Brown.

“Common malaria. Perhaps this spot is worse than others, because, although we’re beginning to kill mosquitos and poison the drains, we can’t keep English boys. The last two didn’t hold out six months.”

Lister got thoughtful. He knew the African coast was unhealthy, but had not imagined it was as bad as this. He said nothing and Montgomery resumed: “I have been forced to lie up and am shaky yet. Malaria gets us all, but as a rule it gets strangers, particularly the young, soonest. Looks as if the microbe liked fresh blood.”

“If I was an African merchant, I’d let an agent run my factories,” Brown remarked.

Montgomery smiled. “Sometimes it’s necessary for me to come out. This factory is perhaps our best, and when Nevis, our agent, died, I started by the first boat. Montgomery’s is an old house, but since the big men combined and the Amalgamation built a factory on the next creek, we have had some trouble to pull along. Our capital is small and we can’t use up-to-date methods. In fact, I imagine our situation is much like Cartwright’s. When he bought the wreck he no doubt felt some strain. But won’t you take another drink?”

Brown indicated his glass, which still held some liquor, and Lister refused politely. He noted that Montgomery knew their object and was surprised, since he thought Cartwright had not talked much about the undertaking. Then, although Montgomery was obviously ill, one felt he tried to paint the coast in the darkest colors.

“What do you think about our job?” Brown asked.

“I think it a rash experiment and imagine Cartwright agrees. All the same, the old fellow’s a bold gambler and is perhaps willing to speculate on the chance of getting out of his embarrassments. However, this is his business and you’ll, no doubt, get your wages, although you won’t float the wreck.”

“What do you reckon the obstacles?”

“Fever,” said Montgomery dryly. “The salvage people lost some men. Surf will wash the sand about her, if the wind comes fresh from the south-east. Then the sharks may give you some trouble. They’re nearly as numerous as they are at Lagos Roads.” He paused and added carelessly: “I expect you know my father loaded _Arcturus_?”

“I heard something about it,” Brown replied. “All the same, Cartwright sent us to lift her and we have got to try. Will you let me hire some of your factory boys?”

“Sorry, but they’re Liberian Kroos, engaged on a twelve-months’ contract to work in my compound, and I’m accountable for them to the Liberian government.”

“Then what about boys from the bush?”

Montgomery smiled. “I can’t recommend the bushmen. They’re a turbulent lot, but you might send a present to the headman at the native town up river, and it’s possible he’ll let you go to see him. For all that, some caution’s indicated. The fellow’s a cunning old rascal.”

Brown looked thoughtful, but began to talk about something else and by and by got up. Montgomery went with him and Lister to the steps and when they reached the compound they found the sailors bemused with gin under the veranda. Brown had some trouble to get the men on board, and when they awkwardly pulled away Lister was conscious of relief.

“I agree with the fellow. Caution _is_ indicated,” Brown observed.

CHAPTER III

A FUEL PROBLEM

A few days after his visit to the factory, Lister sat one morning under a tarpaulin they had stretched across the hulk. The paint on the canvas smelt as if it burned, but the awning gave some shade and one could not front the sun on the open deck. The sea breeze had not sprung up and dazzling reflections played about the oily surface of the swell. In one place, where the shadow of the wreck fell, the water was a cool, dull green.

A row of bubbles slowly crossed the belt of shade, stopped and made a frothy patch, and then lengthened out. A flexible pipe slipped across the edge of the open gangway, and Lister felt the line he held. The line was slack and he knew the diver needed nothing. Two half-naked men, their skins shining with sweat, turned the air-pumps handles, and the rattle of the cranks cut the dull rumble of the surf. Brown, sitting on a tool-box, studied a plan of the wreck Cartwright had given him, and Lister thought it typical Cartwright had got the plan. The old fellow was very keen.

By and by Brown looked up and indicated the panting men.

“We want colored boys for this job and must get a gang. I expect you noted Montgomery declared his lot were Kroos. The Kroos are hefty boys and pretty good sailors, but they come from Liberia and there are regulations about their employment. You must engage them on a contract, hold yourself accountable for their return and so forth. All the same my notion is, Montgomery didn’t mean to help.”

“Then we had better try the native headman he talked about.”

Brown smiled, “I’ve no use for bushmen, but didn’t see much use in telling Montgomery I’d been on the Coast before. For one thing, his boys were not all Kroos. You know the Kroo by his blue forehead-stripe, but I saw two or three with another mark. Thought them Gold Coast Fantis, and a Fanti fisherman is useful on board ship. In a day or two I’m going back to see.”

Lister lighted his pipe and weighed the captain’s remarks. On the whole, he agreed that it did not look as if Montgomery meant to help. The fellow was hospitable, but hospitality that implied his pressing liquor on the captain and making the sailors drunk had drawbacks. Brown had used control, but Lister doubted if his resolution would stand much strain. Then, although Montgomery’s story about the need for his being on the spot was plausible, it was, perhaps, strange the head of a merchant house would stop for some time at a factory where his clerks died. However, now Lister thought about it, Montgomery did not state if he had been there long.

“The fellow was generous with his liquor and his boy can mix a cocktail,” he remarked.

Brown grinned. “On the Coast, they’re all generous with liquor. Montgomery knows this; but I’ve a notion you are wondering whether he knows me. I reckon not, but he knows the kind of skipper you generally meet in the palm oil trade. Still the type’s going out; now ship-owners pay higher, they get better men. In fact, I’m something of a survival from the old school.”

He picked up the plan and Lister thought about Montgomery. The man was ill and highly-strung, but this was not strange. The factory was rather a daunting spot; reeking with foul smells and haunted by a sense of gloom. Lister thought one might get morbid and imaginative if one stopped there long. Yet he rather liked Montgomery; there was something attractive about him. Perhaps if they had met in brighter surroundings, when the other’s health and mood were normal, they might have been friends. Now, however, he doubted and saw Brown was not satisfied.

The line he held jerked and he signed to the men at the pump. One kept the cranks turning; the other went to the top of a ladder lashed to the hulk’s side. The bubbles moved away from the wreck and broke the surface in a fixed, sparkling patch. The diver was coming up and Lister presently helped him on board. When they had taken off his copper helmet and unfastened his canvas he leaned against the pump and breathed hard.

“Well?” said Brown, after waiting a minute or two for the man to get back his normal breathing.

“She lies with a sharp list; sand’s high up her starboard bilge. Engine-room doors jambed, but I found the stokehold grating and got some way down the ladder. Sand’s washed down and buried the starboard bunkers. To clear out the stuff will be a long job.”

“Packed hard?”

The diver nodded. “Like cement! I reckon the pump won’t move it.”

Lister understood the captain’s frown. Sometimes the sand that enters a sunken vessel solidifies, with the pressure of surf or tide, into a mass that one can hardly dig out. This, however, was not all.

“Starboard bunkers buried?” Brown resumed. “They were pretty full. When she left Forcados she had a list to port, and they trimmed her by using the coal on that side first. Well, it’s awkward! I reckoned on getting the fuel!”

“There is some coal on the port side,” said Lister.

“If Cartwright’s plan and notes are accurate, there’s not enough to see us out. The wrecking pump will burn a lot,” Brown rejoined and turned to the diver. “Did you see any sharks?”

“One big fellow; he hung about as if he was curious and I didn’t like him near my air-pipe, but he left me alone. The pulps you meet in warm seas are worse than sharks. When I was down at the Spanish boat, crawling through the holes in her broken hull was nervous work. Once I saw an arm as thick as mine waving in the dark, and started for the ladder. We blew in that piece of her bilge with dynamite before I went on board again. However, when I’ve cleared up a bit, I’ll take Mr. Lister down.”

The diver got into the boat and rowed to the tug, but the others stopped in the shade of the awning. They had brought a spare diving dress, and before they tried to lift the wreck Lister must find out if Cartwright’s supposition was correct, because if Cartwright had found the proper clew the job would be easier. For all that, Lister frankly shrank from the preparatory exercise. Diving in shark-haunted water had not much charm.

In the morning they hauled the tug alongside the wreck and at low-water rigged a derrick and opened the fore hatch. The palm kernels had rotted and a horrible pulpy mass, swollen by fermentation, rose nearly to the ledge. It was glutinous and too thick for the pump to lift, since the water that filled the vessel drained away through the broken plates as the tide sank. Brown, kneeling on the hatch-coaming, knitted his brows.

“The stuff’s water-borne, forced up by its buoyancy,” he said. “We may find it looser as we get down. In the meantime, suction’s no use; we have got to break it out by hand. Start your winch and we’ll fill the skip.”

Lister signaled a man on board the tug, the winch rattled, and a big iron bucket, hanging by a wire rope, dropped into the hold. A gang of men climbed across the ledge and began to cut the slimy mass with spades. The surface heaved beneath them like a treacherous bog and the smell was horrible. Now and then a spade made an opening for the gases to escape and the nauseated men were driven back. For all that, they filled the skip and the swinging derrick carried the load across the deck and tilted it overboard.

The heat was almost unbearable, the reflections from the oily swell and wet deck hurt one’s eyes, and Lister noted that the deck did not dry until the sea breeze began to blow. The wind brought a faint coolness and drove back the smell, but the men’s efforts presently got slack. The labor was exhausting and one must wear some clothes because the sun burned one’s skin. They held out until the rising water drove them from the hatch and when they went back to the tug Brown looked thoughtful.

“The men can’t keep it up; the thing’s impossible! A week like this would knock out the lot,” he said. “We must use native boys and I’m going to get some.”

In the morning Lister took his first diving lesson, and when the big copper helmet was screwed on and the air began to swell his canvas clothes, he shrank from the experiment. The load of metal he carried was crushing, he could hardly drag his weighted boots across the deck, and at the top of the ladder he hesitated, watching the bubbles that marked the spot where the diver had vanished. Then he remembered his promise to Barbara and cautiously went down.

The dazzling sunshine vanished, a wave of misty green closed above the helmet glass, hot compressed air blew about his head, and his ear-drums began to throb. Then lead and copper lost their weight; he felt buoyant and clung to the steps. At the bottom he was for a few moments afraid to let go, but an indistinct, monstrous object came out of the strange green gloom and beckoned him on. Lister went, making an effort for balance, because he now felt ridiculously light. Then the reflections were puzzling, for the light came and went with the rise and fall of the swell. Yet he could see and he followed the diver until they stopped opposite the wreck’s port bilge. Her side went up like a dark wall, covered by waving weed.

Lister’s head ached and his breathing was labored, but not much pressure was needed to keep out the shallow water and the diver had promised to warn him when they had stayed long enough. He forced himself to examine the plate the other indicated. _Arcturus_ was a butt-strapped vessel and a number of the straps had burst. Plates were smashed and some of the holes were large, but in places the iron was drilled and in others patches had been bolted on. The salvage company had done part of this work and he thought it possible to make the damage good. If they could stop the remaining holes, the big pump ought to throw out the water; but Cartwright had talked about another opening and this would be awkward to reach.

Signing the diver to go on, he followed him round the vessel’s stern. The sand on the other side was high and one could climb on board, but Lister shrank from the dark alleyway that led to the engine-room. For all that, he went in and saw the diver had opened the jambed door. When he reached the ledge a flash from the other’s electric lamp pierced the gloom and he tried to forget his throbbing head and looked about.

Sparkling bubbles from his and the diver’s helmets floated straight up to the skylights, along which they glided and vanished through a hole in the glass. The water, moving gently with the pulse of the swell, broke the beam of light and objects it touched were distorted and magnified. The top of the big low-pressure cylinder looked gigantic, and the thick columns appeared to bend. Long weed clung to the platforms, from which iron ladders went down, but so far as Lister could distinguish, all below was buried in sand.

He had seen enough. To clear the engines would be a heavy task, and one must work in semi-darkness amidst a maze of ladders, gratings, and machinery. To keep signal-line and air-pipe free from entanglement looked impossible, but perhaps when they had broken the surface the pump would lift the sand. Anyhow, he was getting dizzy and his breath was labored.

He touched the diver and they went back along the alleyway and round the vessel’s stern. Lister was desperately anxious to reach the ladder and it cost him an effort to use control. As he went up his dress got heavy and he was conscious of his weighted boots. The pressure on his lungs lessened, he was dazzled by a strong light, and feeling the edge of the hulk’s deck, he got his knee on her covering-board and lurched forward. Somebody took off his helmet and lifted the weight from his chest. He shut his eyes and for a few moments lay on the deck.

“Well?” said Brown presently. “You reached the engine-room?”

Lister nodded. “She’s badly sanded up. It’s plain we shan’t get much coal from the starboard bunkers until we can lift her to an even keel.”

“That will be long,” Brown rejoined and pondered. “We must have coal,” he resumed. “If I can’t find another plan, you must take the tug to Sierra Leone and bring a load; but we’ll let it go just now. The first thing is to hire some negro laborers, and as soon as I can leave the wreck I’ll try again.”

CHAPTER IV

MONTGOMERY’S OFFER

High-water was near and a trail of smoke, creeping up along the coast, streaked the shining sea. Brown watched the smoke until two masts and a funnel rose out of the vapor and began to get distinct. Then he put down his glasses and lighted his pipe. The steamer was making for the lagoon.

He had not long since gone to the native town up the creek and returned with a gang of laborers. So far, the negroes had worked well, but just now he did not need them and they lay about in the shade, some wearing a short waist-cloth and some a sheet of cotton that hung from their shoulders. The tide had covered the wreck, but the big rotary pump was running and, since the men had loosened the top of the cargo, it lifted the slimy stuff.

A plume of steam that looked faint and diaphanous in the strong light blew away from the noisy machine. A large flexible pipe rose from the submerged hold and another ran from the pump across the hulk’s deck. From the end of the pipe a thick, brown flood poured into the water and stained the green lagoon as the flood tide carried it along. The clash and rattle of the engine carried far, for the load was heavy and Lister was using full steam. The boiler was large and the furnace burned more coal than he had thought. Sometimes palm kernels that had not altogether rotted jambed the fans, and he held the valve-wheel, trying to ease the shocks, while the perspiration dripped from his blistered skin. When Brown indicated the steamer he looked up.

“She’s coming in; I think I know the hooker,” the captain remarked. “Shallow-draught, coasting tank; goes anywhere she’ll float for twenty tons of freight. The skipper, no doubt, expects Montgomery’s got a few hogsheads of oil, and it’s possible he’ll sell us some coal. The parcels-vanners are pretty keen to trade.”

“We want coal,” said Lister and turned abruptly.

The pump jarred and stopped, the swollen suction pipe shrank, and the splash of the discharge died away. For some time Lister was occupied and when he restarted the engine and looked about again the steamer was steering for the hulk. She was a small vessel, going light, with much of her rusty side above water. A big surf-boat hung, ready for lowering, at her rail and a wooden awning covered her bridge-deck. When the throb of her engines slackened two or three white men leaned over her bulwarks and looked down at the hulk with languid curiosity. Their faces were haggard and their poses slack. The stamp of the fever-coast was plain.

The telegraph rang, the engines stopped, and a man on the bridge shouted: “Good morning! You have taken on an awkward job!”

His voice was hollow and strained, and by contrast Brown’s sounded full and hearty.

“We’re getting ahead all the same. Where are you for?”

“_Sar_ Leone, after we call at Montgomery’s.”

“Then you can fill your bunkers, and our coal’s getting short. Can you sell us some?”

The other asked how much Brown wanted and how much he would pay. Then he beckoned a man on the deck to come up, and turned to Brown again.

“We might give you two or three surf-boat loads, but I’ll see you when we come back. We must get up the creek and moor her before the tide ebbs.”

He seized the telegraph handle, the propeller began to turn, and when the steamer forged ahead Brown looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps I’d better take a trip up the creek in the evening. We want the coal and I don’t altogether trust Montgomery,” he said.

Lister agreed that it might be prudent for Brown to go, but he was occupied by the pump and they said no more. To lift the cargo when the water covered the wreck’s hatches and loosened the pulpy mass was easier and he must keep his engine running full speed. When they stopped he was exhausted by the heat and the strain of watching and did not go with Brown.

The captain did not, as he had promised, come back in the morning, but after a time a smoke-trail streaked the forest and the steamer moved out on the lagoon. Lister sent a boy for the glasses, since he expected Brown was on board, but so far as he could see, the captain was not. The white wave at the bows indicated that the vessel was steaming fast and it did not look as if she was going to stop. In order to reach the channel across the bar, she must pass near the hulk, and Lister waved to the captain.

“What about the coal?” he shouted.

The other leaned out from the rails and Lister, studying him with the glasses, saw a small patch, like sticking plaster, on his forehead. The side of his face was discolored, as if it were bruised, and frowning savagely, he shook his fist.

“You can go to _Sar_ Leone or the next hottest spot for your coal!” he roared and began to storm.

Lister had sometimes disputed with Western railroad hands and marine firemen, but he thought the captain’s remarks equaled the others’ best efforts. In fact, it was some relief when a lump of coal, thrown by a sailor on the hulk, crashed upon the wooden awning, and for a moment the savage skipper paused. For all that, Lister stopped the sailor, who was going to throw another block.

“Hold on! The stuff is valuable!” he said.

The captain began again, but the steamer had forged ahead, and his voice got fainter and was presently drowned by the beat of the screw. Lister went back to the pump. The machine was running unevenly and sometimes the powerful engine jarred. He meant to take it down, but so long as the pump sucked up the kernels he durst not stop. Speed was important; they must finish the job and get away before the heat and malaria wore them out. In the meantime, he was disturbed about Brown, who ought to have returned, and at sunset he started for the factory in the tug’s second boat.

Dark came suddenly and when he landed a hot, clammy fog thickened the gloom. Little fires the factory boys had lighted by ancient custom twinkled in the haze and a yellow beam from the veranda windows touched the towering cottonwoods, but all else was dark and the spot was somehow forbidding. One felt the gloom was sinister. A few miles up the creek, the naked bushmen served their savage gods with fantastic rites and the Ju-Ju men and Ghost Leopards ruled the shadowy land. At the factory white men got sick and died.

Lister went up the steps, and entering the big room, saw Montgomery in a Madeira chair. His face was wet by sweat, but although his thin form was covered by a blanket he shook with ague. Brown occupied a rude couch, made from two long boxes in which flintlock guns are shipped. He lay in an ungainly pose, his head had fallen from a cushion, and his face was dark with blood. His eyes were shut and he breathed with a snoring noise.

“What’s the matter with the captain?” Lister asked, although he thought he knew.

“He’s exhausted by his efforts and the worse for liquor,” Montgomery answered with a laugh. “On the whole, I think you had better let him sleep. Perhaps you remarked that some of the glass is broken and two of my chairs are smashed!”

Lister had not remarked this, but he looked about and began to understand. He had seen Brown throw a Spanish landlord out of a Grand Canary wine shop.

“Your captain arrived when the steamboat men were dining with me,” Montgomery resumed. “In this country we’re a hospitable lot and it’s the custom to send West African factories a supply of liquor every three months. Mine arrived not long since, and if you open the cupboard you’ll see how much is left. But there are cigarettes in the tin box; they mildew unless they’re canned. Make yourself a cocktail. I don’t want to get up and my boy’s in the compound, playing a drum to keep off the ghosts.”

Lister lighted a cigarette and listened. A monotonous, rhythmic throb stole into the room, and he felt there was something about the noise that jarred.

“I’ll cut out the cocktail. You’re rather generous with your liquor,” he remarked dryly. “But how did the trouble Brown made begin?”

“By a dispute about some coal.”

“Ah!” said Lister, who looked at Montgomery hard.

He imagined the steamboat captain had meant to give them coal, since the man had agreed with Brown about the price. In fact, it looked as if he had been willing to do so, until he arrived at the factory. Then he refused, and Brown, no doubt, got savage.

Montgomery was not embarrassed and indicated the unconscious skipper.

“If Cartwright’s not losing his keenness, it’s strange he sent out a man like this, but perhaps he couldn’t get a sober captain to go.”

“Brown has some talents. For example, he got the boys we wanted, although you refused to help.”

“We must see if he can keep them!” Montgomery rejoined, with a meaning smile. “In the meantime, it’s not important. Are you making much progress at the wreck?”

Lister admitted that they were not getting on as fast as he had hoped, and when Montgomery gave him a keen glance tried to brace himself. He felt slack and his head ached. He had been getting slack recently, and now, when he imagined he must be alert, to think was a bother.

“You have not been long at the lagoon, but you’re beginning to feel the climate,” the other remarked. “It’s perhaps the unhealthiest spot on an unhealthy coast, and a white man cannot work in the African sun. However, you know why the salvage company threw up their contract. They lost a number of their men and if you stay until the morning you can see their graves. The rest of the gang had had enough and were too sick to keep the pump running.”

“You are not encouraging,” Lister observed.

“I don’t exaggerate. I know the country and the caution one must use, but you see I’m ill.”

The thing was obvious. Montgomery’s hollow face was wet by sweat, his eyes were dull, and his hands shook. Lister saw he tried to be cool, but thought him highly strung.

“If you’re wise, you’ll give up your post and get away before fever knocks you out,” Montgomery resumed. “In fact, I think I can promise you another berth. The house owns two or three factories and at one we are going to start a big oil-launch running to a native market up river. Then we have bought new machinery for breaking palm nuts and extracting the kernels and have fixed a site for the building at a dry, sandy spot. I don’t claim the neighborhood’s healthy, but it’s healthier than this, and we have inquired about an engineer. Would you like the post?”

“I think not. I’m Cartwright’s man. I’ve taken his pay.”

Montgomery smiled ironically. “Let’s be frank! I expect you want to force me to make a high bid. You don’t know the African coast yet, but you’re not a fool and are beginning to understand the job you have undertaken. You can’t float the wreck; the fellow Cartwright sent to help you is a drunken brute, and I have grounds for thinking Cartwright, himself, will soon go broke. Well, we need an engineer and I’ll admit we have not found good men keen about applying. If you can run the launch and palm-nut plant, we’ll give you two hundred pounds bonus for breaking your engagement, besides better wages than Cartwright pays.”

Lister knitted his brows and lighted a fresh cigarette. He was not tempted, but he wanted to think and his brain was dull. To begin with, he wondered whether Montgomery did not think him something of a fool, because it was plain the fellow had grounds for offering a bribe. His doing so indicated that he did not want the wreck floated. Anyhow, Montgomery had imagined he would not hesitate to break his engagement for two hundred pounds. He must be cautious and control his anger.

“On the whole, it wouldn’t pay me to turn down Cartwright’s job,” he said. “Two hundred pounds is not a very big wad, and if we can take the boat home I reckon the salvage people would give me a good post. I must wait until I’m satisfied the thing’s impossible.”

“When you are satisfied I’ll have no object for engaging you. We want an engineer now,” Montgomery replied.

“Well,” said Lister, “I reckon that is so.” He paused, and thinking he saw where the other led, resolved to make an experiment. “All the same, since you are willing to buy me off, it looks as if we had a fighting chance to make good. Then, if I am forced to quit, I rather think you’d pay me something not to talk. For example, if I put Cartwright wise–“

Montgomery gave him a scornful smile. “You’re keener than I thought, but you can’t tell Cartwright much he doesn’t believe he knows. I’ll risk your talking to somebody else.”

“Oh, well,” said Lister, “I guess we’ll let it go. In the meantime, I’ll get off and take the captain along. I allow you have fixed him pretty good but he put his mark on the steamboat man and your furniture.”

He called the sailors, and finding the two who had brought Brown to the factory, carried him downstairs and put him on board the boat. The captain snored heavily and did not awake. When they pushed off, and with the other boat in tow drifted down the creek, Lister pondered.

He did not know if he had well played his part, but he had not wanted Montgomery to think his staunchness to his employer must be reckoned on; he would sooner the fellow thought him something of a fool. When Montgomery offered the bribe he probably knew he was rash; his doing so indicated that he was willing to run some risk, and this implied that Cartwright’s supposition about the wreck was justified. Montgomery was obviously resolved she should not be floated and might be a troublesome antagonist. For example, he had stopped their getting coal and Lister was persuaded he had made Brown drunk. If the control the captain had so far used broke down, it would be awkward, since Montgomery would no doubt supply him with liquor.

It was plain the fellow meant to bother them as much as possible, but since he had not owned the wrecked steamer his object was hard to see. In the meantime, Lister let it go and concentrated on steering the boat past the mud banks in the creek.

CHAPTER V

MONTGOMERY USES HIS POWER

Some time after Lister went to the factory he woke one night from disturbed sleep. His small room under _Terrier’s_ bridge was very hot and the door and port were open. A faint draught blew in and the mosquito curtain moved about his bed. The tug rolled languidly and the water splashed against her side. Farther off the gentle swell broke with a dull murmur across the wreck.

This was all, but Lister was persuaded he had, when half awake, heard something else. At dusk a drum had begun to beat across the lagoon and the faint monotonous noise had jarred. It was typically African; the negroes used drums for signaling, although white men had not found out their code. Lister had come to hate all that belonged to the fever coast.

The drum, however, was not beating now, and he rather thought he had heard the splash of a canoe paddle. There was no obvious reason this should bother him, but he was bothered and after a few minutes got up and put on a thin jacket. On deck it was very hot and he felt the warmth of the iron plates through his slippers. In West Africa one puts on slippers as soon as one gets out of bed, for fear of the jigger insect that bores into one’s foot. A gentle land breeze blew across the lagoon and the air was hot and damp like steam. Lister smelt river mud and aromatic forest.

There was no moon, but he saw the dark hull rise and fall, and the flash of phosphorescent foam where the swell washed across the deck. In the distance, the surf rumbled and now and then there was a peal of thunder. Lister wondered why he had left his berth. He was tired and needed sleep, for he had been occupied all day at the pump, which was not running well. Recently he had been conscious of a nervous strain and things that were not important annoyed him; then he often woke at night, feeling that some danger threatened.

Walking along the deck he found a white sailor sitting on the windlass drum. The man did not move until Lister touched his arm.

“Did you hear something not very long since, Watson?”

“No, sir,” said the other with a start. “Now and then a fish splashed and she got her cable across the stem. Links rattled. That was all.”

Lister thought the man had slept, but it was not important, since there was no obvious necessity for keeping anchor watch.

“Did you hear something, sir?” the other inquired.

“I don’t know. I imagine I did!”

The sailor laughed, as if he understood. “A queer country; I’ve been here before! Beautiful, bits of it; shining surf, yellow sands, and palms, but it plays some funny tricks with white men. About half of them at the factories get addled brains if they stay long. Believe in things the bushmen believe, ghosts and magic, and such. Perhaps it’s the climate, but on this coast you get fancies you get nowhere else. I’d sooner take look-out on the fo’cas’le in a North Sea gale than keep anchor watch in an African calm.”

Lister nodded. He thought the man felt lonely and wanted to talk and he sympathized. There was something insidious and daunting about the African coast. He walked round the deck and then returning to his room presently went to sleep.

At daybreak he heard angry voices and going out found Brown storming about the deck. Two white sailors had come back in the boat from the hulk, with the news that the negroes berthed on board her had vanished in the night, except for three or four whom the sailors had brought to the tug. When Brown got cooler he went up to the men who squatted tranquilly on the hatch. They were big muscular fellows and wore, instead of the usual piece of cotton, ragged duck clothes.

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” Brown asked.

“No savvy, sah,” said one. “Some fella put them t’ing Ju-Ju on him and he lib for bush.”

“What’s a Ju-Ju?” Lister inquired.

“Hocus-pocus, magic of a sort,” the captain growled. “When a white man knows much about Ju-Ju his proper place is an asylum.” He turned to the boys. “How did them other fellows go?”

“No savvy, sah. We done hear not’ing.”

“I expect they were afraid to meddle,” Brown remarked, and resumed: “Why did you lib for stop?”

“We Accra boy; white man’s boy. Them bushman him d–n fool too much. Run in bush like monkey, without him clo’es.”

Brown knitted his brows and then made a sign of resignation. “I reckon it’s all we’ll know! Well, the tide’s falling and we must shift for some kernels before the sun is hot. Better start your pump.”

The pump was soon at work, and Lister, watching the engine, mused. He wondered how much the Accra boys knew, or if it was possible the others had stolen away without waking them. Watson, the look-out, had heard nothing, and Lister remembered Brown’s remarks about the Ju-Ju and thought the boys did know something but were afraid to tell. Watson had said the country was queer, and if he meant fantastic, Lister agreed. There was something about it that re-acted strangely on one’s imagination. In the North American wilds, one was, so to speak, a materialist and conquered savage Nature by using well-known rules. In Africa one did not know the rules and felt the power of the supernatural. It looked as if there was a mysterious, malignant force. But the pump was running badly and Lister saw he must not philosophize.

When the sun got hot he stopped for breakfast and afterwards he and Brown smoked for a few minutes under the awning.

“I’m bothered about the boys’ going,” the captain declared. “There’s not much doubt Montgomery got somebody to put Ju-Ju on them; bribed a magician to frighten them by a trick. Since they’re a superstitious lot, I reckon we can’t hire another gang in this neighborhood. However, now he’s stopped our coal, you’ll have to go to _Sar_ Leone, and may pick up some British Kroos about the port.”

“Then I’d better go soon,” said Lister. “The braces I bolted on the pump won’t hold long; she rocks and strains the shaft when she’s running hard. I must get a proper casting made at a foundry. Besides, the engine crosshead’s worn and jumps about. I must try to find a forge and machine-shop.”

“They’ve got something of the kind at _Sar_ Leone; I don’t know about a foundry,” Brown replied. “Take Learmont to navigate, and start when you like. We’ll shift the hulk to leeward of the wreck and she ought to ride out a south-east breeze.”

Lister sailed a few days afterwards, and reaching Sierra Leone found nobody could make the articles he required. For all that, they must be got, and he resolved to push on for Grand Canary. The distance was long, he had not men enough for an ocean voyage, and would be lucky if he got back to the lagoon in three or four weeks, but if he could not mend the pump, the salvage work must stop. Lister knew when to run a risk was justified.

After he passed the Gambier, wind and sea were ahead, his crew was short, and he was hard pressed to keep the engine going and watch the furnaces. He slept when he could, in snatches, with his clothes on, and now and then used an exhausted fireman’s shovel On the steamy African coast the labor and watchfulness would have worn him out, but the cool Trade breeze was bracing. Although he was thin, and got thinner, the lassitude he had felt at the lagoon vanished, and the fatigue he fought against was not the fatigue that kills.

In the meantime, _Terrier_ pushed stubbornly north across the long, foam-tipped seas that broke in clouds of spray against her thrusting bows. She was swept by the sparkling showers, but the showers were warm, and the combers were not often steep enough to flood her deck. For all that, their impact slowed her speed. She must be driven through their tumbling crests, full steam was needed to overcome the shock, and the worn-out men moved down coal from the stack on deck to feed the hungry fires.

Lister’s eyes ached from the glare of smoky lamps that threw puzzling lights about the machinery. After long balancing on slanted platforms, his back and legs were sore; his brows were knit in a steady frown, and his mouth was always firm. When the strain was over, he sometimes wondered what he thought about in the long, exhausting watches, but remembered nothing except his obstinate concentration on his task. The strange thing was, he did not think much about Barbara, although he was vaguely conscious that, for her sake, he must hold out. He meant to hold out. Perhaps his talents were not numerous, but he could handle engines, and when it was necessary he could keep awake.

At length, Learmont called him one morning to the bridge, and he leaned slackly against the rails. His eyes were dull, and for some hours he had breathed the fumes of burning tallow. A slide had given him trouble; he could keep the metal cool. On the bridge, however, the air was keen and sweet, and he felt the contrast. _Terrier_ plunged and threw the spray about, but the seas were short, as if something ahead broke the wind. By and by Learmont indicated a lofty bank of mist.

“Teneriffe!” he said. “I was half-asleep when I took the sun, but my reckoning was not very far out.”

Lister looked up. In the distance a sharp white cone, rising from fleecy vapor, cut the sky, and Lister, with dull satisfaction, knew the famous peak. Nearer the tug was another bank of mist, that looked strangely solid but ragged, as if it were wrapped about something with a broken outline. Some minutes afterwards a high, dark object like a mountain-top, loomed in the haze.

“Grand Canary!” Learmont remarked. “The range behind Las Palmas town. I expect the smudge ahead is the Isleta hill.”

“We’ve made it!” Lister said hoarsely, and braced himself. Now the strain was gone, he felt very slack.

The sun rose out of the water, the mist began to melt, and rolling back, uncovered a line of surf and a belt of rough hillside. Then volcanic cliffs, a sandy isthmus, and a cluster of masts and funnels got distinct, and Lister fixed the glasses on a white stripe across a cinder hill. His hand shook, but he steadied the glasses and saw the stripe was a row of huge letters.

“… _ary Engineering Co_ …” he read.

His heart beat when he went below. Luck had given him a hard job, but he had put it across. Soon after _Terrier_ arrived he went to the engineering company’s office and the manager looked at him curiously. Then he gave Lister some wine and, after studying his drawings and patterns, said he could make the things required. Lister drove to the town, and going to a Spanish barber’s, started when he saw his reflection in a glass. He had not shaved for long, and fresh water was scarce on board the tug. His face was haggard, the engine grime had got into his skin, and his eyes were red. He was forced to wait, and while the barber attended to other customers, he fell asleep in his chair. When he left the shop he went to a hotel and slept for twelve hours.

CHAPTER VI

LISTER MEETS AN OLD ANTAGONIST

The hotel Catalina, half-way between Las Palmas harbor and the town, was not crowded, and a number of the quests had gone to a ball at the neighboring Metropole. Barbara, going out some time after dinner, found the veranda unoccupied and sat down. Mrs. Cartwright was getting better and did not need her, and Barbara was satisfied to be alone. Her thoughts were disturbing, and trying to banish them for a few minutes, she looked about.

The veranda was long, and the lights from the hotel threw the shadow of the wooden pillars across the dusty grass. Barbara’s figure was outlined in a dark silhouette. She did not wear a hat and, since the night was warm, had put nothing over her thin dinner dress. She looked slender and very young.

A strip of parched garden, where a few dusty palms grew, ran down to the road, across which the square block of the Metropole cut the shining sea. Steamers’ lights swung gently against the dark background of the Isleta hill. Beyond the Metropole a white belt of surf ran back to the cluster of lights at the foot of the mountain that marked Las Palmas. One heard the languid rollers break upon the beach and the measured crash of surges on the reefs across the isthmus. Sometimes, when the throb of the surf sank, music came from the Metropole. A distant rattle indicated a steam-tram going to the port.

The long line across the harbor was the mole, and Barbara had thought the small steamer, lying near its end, like _Terrier_. There was nothing in the soft blue dark behind the mole until one came to the African coast. Then Barbara firmly turned her glance. In a sense, she had sent Lister to Africa, but she was not going to think about him yet. She must not think about him until she had weighed something else.

A few hours since she had got a jar. Walking in the town she saw a man whose figure and step she thought she knew. He was some distance off, and she entered a shop and bought a Spanish fan she did not want. Perhaps her disturbance was ridiculous, but the man was very like Shillito, and their meeting at the busy port was not impossible. Las Palmas was something like an important railway junction. Numerous steamers called, and passengers from all quarters, particularly South America and the West Indies, changed boats. Then Barbara understood that a fugitive from justice was safer in South and Central America than anywhere else. She wondered with keen anxiety whether the man had seen her.

She knew now she had not loved Shillito. He had cunningly worked upon her ignorance, discontent, and longing for romance. Illumination had come on board the train, but although she had found him out and escaped, she had afterwards felt herself humiliated and set apart from happy girls who had nothing to hide. The humiliation was not altogether earned, and the people who knew about her adventure were not numerous, but they were all the people for whom she cared. When she thought about it, she hated Louis Shillito.

The steam-tram stopped at the Metropole and went on to the port, trailing a cloud of dust. When the rattle it made began to die away, Barbara roused herself with a start from her moody thoughts. A man was coming up the path, and when he reached the steps she shrank back against the wall. The light from the hotel touched his face and she saw it was Shillito.

Anger conquered her shrinking, for Barbara had pluck and her temper was hot. When Shillito, lifting his hat, advanced, she got up and stood by a pillar. Her skin had gone very white, but her eyes sparkled and her hands were clenched. Shillito bowed and smiled.

“It looks as if I was lucky!” he remarked, and Barbara imagined his not finding Mrs. Cartwright about accounted for his satisfaction.

“I suppose you saw me in the _calle mayor_?” she said.

He nodded. “You went into a shop. Your object was pretty obvious. I allow it hurt.”

Barbara gave him a scornful glance. “The statement’s ridiculous! Do you imagine you can cheat me now, as you cheated me in Canada?”

“In one way, I did not cheat you. When I said I loved you, I was honest.”

“I doubt it! All was dishonest from the beginning. You taught me deceit and made me ashamed for my shabbiness. For your sake I tricked people who loved and trusted me; but to you I was rashly sincere. I trusted you and was willing to give up much in order to marry you.”

“You mean you thought you were willing, until you knew the cost?” Shillito rejoined. “Then you saw you couldn’t make good and resolved to turn me down.”

The blood came to Barbara’s skin, but she fronted him steadily.

“I had _found you out_. Had you been something of the man I thought, I might have gone with you and helped to baffle the police; but you were not. You were very dull and played a stupid part. When you thought you had won and I was in your power, I knew you for a brute.”

Shillito colored, but forced a smile. “Perhaps I was dull; I was desperate. You had kept me hanging round the summer camp when I knew the police were on my track; and I had been put wise they might hold up the train. A man hitting the trail for liberty doesn’t use the manners of a highbrow carpet-knight. I reckoned you were human and your blood was red.”

“Ah,” said Barbara, “I was very human! Although I was afraid, I felt all the passion hate can rouse. You declared I must stay with you, because I durst not go back; I had broken rules and my fastidious relations would have no more to do with me. Something like that! In a sense, it wasn’t true; but you said it with brutal coarseness. When I struck you I meant to hurt; I looked for something that would hurt–“

She stopped and struggled for calm. To indulge her anger was some relief, but she felt the man was dangerous and she must be cool. There was not much use in leaving him and going to her mother, because he would, no doubt, follow and disturb Mrs. Cartwright. It was unlucky her step-father had not arrived; he was coming out, but his boat was not expected for a day or two.

“Oh, well,” said Shillito, “let’s talk about something else. I didn’t calculate to meet you at Las Palmas, but when I saw you in the _calle_, I hoped you might, after all, be kind for old times’ sake. However, it’s obvious you have no use for me, and if you are willing to make it easier, I’ll pull out and leave you alone.”

Barbara gave him a keen glance. She had known he wanted something.

“How can I make it easier for you to go?”

“You don’t see? Well, I’ve had some adventures since you left me on board the train. I had money, but I’d waited too long to negotiate some of the bonds and my partner robbed me. I made San Francisco and found nothing doing there. Went down the coast to Chile and got fixed for a time at a casino, in which I invested the most part of my wad. One night a Chileno pulled his knife on another who cleaned him out, and when the police got busy the casino shut down. I pushed across for Argentina, but my luck wasn’t good, and I made Las Palmas not long since on board an Italian boat. On the whole, I like the dagos, and reckoned I might try Cuba, or perhaps the Philippines–“

“A Lopez boat sails for Havana in two or three days,” Barbara interrupted.

“That is so,” Shillito agreed, smiling because he noted her relief. “The trouble is, I haven’t much money. Five hundred pounds would help me along.”

“You thought I would give you five hundred pounds?”

“Sure,” said Shillito, coolly. “You’re rich; anyhow, Mrs. Cartwright is rich, and I reckoned you would see my staying about the town has drawbacks. For one thing, the English tourists are a gossiping lot. It ought to pay you and your mother to help me get off.”

Barbara tried to think. The drawbacks Shillito indicated were plain, and as long as he stayed at Las Palmas she would know no ease of mind, but she had not five hundred pounds, and Mrs. Cartwright must not be disturbed. Moreover, one could not trust the fellow. He might take the money and then use his power again. He had power to humiliate her, but unless she was willing to meet all his claims, she must resist some time.

“I imagine you put your importance too high,” she said. “You can stay, if you like. I certainly will not bribe you to go away.”

He studied her for a few moments; Barbara looked resolute, but he thought her resolution forced.

“Very well! Since I can’t start for Cuba without money, I must find an occupation at Las Palmas, and I have a plan. You see, I know some Spanish and something about running a gambling joint. The people here are sports, and one or two are willing to put up the money to start a club that ought to attract the English tourists. If I found the thing didn’t pay before you went back, I could quit and get after you.”

“I think not,” said Barbara, desperately. “If you came to England, a cablegram to the Canadian police–“

Shillito laughed. “You wouldn’t send a cablegram! If I was caught I could tell a romantic story about the girl who helped me get off. No; I’m not going to bother about your putting the police on my trail!”

He turned his head and Barbara clenched her hand, for a rattle of wheels in the road broke off, as if a _tartana_ had stopped at the gate. If the passengers from the vehicle were coming to the hotel she must get rid of Shillito before they arrived.

“You waste your arguments,” she declared. “I will not give you money. If you come back, I will tell the _mayordomo_ you are annoying me and he must not let you in.”

“The plan’s not very clever,” Shillito rejoined. “If I made trouble for the hotel porters, the guests would wonder, and when people have nothing to do but loaf, they like to talk. I expect you’d find their curiosity awkward–” He paused and laughed when he resumed: “You’re embarrassed now because somebody will see us!”

Barbara was embarrassed. A man was coming up the path, and she knew her figure and Shillito’s cut against the light. When the stranger reached the veranda he would see she was disturbed; but to move back into the gloom, where Shillito would follow her, would be significant. She thought he meant to excite the other’s curiosity.

The man stopped for a moment at the bottom of the steps and Barbara turned her head, since she imagined he would think she was quarreling with her lover. Then he ran up the steps, and when he stopped in front of Shillito her heart beat fast. It was Lister, and she knew he had remarked her strained look, for his face was very stern.

“Hallo!” he said. “Are you bothering Miss Hyslop again?” He glanced at Barbara. “I expect the fellow is bothering you?”

For a moment Barbara hesitated, but she had borne a heavy strain and her control was going. Besides, one could trust Lister and he knew … She signed agreement and he touched Shillito.

“Get off the veranda!”

Shillito did not move. His pose was tense and he looked malevolent.

“You won’t help Miss Hyslop by butting in like a clumsy fool. The thing’s too delicate for you to meddle–“

“Get off the veranda!” Lister shouted, and threw Shillito back.

He was highly strung, and worn by want of sleep and exhausting labor, but he had some notion of all Barbara had borne on Shillito’s account. Although perhaps caution and tact were indicated, he was going to use force. When Shillito struck him he seized the fellow, and rocking in a savage grapple, they fell with a crash against the rails. Lister felt the other’s hand at his throat, and straining back, jerked his head away while he tried to lift his antagonist off the ground. He pulled him from the rails and they reeled across the veranda and struck the wall.

A neighboring window rattled with the shock, the heavy tramp of their feet shook the boards, and Barbara knew the noise would soon bring a group of curious servants to the door; besides, all the guests had not gone to the Metropole. Yet she could not meddle. The men’s passions were unloosed; they fought like savage animals, driven by an instinctive fury that would not vanish until one was beaten. She looked on, trembling and helpless, while they wrestled, with swaying bodies and hands that felt for a firmer hold. Her face was very white and she got her breath in painful gasps. There was something horribly primitive about the struggle, but it fascinated.

In the meantime, Lister was conscious that he had been rash. Shillito was muscular and fresh, but he was tired. It was plain he could not keep it up for long. Moreover, unless the fight soon ended, people would come to see what the disturbance was about. This would be awkward for Barbara; he wanted to tell her to go away, but could not. He was breathless and Shillito was trying to choke him.

Afterwards he knew he was lucky. They had got near the steps and he threw Shillito against the post at the top. The jar shook the other, his grasp got slack, and Lister saw that for a moment the advantage was his. Using a desperate effort he pushed his antagonist back and struck him a smashing blow. Shillito vanished and a crash in the gloom indicated that he had fallen on an aloe in a tub by the path. Lister leaned against the rail and laughed, because he knew aloe spikes are sharp.

Then he heard steps and voices in the hotel, and turned to Barbara. His face was cut, his hat was gone, and his white jacket was torn. He looked strangely savage and disheveled, but Barbara went to him and her eyes shone. Lister stopped her.

“Don’t know if I’ve helped much, but you must get off!” he gasped. “People are coming. Go in by another door!”

He turned and plunged down the stairs, and Barbara, seeing that Shillito had vanished, ran along the veranda. A few moments afterwards she stood by the window of her room and saw a group of curious servants and one or two tourists in the path at the bottom of the steps. It looked as if they were puzzled, and the _mayordomo_ gravely examined Lister’s battered hat.

Barbara went from the window and sat down. She was horribly overstrained and wanted to cry, but she began to laugh, and for some minutes could not stop. She must get relief from the tension and, after all, in a sense, the thing was humorous.

CHAPTER VII

BARBARA’S REFUSAL

In the morning Barbara went to the Catalina mole. The short lava pier was not far off, and one got the breeze, although the hotel garden was hot. Besides, she did not want to meet people and talk about the strange disturbance on the veranda. On the whole, she thought nobody imagined she could satisfy the general curiosity. Finding a block of lava in the shade, she sat down and looked about.

A boat crossed the harbor mouth, swinging up on the smooth swell and vanishing when the undulations rolled by. A tug towed a row of barges to an anchored steamer, and the rattle of winches came down the wind. In the background, clouds of dust blew about the coaling wharfs, and a string of flags fluttered from the staff on the Isleta hill. Barbara beckoned a port-guard and inquired what the signal meant.

The Spaniard said an African mail-boat from England was coming in, and Barbara was conscious of some relief. Cartwright was on board and would arrive sooner than she had thought; the boat had obviously not called at Madeira, the time-bills stated. Cartwright would know how to deal with Shillito if he bothered her again. In the meantime she mused about Lister. She had thrilled when he ran up the steps at the hotel, but, in a sense, his arrival just then was awkward.

She turned her head, for the sunshine on the water dazzled her eyes, and the port was not attractive. The limekilns, coal-wharfs, and shabby lava houses had for a background volcanic rocks, bare cinder slopes and tossing dust. Besides, she wanted to think. She would see Lister soon; she wanted to see him, but she shrank. For one thing, the line she ought to take was hard.

By and by she heard a rattle of oars thrown on board a boat behind the neighboring wall; somebody shouted, and Lister came up. His white clothes were clean but crumpled, and Barbara smiled when she saw his hat was new. Crossing the lava pavement, he stopped opposite her and she noted a piece of sticking-plaster on his cheek.

“May I join you for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said graciously.

Lister sat down. The sailors had gone off, and except for an officer of the _Commandancia_, nobody was about.

“I was going to the hotel to look for you. For one thing, I reckoned I ought to apologize. When I came into the veranda and saw Shillito–“

“I think you stopped for a moment at the bottom of the steps!” Barbara remarked.

He colored, but gave her a steady look. “That is so. I admit the thing’s ridiculous; but at first I felt I’d better pull out. Then I noted something about your pose; you looked angry.”

“Ah,” said Barbara. “It was a relief to see I was angry? You were satisfied then?”

“I was really satisfied before. It was impossible you should engage a brute like that in friendly talk. Anyhow, I took the wrong line and might have made things awkward. In fact, the situation needed a lighter touch than mine. All the same, when I saw the fellow was bullying you–“

“You butted in?” Barbara suggested, smiling, although her heart beat.

“Like a bull moose,” said Lister with a frown. “I ought to have kept cool, used caution, and frozen him off by a few short arguments. You can picture Cartwright’s putting across the job! After all, however, I don’t know the arguments I could have used, and I remembered how the fellow had injured you–“

He saw Barbara’s color rise, and stopped for a moment. It looked as if he had not used much caution now.

“Since I thought you in Africa, I don’t understand how you arrived,” she began.

“The thing’s not very strange,” said Lister. “I saw your name in a visitors’ list and meant to ask for you in the morning. Then I ran up against Shillito, who didn’t know me, and when he got on board the steam tram, I hired a _tartana_. Thought he might mean trouble and I’d better come along–“

“Well,” he resumed, “I’m sorry I handled the job clumsily, since I might have hurt you worse; but I hated the fellow on my own account and saw red. Perhaps it was lucky I was able to throw him down the steps, because I expect neither of us meant to quit until the other was knocked out.” He paused and added, with a laugh: “Now I’m cool, I think the chances were I got knocked out. Last time we met he threw me off the car; I reckon my luck has turned!”

Barbara studied him and was moved by pity and some other emotions. He was very thin and his face was pinched. He looked as if he were exhausted by the work she had sent him to do. Barbara admitted that she had sent him. Before Cartwright planned the salvage undertaking she had declared he would find Lister the man for an awkward job.

“You ran some risk for my sake, and I must acknowledge a fresh debt,” she said. “I would sooner be your debtor than another’s, but sometimes I’m embarrassed. You see, I owe you so much.”

“You have paid all by letting me know you,” Lister declared.

She was quiet for a few moments, and then asked: “Are you making much progress at the wreck?”

“Our progress is slow, but we are getting there,” Lister replied, and seeing her interest, narrated his and Brown’s struggles, and his long voyage with a short crew on board the tug.

The story was moving and Barbara’s eyes sparkled. Lister had borne much and done all that flesh and blood could do. He was the man she had thought, and she knew it was for her sake that he had labored.

“It’s a splendid fight!” she said.

“We haven’t won yet,” he replied, and was quiet for a few moments. Then his look got very resolute and he went on: “All the same, if the thing is anyhow possible, I’m going to win. You see, I’ve got to win! When Cartwright engaged me I was engineer on board a cattle boat; a man of no importance, without friends or money, and with no particular chance of making good. Now I’ve got my chance. If we put across the job a big salvage company turned down, I’ll make my mark. Somebody will give me a good post; I’ll have got my foot on the ladder that leads to the top.”

“I wish you luck,” said Barbara. “I expect you will get near the top.”

“If you are willing, you can help.”

“Ah,” said Barbara, with forced quietness, “I think not–“

He stopped her. “I didn’t expect to find you willing. My business is to persuade you, and I mean to try. Well, I wasn’t boasting, and my drawbacks are plain, but if I make good in Africa, some will be cut out and you can help me remove the others. I’ve long wanted you, and now my luck’s turning. I was going to Catalina to tell you so. If Brown and I float _Arcturus_, will you marry me?”

Barbara’s color came and went, but she said quietly: “When you came to the hotel in the evening you met Shillito!”

“I did,” said Lister, with incautious passion. “If I had killed the brute I’d have been justified! However, I threw him on to the aloe tub and ran off. The thing was grotesquely humorous. A boy’s fool trick!”

“You ran off for my sake,” said Barbara. “I liked you for it. I like you for many things, but I will not marry you.”

He saw she was resolute. Her mouth was firm and her hand was tightly closed. He thought he knew the grounds for her refusal, and his heart sank. Barbara was stubborn and very proud. Moreover, the situation was awkward, but the awkwardness must be fronted.

“Let’s be frank; perhaps you owe me this,” he urged. “Since you allow you do like me, what’s to stop our marrying?”

“For one thing, my adventure in Canada,” she replied and turned her head.

Lister put his hand on her arm and forced her to look up. “Now you’re clean ridiculous! Shillito cheated you; he’s a plausible wastrel, but you found him out. It doesn’t count at all! Besides, nobody but your relations know.”

“You know,” said Barbara, and, getting up started along the mole.

Lister tried to brace himself, for he saw she could not be moved. Yet there was something to be said.

“You are the girl I mean to marry,” he declared. “Some day, perhaps, you’ll see you’re indulging a blamed extravagant illusion and I’m going to wait. When you’re logical I’ll try again.”

Barbara forced a smile. “Sometimes I am logical; I feel I’m logical now. But I have left my mother alone rather long and you must let me go.”

Lister went with her to the road and got on a tram going to the town. He was hurt and angry, but not altogether daunted. Barbara’s ridiculous pride might break and she was worth waiting for. When he returned on board, a small African liner had anchored not far off, and while he watched the boats that swarmed about the ship, one left the others and came towards the tug. The Spanish crew were pulling hard and a passenger occupied the stern. Learmont, lounging near, turned his glasses on the boat.

“I’m not sorry you are boss,” he said. “The Old Man is coming!”

A few minutes afterwards Cartwright got over the tug’s rail. His face was red, and he looked very stern.

“Why have you left the wreck?” he asked Lister.

“I came for some castings I couldn’t get at Sierra Leone. The pump and engine needed mending.”

“Then where’s Brown?”

“He’s busy at the lagoon, sir. There’s enough to keep him occupied, unless the pump plays out before I get back.”

Cartwright looked relieved, but asked meaningly: “Did you know Mrs. Cartwright and Miss Hyslop were at Las Palmas?”

“I did not know until yesterday evening, twenty-four hours after I arrived; but we’ll talk about this again. I expect you want to know how we are getting on at the wreck?”

Cartwright nodded. “I think my curiosity is natural! Let’s get out of the sun, and if you have liquor on board, order me a drink. When the mail-boat steamed round the mole and I saw _Terrier_, I got a nasty jolt.”

Lister took him to the captain’s room and gave him some sour red Canary wine. Cartwright drained his glass and looked up with an ironical smile.

“If you use stuff like this. Brown ought not to be tempted much! However, you can tell me what you have done at the lagoon, and the difficulties you have met. You needn’t bother to smooth down Brown’s extravagances, I knew the captain before I knew you.”

Lister told his story, and when he stopped Cartwright filled his glass, raised it to his lips and put it back with a frown.

“Send somebody along the mole to Garcia’s shop for two or three bottles of his Amontillado and white Muscatel. Charge the stuff to ship’s victualing. When you got Brown out of the factory, did you think it possible he had a private stock of liquor?”

“I’m satisfied he had not. Montgomery gave him the liquor, and I imagine meant to give him too, much.”

“It looks like that,” Cartwright agreed. “If we take something I suspect for granted, Montgomery’s opposition would be logical. I imagine you know part of the cargo was worth much? Expensive stuff in small bulk, you see!”

“I have studied the cargo-lists and plans of the holds, sir.”

Cartwright nodded. “We’ll find out presently if my notion how the boat was lost is accurate,” The cargo’s another thing. There may have been conspiracy between merchant and ship-owner; I don’t know yet, but if it was conspiracy, this would account for much. Some of the gum shipped was very costly, and African alluvial gold, washed by the negroes, has been found mixed with brass filings.”

“Montgomery frankly stated his father loaded the vessel.”

“His frankness may have been calculated,” Cartwright rejoined and knitted his brows. “Yet I’ll admit the young fellow’s name is good at Liverpool, and all he sells is up to sample. His father was another sort, but he died, and the house is now well run. However, in the meantime we’ll let it go.”

He looked up, for a fireman, carrying a basket, came in. Cartwright took the basket and opened a bottle of white wine.

“Take some of this,” he said. “I understand you have seen Mrs. Cartwright?”

“Not yet, sir,” said Lister, quietly. “I met Miss Hyslop soon before your boat arrived. Perhaps I ought to tell you I asked her if she would marry me if we floated the wreck.”

“Ah!” said Cartwright. “But why did you add the stipulation?”

“It ought to be obvious. If we put the undertaking over, I expect to get a post that will enable me to support a wife, although she might be forced to go without things I’d like to give her.”

“I see!” said Cartwright, with some dryness. “Well, I don’t know if Barbara is extravagant, but she has not used much economy. Was she willing to take the plunge?”

“She was not, sir.”

“Then I suppose she stated her grounds for refusing?”

“That is so,” said Lister. “Perhaps Miss Hyslop will tell you what they are. I will not.”

Cartwright looked at him hard. “All the same, I imagine you did not agree?”

“I did not agree. If I make good at the wreck, I will try again.”

“Barbara is pretty obstinate,” Cartwright remarked with a smile, and then filled Lister’s glass. “I must go; but come to the hotel in the morning. We must talk about the salvage plans.”

He went off, but when the boat crossed the harbor he looked back at the tug with twinkling eyes. Lister was honest and had not asked Barbara to marry him until he saw some chance of his supporting a wife. Since Barbara was rich, the thing was amusing. All the same, it was possible the young fellow must wait. Barbara exaggerated and indulged her imagination, but she was firm.

CHAPTER VIII

CARTWRIGHT GETS TO WORK

The morning was hot and Barbara, sitting on the hotel veranda, struggled against a flat reaction. The glitter of the sea hurt her eyes, and the dust that blew in clouds from the road smeared her white dress. Her mouth dropped and her pose was languid. To refuse Lister had cost her much, and although she had done so because she felt she ought, the sense of having carried out a duty was not remarkably soothing. It was a relief to know she need not pretend to Cartwright, who occupied a basket-chair opposite. One could not cheat her step-father by false cheerfulness.

“When you disappointed Lister you took the prudent line,” he said. “The young fellow has some talent, but he has not yet made his mark. I approve your caution, and expect your mother will agree.”

“I wasn’t cautious; I didn’t argue at all like that,” Barbara declared. “Besides, I haven’t told mother. She mustn’t be disturbed.”

Cartwright looked thoughtful. To some extent he was sympathetic, and to some extent amused.

“Then I don’t altogether understand why you did refuse!”

“Oh, well,” said Barbara, and the blood came to her skin, “for one thing, Mr. Lister waited for some time, and then asked me to marry him, after Shillito arrived.” She paused and her look got hard when she resumed: “Perhaps he thought he ought; sometimes he’s chivalrous.”

Cartwright imagined Barbara was badly hurt, and this accounted for her frankness.

“Your reasoning isn’t very obvious, but I think I see a light,” he said. “It’s possible, however, he asked you because he wanted you, and there is an explanation for his waiting. I understand he hesitated because he doubted if he could support a wife. It looks as if Mr. Lister didn’t know you were rich.”

“He doesn’t know; I think I didn’t want him to know,” Barbara admitted with some embarrassment.

“Shillito knew, but one learns caution,” Cartwright remarked. “Well, Shillito became somewhat of a nuisance, and I don’t imagine you want him to look us up again. I rather think I must get to work.”

“I hate him!” said Barbara, passionately. “Until your boat was signaled I was horribly alarmed, but then the trouble went. I felt I needn’t bother after you arrived.” Her voice softened as she added: “You are a clever old dear! One feels safe while you’re about!”

“Thank you,” said Cartwright. “I am old, but I have some useful talents. Well, is there something else about which you want to talk?”

Barbara hesitated. There was something for which she meant to ask, although her object was not very plain. Perhaps Shillito’s demand for money had made her feel its power; moreover, she was independent and liked to control her affairs.

“My birthday was not long since, and I’m entitled to use some of the money that is mine.”

“That is so,” Cartwright agreed with a twinkle. “All the same, you’re not entitled to use much until you marry, and you have just sent off one lover. Would you like me to send you out a sum?”

“I think I’d like a check book, and then I needn’t bother people.”

Cartwright nodded. Barbara was not extravagant. “Very well. I expect we can trust you, and the money is yours. I can probably arrange for a business house to meet your drafts. I’ll see about it when I’m in the town.”

He started for Las Palmas presently, and after some inquiries stopped at a Spanish hotel, where he found Shillito. The latter frowned when he saw Cartwright, but went with him to the courtyard and they sat down in the shade.

“Have you bought your ticket for Havana?” Cartwright asked.

“I have not,” said Shillito. “So far I haven’t decided to leave Las Palmas.”

“Then I imagine you had better decide _now_. If money is a difficulty, I might lend you enough for a second-class passage, but that is all.”

Shillito smiled. “If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to go higher. I reckon it’s worth while!”

“I think not,” said Cartwright, dryly. “In fact, since I can get rid of you for nothing, I doubt if it’s worth the price of a cheap berth on board the Lopez boat. However, I’ll risk this, in order to save bothering.”

“Bluff! You can cut it out and get to business!”

“Very well. Your call at the Catalina didn’t help you much, and if you come again you will not be received by Miss Hyslop, but by me. I have met and beaten fellows like you before. My offer’s a second-class berth. You had better take it!”

“Not at all,” said Shillito. “Before long you’ll want to raise your bid.”

Cartwright got up and crossed the flags; the other frowned and hesitated, but let him go. When he reached the street Cartwright called his _tartana_ and told the driver to take him to the British Vice-Consul’s. The Vice-Consul was a merchant who sometimes supplied the Cartwright boats with stores, and he gave his visitor a cigar. Cartwright told him as much about Shillito as he thought useful, and the Vice-Consul weighed his remarks.

“The extradition of a criminal is a long and troublesome business,” he observed. “In the meantime the fellow must not be allowed to annoy you, and I imagine my duty is to inform the Spanish _justicia_. Don Ramon is tactful, and I think will handle the situation discreetly. Suppose we go to see him?”

He took Cartwright to an old Spanish house, with the royal arms above the door, and a very dignified gentleman received them politely. He allowed the Vice-Consul to tell Cartwright’s story in Castilian, and then smiled.

“Senor Graham has our thanks for the warning he has brought,” he said. “In this island we are sportsmen. We have our cockpits and casinos, but our aim is to develop our commerce and not make the town a Monte Carlo. Then the play at the casinos must be honest. Our way with cardsharpers is stern.”

The Vice-Consul’s eyes twinkled. He knew Don Ramon, who resumed: “Senor Cartwright’s duty is to inform the British police. No doubt he will do so, but until they apply to our _justicia_ in the proper form, I cannot put in prison a British subject for a robbery he did not commit on Spanish soil. Perhaps, however, this is not necessary?”

“On the whole, I don’t think it is necessary,” Cartwright remarked. “The fellow is a dangerous scoundrel, but I don’t know that it is my duty to give you the bother extradition formalities would imply. Still you may find him a nuisance if he stays long.”

Don Ramon smiled. “I imagine he will not stay long! My post gives me power to deal with troublesome foreigners. Well, I thank you, and can promise you will not be disturbed again.”

He let them go, and when they went out the Vice-Consul laughed.

“You can trust Don Ramon. For one thing, he knows I have some claim; in this country a merchant finds it pays to acknowledge fair treatment by the men who rule. For all that, Don Ramon is just and uses prudently a power we do not give British officials. The Spanish know the advantages of firm control, and I admit their plan works well.”

Shillito did not return to the Catalina. When he was playing cards for high stakes one evening, two _guardias civiles_ entered the gambling house and one touched Shillito’s arm.

“You will come with us, senor,” he said politely.

Shillito pushed back his chair and looked about. The man carried a pistol, and the civil guards have power to shoot. His comrade watched the door.

“What is your authority for bothering me?” he asked.

“It is possible Don Ramon will tell you. He is waiting,” said the other. He took Shillito to the house with the coat of arms, and Don Ramon, sending off the guards, indicated a chair.

“We have heard something about you, and do not think you ought to remain at Las Palmas,” he remarked. “In fact, since we understand you meant to go to Cuba, we expect you to start by the Lopez boat.”

“I don’t mean to go to Cuba,” Shillito rejoined.

Don Ramon shrugged. “Well, we do not mind if you sail for another country. Numerous steamers touch here and the choice is yours. So long as you leave Las Palmas–“

Shillito looked at him hard. “I am a British subject and stay where I like!”

“You are obstinate, senor, but I think your statement’s rash,” Don Ramon observed. “A British subject is governed by British laws, but we will not talk about this.”

He paused and studied Shillito, who began to look disturbed. “One would sooner be polite and take the easy line,” Don Ramon resumed. “So far this is possible, because you are not on the list sent our Government by the British police, but we have power to examine foreigners about whom we are not satisfied. Well, I doubt if you could satisfy us that you ought to remain, and when we begin to investigate, a demand for your extradition might arrive. If you forced us to inquire about you, a cablegram would soon reach London.”

Shillito saw he was beaten and got up.

“I’ll buy my ticket for Havana in the morning,” he replied.

The Lopez liner was some days late, and in the meantime Lister haunted the office of the engineering company. At length the articles he needed were ready, and one afternoon Cartwright hired a boat to take him and Barbara across the harbor. _Terrier_ lay with full steam up at the end of the long mole, and when her winch began to rattle, Cartwright told the Spanish _peons_ to stop rowing. The tug’s mooring ropes splashed, her propeller throbbed, and she swung away from the wall.

She was rusty and dingy; the screens along her bridge were cracked and burned by the sun. The boat at her rail was blackened by soot, and when she rolled the weed streamed down from her water-line. She looked very small and overloaded by the stack of coal on deck. The wash round her stern got whiter, ripples ran back from her bows, and when she steamed near Cartwright’s boat, her whistle shrieked. Cartwright stood up and waved; Learmont, on the bridge, touched his cap, but for a few moments Barbara fixed her eyes on _Terrier’s_ deckhouse. Then she blushed and her heart beat, for she saw Lister at the door of the engine-room. He saw her and smiled.

The tug’s whistle was drowned by a deeper blast. A big liner, painted black from water-line to funnel-top, was coming out, and Cartwright’s boat lay between her and the tug. Barbara gave the great ship a careless glance and then started, for she read the name at the bow. This was the Havana boat.

Studying the groups of passengers at the rails, she thought she saw a face she knew. The face got distinct, and when the liner’s lofty side towered above the boat, Shillito, looking down, lifted his cap and bowed with ironical politeness. Barbara turned her head and tried for calm while she watched the tug.

Lister had not gone. Barbara knew he would not go so long as he could see the boat, and standing up, with her hand on Cartwright’s shoulder, she waved her handkerchief. Lister’s hand went to his cap, but he was getting indistinct and _Terrier_ had begun to plunge on the long swell outside the wall. She steered for open sea, the big black liner followed the coast, and presently Cartwright signed the men to pull. Then he looked at Barbara and smiled, for he knew she had seen Shillito.

“Things do sometimes happen like that!” he said. “I think the fellow has gone for good, but the other will come back.”

CHAPTER IX

LISTER MAKES GOOD

_Arcturus’_ holds were empty and a long row of oil puncheons occupied the beach, but the men who had dragged the goods from the water were exhausted by heavy toil in the scorching sun, and some were sick. The divers had bolted on plates to cover the holes in the vessel’s bilge before one fell ill and his mate’s nerve went. The heat and poisonous vapors from the swamps had broken his health, and he got a bad jar one day his air-pipe entangled and the pump-gang dragged him, unconscious, to the top.

Afterwards, for the most part, Lister undertook the diving, but for long his efforts to reach the floor of the engine-room were baffled. To crawl across slanted gratings and down weedy ladders, while air-pipe and signal-line trailed about the machinery, was horribly dangerous, but he kept it up, although he got slacker and felt his pluck was breaking. Then one afternoon he knew he could not go down again, and he stayed under water long.

Brown, standing by the air-pumps, looked at his watch and waited