The Stowaway Girl Part 12

There is, at this moment, a determined movement on foot on the mainland to replace me in power, and, with that object in view, efforts are being made to secure my escape from the convict settlement in which my enemies have imprisoned me. I and two faithful followers are here in hiding. My friend, Capitano Salvador De San Benavides," and he bowed with much dignity toward the uniformed officer, "came here two days ago in a felucca to warn me that a steamer would lie to about a mile south of the island to-night. The steamer's name is _Andros-y-Mela_--it is rather like the name of your unhappy vessel--so much alike that the _Andromeda_ has been sunk by mistake. That is all."

c.o.ke, listening to this explanation with the virtuous wrath of a knave who discovers that he has been wrongfully suspected, bristled now with indignation.

"Oh, that's all, is it?" he cried sarcastically. "No, sir, it ain't all, nor 'arf, nor quarter. Let me tell you that no crimson pirate on Gawd's earth can blow a British s.h.i.+p off the 'igh seas an' then do the dancin'-master act, with 'is 'and on 'is 'eart, an' say it was just a flamin' mistake. All! says you? Don't you believe it. There's a lot more to come yet, take my tip--a devil of a lot, or I'm the biggest lunatic within a ten-mile circle of w'ere I'm stannin', which is givin'

long odds to any other crank in the whole creation."

And c.o.ke was right, though he little guessed then why he was so thoroughly justified in a.s.suming that he and the other survivors of the _Andromeda_ had not yet gone through half, or quarter, or more than a mere curtain-raising prelude to the strange human drama in which they were destined to be the chief actors.

CHAPTER VI

BETWEEN THE BRAZILIAN DEVIL AND THE DEEP ATLANTIC

There was an awkward pause. c.o.ke, rascal though he was, and pot-bellied withal, was no Falstaff. Rather did he suggest the present-day atavism of some robber baron of the Middle Ages, whose hectoring speech bubbled forth from a stout heart. But the ragged ex-President heeded him not. After a moment of placid scrutiny of his enraged countenance by those bright, watchful eyes, c.o.ke might have been non-existent so far as recognition of his outburst was apparent during the sonorous discussion that ensued between Dom Corria Antonio De Sylva and the Senor Capitano Salvador De San Benavides.

The latter, it is true, betrayed excitement. At first he favored Iris with a deprecatingly admiring glance, as one who would say, "Dear lady, accept my profound regret and respectful homage." But that phase quickly pa.s.sed. His leader was not a man to waste words, and the gallant captain's expressive face soon showed that he had grasped the essential facts. They did not please him. In fact, he was distinctly cowed, almost stunned, by his companion's revelations.

It fell to De Sylva to explain matters to his unexpected guests.

"My friend agrees with me that it is only fair that the exact position should be revealed to you," he said, addressing c.o.ke, though a dignified gesture invited the others to share his confidence.

"It don't take much tellin'," began c.o.ke. De Sylva silenced him with an emphatic hand.

"Please attend. The situation is not so simple as you seem to imagine.

The loss of your s.h.i.+p cannot be dealt with here. It raises issues of international law which can only be settled by courts and governments.

You know, I suppose, that nothing will be done until a complaint is lodged by a British minister, and that hinges upon the very doubtful fact that you will ever again see your own country."

The ex-President certainly had the knack of expressing himself clearly.

Those concluding words rang like a knell. They even called Watts back from the slumber of unconsciousness; the "chief" stirred himself where he lay on the floor of the cavern, and began to quaver.

"----twelve old salts an' the skipper's la.s.s Marooned in the Spanish Main, O.

Sing hay----"

c.o.ke, taken by surprise, was unable to stop this warbling earlier. But his hand clutched Watts's shoulder, and his venomous whisper of "Shut up, you ijjit!" was so unmistakable that the lyric ceased.

De Sylva seemed to be aware of some peculiarity in the symptoms of the wounded man's recovery, but he continued speaking in the same balanced tone.

"It happens, by idle chance, that my enemies have become yours. The men who destroyed your s.h.i.+p thought they were injuring me. I have just pointed out to Capitano De San Benavides the precise outcome of this attack. Until a few moments ago we shared the delusion that the troops on Fernando de Noronha believed we were now on our way to a Brazilian port. We were mistaken. More than that, we know now that they have obtained news--probably through a traitor to our cause--of the _Andros-y-Mela's_ voyage. They were prepared for her coming. They had made arrangements to receive her--almost at the place decided on by our friends in Brazil. It is more than likely that the _Andros-y-Mela_ is now lying under the guns of some coast fortress, since the presence of troops and cannon on this side of the island is unprecedented."

"I don't see wot all this 'as to do with me," blurted out c.o.ke determinedly.

"No. It would not concern you in the least if you were safe at sea.

But, since you are here, it does concern you most gravely. From one point of view, you served my cause well by preparing to lower a boat.

You misled my persecutors as to locality, at least. Of course, I saw you, and thought you were mad, but your action did help to conceal from the soldiers the secret of my true hiding-place. I wish to be candid with you. If my friends and I had realized that you were here by accident, we ought to have taken no steps to save you."

"Really!" snarled c.o.ke, eying the unruffled Brazilian much as an Andulusian bull might glare at a picador. A buzz of angry whispering came from the crew. Even Iris flashed a disdainful glance at the man who uttered this atrocious sentiment. De Sylva raised his hand. He permitted himself the luxury of a wintry smile.

"Pray, do not misunderstand me," he said. "I am humane as most others, but it is difficult to decide whether or not mere humanity, setting aside self-interest, would not rather condemn you to the speedy death of the wreck than drag you to the worse fate that awaits you here. And please remember that we did succor you, thus risking observation and a visit by the troops when the sea permits a landing. But that is not the true issue. An hour ago there were four people on this bare rock--four of us who looked for escape to-night. We were supplied with such small necessaries of existence as would enable us to live if our rescuers were delayed for a day, or even two. Now, there will be no rescue. We are--" he looked slowly around--"twenty instead of four; but we have the same quant.i.ty of stores, which consist of a half-emptied skin of wine, a bunch of bananas, a few sc.r.a.ps of maize bread, and some strips of dried meat. Do you follow me?"

c.o.ke, who had been holding Watts in a sitting posture by a firm grip on his collar, allowed the limp figure to sprawl headlong again. He wanted to plunge both hands deeply into his trousers pockets, because men of his type a.s.sociate att.i.tude so closely with thought that the one is apt to become almost dependent on the other. And so, for the moment, the safeguarding of Watts was of no consequence. But Watts had benefited much by the sousing of the spray, while his recovery was expedited by the forcible ejection of the salt water he had swallowed.

He raised himself on one hand, and looked about with an inquiring eye.

The Brazilian officer's uniform seemed to fascinate him.

"'Ello!" he gurgled. "Run in? Well I'm----"

"Is not that man wounded? I thought I saw him dashed against the rocks," said De Sylva.

"'E ought to be," said c.o.ke, "but 'e's on'y drunk. A skin o' rum, 'arf empty, too, just like your skin o' wine, mister."

"Let him be taken outside and gagged if he resists."

There was an uneasy movement among the men. Their common impulse was to obey. c.o.ke spread his feet a little apart.

"Leave 'im alone. 'E'll do no 'arm now," he said.

"I cannot be interrupted," cried De Sylva, whose iron self-restraint seemed to be yielding before British truculence.

"I'll keep 'im quiet but I can't 'ave 'im roasted afore 'is time, an'

that's wot's 'ul 'appen if you tied him up in that gulley."

"Thanke'ee, skipper. You allus were a reel pal," murmured Watts.

c.o.ke bent over him.

"If your tongue don't stop waggin' it'll soon be stickin' out between yer teeth," he hissed. "This ain't no fancy lock-up in the East Injia Dock Road, Arthur, me boy. They won't bring you a pint of cocoa 'ere, an' ax if you're comfortable. You 'aven't long to live accordin' to all accounts, so just close your mouth an' open your ears, an' mebbe you'll know w'y."

De Sylva regained his self-possession with a rapidity that was significant. He had not climbed to the presidential chair of the Republic from a clerks.h.i.+p in the London Emba.s.sy of the Empire without acquiring the habit of estimating his fellow men speedily and accurately. Here was one who might be led, but would never permit himself to be driven. Moreover, this dethroned ruler was by way of being a philosopher.

"I hate drunkards," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You cannot trust them. If I had been surrounded by trustworthy men, I should not----"

He broke off. There was a sound of hurrying footsteps on the steep pathway. A figure, clad in rags that surpa.s.sed even De Sylva's, appeared in the entrance. A brief colloquy took place. De Sylva's eager questions were answered in monosyllables, or the nearest approach thereto.

"Marcel tells me that one of your boats is drifting away with a man lying in the bottom," came the uneasy explanation.

c.o.ke's face showed a degree of surprise, which, in his case, was almost invariably akin to disbelief, but an exclamation from Hozier drew all eyes.

"Good Lord!" he cried, "that must be the lifeboat I was trying to clear when the s.h.i.+p struck. Macfarlane was helping me, but he was. .h.i.t by a bullet and dropped across the thwarts. I thought he was dead!"

"Dead or alive, he is better off than we," said De Sylva. He questioned Marcel again briefly. "There can be no doubt that the man in the boat cast off the las.h.i.+ngs when he found that the s.h.i.+p was sinking," he continued in English. "Marcel saw him doing that, and wondered why he was alone. At any rate, if he is carried beyond the reef, he has a fighting chance. We have none."

"Why not? Are these men on the island so deaf to human sympathies that they would murder all of us in cold blood?"

The girl's sweet, low-pitched voice sounded inexpressibly sad in that vaulted place. Even De Sylva's studied control gave way before its music. He uttered some anguished appeal to the deity in his own tongue, and flung out his hands impulsively.

"What would you have me say?" he cried, and his eyes blazed, while the scar on his forehead darkened with the gust of pa.s.sion that swept over his strong features. "I might lie to you, and try to persuade you that we can exist here without food or water, whereas to-morrow, or next day at the utmost, will see most of us dead. But in a few hours you will realize what it means to be kept on this bare rock under a tropical sun. You can do one thing. Your party greatly outnumbers mine. Climb to the top-most pinnacle and signal to the island. You will soon be seen."